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It’s easy to tell when Reginald is getting impatient. He stops being subtle.
Though, in truth, I can’t really blame her for turning me down. Most people have a price tag on them somewhere, and the fact of the matter is it’s usually not that high. That Janie doesn’t seem to have one is… intriguing? Refreshing?
The door to Red Hall swings open, and I reach for a cigarette. Guilt gives me cravings. I light it, and puff it slowly as I watch her dialing one- handed while she presses a hand to her forehead, then shakes out her hair, and then plants the fist on her hip. Here it comes.
She talks to someone, frantic and animated, and then hangs up. She flicks the screen one, twice, looking for another plumber nearby. Another call, another cry for help. I can’t hear her from where I am, but I know what the conversation is that’s taking place each time she calls another plumber. She needs someone asapASAP. There’s no slot available until next week. That’s not soon enough. Nothing the plumber can do about that, mMa’am. Maybe call this other place…
And on and on, until she runs out of options and realizes she’s going to have to shell out big bucks to get someone in from out of town — maybe out of state.
Every time she hangs up, she looks more and more distraught. She’s heaving breaths, and pacing in front of the place. It would be better for her to do this inside, but she probably needs the air.
Funny;, it reminds me of my mother, when she gave her grand speech the day she finally divorced Reginald. She looked like that — crushed, frantic,; furious as she screamed at him, and at the small entourage of enablers he kept at his beck and call — his “‘cronies”’ she called them all. I was in that room when it happened.
Maybe that was the way it was supposed to be, too. I certainly feel like that right now. Just an extension of the old man — a tool he created, and owns, and has the right to wield however he sees fit. It’s the game I have to play, right? To get the prize. How much of me will be left at this rate, though, when he finally dies and leaves his fortune to me? Will I still be me when that happens?
Disgusted, I drop my cigarette on the sidewalk and stomp it out. The bitter, burnt taste lingers in my mouth like a punishment. Just what I deserve — for everything to taste like ash.
It finally happens. Janie stares at her phone. That?
??s the look of someone who is out of options and knows it. She turns, stares at Red Hall the way a person is supposed to stare at the corpse of a loved one, with the numb realization that this is the end.
Come on, lady. Fight it. Don’t let Reginald stomp you into the ground. You’re bigger than that, right?
She puts one hand on her stomach, probably to keep from vomiting, and closes her eyes. She’s thinking, working it all out, doing what she did when she got all this started. At that moment she’s even more beautiful than she already was and I wonder... what’s she going to do?
Janie opens her eyes, new light flashing from them as she scrolls through her phone again. She dials someone, presses the phone to her ear and waits.
At that moment, she looks across the street. She sees me.
If she could have spit acid, I wouldn’t have a face. Whoever’s on the other end of the line answers, and she turns away from me, charging back into her lounge, into her fort. Before she closes the door behind her again she glances my way and I can tell: that’s a lady who’s ready for war.
I smile, and tuck my cigarette case into my jacket pocket.
Thatta girl.
Janie
My blood is boiling as I stand behind the glass door of Red Hall and watch people file in to Ferry Lights. The deeper my heart sinks, the hotter it gets until I’m trembling with it and I want to march across the street like a crazy person and start howling and throwing things.
I don’t, of course. I’m not actually a crazy person.
None of the staff can afford a day off, so, I’m making the best of a bad situation. Spring cleaning it is. All the nooks and crannies that never get the attention they need. With the water shut down, the flooding in the kitchen has stopped. No one saw anything, of course. That would be too easy. I’m certain someone in my kitchen has been paid off, but what can I do? Fire them all?
It will take three days for a plumber to come in. Luckily, I know a plumber, though he’s about two hours away. Imagine that. My pipe busts at the precise moment that every single plumber in town is mysteriously busy for the next week.
The two events are linked in my mind, and even if they had nothing to do with one another, I can’t separate them now. Worse, I keep thinking about Jake Ferry showing up at my lounge when his father’s place is right across the street, and the fact that I turned him down. And right when this crisis comes down, who do I see peeking at me, smoking a cigarette like a smug bastard?
Jake. Fucking. Ferry.
Once, when I was about thirteen, I was experimenting with a recipe. I had read about using lemon and orange zest, but all I had in the house were grapefruits, so I used grapefruit zest. At first, it actually tasted pretty good. So good that I added a little more, and then a little more. A whole bag of zested grapefruits, in fact.
I cooked the dish, and poured the sauce over it, and was surprised when it actually tasted really good. So good I had two helpings.
Then, I got sick.
Weeks later, I went to cut a grapefruit in half. I got a whiff of the skin and like some Pavlovian reflex my stomach turned over and I was sick again. I haven’t touched a grapefruit since.
If Jake Ferry was under my skin before, well… now, he’s a grapefruit. Problem solved. Right?
