I Leave the Burg
Val’s POV
Albert has, apparently, lost his mind.
“You have to get a job, Val. We need more money.”
I’m at the stove, making lunches for the girls to take for their first day of school. Albert is reviewing our finances. This is my childhood all over again and I’m proud we can give my girls this.
“I can’t get a job, Snuggums.” Albert looks up, tense. “Daycare isn’t the right place for Lisa. She needs to be home with me, with her Mommy. The girls need someone to be here for them when they get out of school. And there are so many other things I do during the day. I don’t have time.”
“You have to, Val.” Albert’s face is set in that mulish look he gets when he thinks he’s going to be stubborn. “As it is, we are barely making our bills. The heating bills this winter are going to kill us. If we’re lucky, the snow will hold off until December.”
“Snuggums,” I begin gently, setting my spoon down. “You have to understand—”
“I have to understand that we have to pay our bills,” Albert says in a burst. “I still have student loans from undergrad and law school. We have the household bills. We have the bills from this new baby. You have to get a job or we’ll be homeless in three months.”
I stare at Albert. He looks scared and panicky.
“Albert, we’ll make it. We’ve always made it. But I’m a Mommy. My job is to be here for my children.” I’m trying to soothe Albert but he still looks panicked.
“We are parents, Val, but we can’t afford for you to be home right now. Not on my salary alone. Right now, we actually qualify for food stamps and you qualify for free medical care. That’s how dire this is. I need your help.”
I’m feeling panicky now. Usually by now Albert will give up the argument but he’s digging in this time. “I had a job once, Albert, remember? I fried the bank’s computer system. I’m not cut out for work.” That’s when you were chasing my sister around everywhere, remember? You couldn’t see past her to me. “Mothers in the Burg don’t work, Albert—”
“Then it’s a good thing we don’t live in the Burg, isn’t it?”
I look at Albert in shock. I can’t believe he just threw that in my face. One of my biggest disappointments is that we don’t live in the Burg, close to my family. The Burg ideal is what I was raised to want. Men with stable jobs, mothers who were home for their children, and dinner on the table at six. It’s the American Dream. Everyone wants that, including me. Marrying Albert was supposed to give me that all over again.
It’s a blow to my pride that my sister is paying for the girls’ gymnastics lessons. Daddy paid for my ballet lessons and Steph’s gymnastics lessons. He didn’t need help to do that.
“Albert—”
“Get a job, Val. Or we’ll have to move in with my mother.”
“I can’t believe he’s serious about this,” I whine to Mommy. She’s mixing baby cereal for Lisa, who is still crying. The doctor says there’s nothing wrong with her, that maybe she’s reacting to her environment. I can’t determine what he means by that. The house is spotless. “He really meant it. If I don’t have a job by the end of this month, he’s telling our landlord that we’re moving out and we’re moving to his mother’s!”
I hear Daddy grunt. I know he’s pleased to hear that. Daddy will do anything to avoid having us in his house, blocking access to his bathroom.
“Well Valerie, you may have to get a job.” I stare at Mommy in amazement. She nods. “If you two are feeling a pinch, you’ll need to ease the pain. Perhaps you can find a part-time job and work for a little while. Your father and I will watch the girls.”
I hear a groan from the living room.
“I don’t know why you’re surprised,” Grandma says, frowning. “Albert needs to switch to a different field of law. He doesn’t have the balls to be a litigator.”
“What else is there?”
“I don’t know, but he needs something that keeps him out of court. He’s not good going head to head. Tell him to get a specialty that doesn’t require him to be in court all the time. In the meantime”– Grandma stands up and pours a glass of wine–”you need to get a job.”
“Why? Mommy never worked! You never worked!”
“Times were different then. Back then you could raise children on one salary and have money left over. Now you can’t. Besides, Grandpa Harry was a union man, a steelworker. They made damn good money, but those jobs are gone.”
“And your father was a federal employee at the Post Office. The Post Office is cutting back, but when your father worked there, the same applied. We could afford to raise you girls on your father’s income,” Mommy says, handing me the bowl of baby cereal.
I start feeding Lisa, tears running down my cheeks. “I want to do the same for my girls. I want them to have their mother at home.”
“Why?” Grandma asks. “Hell, I hated being at home. I was bored out my skull. I would have loved to work.”
Well, I like my life. I take care of my family, I do the errands, and I’m home whenever anyone needs me.
“I like my life, Grandma. I’m home whenever someone needs me.”
“Get a job.” We all look over at Daddy, who is leaning in the doorway.
“Daddy?”
“Your job, as a wife, is to help your husband. Takes a lot out of a man to admit to his wife he needs help providing for his family. Your husband has. Don’t destroy his pride. Get a job.”
Daddy picks up the newspaper and tucks it under his arm. He’s headed for the bathroom.
Mommy, Grandma, and I look at each other in shock. Even Lisa’s stopped crying to stare at her grandfather’s departing back.
“That settles it,” Mommy says quietly. “You’ll get a job.”
After that, the decisions are simple. Mommy will take Lisa during the day. Daddy will pick the girls up from school and keep them until Albert or I can pick them up. Mommy recommends I speak to Albert about changing his specialty and Grandma gets on the phone to work the Burg gossip vine to find me a job.
Mommy starts checking the classified ads in the newspaper once Daddy returns with it, and I write reminders to drop by the personal products plant and the button factory for applications. I have to write around the wet spots from my tears.
I’m going to be a working mom. This isn’t right. Mommy never had to work. Grandma never had to work.
“Harry Drudge’s CPA firm needs a secretary. $10.50 an hour, full time,” Grandma says, pouring a glass of white wine. Mommy and I frown. It’s just noon.
“I just need a part time job.”
“Then you’re gonna be looking at fast food, Valerie. People want you to be able to work a full time job these days.”
Mommy is steadily circling things. “Rodgers and Fletcher’s Furniture is looking for a sales associate. Salary is $55,000 to $80,000.”
I perk up. I would make more than Albert with that. Maybe I can do that until Albert’s law practice picks up.
“Hmm . . . cell phone retail store rep. Gas station attendant. That’s too dangerous. Wood flooring sales. Shipping and receiving clerk but you aren’t forklift certified. Teacher’s aide, 5 hours a day $9.00 an hour—”
“Pass,” Grandma says. “They’ll eat that in taxes.”
Mommy continues calling jobs until she’s run through the classifieds. I now have 14 jobs to apply for and it’s 2:30. Time to get home to meet the girls.
I strap Lisa into the car seat and Daddy is standing outside watching. I wave at him and start to get in when he walks over. He gazes at me for a moment before speaking.
“I don’t like giving you girls advice, but I’m going to give you some now.” My eyes widen and Daddy grimaces and nods. “First, you need to get child support from Steve. Ask your sister to find him. Her RangeMen should be able to locate him. Second, work for a while.” My mouth drops and Daddy nods. “Get stable. If you don’t, your girls will remember that you weren’t willing to put them first.”
Daddy steps back and I slide into the car and pull out.
I’m surprised I make it home. My eyes are blurry with tears.
It’s a quiet night at our house. The girls do their homework and eat their dinner before taking their baths and heading off to bed. Lisa goes right to sleep.
Traitors. It’s as if they all knew Albert was waiting to have this talk.
“I interviewed with a law firm in town to get into their litigation practice,” he says, looking at our bank accounts. “I doubt I’ll get the position. I’ve never won a case.”
I’m still scrubbing pots. I’m hoping he won’t ask.
“Did you look for a job?”
Damn. “Yes. I have 14 possibilities to follow up on.”
He turns around and gives me a small smile. “Thank you.”
I smile wanly. “Mommy has agreed to watch Lisa during the day and Daddy will pick the girls up from school. I dropped off applications to the button factory and the personal products plant and I have interviews tomorrow.”
He nods. “I know this isn’t what you wanted, Val, but it’s just to get us over this hump. Just until we’re back on our feet again.” He grins big. “Besides, you might like working. Think of the accomplishment you’ll feel at the end of a hard day’s work, having solved problems and made money.”
I’m trying not to burst into tears. He doesn’t get it. My accomplishment is being home for my girls. I don’t want to solve problems and make money. That’s his job.
“Right,” I reply, giving him a shaky smile. “Val takes on the world.”
“Right,” he echoes. “You may get so good at solving problems that I’ll become a house husband and take care of the girls.”
There’s nothing he could have said to make me less interested in working. Albert’s idea of cooking is microwaveable Hungry Man meals and Gefilte fish directly from the jar. Yech.
The next morning, I drop Lisa off at Mommy’s and head to Rodger and Fletcher’s Furniture. It’s my preferred job. I’m greeted by a very polite saleswoman and directed to the office.
“Mrs. Kloughn?” A man, barely hiding the smirk, greets me.
“Yes, I’m Valerie Kloughn.”
“I’m Andy Coston. Welcome to Rodger and Fletchers Furniture. We’re looking forward to seeing if you are the right fit for our team.”
I fill out massive amounts of paperwork. Afterwards, I’m taken on a tour of the sales floor. This place has nice furniture, including some pieces I’d love to buy if we had more room. Afterwards, Andy Coston meets with me to discuss my application.
“Mrs. Kloughn, you applied for two positions here, one for a sales associate and the other for customer service representative. Tell me why you’d like to work as a sales associate at Rodger and Fletchers Furniture.”
Oh good grief. I think the answer ‘Because my husband is making me get a job’ will be inappropriate. So I try to think of a good answer.
“Um … well …I really like the furniture here.” Mr. Coston looks at me as if to say ‘Go on’. “It’s high quality stuff. Real leather, solid wood, nice fabrics. It reminds me of all the furniture I had in my home in California. That was really expensive stuff. Restoration Hardware and some custom pieces.” I’m still trying to think of stuff to say and the interviewer looks less impressed. “It’s just nice furniture and I think I can sell it.”
“Well, in reviewing your application, I’m concerned. You don’t have much previous work experience.” He lowers the paper and looks at me. “The position also requires you to be able to stand and move around for 8-10 hours.” He smiles. “When are you due?”
How did he know? “I’m three months along . I’m due in February.”
“Congratulations.” He makes a mark on my application. “How are your computer skills?”
I smile. “Very good. I can type 60 words a minute.”
He nods. “Well, thank you, Mrs. Kloughn, for your interest. We’ll let you know.” I rise and shake his hand and leave.
I didn’t get the job. Thank god.
“Stephanie?”
“Hey, Val! What’s wrong?”
I sniff. “Nothing’s wrong. Why? Does something have to be wrong for me to call my little sister?”
“Generally, yes. Either something’s wrong or you want something. So . . . what do you want?”
I resent that. Now I don’t want to ask but . . . “I need help.”
“OK.”
“Do your RangeMen do pro-bono cases?”
“No, but tell me what you need and I may be able to get some volunteers.”
“I need child support from Steve.” I don’t want anything from him but Albert insists.
“About time and Albert’s right.”
“What?”
“You said that out loud.” I hear a loud exhale from Steph. “Look Val, you may not want anything from Steve and that’s fine, but your daughters deserve to have their father support them,” she says softly. “I’m surrounded by men here at RangeMan who take their position as fathers very seriously. Most of them would kill Steve on sight for not paying child support.”
Really? I’m staring at my phone in shock. “Really?”
“Yes. Really. Nothing lower at RangeMan than a man who doesn’t take care of his responsibilities, especially his kids. So you need us to find him?”
“Yes. We need the money and if Steve at least paid child support, that would help.”
“I’m pretty sure I can get some volunteers to work on that. I’ll let you know. Anything else?”
“Nope.”
“OK.” Click.
Mom’s right. Steph’s phone manners are atrocious now.
“Mrs. Kloughn? Oh jeez, that has to be a joke.”
I stand. “I’m Mrs. Kloughn. K-L-O-U-G-H-N.”
The woman blushes. “Sorry. Thought someone was playing a joke on me. Welcome to Harry Drudge and Associates. Come with me.”
I follow her into a small windowless office. She has pictures of children and a dog on her bookshelf and the room is overrun with paper.
“I’m Madeline Rowle and I’m the head of Administration here at Drudge. I understand you are applying for the secretarial position.” She peers at me over the paperwork, the end of her sentence coming out as more of a question than a statement, but I nod.
“Yes.”
“You don’t have any work experience.”
“No.”
“You don’t have any education beyond high school.”
“No.”
She sighs heavily. “Then Mrs. Kloughn, why do you want to work here?”
“I need a job.” She stares at me and I nod. “I have three children, I’m pregnant, and my husband is making me work.”
She leans back in the seat and stares at me. “That was the worst answer I’ve ever heard.” She snorts. “It was also the most honest one I’ve ever heard.”
I smile wanly. “You have children.” I nod at the pictures on the bookcase. “Would you rather work or be at home with them?”
She stares at me for a long moment before saying “Those are my nieces and nephews.”
“Oh.” I’m embarrassed. I sigh and stretch my legs. “I didn’t realize. Anyway, I do just as much as any woman making a paycheck but I don’t have a W-2 to show for it. I love being a stay-at-home mom and I don’t think there’s anything more important than raising your kids well. But my husband says he needs help, so I have to work. I know how to type. I know how to make coffee, answer phones, and be polite. I was a straight A student in school and I’m not stupid. I just need a job.”
Again, Mrs. Rowle stares at me. Finally, she hands me a letter. “Find and correct all the mistakes in that letter.”
I begin reviewing the letter. I find all the spelling mistakes and hand it back.
She shakes her head. “I said find all the mistakes. That includes grammar, spelling, punctuation, and layout.” She puts the paper to the side and hands me a ledger. “Find all the mistakes in that ledger.”
Again, I look for all the mathematical mistakes. I don’t know accounting so I have no idea if there are any other mistakes. After carefully looking the ledger over I pass it back. The moment I look in her eyes I know I failed this interview.
Thank god. Maybe I still have a chance to convince Albert I’m not cut out for work.
I follow up on almost all of my job prospects but none work out. Perhaps I need a new interview technique, something a little less ‘honest’. Albert is really starting to panic and I tell Mommy that he intends to tell our landlord that we’re giving up the apartment. Daddy slips us some money to cover the bills and I pass it over to Albert.
He stares at it for at least 30 minutes before leaving the house. He doesn’t return until dinner and he won’t look at me.
“Snuggums?”
He shakes his head and sits at the table. I produce dinner, a perfectly roasted chicken, with green beans and creamed onions. Creamed onions give Albert gas, but this is one of my best meals and the girls love it. They love blowing their breath into the cat’s face and watching him scrunch his face in disgust.
We eat in silence. The girls head back upstairs to watch TV and I scrape the dirty dishes and start a sink of hot water.
The money is still on the countertop.
“Snuggums?” He looks up. “You left the money.” He goes back to reading his newspaper. I slip the money into my pocket and wash the dishes.
I have the usual bout of ‘morning’ sickness before bed. I brush my teeth and slip into my nightie. Albert is already in bed and asleep.
I wonder what’s gotten into him.
Grandma’s gotten into the wine and she’s drinking a large glass of a questionable red. I’m hoping Mommy comes home soon. Grandma’s barely functional these days. I wonder why Mommy hasn’t put her in a home yet.
“He didn’t take the money because he has his pride.”
“Grandma . . .” Actually, I don’t have much of a comeback to that. I’m looking at the $250 that Daddy gave me yesterday and wondering what to spend it on. The girls could use some new clothes. They’re at gymnastics and Lisa is with Albert, visiting his mother.
I miss the allowance I had with Steve. He kept the money in the account and I could spend as much as I wanted on whatever was needed. Life was simple and easy. He provided and I kept the house. The way it’s supposed to be.
Rat bastard. Divorced all because I refused to do butt stuff.
“You just left the money on the countertop?” I nod, still staring at the two $100 bills and the $50. Grandma snorts. “You didn’t even have the sense to preserve his pride by sticking it into the pocket of his pants?”
“Why?”
Grandma gulps her wine and rolls her eyes. “Never mind. Pretend I said nothing. How’s the job search?”
“Nothing worked out.” I lean back and let out a breath. “The job I loved most didn’t seem that interested once I admitted I was pregnant.”
“Which job was that?”
I look at Grandma. “The furniture store.”
“Good. The one where you’d make between $50K and $80K?”
“Yeah.”
She has that scheming look on her face. “Thought so. Come on. Let’s go get you a job.”
“I don’t want a job, Grandma. My job is to—”
“Your job is to get off your ass and help your husband support your girls!” Grandma says harshly. I stare at her, wide eyed. She looks angry. She pulls me up by my arms and shoves my purse into my arms. “You and Albert are having another baby. You already have three girls. You need to stop thinking that this is the 1950s and someone’s gonna give you a prize for popping out babies. Well, as someone who lived through that, let me help you understand what it was really like.
It was not some Donna Reed fantasy. It was quiet volunteer work and Rubbermaid parties to make money on the side. It was constantly mending and hemming clothes to make sure your kids had what they needed. It was making a meal for $1.32 because food was cheap then, gas was pennies, and you could afford to live at home. It was giving up your job at the factory when the boys came home from Europe so they had jobs to go to. That’s what being a stay at home mom was back then.”
I swallow hard and sit. I haven’t seen Grandma this mad since I admitted I lost (left) Steph during a trip to the beach. Mary Kate and I were sick of her and Mary Lou following us everywhere. By the time Steph and Mary Lou walked home, our dads had three search parties going to find them.
Steph and Mary Lou were coddled for the rest of the trip. Mary Kate and I were punished by being confined to the house. It’s the only time I remember my father being so angry he wouldn’t speak to me.
“The women in the Burg who laugh at you”–I look up sharply. Grandma nods–”oh yeah, they talk about you just like they talk about Stephanie.” I pale. “Mary Kate is not your friend. She spreads the gossip about you just as fast as you spread it about her, so you two deserve each other. Anyway, those women pretend they don’t work, but they do. The rest don’t care. They’re ‘work at home’ moms, and there’s no shame in that. Mary Lou does the books for Lenny’s plumbing business. She used to do them for the Oldsmobile dealership before it closed. Julie Wisneski, the PTA woman?” I nod. “Works for the Girl Scouts. Mary Kate? Sells Mary Kay, which is the only way I remember that.”
Well, that explains why Mary Kate looks like she uses a trowel to put it on. I can’t wait to . . . oh wait, I’m sure everyone already knows that.
“You don’t have a degree because you got a ‘Mrs’. Nothing wrong with that except it means that if you have to work for someone else, you and the teenager that just graduated have the same skill level on paper.”
Thanks, Grandma. You’re telling me I’m no better than Brittnee. Ugh. Two ‘e’s. What was I thinking hiring her as the babysitter?
“You have more skills than that teenager, though. You have a lifetime of experience, you have management skills, you have organizational skills, and you have need. You need to feed your children. So let’s go.”
“Mrs. Kloughn, welcome back to Rodger and Fletcher’s Furniture.”
I smile pleasantly. “Hello, Mr. Coston. This is my grandmother, Edna Mazur.”
He smiles charmingly at Grandma. “Mrs. Mazur, how can I help you?”
“Are you the head of HR?”
He stops smiling and looks at her curiously. “Yes, I am.”
“Then why didn’t you hire my grandbaby?” Grandma asks sweetly. I’m mortified.
He smiles indulgently. “This is a high pressure sales position. Sales associates are on their feet for 8-10 hours a day, they have to have an eye for furniture and space allocation, and they have to be willing to market the store to anyone who walks through the door.”
“Oh.” Grandma looks thoughtful. “So why did you think Valerie was a bad fit?” She grins at him. “She’s serious about getting a job and I thought maybe if we ask a nice man like you, Val might do better the next time.”
He laughs. “Well, like I said, you have to be able to stand and sell for 8-10 hours.”
“Oh.” Grandma nods. “So, what are Val’s disabilities?” She looks over at me. I’m standing, purse in hand, completely confused. “She’s standing. She can sell. What’s her problem?”
Andy looks over at me. “Well . . . “
“Because I know it couldn’t be the fact that she was honest in her interview and admitted that she’s pregnant.” Grandma shakes her head. “Couldn’t be that. Because if that’s the only reason to reject her, you and I both know that’s illegal. EEOC, right?” She smiles and my eyes widen. Oh my God . . . how does Grandma know that?
Andy looks uncomfortable now. “Well, of course not. I’d never reject an applicant for being pregnant.”
Grandma beams. “Good. Because I’d think you want honest employees, and Val’s an honest girl with lots of skills she can show off that will help your business. She juggles the busy schedules of five people now, so she’s organized and has good management skills. She’s a hometown girl, so she knows lots of people, but she lived in California for years, so she knows other decorating styles besides 1970s Italian Catholic or early Mafioso.”
Two of the employees have drifted over to listen and they chuckle at that part. Andy Coston is very uncomfortable now.
“She helped her husband at his law practice for a while, but that was a bad fit.” Grandma winks and Andy pales. “Val has a tendency to over organize. She had Albert so well organized he couldn’t find anything in his piles because she’d filed the piles.”
Open laughter behind me. I smile.
“So besides asking her about her typing skills and the state of her womb, what did you use to reject her as an applicant?”
“Well . . . technically, we haven’t closed it yet. Val is one of many applicants for the position.”
“Ah. When do you plan to close it?” Grandma smiles. “Wanna make sure Val doesn’t miss out on her chance to work for you.”
No answer. Oh my God, what’s Grandma up to? Is she blackmailing him to give me this job?
Andy Coston looks at me and sighs. “Mrs. Kloughn, are you still interested in the sales associate position? We plan to close it on Friday.”
I beam. “Yes, I’m still interested. I’d love to join the Rodgers and Fletcher’s team.”
He nods, shoulders slumped. “Great. I look forward to contacting you next week if you move forward in our hiring process.”
“Great!” Grandma beams and sticks her hand out to shake. He shakes, a little limp, and we turn to leave.
Grandma turns back around and looks at him. “Andy Coston? Is that short for Andrea?” Loud snickers and Andy turns red.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Are you related to Myra Coston, used to be Bartok before she married?”
“My mother,” he replies.
“Oh!” Grandma beams. “I used to play bridge with Myra, before her accident. She still at Shady Acres?”
Andy is looking pale. “Yes . . . “
“Great. I think I’ll pop in on her. I haven’t seen her in ages. Played a mean hand of bridge, Myra did. It’ll be good to see her, and I’ll let her know I spoke to you. Have a good day.”
She waves and we leave. Once in the car I turn to her. “EEOC? How did you know about that?”
She rolls down a window and leans back, smiling. “I marched for the ERA. Told Harry to kiss my ass. Someday my granddaughters would thank me for making life easier for them.”
Andy Coston calls two days later. I have a job. Damn.
My phone rings after dinner.
“Hello?”
“Val. Steph.”
“Hey. What’s up?”
“We found Steve.”
I’m flabbergasted. “How? My god, my divorce investigators have been looking for him since I divorced.”
“They aren’t RangeMan. He’s living under an assumed name in Wyoming. Brittnee was the key. He moved away and dumped her by email. What do you want us to do?”
My god. It’s like talking to Ranger. No ‘Hi, how are you doing?’ No ‘How are the girls?’ Just straight to business. “Can you update my lawyers? Maybe they can finally get some money out of him.”
“OK. I’m thinking it’s a good idea for me to ask if anyone wants to volunteer to make a quick trip to Wyoming. Deliver a personal message. You have anything you want to say?”
I blink at the phone. “Steph?”
“They’re my nieces. Besides, one of my RangeMen is from that area. I think he’d like a trip west for a few days.”
Ram’s POV—Timeline: Chapter 75
Steady.
Steady hands, soldier.
I check the scope. Windage. Barometric pressure. Range. Check. Air temperature. Check.
Temperature will have a slightly different effect on this weapon, but that’s OK. I want it to hit home.
Target is 1500 yards away, looking out the window fearfully. If he were smart, he’d realize I attack every 75 minutes. He’s picked up the telephone to call the cops but he opens the door and steps outside. After a few minutes, he calms and smiles, looking around. I’m amused.
My phone vibrates. 75 minutes. I release the arrow.
Thwack!
Six inches above his head. His eyes roll back and he faints.
Valerie Plum is not my favorite person, but Steph asked a personal favor. Once she explained, I was more than happy to help. I like Angela and Mary Alice, especially MA. Girl has atrocious table manners but she knows her own mind, like her aunt. She’ll be an original for the rest of her life.
Besides, I knew exactly how to make this personal.
Steve thinks he’s a hunter. Fine. I’ll show him a hunter and we’ll play the most dangerous game.
I set up camp close to his house. It’s a nice house, three bedrooms, two baths, at least 20 acres. I checked while he was out.
No cameras, no security. He would be a sitting duck.
The first arrow was shot 75 minutes after he arrived home and it sailed right through the window and demolished his TV. Even better, the idiot tried to pull it out and got shocked.
Arrow two punctured the refrigerator.
Arrow three (I couldn’t believe he still had his windows open at that point) sailed right next to him and demolished the other TV.
He got smart. He closed all the windows.
I switched to the longbow. Arrow four shattered the bedroom window and hit the headboard square in the center, right above his head. He pissed himself and had to take a shower and change the sheets. I laughed. While he took the shower, I snuck in and retrieved all my arrows. By the time the cops showed up, I was back in my hiding spot, mentally laughing my ass off. They left since the only claim he had any proof for was the window.
Five hours. That was enough for one day. I watched. He barely slept all night.
At 0800, I send arrow five at him as he steps outside and checks his surroundings. He faints.
Point made. Now to twist the thumbscrews.
I walk up to the house and look at him. 5’7″, greying brown hair, stubble on face, weak chin. Never lost the baby fat. Wearing a blue plaid shirt, blue jeans, and cowboys boots. Brand new boots. Mine are thoroughly broken in. I put my boot to the door and drag his sorry ass inside, sitting him in chair and tying his arms around the back with rope, making it painful for him to move. I see a pair of chaps. What a poseur.
I put on my gloves, go to the kitchen and get a glass of water. I return and throw it in his face. He sputters awake. I’m smiling. “Steve Wilcox?”
“Yeah? Who are you?”
I slam my fist into his face, still smiling. “I represent someone with an interest in the care and well-being of your children. Thank you for inviting me in and no, I don’t want water.”
I give him a few minutes to cry through the pain. “That bitch doesn’t deserve a penny. I worked my ass off and she pretended she was too good to work or fuck. Hell, if I’m working my ass off in expensive ass California so you can sit on your ass all day, you better be grateful and willing to suck my dick whenever I stick it in your face.”
I shrug and sit on the sofa. “I agree with you.” He looks at me and I smile. “If that’s the agreement you and Val had and she reneged then yeah, you had every right to divorce her ass. But I’m not here about her. Like I said, I’m here about the kids. Just because you don’t want to support Val doesn’t mean you get to pretend Angela and Mary Alice don’t have needs.”
He snorts. “They’re fine. I’m sure Val found some other Italian superhero to take care of her and if she didn’t, I’m sure her mother did.”
I snort. “Think again. She found another you, version 2.0. Pasty, pudgy, a lawyer, and willing to indulge her fantasy of ‘stay-at-home mother’ sainthood. But he has nothing to do with your kids.”
I stand and stretch, then stride over and point my Glock in his face. He starts shaking again.
“You are Angela’s and Mary Alice’s father. Not Albert. Not Frank Plum. You. It’s your duty to take care of your daughters, to provide for their needs. Just because you hate Val doesn’t mean you don’t pay support for your daughters.
We’ve updated her divorce attorneys of your location. They’ll be here in”–I check the time–”twenty minutes to serve you with child support papers. You’ll answer them honestly and remember: It took me five days to find you and five hours to make you piss yourself with fear. If I have to return, know this: those arrows could break bones.”
I walk to the door and open it, carefully wiping my fingerprints away with my shirt. “By the way, you owe your ex-wife $32,000 in back child support. The judicial system moves in mysterious ways.” I smile. “I don’t. Get her the money for your girls’ needs and it would be nice if she got it by the end of this week. Otherwise, I’ll leave my vacation and return to say hello.”
Val’s POV
I stare at the check for $32,000 that arrived by FedEx certified mail. I can’t believe it. Back child support and Leslie, my lawyer, said he signed the paperwork the moment they arrived. She’s a bit upset about the bill from RangeMan. They charged her $1,000 for finding Steve.
“Valerie, I’m going to have to disallow this. We didn’t authorize RangeMan to find your ex-husband. That’s why we have an in-house PI team. They’ll have to write this off.”
I don’t care. I got my child support. Albert, however, looks confused and seeing that I don’t plan to respond, he does.
“No, no you’ll pay every penny of that. RangeMan managed, in less than one month, what your investigators couldn’t do over the course of a year. It’s not our fault your guys are useless. Pay RangeMan. Otherwise they’ll show up and they aren’t intimidated by anything.” Albert’s hands are shaking just saying that, but he’s firm about it. I kiss his cheek and he gives me a tight smile.
“Well, if I don’t disallow it, we’ll bill you for it.”
I look up sharply. “Before you send a bill, we’re going to want an itemized statement from your guys detailing exactly what they did to find Steve. Like Albert said, my sister and her men managed to find him two weeks after I asked her to. If you can’t prove you were actually looking for him, I’m going to want every penny Albert and I paid you back.”
Leslie’s good but expensive. I know that bill will be liberally padded unless she itemizes and I fight every charge.
Leslie is silent. “Fine, Valerie. We’ll pay RangeMan and get your alimony and child support processed.”
“Alimony?”
“Yeah. Remember? Alimony was in your original divorce decree. You married so quickly he doesn’t have to pay much, but he does have to pay your expenses for moving to New Jersey.”
I smile, teary-eyed. Finally! Steve provided. I say goodbye to Leslie and hang up. Albert picks up the phone and dials.
“Hello? Could I speak to Stephanie? This is Albert Kloughn.” His voice is shaky and I’m surprised. Why’s he calling Steph? “Steph? Hey it’s Albert. I want to thank you for helping Val find Steve.”
I can hear my sister. “He paid up?”
“Yup. Well, he sent a check for back child support.”
“How much?”
“$32,000.”
“Oh darn. Ram was looking forward to a return trip.”
I frown. Isn’t he the one who taught her to shoot? My sister is deadly but she still can’t make a meatloaf. Then again, her meatloaf is deadly.
Albert smiles. “Val wants to talk to you.” My eyes widen and I shake my head but Albert hands me the phone and walks off.
“Hi, Stephanie.” I’m not sure what to say. “Thank you. Thank you so much Steph.”
“No prob. I missed the last gymnastics practice. How was it?”
I launch into describing how good Angela is on the mats. She’s a natural doing floor exercises. I’m describing, in detail, Angela’s last tumbling triumph when Steph breaks in.
“Mary Alice? How’s she doing?”
It takes me a moment to switch gears. “Oh, Mary Alice is a natural tumbler! I was surprised but then, she’s not that graceful in walking so I guess it was natural for her. Both girls are good at the uneven bars, but the coach is thinking of also putting both girls into competitive cheer. It would allow them to work together and cheerleading is a good sport for the girls.”
Steph laughs. “Yeah, cheerleading is now a sport instead of a reason to wear a short skirt and cheer for boys.” She snorts. “Anyway, I’m glad to hear Angie and MA are having fun. How’s the job?”
“I hate it. I’m hoping that getting this child support will help us and Albert will see I should be home, taking care of the girls.”
“So you’re already ready to give up?” I hear Steph sigh. “Grandma says you’re doing a great job at the furniture store. Congrats.”
I smile. My first sales came from women in the Burg whose homes I’ve seen. I was able to convince them to buy pieces more expensive than they planned, but I was also able to show them how the pieces I recommended would look better in their homes than what they wanted. Now my coworkers are jealous. Burg women, especially, walk in looking for me because they know I know their homes and I know what they should choose in order to have a nice looking home. Andy Coston is flabbergasted. I was the top seller last month.
Albert was right. I like making money, especially since I get to tell all these women that Grandma says laugh at me that they don’t have any taste. I make money, I feel accomplished when I sell more than anyone else, and I do solve decorating problems. I just miss being home with the girls. That’s my achievement. That’s what I want. I can’t wait for Albert to tell me we’re over the hump and I can stay at home again.
“I miss being home for the girls, Steph. That’s what I’ve always wanted and everyone is making me feel guilty for that.”
“No, we’re making you feel guilty for not supporting Albert. He supports you by doing everything he can to help you stay at home. Support him now and work so he can finish his certification in mediation.”
That was Daddy’s idea. One of his Lodge buddies suggested it for Albert. Mediation concentrates on resolving disputes in a non-confrontational way, perfect for Albert and his temperament. I was surprised that it only requires 40 hours of training and an apprenticeship. Albert’s law degree means that most of the requirements will be waived.
“I do support him. I just can’t wait until he finishes and gets hired.” I smile at Albert, who’s walked back in. He smiles and reaches for the orange juice, pouring a big glass.
Steph and I talk for a few more minutes before hanging up. I turn to Albert, who is frowning.
“I love you, Val, but I’d like to see you support Steph in her new job too.” I gape at him and he blushes and nods. “She didn’t have to ask her RangeMen to search for Steve, especially since we were paying someone to find him. Probably her RangeMan volunteered to go scare the crap out of him and get you all your back child support at once.” His hands are shaking and he’s swallowing hard, but I can see Albert is serious.
“Steph really helped us and you can’t find anything nice to say to her. She even introduced us, making me the happiest man in the world, and you can’t find anything nice to say to her most of the time. Is the relationship you have with your sister the one you want to see between all our girls? Or between your girls with Steve and your girls with me?”
I’m pale. He can’t think I play favorites. Mommy never did.
“Be nice to your sister. Call her every so often. She did us some big favors and really helped us.”
Yeah, but she’s my sister. She helped me get my child support. I saved her from a murderer.
It’s what we do.
“We’ll always fight, but we’ll always make up as well. That’s what sisters do: we argue, we point out each other’s frailties, mistakes, and bad judgment, we flash the insecurities we’ve had since childhood, and then we come back together. Until the next time. “
Lisa See, Shanghai Girls
A/N: If you were looking for the deleted scene, it’s now up on my website. I apologize for the delay. I spent Saturday at the doctor’s (I’m fine! I just have to take it easy. More time to write!)
Thank you for writing and posting this. I’ve always been aggravated by Val’s attitude toward Steph and toward working outside the home. I’m not sure I could get inside her head, write in her voice and not have her realize just how obtuse she’s being. You manage to capture that angle while staying true to Val. Nicely done. A real addition to the on-going story.