Alfonso Krentz is down on his luck, hoping his beautiful, but odd next door neighbor can help him get his life back on track.
Alfonso Krentz crumpled the notice in his hand, turning his face further into
his other hand so he could hide somewhat as he sank deeper into it. Tomie tugged at his sleeve, catching him in mid-groan. “Yes? Yes, dear?”
“Kin I have Koo-Aid?”
“Kool Aid?” He blinked as though she’d awakened him, but he still felt pretty
woozy after receiving his car insurance renewal in the mail. He’d forgotten
all about that little part of his budget plans. Now they suddenly needed six hundred and eighty three dollars, and he’d just barely managed to scrape up enough for the electric bill. “Is Kool Aid cheap?” he called morosely toward the living room, just loud enough to be heard over the cartoons playing on the TV.
“Yessss,” hissed Rose, his eldest daughter, almost eleven, unafraid to let
anyone know when she was irritated.
Intrigued by her attitude, Alphie tried, “You okay in there, honey bun?”
There was a touch of growl in the whine. “Eeyessss!”
He closed his eyes and nodded toward his youngest as she smiled hopefully at
him through already Kool-Aid stained lips. “Can you pour it yourself?” He had
to open his eyes a slit to catch her silent, enthusiastic nod. “Without giving any to the floor?” The five year old hesitated, then nodded again. Alphie
groaned into the heels of his palms and the little girl skittered off into the
tiny kitchen.
The electric bill had arrived right after the water bill. The water bill had
been paid a day late. If Margery wasn’t staying with them anymore, then how
come the bills were all getting higher? Shouldn’t they go down with one less
person using the utilities? Oh, right...he was home now that he’d lost his job two months ago. He was the reason the household expenses had not only failed to drop, but had risen instead.
“Okay!” he announced, standing abruptly, accidentally striking a small, flimsy plant stand with his chair. “No more TV! Go find books! Play board games! No more snacks in the microwave! We’re eating everything cold and straight from the package!”
“Snacks!” he heard Tomie shriek happily. She chanted the word like it would eventually gift her with Twinkies from heaven.
“No!” he tried again, marching down the short hall to where the girls were
hanging out this rainy June afternoon. “No snacks! We’re all going on a diet!”
Rose grumbled, “What is wrong with you now?”
Her tone made him cringe inside. She sounded so much like her mother
lately...her always disappointed mother. “Nothing! See? Smiling? Me! Nothing’s wrong....by God, everything’s wrong! We’re broke, girls! I can’t afford to get any more groceries.”
“You could ask Mom-”
He inhaled sharply and yelped, “Nope! No way! Nuh-uh! Not gonna happen!”
The unusually tall and slender eleven year old leaned over the arm of the
couch and let one hand dangle over the phone. “She’d want to make sure we were
eating, at least!”
She’d also remind Alphie that he was lazy, stupid, a dreamer, and
irresponsible in the process. Margery had always been right about him, and
he’d thought it was because their love was so deep and complete they could
read each other like Day-Glo billboards. Apparently, there’d been some fine print hidden down near the bottom of her sign, ‘cause he sure hadn’t seen it coming when she’d called it quits and finally walked out on him. “Okay, then...I was just exaggerating.”
“Uh-huh,” said Rose, wiggling and flexing her fingers anticipatorily.
They were both ignoring little blonde Tomie who hopped from furniture item to
furniture item, apparently playing LavaFloor while chanting
“Mommymommymommymommymommy.”
He affected an overly done air of sudden nonchalance. “No! Really! I was using hyperbole. You know what that is, right? It’s dramatic exaggeration.
It’s...well, it’s great for emphasis on...and I was upset just then anyway.”
He turned back toward the tiny dining room/entryway and nodded to no one.
“Yes. I was. I really had no idea what I was saying just then. Now.
Totally...over emotional.”
“About what?”
“Umm...a new bill arrived today.”
Rose turned and sank down onto the couch, pulling a throw pillow free to cover her face with and groan into. This made her father feel better--now she was behaving more like him. It took his mind a moment to translate her muffled words.
“Why don’t I have a new job yet? Ah, well. Yes. You see, I’ve been filling out applications and emailing my resume everywhere from the library, but you see-”
The pillow was yanked free, exposing the angry red face that glared at him as
she ranted, “If we’re close to starvation, why can’t you just go work at McDonald’s? Anybody can get a freakin’ job at McDonald’s!”
He didn’t like her use of pseudo-swears, but he’d been the one to teach them to her after she’d picked up the more offensive kind from her mother.
“I-uh...well...” He winced in defeat, unable to explain to her why there were
some jobs nobody wanted to do, no matter how swell they might sound to kids her age and despite there being a small army of smarmy mascots attached to
that particular establishment. He briefly recalled the ten dollar bill he’d found in a pants pocket while sorting the laundry that morning. “Anybody wanna go to McDonald’s?”
Of course, Tomie was first at the front door, screaming at the top of her lungs with excitement, wearing only a pair of Barbie underpants, poster paint dried along one leg in a swath of blue and green.
***
In order to keep any money in his wallet at all, Alphie had feigned
disinterest in his family’s early supper, watching Tomie instead as she tossed chicken McNuggets to the chickadees that begged around the outside tables and drew on the table top with French fries and ketchup inks. Her main interest was the toy that came with her meal and the large Coke he’d sprung for. Rose had nibbled two of her nuggets, then claimed she was ill and left to vomit, tossing out the rest of her dinner on the way to the john. It was difficult for Alphie to retain his sense of humor at times like this, and times like these seemed to be cropping up with more and more frequency, like they had with Margery just before she’d left to stay at her sister’s place three states away. She’d left the kids with him because she knew that while Alfonso was a pretty lousy husband, he’d do absolutely anything to protect his kids, and they’d still been in school anyhow, so she’d figured everything would work out okay.
He’d talked with Christine over the phone, let her know the kids were all
right even though he was pretty much allowing them to walk all over him, but
he’d been having problems collecting unemployment because his old employer
kept claiming he was still with the company. She’d let him know Margery was so much more relaxed now that she wasn’t working or trying to clean up after him and the kids anymore, and that she even looked better without all the extra stress in her life... Which pretty much let him know he probably wouldn’t be seeing or hearing anything out of his wife for at least a little while longer.
He was starving, laying in bed now, listening to his stomach protest beneath
the zebra striped sheet he was draped with. His feet bounced like they did
when he was writing, keeping pace with the beat and whatever tune he was busy
throwing together in his head. Beside the sliding glass door which allowed the
globe lights of the surrounding park to bathe him in a soft amber glow stood
his Yamaha audio system, costing more than their car had, waiting for him to
go back to work and start composing again. He’d been a jingle writer for a
small local advertising company, hoping one day to compose entire soundtracks
for movies...the next Danny Elfman or John Williams. He’d successfully set his
wedding video to music so poignant and heartfelt that some of Marge’s friends
had asked to borrow it so they could watch it on a girls’ night, eating ice
cream while wearing mud masks and Styrofoam between their painted toes, crying and smiling between spoonfuls of Hershey’s syrup and aerosol whipped cream.
Next to their room--whoa, his room now--was a small bathroom, and next to that
was the room where the girls slept. Alphie eased quietly from the mattress and stole into the brief hallway, pausing at the slightly ajar door to make sure the girls were asleep before helping himself to some kind of snack in the night. The lights were out, but he distinctly heard Tomie’s tiny voice protest sleepily, “I’m hungry.”
He almost answered her, thinking she’d spotted his silhouette, but it was Rose
who said softly, “I know, honey. You should have eaten your dinner instead of
playing with it.”
“But, I wasn’t hungry then.”
“I know, I know. You just wanted the toy. I’m hungry, too, but we have to be
careful of Daddy’s money until he can get a new job or his unemployment comes
through.”
“But you threw up,” the smaller girl pointed out with a yawn.
“I’ve been...not feeling so good lately.”
“Sick?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think so. Kinda achy here. We’ll have some kind of good
breakfast in the morning, then, okay?”
“Okay,” he heard Tomie say. “Chicken McPopTarts.”
There was a gentle snicker which could have come from either girl.
“How come Daddy didn’t eat?”
“He’s a big guy,” Rose answered, yawning herself. “He can take care of
himself.”
“Mommy said he couldn’t take care of himself.”
He winced, but was unable to depart before hearing the rest of the
conversation.
“Mommy said a lot of things that weren’t always true , Tomie. She said she
would take us camping, and we’ve never been. She said one day we’d go on
Safari in Africa. Said she’d take us to the zoo....”
“Mommy was a liar.”
“No...adults sometimes say things they can’t follow up on later on. Sometimes
they want to do things like that, but then other things happen and they can’t
just do them.”
There was a soft sigh of resignation.
“So you think Daddy can take care of himself?”
“Sure. I think he’ll be all right.”
A silence, and then, “Can he take care of us, too?”
Alphie couldn’t stand any more of it. He took a large, smooth step backward
away from the door and remained in the short hallway, weighing his options. Go
to bed, forget about eating, get up early and apply for work at McDonald’s?
Sneak off into the kitchen, compose a hot meal of whatever oddball ingredients
he could dig up, try to gain some inspiration of off late night TV, then sleep ‘til nine or ten like he usually did? Grab the phone and beg Margery for help? The Yamaha beckoned coquettishly, silhouetted by the outdoor lighting. Marge had always referred to her as his mistress, then later as his bitch. Spending long, lonely hours with the thing and his headsets on was what had put most of their food on the table, was what was allowing him to pursue a life-long dream. He hadn’t returned to her since Marge had left him. It was too hard to write music when the love in his heart had been replaced with angst, and he sorely missed turning several times a night to check on his wife, pausing to take in her beauty as she slept behind him, angelic while reposed.
As he stood staring at the expensive piece of equipment, he suddenly knew what he needed to do. Alphie returned to his bedroom, shut and locked the door
behind him, pulled off his cotton boxer shorts, then walked past the
electronics, unlatched the glass door, and strolled out onto his balcony.
Inhaling deeply of warm, humid air, he stretched and shivered with
anticipation, ready to take on the night.
It had been years since he’d last changed shape and run on all fours. Marge had known about it, seen him do it to prove he could, then decided he should never speak of it nor ever alter his form for any reason again. It was safer that way. Werewolves weren’t a part of reality. They were not supposed to exist. Someone might capture him and dissect him or put him on display. He
could be captured by the military or struck by a car and brought to a local
pound...that was how his father had died. Stanly Krentz had been examined by a veterinarian and put to sleep. His pre-paid funeral plan hadn’t covered pet
cemeteries. Alphie had been fifteen, but didn’t think his mother had known
that he and his father had shared similar abilities. At the end, she’d taken him aside and explained how his father had been cut down by a garbage truck while out one morning for his early run. He’d figured out Dad’s predicament when the bill arrived from the pet crematorium. No wonder there hadn’t been any sort of an official funeral. He’d realized then that no one outside the family would understand. He just never knew if his mother had been one, or if she’d known what had been passed on to him. Shortly after he’d left home to attend college, his mother just simply disappeared one day. Like she’d run away from home. She’d canceled her mail delivery, had her utilities cut off, liquidated what few assets she had and had them all sent to Alphie in an unmarked brown envelope. He remembered seeing the house again afterward, the furniture gone, her clothing removed, the dishes and bookcases, paintings and photographs, curtains and holiday decorations in storage all gone. He had never been able to find her. She’d never known he had graduated, gotten married, and now had two kids of his own. He had never been all that close to her anyway. She’d been the overly nosy and bossy type. Which was probably what had attracted him to Margery early on in the first place.
As a teen, Alphie remembered stretching first, then just sort of dropping
forward onto all fours, shifting as easily into animal form as he could slide into a dream. There was no pain involved. Just a sort of sheathing sensation. Everything moved upon and within him simultaneously, leaving him invigorated, slightly disoriented, but ready to roll. Now he gazed at how narrow his apartment balcony was. Saw how he’d crash into the railing if he tried dropping forward from the doorway, or into the small, long-legged charcoal grill they never used and had allowed to rust to one side. He backed up across the threshold onto carpeting, took a deep breath, tried to tell himself he wasn’t a moron, and fell forward into a push-up stance and remained there looking at the concrete inches below.
Now wait a minute, he thought. I didn’t dream my childhood. I know I ran with
Dad through the woods behind our house before they put that throughway in.
Alphie recalled bursting suddenly upon night-grazing deer, chasing cattle,
barking back at neighborhood dogs. His father had been a small, rather shapeless man with a bald head, fleshy features, and a slight pot belly, but a
lean and powerful mostly black wolf. Alphie had been lean back then himself,
athletic once, with too-long dark brown hair and dark hazel eyes which most
people thought were brown. As a wolf, he’d been larger than his father, with
longer, thicker limbs, a thick scruff, and beautifully grizzled with black and
brown fur. Now he was softer, thicker, rounder, out of shape from years of
sitting behind the Yamaha. He wasn’t fat, but neither was he fit. His hair was shorter and he sometimes fancied he was balding. He wore glasses when he was
composing or anytime he needed to see small things up close. Like the concrete
creeping up towards him as his weak human arms sought to rid themselves of his current body weight.
“Aw, man!” he grunted, rolling onto his side, sitting painfully on his bare hip across the sliding door’s track, then scooting further out onto the balcony. He lifted his right hand and stared at it, willing it to change form. He closed his eyes and clenched his muscles and grunted until he realized it
must look like he was suffering some severe form of constipation. He attempted to place himself in a wolf’s sitting position while telling himself that to be a wolf, he must first think and act like one. He wound up back on his hip, buck naked on his second-floor balcony, silently watching old Mrs. Saint walk by on the sidewalk path below, gently encouraging her decrepit Pomeranian to squat.
Alphie thought of all the werewolf movies he had seen, all the werewolf
stories he had read. He’d always hoped to find something which would allow him
to believe that the phenomenon was more widespread than he’d realized. He’d
searched for clues on where the ability had originated, looked for ways to
better control the transformation so that he could just morph a single part of him if he wanted, or sharpen just one of his senses. He’d wondered how God
felt about a creature that was neither entirely man nor beast. He still
wondered how many more out there were like him.
Thirty five years old, getting soft, naked on his balcony. Maybe he was just
out of practice. He had been so in love with Marge--his very first and only
lover--that he’d willingly given up his alter ego for her until even his
dreams of running with fur had faded. Alphie grabbed the handle of the door
and used it to help haul himself to his feet. He heard voices above and to his
left and realized someone had just stepped out onto their balcony a floor or two above. He dodged right slightly and tried to peer upward, until he thought he could see a woman’s slender ankle. He could hear soft feminine murmurs punctuated with deep masculine grunts. A couple enjoying the balmy night air. He hated them at that moment. They’d disturbed him, and what right had they to be doing simple cozy things together at this hour?
A thrill coursed through him and he realized that was it! He was lacking the
sensation of doing something dangerous, something he could get caught at! The
delicious fear of being absolutely naughty. The power that comes from knowing how special you are. He’d been feeling goofy and awkward and foolish. That was how a dog felt--not a wolf!
Believing himself ready, Alph backed up into his bedroom until his calves were
against the bed, accepted the fact that it still didn’t look like he had a lot
of room to operate in, launched himself forward through the doorway, hit the
top rail of the balcony, let his momentum carry him up and over, pinwheeled his arms when he realized he would have no graceful running landing, performed a backflip he couldn’t duplicate on a bet, struck sloped ground on the back of his neck, then kept rolling painfully until he hit an oak ass-first.
Moaning, he let gravity ease his bare flesh across rough bark until his left
thigh hit mulch. He was sure his neck was broken. Alphie tried to lift his
shoulders with his arms and failed. The more he lay there in a clump of landscaping, the more pain centers began to awaken. It was unusually quiet, he thought. Maybe the couple had gone back in before his amazing athletic
performance. Maybe they’d seen everything and been thoughtful enough to call 911. He heard a small noise--almost a scratch--and turned his head slowly to the right. A brown rabbit crouched two feet from his face, nose bobbing gaily, one ear perked and one flopped. Body tensing, Alph twisted in mid-air and leaped at the same time from his side. The rabbit broke for open ground, a full-grown, huge, powerful brown and black wolf tearing up the fescue behind him.
***
“Chicken,” Alphie repeated, stirring the pieces that were frying in the pan in front of him.
Tomie was dubious. “But you didn’t go shopping.”
“Found it in the freezer.”
“It doesn’t smell like chicken.”
“I’m cooking it in a different way.”
“But that doesn’t look like-”
“Do you own thirty pairs of Barbie underwear, all alike?”
The child’s focus turned inward, her big blue eyes crossing slightly as she
thought. She shook her head.
“That’s what I thought. I’m doing laundry later. Pull those things off if your skin hasn’t integrated with ‘em and put on something clean.”
The little girl scampered off, giggling.
As usual, Alphie kept wondering where she’d gotten her blonde hair and blue
eyes from. Blondes didn’t run in his family and Marge’s hair had been almost
flat black. His sister-in-law’s hair was more of a 70’s wood paneling brown,
but he suspected she dyed it that way. He seemed to recall his wife talking
about a tall, blond UPS guy for some time, right up until she’d taken off work on maternity leave.
The rabbit was frying up nicely. He hadn’t eaten any for years because Marge
had been squeamish about cute things getting slaughtered for food. Cows were
cute, but they were stupid, and that was her argument for the continuation of
cheeseburger consumption. After last night, Alph had to admit he didn’t think
rabbits were all that bright either.
Tomie returned as he was setting the coffee table. “Where’s Rosie?”
She shrugged as she climbed up onto the sofa. “Kin I watch TV?”
“You don’t know where your sister is, or you don’t really care?”
“I’m hungry. Can I watch Bugs Bunny?”
He looked down at the plate of spiced, breaded rabbit, set it before her and
said, “Sure, sweetie. Let me get the remote.”
Tomie mumbled through a mouthful of hot food, “Zissis good. Roses sick.”
“She’s sick?” He found a channel with cartoons and set the remote near her.
“It’s good?”
Already mesmerized, the little girl nodded absently, staring blankly while she continued to chew.
He found her in her bedroom, facing the wall. “You hungry, Rose?”
“No,” she mumbled, but didn’t sound certain.
Alph took a seat on the edge of her bed and stroked her hair. His daughter
withdrew somewhat, curling tighter about herself. She was warm to the touch, but it could’ve been because of all the blankets she was hiding under. “I’ve got some fried chicken.”
“For breakfast?”
“Are you feeling all right?”
“No.”
Because she wasn’t complaining, he had no idea what to do. “Does your tummy
hurt?”
“No!” she practically growled at him, turning that baleful glare his way. She
blinked, looked like she was going to cry, then mumbled, “Yes. Sometimes.
Maybe. I don’t know...”
“Can I take your temperature?”
“Slightly high,” she grunted.
“You’re not hungry?”
There was a very long pause. “Maybe some toast?”
“Toast with jelly?”
“Just dry toast.”
Now he knew she wasn’t feeling well. Kids never asked for dry toast. That was
something her mother would have tried to make her eat if she’d really thought
Rose didn’t feel well. “And um...chicken soup?”
“No.”
“Jell-O?”
“No.”
“Flat 7-Up?”
“Toast,” she groaned, then burrowed further into her covers with a sound that could have been a whimper or small sob.
Alphie patted his daughter’s shoulder and stood. “Dry toast. I can do that.
You get some rest. I might have to buy bread.”
He was pretty certain he could hear her crying softly as he left the room.
***
“You’re Alfred Rosenkrantz, right?”
“Alfonso,” he corrected, turning to see who was addressing him there in the
basement laundry room. “Uh, Alphie.”
“Alphie?” The smile was absolutely absorbing. She was all smile and blonde
hair and mascara. She giggled. “Really? You prefer to be called Alphie?”
He swallowed uncertainly, wondering if he’d accidentally tossed his brain in
the washing machine when he should’ve been checking pockets. It was the girl
next door talking to him. Literally, it was the girl next door! “Uh...yup.”
“You know me, right?” she said, extending a hand for him to shake while
clutching her plastic clothes basket against one hip.
“I know you,” he repeated dully, reaching toward her with a moist, grey-soled sock. Hell, yes, I know you! You’re the woman who sucks me off in my dreams! I wrote a whole love theme for you when you first moved in next door before I ever even found out your name! “Right,” he concluded lamely.
She picked the sock up by it’s topmost rim and tossed it into the waiting
washer before contemplating shaking his hand. She decided against it, moving
around him to the folding table that occupied most of the center of the rather small room. “Did you know we have wolves in this area? Can you imagine that! This far from any national forests or anything?”
He gulped hard and wiped the hand he’d offered down the front of his denim
button-down shirt. “Oh? Really? What? Wolves?”
“Oh, darn! I forgot my laundry key!”
He was at her side in an instant, producing his own small key so she could
access the machine’s controls. Since the residents of Greystone Moat had
protested coin operated machines and didn’t want anyone off the street to use
them either, each apartment had its own assigned keys to work the machines
with. “Ah-ha!” he said dramatically, wishing he could have come up with
something far more witty.
“You’re a peach,” she told him, and began to sort the items in her basket.
Alphie returned to his side of the table and watched her briefly, thinking
there was something he was forgetting besides this goddess’ name. Yes, he’d
misplaced his brain somewhere recently, and he figured he ought to hasten the
hell outta there and look for it before she asked him something he might need
it to answer her with.
“I saw it last night.”
“It? You saw something?”
He glanced back and saw her standing there pouting at him, lips aglow in the
flickering incandescents with a heavy application of lip gloss. Was it
frosted? “A wolf?”
His brain froze up completely. “A wolf? You saw a wolf?” Was it flavored lip
gloss? “A where? Uh, where? Where did you see it? A wolf?”
“Outside. Out back. Last night. Chasing rabbits.”
He laughed too high, too loud, felt his face freeze with the fear he was coming across too fake, too flaky. “That was a dog.”
“You saw it, too?”
“Uh-” he was about to deny it, having a hard time keeping his train of thought
in line. “Yuh-huh.” He nodded stupidly, inwardly kicking himself.
Her look went from innocent to coy and he thought she might’ve been suppressing laughter as she turned away from him, back toward her clothing.
Alphie watched her lift a lacy, flesh-colored bit of nothing. Crap--something
of hers had ripped...no. That’s how it was made. It was a thong! Sweet
heavenly Jesus, he thought, feeling way too warm in the hot, humid cinderblock
lined room. He reached into his own basket and came up with Cinderella cotton panties.
“That’s right--you have daughters, don’t you?”
“Two,” he admitted, quickly tossing the drawers in the wash.
“That’s awfully brave of you.”
“What is?”
“Having kids. You’re so young... Trying to raise two little girls all on your
own.”
Sweet Jesus! She liked kids, had a thong, and knew he was currently alone!
Alphie wasn’t used to being hit on. The last woman who’d hit on him had been
his boss’ wife, and she’d been far more blunt about it. Cost him his damned
job. “Ah,” he said, nodding. Think of something! Say something! She’s trying
to have a conversation with you, nitwit! “You think it was a wolf?”
A nearby washer had kicked into spin cycle, and she hadn’t caught his
question. “What are their names?” she called.
“Uh, Rose and Tomie.”
“Toni?”
“Tomie.”
“Toni?”
He nodded politely, deciding to let it go.
“Like Toni Tennille?”
“Who?”
She shrugged, hardly able to hear him. “And Rose? Rose Rosenkrantz?”
“Rosenkrantz? No. My name is Krentz. Just Krentz.”
“Justin Krentz?”
“Just Krentz.”
“Just friends? You wanna be just friends?”
He started laughing and she did, too. Impetuously, the goddess reached over
and lifted the lid on the spinning washer, causing the thing to shut off.
“I’m Alphie Krentz,” he said, and held his hand to her across the folding
table. “I have two daughters. Rose is eleven and Tomie is five. I am currently
alone because my wife and I had an argument three months ago. I’m unemployed because I lost my job two months ago. You live next door and you think you saw a wolf last night.”
Accepting his hand, she gave it one good shake, then relaxed her arm, but kept hold of him. “Chasing rabbits,” she said.
“That was probably a dog.”
“Okay,” she said simply, smiling, but not showing her teeth this time. “I’m
sorry about your wife. And your job.”
“It’s okay. Things change. Change is good.”
She chuckled lightly and finally let his hand go. His felt lonely without hers in it. “I work for a temp agency. I end up doing a lot of irregular jobs for irregular pay, but I keep the bills paid.”
Alph nodded, just drinking her in, still aware of her lingering warmth in his hand.
“If you’re interested, I could talk to my boss about you. Maybe help you out.
What can you do? Oh--you’re a musician, right?”
He smiled warmly at her. “You, uh, seem to know an awful lot more about me than I do of you.”
“I talked to your wife once or twice. Down here.”
He blanched as though he’d just been caught cheating, then quickly shook the
sensation off. His voice came out a little too high when he spoke, “Oh, yes?
Did you? I mean, you did? Once or twice?”
She bowed her head and giggled, biting her lip in a shy, girlish manner he
found irresistible. “She told me you were funny.”
“Huh,” he said, then gave a tight-lipped smile.
“She...” but she trailed off, shaking her head. “I’m sorry. You’ve got stuff
to do. I’m just taking up your time.”
You can take it ‘til death do us part, he thought wistfully as he turned back
to his own batch of washing. Because her load was smaller, she finished
quickly and departed with a small, cute waggle of fingers. Alphie sighed and
slumped against the folding table, in lust or in love--it didn’t matter which.
His neighbor was young and adorable and friendly and sexxxy. As he dropped in
a capful of liquid detergent, he wondered how she’d feel about getting a dog.
***
“Da-ad,” he heard from the bedroom area. Alphie was attempting to iron shirts with the bottom of a hot skillet, a folded towel wrapped around newspaper on the kitchen counter for an ironing board. He practically flung the skillet onto the stove in his haste to check on his daughter.
“I’m here!” he announced breathlessly, bursting abruptly through the door of
her room. Rose was sitting on the edge of the bed, holding herself, slumping
forward. “Are you all right? Gonna throw up? Should I call a doctor?”
“Toast?”
“Toast?” He allowed the puzzle piece to land where it would, then started
letting the rest of the day’s events concerning his sick eldest child begin to congeal around it. “Toast means bread...oh! I forgot to go buy bread! Cripes!”
“Forget it,” she moaned, then fell onto her side on the mattress, perilously
close to the edge of the bed. “Is there soup?”
“Maybe.” He tried to hustle her under the covers. “Here, let me tuck you in
and get you some soup heated up-”
“It’s too hot!” she protested.
He felt her forehead. Now the girl was chill and clammy. “You wanna fan?”
“Okay,” she said, then began to arrange herself atop the rumpled covers.
“Cold drink?”
“Okay.”
“You think it’s the flu?”
She shrugged, seeming pale, but more alert than earlier.
“I’ll go get some soup.”
“Thank you.” He smiled at her and moved toward the door. “Oh--some woman
called for you.”
“Some woman?” his heart was racing. Would the goddess be more likely to look
up his name in the phone book or just drop by? “On the phone?”
“Duh,” Rose retorted. “It had something to do with a job. Some job or something. I think her name was...Johnson. Deborah Johnson. She said you knew the number.”
His elation deserted him entirely. Debbie Johnson was the name of his ex-boss’ wife. The jackass who was dicking around with him and the unemployment office. The wife who had cornered him at a party and tried to take advantage of him. “Six six six,” grunted Alph as he stalked out of the room.
Tomie was standing on the sofa, singing along with the TV, bouncing with the
beat. A commercial was running and one of his tunes was being played under it.
It was an ad for a local car dealership. He remembered writing it for an ambulance chasing law firm. Tomie sang, “That’s why if you get hurt today, call us and win, you won’t have to pay!” The words sung over the tune on the TV were different. If someone was selling his tunes behind his back, he ought to be getting royalties for them.
“What channel is that?”
Tomie struck a dramatic pose and sang the station’s theme song, “Channel
eighty-one, where we make TV fun!”
Channel eighty-one, WUMP, had its station downtown, maybe five miles from the apartment. A guy named Dan Sims worked there in marketing. He used to go to college with Danny boy. Alphie found the phone book under a stack of coloring books underneath an end table. It had as many crayon marks in it as the
coloring books. He looked up the number for the station, called it, asked for
Dan. Mr. Sims was in a meeting, would he like to leave a message or call back
later? Alphie determined his old friend would be in for the rest of the day
until four, and he decided to just pay him a visit. “Tell him to expect me
around two,” he told the receptionist. She promised to inform Mr. Sims.
It was almost noon already, and he had nothing nice to wear. He wondered if he
could have a suit professionally cleaned and pressed in an hour or less, or if only photo developers offered that. It would be easier to just go buy a suit, but of course that would require money. He glanced behind at the skillet smoking wisps of anguish on the still-hot stove and rushed to turn the burner off before he forgot that he’d been ironing. The stove reminded him of Rose’s request for soup, and he began to hunt through cabinets for a can.
“We having chicken for lunch?” asked Tomie.
“We’re having soup.”
“Chicken soup?”
“Whatever kind of soup I can find.”
“What are we having for dinner?”
“What are you? A talking stomach?” he asked, seizing her for a good tickling.
“Ew, Daddy!” she shrieked, “You smell like an old dog!”
Alphie stopped abruptly and sniffed at his armpits. Smelled rather normally
armpitty to him. “I do?”
“Uh-huh,” she said, nose wrinkled, making her resemble most of the six rabbits he’d caught last night as she returned to the living room for more bouncing and cartoons.
Shower, he thought, already forgetting about a clean outfit and lunch for his
daughters. When he exited the kitchen he heard water running in the bathroom
and realized Rose was in there, showering. Rose, he thought, soup! And turned back for another thorough search of well-combed through and nearly bare
cabinets. Could he make rabbit soup? How ‘bout rabbit stew? What did you put
in rabbit stew? Milk? Or, was that clam chowder? He opened the ‘fridge. Could
you make rabbit stew with Kool-Aid?
There was a knock at the door.
Deborah! he thought, getting riled. Would she actually be bold enough to pay
him a visit at home? Ugly bitch. Ugly rich bitch, he corrected himself,
stalking toward the door. He flung it open and was immediately self-conscious.
He was wearing only a plain blue T-shirt and white cotton boxer shorts. The
goddess stood there in grey sweatpants and a red tube top. She wasn’t actually
rail thin, but was curvy enough that the little bit of extra weight on her
frame didn’t matter. He’d seen her in a bikini at the apartment complex pool
and hadn’t minded the slight padding a bit. Made her seem more vulnerable,
more human. What was she doing here, at his place? If she moved in, they could
split the rent, he thought.
“Hi Alphie Krentz,” she said.
“Hi,” he said, still unable to remember what her name was.
“Hi!” screeched Tomie from the rear of the apartment, not even bothering to
see who it might be.
“Hi!” called the goddess cheerfully. “Is that Tomie?”
“Uh, yeah.” He found himself watching her walk past him into his home. Did
that mean he could keep her?
“Wendy!” cried the little girl, lunging off the sofa toward a woman she
apparently knew.
Wendy. Of course. He’d known that. “It’s Wendy!” he blurted enthusiastically, doing a silly little dance of excitement.
Wendy laughed and ruffled Tomie’s hair. “I haven’t seen you in twice forever! How have you been?”
“How do you two know each other? Work?” Alph joked.
“She lives next door!” squeaked the little blonde. “I did some paintings!
Wanna see?”
Wendy informed him, “I’ve seen her at the pool with Margery. We really don’t
know each other.”
There was that odd feeling of guilt again. He didn’t like thinking about his
wife when he was trying to think of Wendy.
“I accidentally used her towel,” Tomie added.
“Yes. That’s how we met.”
“Ah. Um...why are you here?” He hoped he hadn’t asked that like he was waiting
for her to leave already.
“Oh...” she turned abruptly and headed back for the door.
“Wait! I didn’t mean for it to sound like that! You don’t have to go!”
Wendy opened the door, bent down, displaying her pleasantly plump ass, then stood and straightened with her laundry basket in her arms. “You forgot this.”
“That’s yours,” he told her.
“No. These are your darks. You only took your lights back up with you. You
left all your dark clothes downstairs.”
“Oh,” he said, gazing at the basket uncertainly. “Let me go dump them on the
bed.” He took the clothes from her and hurried into his bedroom. When he turned around to bring the emptied basket back to her, he crashed right into her, almost knocking her down.
“Gee,” she said, taking the basket from his hands. “You seem pretty preoccupied. I’m real sorry if I’m bothering you. I’ll just go-”
“Lunch!” he blurted hopefully. “As in...stay for. Uh, please? Stay for lunch?”
He could tell he was coming across like a total dork. Wendy gazed at the floor
while he mentally prayed they could have each other for lunch. “Well...I was
just gonna go jogging. What are we having?”
His heart leaped into his throat and his answer came out a little choked.
“Shit!”
“What?”
“Soup! I need soup!”
“You need soup? You actually require soup for some reason?”
He was enthralled with her ability to banter with him. Marge had usually
rolled her eyes and tried to force him to cut to the chase when he got tongue
tied. “No! No, I don’t need soup. I’m supposed to be making soup for my
daughter. For Rose. She’s sick. Doesn’t feel well. I don’t think I have any.
Soup that is.”
“Do you always talk that way?”
He swallowed, suddenly aware he couldn’t stop grinning at her. “No.”
“Good. That would drive me nuts after awhile.”
“I’m sorry.”
She asked, “What kind of soup are we making?”
We! He said, “Do you like rabbit?”
“I love rabbit. I don’t think I’ve heard of rabbit soup.”
“Me, either. I really don’t have much in the house right now. I need to grab
some groceries somewhere.”
“Dad?”
He looked past Wendy and saw Rose wrapped tightly in her terry bathrobe,
standing in the doorway to his room. “Hey, honey. You feelin’ any better?”
She broke into tears and shook her head no.
Alphie went to her and knelt and looked up into her red-rimmed eyes. “Do you
need to see a doctor?”
Rose sniffled and wiped at her nose, then bent forward enough to whisper to
him, “Can I talk to her?”
He whispered back, “You want to talk to Wendy? Our neighbor?”
“I know who she is!”
“Sorry.” Then something occurred to him. Something terrible and terrifying and embarrassing. Something he knew almost nothing about, whereas his female
neighbor just might. “Oh. Uh, sure. Whatever. You can talk to her. I think
that would be all right.” Standing, he stood facing his daughter, but looking
blankly past her into the hallway for a moment, wondering how this could affect a possible future relationship with his new friend.
As if sensing his dilemma, Rose tugged at his shirt until he bent enough that
she could whisper to him, “Don’t worry. She wasn’t going jogging. You can’t
jog in a tube top.”
Alphie stood and smiled awkwardly. Was it that obvious he had a thing for his
neighbor? What the hell was Rose thinking anyway? He and Marge were barely even officially separated yet! “Uh,” he said slowly, turning to face Wendy, “do you think you could maybe talk a little? About...well...”
Wendy’s eyes widened. “Sure,” she said, nodding a tad stiffly. “You know me,
right, Rose?”
“You live next door,” Rose told her, then held out a hand so she could lead
the older woman into her bedroom across the short hall.
***
“I can’t believe her mother never said anything to her,” Wendy told him,
stirring soup in a large pot on the stove in her apartment.
Alphie was uncomfortable with the topic. “Me, either. When do they usually
have that talk anyhow?”
“Earlier than now,” she said, adding a few grinds of fresh pepper.
“Huh. Who’da thunk it?”
“Try this,” she said, offering him a spoonful.
“Spicy.”
“Too much?”
“Let’s give Wendy some bread with it in case she wants it a little more bland.”
She looked at him strangely. “If I wanted it bland, I would have made it that way.”
“Huh?”
“You said, ‘Let’s give Wendy some bread with it.’ I’m Wendy, remember?”
“I said that?”
“You meant, Rose.”
“Right. I know it.”
She rolled her eyes and shook her head as she folded a dishtowel and set it on
a metal tray. “You carry it. I’m assuming you walk better than you talk?”
He humbly accepted the pot and followed her back to his place with it. Rose had decided to eat in her room. Despite aspirin and advice, she still felt
pretty out of sorts. Alphie ladled soup into large mugs and sent Wendy off to
deliver one.
Tomie stood beside him. “Is Rosie allright?”
“Oh yeah. She will be. Just give her another day or two and she’ll be good as
new again.”
“What’s she got?”
“Uh,” said Alphie, floundering. “It’s not contagious.”
“Does she needa seea doctor?”
“No, honey. She’ll be just fine. Just let her rest. Do you wanna sleep on the
couch and watch TV all night?”
“Yeah!” was the enthusiastic response.
“Okay. You can do that until she gets better. I’ll put out a sheet for you.
Eat your soup.”
Wendy returned and sat on the floor near the TV. “Why didn’t you ever say
anything to her?”
Alphie flinched and jerked his head toward Tomie.
“Oh!” The woman placed a hand in front of her open mouth. “Sorry!”
“You wanna go eat in the dining room?”
“I won’t bring it up again,” she promised.
They tried their soup, found it good. Wendy’d had four cans of assorted
chicken noodles and they’d mixed them all into one pot. “So, you were going
jogging?”
She nodded, slurping rotini and stars from her spoon.
“In a tube top?”
She coughed slightly. “Okay. I put this on just to come see you.”
Alphie stood abruptly and started walking off with his lunch. “Come with me.” He set his mug down on the very small dining room table near a stack of unpaid bills. “Look, Wendy...we don’t really know each other that well.”
She deflated, losing interest in her soup. “I thought maybe you were ready.”
“I don’t even know where I stand right now. With Margery. My wife,” he added a
little harshly. “I mean, I thank you for coming over here and talking to my
daughter about...and the soup, but-”
“Wait. Does she even know?”
“Who?”
“Margery.”
“Does she even know what?”
“About us?”
That did it. Cute as she was, Alphie was beginning to think Wendy was some
kind of a nutcase. “There is no us, Wendy.”
“No, I mean-”
He shook his head. “Let’s not even discuss it, okay? For now, it would be nice to have someone I could talk to occasionally...maybe it’s nice to have a woman handy when I need one for the girls-”
“Are we on the same page here?”
“I’m guessing not,” he told her quietly, no longer hungry himself.
“What’s going on here, Alphie? Did you think I came over here to try and
replace your wife?”
Pretty much, he thought, growing uneasy with the discussion. Not that he’d
mind, but everything was happening too fast. “I really would like to keep you
as a friend...for now.”
“For now? What is that supposed to mean?”
“Y’know...I’m not really very good at this. Honestly, I’ve only ever had one
relationship with another female outside my own mother, so I apologize now for coming across so-”
“Egocentric?”
“Is that the word I’m looking for?”
“What are you doing here? Are you trying to get rid of me? I don’t
understand.”
“No. No. I definitely don’t want to get rid of you, but...I need you to slow
down a little bit. Give me some time to think about things. Margery could come
walking back in that door any minute. How would that seem? What do you think?”
“She wouldn’t understand,” Wendy muttered, stirring the soup in her mug. “I didn’t realize you had a relationship like that with her. Hiding things-”
“Hiding things?”
“Like us.”
“There is no us, Wendy.”
“Well of course there is! Don’t you-”
“All right. That’s it,” he told her, overwhelmed by the creeps. Alphie found
the remaining soup in the pot on her tray and handed it to her as he helped
her out the door. “You’re a very nice girl,” he told her, thinking she’d be
perfect with a frontal lobotomy. “I appreciate all you’ve done for us today.
If we need you, I’ll come knocking. Enjoy your jog.” He closed the door and
secured it, then leaned against it in awe, wondering what he’d just done. He’d
just thrown out the girl of his dreams. The girl of his dreams had been in his
bedroom and referred to them as an item already! His bitchy soon to be ex-wife
had left him finally and the gorgeous girl next door had rushed right over!
Mind awhir, he let his knees go weak and sank down in front of the door, heady and perplexed. He was still sitting there when he suddenly heard his music broadcasting from the TV again and jumped up, hollering, “Dan Sims! Meeting!”
Continued
in the humorous horror collection
from Publish America entitled:
Lighthearted Darkness
A ring of incredible power, a once noble crusade turned sour, and a supernatural storm that could change the heavens forever: J. M. Kelly's Fire of God takes a unique and exciting look at the Old & New Testament, as he chronicles the life of Joseph
When John Gideon is transported to the extraordinary world of Illúmaril, he’ll soon discover that his entire existence has been leading up to the shocking destiny he’ll soon fulfill.
Christmas When Music Almost Killed the World is a novel in which nothing is quite what it seems and everything is loaded with shadowy dreams of the past and nightmares set to soul-pounding music of the future.
