C.A. Haddad's Blog, page 2
November 6, 2022
Eden Grows Up
Crushed. That’s how Eden felt when she read the report on Heidi. She did perk up about the death in Thailand; but the body was cremated, and it seemed as if the family had divorced itself from Harold Fairfax long before he died. Especially the wife. That wife certainly wouldn’t be open to discussing his death with a stranger like Eden. It seemed no autopsy was performed on Fairfax. However, one had been done on her father, and Eden knew there were no drugs involved. It was mystifying. Eden wasn’t a virgin, but she never felt she was having a heart attack when she climaxed. Actually, she usually climaxed with her vibrator, if she were being totally honest, which she could be with herself if not the men she had been with.
“Down in the dumps. Again?” her roommate Sally asked—while cleaning out the cage of that damned, smelly gerbil.
“I got the report on—the woman who married my father. The one who wasn’t my mother.”
“Oh. The one you’ve been moaning and groaning about? The black widow?”
“I was so hoping there was something suspicious in her background, but it seems she’s just serial mistress material, until my father stupidly married her.”
“But aren’t we all serial mistress material?” Sally wondered. “Look at Jane.”
Jane was a former roommate who had married well. Very well. She used her research analyst skills to check out everyone she dated. “It’s as easy to marry rich as it is to marry poor,” was her mantra. So, even though she was still sort of in love with her college sweetheart, who was now in medical school, up to his ears in debt, she had chosen to marry a lobbyist for the manufacturing industry, who was already divorced once, but didn’t have to pay alimony and no children were involved. “It’s a starter marriage,” Jane told them. “Kal,” the medical student, “will be so wrapped up in debt for ages. Maybe in the future—unless he goes into something like pediatrics.”
“We all sell ourselves,” Sally concluded.
“But what’s love got to do with it?” Eden wondered.
“Ask Tina Turner.”
Deflated, Eden went about the next couple of days, considering the many ways her life sucked. Low salary, work problems, no real boyfriends, but thankful for girlfriends. Plus, she now had an ettiequte issue to deal with. She really did need to thank Mr. Infinity Tie. She thought of hitting him up for another dinner, but knew that would be wrong. So she emailed him, told him she appreciated the report and wondered if he would like to grab a coffee sometime after work; or, since he was probably always on the computer or traveling, at his convenience.
He answered almost immediately that coffee would be “appropriate.” What the hell does “appropriate” mean in regards to having coffee? He wondered if they could meet at eight in the morning because of the time difference he was dealing with at the moment.
So two days later here she was at Donati’s Bakery, where it was mostly take out by people rushing to work. She found an empty table overlooking K street. The waitress brought a menu; Eden told her another person would be joining her and could they have two glasses of water to start. Then she glanced at the menu while she waited. How can coffee cost so much and then you add tip? English muffins? She could have brought her own and have them toast it. Why did everything cost money!
Ah, Mr. Steve Applebaum was making his appearance. Thank god, minus the tie. Here she was in silk blouse and slim, dressy pants, while he was in jeans and a sweatshirt. It looked as if he tried to comb his hair at least. Couldn’t he afford a good barber or was the electric hair part of his persona?
He took the seat across from her. “Water. Great.”
“This is my treat, so order whatever you want,” Eden assured him. Only hoping he didn’t take her seriously.
Both taking time to look over the menu, they were ready when the waitress returned. “I’ll have green tea and the seafood skillet,” Steve said.
Bankruptcy on the horizon, Eden opted for “Just coffee.”
“She’ll have the three egg omelet with cheese, tomato and mushrooms, bacon on the side.” He leaned forward. “I’m paying.”
As the waitress turned away, Eden called, “Oh. Add the English muffin. Please.”
The waitress nodded and waved her hand in acknowledgement.
“This was supposed to be my treat,” Eden said.
“But it’s a treat to be in your delightful company once again. Treat for a treat,” Steve replied.
Leaning back into the less than comfortable chair, Eden wondered at the tone of his statement, but she decided to take it at face value. “You’re sweet. And thanks for digging into Heidi’s past.”
He shrugged. “Didn’t take that long.”
“But if I had to pay you for your work, how much would you have charged? Just curious.”
Steve sighed as he considered it. “It’s hard to tell. I just keep the hours. The accountants figure out the billing. Maybe they’d bump it to 10K. I’m not into the money part of the firm.”
“But you have money.”
“Well—yeah.”
“You see. That’s what I’ve learned from the report you sent me. I mean, I was discussing it with my girlfriend, and she made the point that we all sell ourselves in one way or another. Like at work, of course, and also in relationships. So I’ve been reconsidering the whole Heidi issue. I can never like her. Or want to be like her. I still have my Disney dreams. She probably could have stayed in Erie and married maybe a friend of her brothers’ in construction. But she wanted more. Okay, she did it in maybe a less-than-ethical way and without the usual marriage vows. But perhaps marrying wasn’t her dream as much as money was. So I’m laying aside the Heidi issue and getting on with my life. I’m not going to whine anymore. I’m going to accept what I have and make the best of it.”
With a frown, Steve commented, “You sound like you’re in some sort of purgatory. But most people would find your job glamorous.”
Huffing, Eden said, “You have to realize something about a person like me, Steve. My father was wealthy enough to provide me with everything I ever wanted. And even after I started working, he gave me a two-thousand-dollar-a-month allowance, which stopped when he died. Also, if I ever needed anything, he never denied me. So I’m a spoiled brat and need to learn to stand on my own two feet. As long as the heels aren’t too high.” She ended her little speech with a smile.
“That sounds like you’re making a transition.”
“To adulthood you mean.”
“Something like.”
“And you?”
“Well— Being a computer nerd has always paid my way,” he confessed. “Although my parents insisted I go to college, get a degree, even if I felt I didn’t need it. And really, I didn’t.”
“What was it in?”
“Philosophy.”
“Oh, Jeez, your parents paid for that?”
He laughed. “It actually helps with my work, believe it or not.”
“But the reading itself would have killed me. Except for Socrates, I don’t think I can even pronounce some of those philosopher names. Give me a Titian or a Munch any day.”
Their food came and it was delicious. But Eden felt the compulsion to point out to Steve that most likely his seafood skillet contained mainly pollock. His smile was enigmatic. Then he asked, “Have you had any lasting relationships?”
Squinting as she consider the question, she finally replied, “No. Not really.”
“Frankly, I can’t imagine why.”
The way he said it— Did he think there was something off about her? Well, screw what he thought. The blueberry jam was freshly smeared on the perfectly toasted English muffin, and she was in hog heaven.
Mama Bear—Eden Grows Up
Crushed. That’s how Eden felt when she read the report on Heidi. She did perk up about the death in Thailand; but the body was cremated, and it seemed as if the family had divorced itself from Harold Fairfax long before he died. Especially the wife. That wife certainly wouldn’t be open to discussing his death with a stranger like Eden. It seemed no autopsy was performed on Fairfax. However, one had been done on her father, and Eden knew there were no drugs involved. It was mystifying. Eden wasn’t a virgin, but she never felt she was having a heart attack when she climaxed. Actually, she usually climaxed with her vibrator, if she were being totally honest, which she could be with herself if not the men she had been with.
“Down in the dumps. Again?” her roommate Sally asked—while cleaning out the cage of that damned, smelly gerbil.
“I got the report on—the woman who married my father. The one who wasn’t my mother.”
“Oh. The one you’ve been moaning and groaning about? The black widow?”
“I was so hoping there was something suspicious in her background, but it seems she’s just serial mistress material, until my father stupidly married her.”
“But aren’t we all serial mistress material?” Sally wondered. “Look at Jane.”
Jane was a former roommate who had married well. Very well. She used her research analyst skills to check out everyone she dated. “It’s as easy to marry rich as it is to marry poor,” was her mantra. So, even though she was still sort of in love with her college sweetheart, who was now in medical school, up to his ears in debt, she had chosen to marry a lobbyist for the manufacturing industry, who was already divorced once, but didn’t have to pay alimony and no children were involved. “It’s a starter marriage,” Jane told them. “Kal,” the medical student, “will be so wrapped up in debt for ages. Maybe in the future—unless he goes into something like pediatrics.”
“We all sell ourselves,” Sally concluded.
“But what’s love got to do with it?” Eden wondered.
“Ask Tina Turner.”
Deflated, Eden went about the next couple of days, considering the many ways her life sucked. Low salary, work problems, no real boyfriends, but thankful for girlfriends. Plus, she now had an ettiequte issue to deal with. She really did need to thank Mr. Infinity Tie. She thought of hitting him up for another dinner, but knew that would be wrong. So she emailed him, told him she appreciated the report and wondered if he would like to grab a coffee sometime after work; or, since he was probably always on the computer or traveling, at his convenience.
He answered almost immediately that coffee would be “appropriate.” What the hell does “appropriate” mean in regards to having coffee? He wondered if they could meet at eight in the morning because of the time difference he was dealing with at the moment.
So two days later here she was at Donati’s Bakery, where it was mostly take out by people rushing to work. She found an empty table overlooking K street. The waitress brought a menu; Eden told her another person would be joining her and could they have two glasses of water to start. Then she glanced at the menu while she waited. How can coffee cost so much and then you add tip? English muffins? She could have brought her own and have them toast it. Why did everything cost money!
Ah, Mr. Steve Applebaum was making his appearance. Thank god, minus the tie. Here she was in silk blouse and slim, dressy pants, while he was in jeans and a sweatshirt. It looked as if he tried to comb his hair at least. Couldn’t he afford a good barber or was the electric hair part of his persona?
He took the seat across from her. “Water. Great.”
“This is my treat, so order whatever you want,” Eden assured him. Only hoping he didn’t take her seriously.
Both taking time to look over the menu, they were ready when the waitress returned. “I’ll have green tea and the seafood skillet,” Steve said.
Bankruptcy on the horizon, Eden opted for “Just coffee.”
“She’ll have the three egg omelet with cheese, tomato and mushrooms, bacon on the side.” He leaned forward. “I’m paying.”
As the waitress turned away, Eden called, “Oh. Add the English muffin. Please.”
The waitress nodded and waved her hand in acknowledgement.
“This was supposed to be my treat,” Eden said.
“But it’s a treat to be in your delightful company once again. Treat for a treat,” Steve replied.
Leaning back into the less than comfortable chair, Eden wondered at the tone of his statement, but she decided to take it at face value. “You’re sweet. And thanks for digging into Heidi’s past.”
He shrugged. “Didn’t take that long.”
“But if I had to pay you for your work, how much would you have charged? Just curious.”
Steve sighed as he considered it. “It’s hard to tell. I just keep the hours. The accountants figure out the billing. Maybe they’d bump it to 10K. I’m not into the money part of the firm.”
“But you have money.”
“Well—yeah.”
“You see. That’s what I’ve learned from the report you sent me. I mean, I was discussing it with my girlfriend, and she made the point that we all sell ourselves in one way or another. Like at work, of course, and also in relationships. So I’ve been reconsidering the whole Heidi issue. I can never like her. Or want to be like her. I still have my Disney dreams. She probably could have stayed in Erie and married maybe a friend of her brothers’ in construction. But she wanted more. Okay, she did it in maybe a less-than-ethical way and without the usual marriage vows. But perhaps marrying wasn’t her dream as much as money was. So I’m laying aside the Heidi issue and getting on with my life. I’m not going to whine anymore. I’m going to accept what I have and make the best of it.”
With a frown, Steve commented, “You sound like you’re in some sort of purgatory. But most people would find your job glamorous.”
Huffing, Eden said, “You have to realize something about a person like me, Steve. My father was wealthy enough to provide me with everything I ever wanted. And even after I started working, he gave me a two-thousand-dollar-a-month allowance, which stopped when he died. Also, if I ever needed anything, he never denied me. So I’m a spoiled brat and need to learn to stand on my own two feet. As long as the heels aren’t too high.” She ended her little speech with a smile.
“That sounds like you’re making a transition.”
“To adulthood you mean.”
“Something like.”
“And you?”
“Well— Being a computer nerd has always paid my way,” he confessed. “Although my parents insisted I go to college, get a degree, even if I felt I didn’t need it. And really, I didn’t.”
“What was it in?”
“Philosophy.”
“Oh, Jeez, your parents paid for that?”
He laughed. “It actually helps with my work, believe it or not.”
“But the reading itself would have killed me. Except for Socrates, I don’t think I can even pronounce some of those philosopher names. Give me a Titian or a Munch any day.”
Their food came and it was delicious. But Eden felt the compulsion to point out to Steve that most likely his seafood skillet contained mainly pollock. His smile was enigmatic. Then he asked, “Have you had any lasting relationships?”
Squinting as she consider the question, she finally replied, “No. Not really.”
“Frankly, I can’t imagine why.”
The way he said it— Did he think there was something off about her? Well, screw what he thought. The blueberry jam was freshly smeared on the perfectly toasted English muffin, and she was in hog heaven.
November 2, 2022
Frank Buys a House
Frank sat at his desk and looked forward to his guilty pleasure, a long email from Lily Stanton. She had become a regular correspondent ever since their lunch at Burgers ’n Burst. He felt free to enjoy their exchanges because of the distance. An email relationship was uncomplicated by the usual tensions between a man and a woman, dating, then deciding whether it’s worth it to sleep together and see what develops. He had done his share of that kind of relationship; and it could be exhausting, especially when there was no true spark, the kind he had with Marni. Before the flame became dying embers.
He could save Lily’s email for after work, but doesn’t everyone deserve a break?
“Greetings from the Mad House. Once again I shall reiterate my main goal in life, getting out of here. Things are crazier than usual and you know how crazy that is. Dad’s lawyer has informed him it could take years for his case to even come to court. Dad wants to accept some sort of plea deal right now so he can get this all over with and start again. But his case is all tied up with several others, whom he might have to testify against as part of the plea deal. However, if they really are Russian gangsters, would he live to testify? I’m left out of the legal loop but these are things to consider.
“Meanwhile, Dad is asking what should he do, just sit around and do nothing? Fortunately, Dad’s lawyer has gotten the judge and prosecutor to agree that Dad and Mom need money to live on; and Dad is now thinking of going back to work, which is a good thing. But so far he has scoffed at suggestions I have made because they don’t pay six figures, and he tells us that he’ll only accept six figures. Yes, he is delusional. Who would hire him with his history? There are a lot of job openings, but he refuses to apply to anything he thinks is demeaning. I even suggested, since he was so good at selling, that a call center where he’s anonymous might be a path forward. Meanwhile, we have to keep him away from our computers in case he falls by the wayside again, via online gambling. Of course, there’s always the library with their free computers. Maybe you should check in with your mother and ask if she ever sees my father at a computer terminal. I have no faith in him at all, especially if he’s depending on prison to break his gambling habit.
“And now to Mom. You’ll be glad to hear she is no longer in danger of becoming a wino. She now has a purpose. She’s planning to be the Martha Stewart of Scarsdale. The kitchen has become her work space. She has taken to baking. I told her $5 cupcakes are no longer in fashion, but she’s making the attempt anyway. Also refrigerated toll house cookies stuffed with cream in the middle. I won’t mention her scones. Mom assumes just because her foremothers almost came over on the Mayflower, she could make perfect scones. Actually, her grandparents were French Canadian on one side, Scottish on the other. I don’t know how close that puts us to the Pilgrims, and did the Pilgrims actually make scones? I thought they made johnny cakes.
“In any case, Mom rents a table at the farmer’s market and calls her products ‘Straight from Ellie’s Kitchen.’ She thought Elinor would be too formal. Needless to say, there are plenty of desserts to go around after market days. But at least she’s trying. I wish she had some skill other than being socially prominent.
“Speaking about socially prominent, your wicked step-mother, whom everyone thought would leave, has decided to stick around and become a real estate agent. At least our scandal kicked hers to the back pages. So maybe no-one will recall her various Girl Scout knots? Sorry. Was that too crude?
“Anyway, with both my parents being so involved, I figure now’s a good time to leave. Unlike Sloan, I don’t feel I can go too far, but I do need my own psychic space. I mean, I don’t blame my brother. He’s in the middle of getting his Ph.D. and has lots of research to write up. But I suppose it’s a daughter’s role in life not to completely abandon ye olde and zany folks.
“Now, what’s with you. Still slogging away? Your best friend ever, Lily.”
Frank smiled at the childish ending to Lily’s email. Can one learn to love via emails? No, impossible. He couldn’t love Lily. She was too young, five years, plus Eden would kill him. And yet, there was something sweet and vulnerable, but also tough and capable about her.
What’s with him? Well, he bought a house. In Massachusetts, crazy because of the taxes, but he fell in love with it. On the weekends, happy to be away from work, he liked to take his car out of the garage and just drive, out into open spaces, which for him meant north. He’d take the back roads and just wander, loved the farmlands and the trees—and the isolation.
On one of his wanderings, he had spotted this house for sale. It looked as if it had a fruit garden on the side of it and a sort of barn in back. He got the number of the realtor and called from the roadside. She came out within the hour to show him around. It was owned by a widow, who now wanted to move into an assistant living establishment in Springfield, near her friends.
Nothing much had been done to the house for years, Frank could see that. The floors creaked, the kitchen was a museum, but there was a side porch with the sun streaming in and a back yard that was heavily shaded by oaks and maples. The side garden was still producing fruit. Riley would love it. She was the gardener in the family. But Frank could learn. The outbuilding he had spotted was a workshop. Something for a crafty person, which he was not, but maybe some day he would be?
It was an impulsive purchase and could turn out to be a money pit. But he hired his own inspector, a housing contractor from the area who had a good reputation and whom Frank might use for renovations. It just needed updating, the contractor told him.
So Frank now had a weekend getaway, a weekday getaway too, if he wanted it, as it was only forty minutes to his work in Hartford. But he’d keep his apartment for now.
He wondered. Lily needed a place of refuge. What would happen if he offered her a chance to stay at his farm house?
Mama Bear—Frank Buys a House
Frank sat at his desk and looked forward to his guilty pleasure, a long email from Lily Stanton. She had become a regular correspondent ever since their lunch at Burgers ’n Burst. He felt free to enjoy their exchanges because of the distance. An email relationship was uncomplicated by the usual tensions between a man and a woman, dating, then deciding whether it’s worth it to sleep together and see what develops. He had done his share of that kind of relationship; and it could be exhausting, especially when there was no true spark, the kind he had with Marni. Before the flame became dying embers.
He could save Lily’s email for after work, but doesn’t everyone deserve a break?
“Greetings from the Mad House. Once again I shall reiterate my main goal in life, getting out of here. Things are crazier than usual and you know how crazy that is. Dad’s lawyer has informed him it could take years for his case to even come to court. Dad wants to accept some sort of plea deal right now so he can get this all over with and start again. But his case is all tied up with several others, whom he might have to testify against as part of the plea deal. However, if they really are Russian gangsters, would he live to testify? I’m left out of the legal loop but these are things to consider.
“Meanwhile, Dad is asking what should he do, just sit around and do nothing? Fortunately, Dad’s lawyer has gotten the judge and prosecutor to agree that Dad and Mom need money to live on; and Dad is now thinking of going back to work, which is a good thing. But so far he has scoffed at suggestions I have made because they don’t pay six figures, and he tells us that he’ll only accept six figures. Yes, he is delusional. Who would hire him with his history? There are a lot of job openings, but he refuses to apply to anything he thinks is demeaning. I even suggested, since he was so good at selling, that a call center where he’s anonymous might be a path forward. Meanwhile, we have to keep him away from our computers in case he falls by the wayside again, via online gambling. Of course, there’s always the library with their free computers. Maybe you should check in with your mother and ask if she ever sees my father at a computer terminal. I have no faith in him at all, especially if he’s depending on prison to break his gambling habit.
“And now to Mom. You’ll be glad to hear she is no longer in danger of becoming a wino. She now has a purpose. She’s planning to be the Martha Stewart of Scarsdale. The kitchen has become her work space. She has taken to baking. I told her $5 cupcakes are no longer in fashion, but she’s making the attempt anyway. Also refrigerated toll house cookies stuffed with cream in the middle. I won’t mention her scones. Mom assumes just because her foremothers almost came over on the Mayflower, she could make perfect scones. Actually, her grandparents were French Canadian on one side, Scottish on the other. I don’t know how close that puts us to the Pilgrims, and did the Pilgrims actually make scones? I thought they made johnny cakes.
“In any case, Mom rents a table at the farmer’s market and calls her products ‘Straight from Ellie’s Kitchen.’ She thought Elinor would be too formal. Needless to say, there are plenty of desserts to go around after market days. But at least she’s trying. I wish she had some skill other than being socially prominent.
“Speaking about socially prominent, your wicked step-mother, whom everyone thought would leave, has decided to stick around and become a real estate agent. At least our scandal kicked hers to the back pages. So maybe no-one will recall her various Girl Scout knots? Sorry. Was that too crude?
“Anyway, with both my parents being so involved, I figure now’s a good time to leave. Unlike Sloan, I don’t feel I can go too far, but I do need my own psychic space. I mean, I don’t blame my brother. He’s in the middle of getting his Ph.D. and has lots of research to write up. But I suppose it’s a daughter’s role in life not to completely abandon ye olde and zany folks.
“Now, what’s with you. Still slogging away? Your best friend ever, Lily.”
Frank smiled at the childish ending to Lily’s email. Can one learn to love via emails? No, impossible. He couldn’t love Lily. She was too young, five years, plus Eden would kill him. And yet, there was something sweet and vulnerable, but also tough and capable about her.
What’s with him? Well, he bought a house. In Massachusetts, crazy because of the taxes, but he fell in love with it. On the weekends, happy to be away from work, he liked to take his car out of the garage and just drive, out into open spaces, which for him meant north. He’d take the back roads and just wander, loved the farmlands and the trees—and the isolation.
On one of his wanderings, he had spotted this house for sale. It looked as if it had a fruit garden on the side of it and a sort of barn in back. He got the number of the realtor and called from the roadside. She came out within the hour to show him around. It was owned by a widow, who now wanted to move into an assistant living establishment in Springfield, near her friends.
Nothing much had been done to the house for years, Frank could see that. The floors creaked, the kitchen was a museum, but there was a side porch with the sun streaming in and a back yard that was heavily shaded by oaks and maples. The side garden was still producing fruit. Riley would love it. She was the gardener in the family. But Frank could learn. The outbuilding he had spotted was a workshop. Something for a crafty person, which he was not, but maybe some day he would be?
It was an impulsive purchase and could turn out to be a money pit. But he hired his own inspector, a housing contractor from the area who had a good reputation and whom Frank might use for renovations. It just needed updating, the contractor told him.
So Frank now had a weekend getaway, a weekday getaway too, if he wanted it, as it was only forty minutes to his work in Hartford. But he’d keep his apartment for now.
He wondered. Lily needed a place of refuge. What would happen if he offered her a chance to stay at his farm house?
October 30, 2022
Bernice Tries Dating
It was with a great sense of relief that Bernice Franklin walked away from her latest “date.” What had possessed her to think she couldn’t live alone for the rest of her life? She’d get a cat; she’d be fine.
The blame lay with all those magazine and news articles about women her age finding love again, via dating sites aimed specifically at the mature woman. She thought, well, why not her? No one mentioned what the quality of the men might be. Where were the winners!
Okay, she’d only been on five dates, but that might be enough of a sampling for her to realize this wasn’t going to work for her. No. 1 talked about his divorce, how greedy his wife and children were being. What was she, dating her ex-husband? No. 2 spent his time talking about his dead wife and how no one could replace her. Both 1 and 2 wanted to split the check. Had she known that’s how it was being played, their meeting would have been for coffee only. No. 3 was at least twenty years older, used a walker and asked if she had any nursing experience. No. 4 was a slob, his buttons couldn’t contain the beached whale look of his naked stomach. No. 5, the one she just finished with, talked money the whole time, asked how she was doing, re: the market.
Let’s face it, we all have baggage, but one doesn’t unpack it on first meeting someone. Or does one? Have we all become over-sharers?
Well, she didn’t overshare because she really didn’t have any need to talk at all. It seemed. She was just there to listen because obviously they were more important than she was. How long, she wondered, would it take to become a certified therapist for jerks?
Now she knew how Eden felt. How well she recalled her daughter whining to her about all the men she didn’t meet as opposed to the ones she did. Bernice hadn’t been sympathetic at all. It couldn’t be that hard to find a man. And yet—- She owed Eden an apology. She checked her watch. Why not call her daughter? At least now they’d have something in common.
When Eden said, “Mom?,” as if she were surprised to hear from her own mother—well, maybe with good reason, as Bernice was always reluctant to talk to Eden, due to her many needs—Bernice said, “Hi, honey, just back from a date; and I thought I’d call.”
“Uh oh. How bad was it?”
“Gruesome.”
“Well, keep trying.”
“What!” Bernice exclaimed.
“I just met someone.”
“Oh, honey, I’m so—glad! What’s he like?”
“Well, not partnership material; but I’ve engaged him with this whole Heidi business, and he’s going to look into it.”
Deflated, Bernice warned, “Eden.”
“He’s some sort of nerdy analyst, but he paid for the meal and I had filet mignon. If any of my roommates touches my leftovers, they’re dead meat.”
“I thought you meant you met someone you could like.”
“Mom, let’s face it. None of your kids is ever going to give you grandkids.”
“It’s not that. I just want you to be happy.”
“Mom, none of your kids is ever going to be happy.”
Well, so much for having a sharing talk with her daughter, Bernice thought, after she hung up. But maybe Eden was right. Maybe she hadn’t been the mother her kids needed, given them the tools to know how to enjoy life, or at least make the best of it they could. It was hard sometimes, raising them alone. Oh, Jerry was there when he could be; and he definitely gave them a great head start. They never lacked for anything. But here they all were, in the same tipsy boat. Frank wasn’t thrilled being a lawyer, Eden was always complaining about not having enough money, and now poor Riley, who was doing so well, called last week to let her know she didn’t get the job she was up for and now was in a quandary about what to do.
On the other hand, maybe that was a better way to live, being unsettled. She had been so settled that she hadn’t seen the coming tidal wave of grief, the loss of a marriage she thought was rock solid and then the loss of Jerry himself.
Oh, she knew she shouldn’t care, not after he dumped her and then died in such a spectacular fashion, but there was so much to remember, so much of a life shared. And it had been a good life. The ending hadn’t been what she expected, no shared accommodations in an assisted living establishment. She smiled grimly at that thought.
Lord, what was she to do? Here she was, sixty and stranded. How will she get off this island and back into the flow?
Mama Bear—Bernice Tries Dating
It was with a great sense of relief that Bernice Franklin walked away from her latest “date.” What had possessed her to think she couldn’t live alone for the rest of her life? She’d get a cat; she’d be fine.
The blame lay with all those magazine and news articles about women her age finding love again, via dating sites aimed specifically at the mature woman. She thought, well, why not her? No one mentioned what the quality of the men might be. Where were the winners!
Okay, she’d only been on five dates, but that might be enough of a sampling for her to realize this wasn’t going to work for her. No. 1 talked about his divorce, how greedy his wife and children were being. What was she, dating her ex-husband? No. 2 spent his time talking about his dead wife and how no one could replace her. Both 1 and 2 wanted to split the check. Had she known that’s how it was being played, their meeting would have been for coffee only. No. 3 was at least twenty years older, used a walker and asked if she had any nursing experience. No. 4 was a slob, his buttons couldn’t contain the beached whale look of his naked stomach. No. 5, the one she just finished with, talked money the whole time, asked how she was doing, re: the market.
Let’s face it, we all have baggage, but one doesn’t unpack it on first meeting someone. Or does one? Have we all become over-sharers?
Well, she didn’t overshare because she really didn’t have any need to talk at all. It seemed. She was just there to listen because obviously they were more important than she was. How long, she wondered, would it take to become a certified therapist for jerks?
Now she knew how Eden felt. How well she recalled her daughter whining to her about all the men she didn’t meet as opposed to the ones she did. Bernice hadn’t been sympathetic at all. It couldn’t be that hard to find a man. And yet—- She owed Eden an apology. She checked her watch. Why not call her daughter? At least now they’d have something in common.
When Eden said, “Mom?,” as if she were surprised to hear from her own mother—well, maybe with good reason, as Bernice was always reluctant to talk to Eden, due to her many needs—Bernice said, “Hi, honey, just back from a date; and I thought I’d call.”
“Uh oh. How bad was it?”
“Gruesome.”
“Well, keep trying.”
“What!” Bernice exclaimed.
“I just met someone.”
“Oh, honey, I’m so—glad! What’s he like?”
“Well, not partnership material; but I’ve engaged him with this whole Heidi business, and he’s going to look into it.”
Deflated, Bernice warned, “Eden.”
“He’s some sort of nerdy analyst, but he paid for the meal and I had filet mignon. If any of my roommates touches my leftovers, they’re dead meat.”
“I thought you meant you met someone you could like.”
“Mom, let’s face it. None of your kids is ever going to give you grandkids.”
“It’s not that. I just want you to be happy.”
“Mom, none of your kids is ever going to be happy.”
Well, so much for having a sharing talk with her daughter, Bernice thought, after she hung up. But maybe Eden was right. Maybe she hadn’t been the mother her kids needed, given them the tools to know how to enjoy life, or at least make the best of it they could. It was hard sometimes, raising them alone. Oh, Jerry was there when he could be; and he definitely gave them a great head start. They never lacked for anything. But here they all were, in the same tipsy boat. Frank wasn’t thrilled being a lawyer, Eden was always complaining about not having enough money, and now poor Riley, who was doing so well, called last week to let her know she didn’t get the job she was up for and now was in a quandary about what to do.
On the other hand, maybe that was a better way to live, being unsettled. She had been so settled that she hadn’t seen the coming tidal wave of grief, the loss of a marriage she thought was rock solid and then the loss of Jerry himself.
Oh, she knew she shouldn’t care, not after he dumped her and then died in such a spectacular fashion, but there was so much to remember, so much of a life shared. And it had been a good life. The ending hadn’t been what she expected, no shared accommodations in an assisted living establishment. She smiled grimly at that thought.
Lord, what was she to do? Here she was, sixty and stranded. How will she get off this island and back into the flow?
October 28, 2022
Riley Needs a Job
According to her lights, it had all gone so well, that interview to be principal of Mary Bethune Elementary School. She listened carefully, presented her accomplishments in her current position, informed them she was ready to learn exactly what they wanted for the elementary school to advance, especially in test scores. Riley would love to work at the elementary age level, sweet kids, unlike the middle school where she now worked. Six grade, okay, seventh, eighth, ninth grades, so many problems. Girls getting their periods, boys having their testicles and their voices dropping. Did she need that?
Besides, being a principal would bring in so much more money. She could consider buying her own house instead of living in a duplex. Right now she was stymied, as the owner of the duplex lived in the other unit, took care of the lawn, snow plowing, all that. Great, except Riley had always been a gardener. That was forbidden. The yard was all grass, the trees were mulched, all she could do was put flower pots on her stoop—and remember to water them.
She had started interviewing for this new position shortly after her father died. The first was just preliminary, the other two were more in depth. But she so thought she had it. Instead, just that afternoon she had received the news that it was going to a man, allegedly so the children could now have a father figure.
Riley would admit it. The board had a point. But still, she was human. She went home and cried. Later that evening, she got a call from her friend Dotty, the principal at her former school, where she had been a teacher. Dotty had moved up to the superintendent’s office. She assured Riley that she had pushed for her but, “Check your references. Maybe next time don’t use Bob Cody.”
Bob Cody was her current boss, the principal of the middle school. Riley thought he loved the work she was doing. “Dare I ask why?”
There was a bit of a silence until Dotty said, “He damned you with faint praise and then added that your major fault was that you ‘lacked compassion.’”
“Lacked compassion?” Riley was shocked. “I did make it clear that my job as assistant principal was to take care of problems, including problem children, problem parents, which Bob doesn’t want to deal with. I can’t believe this!”
“I know. I explained this,” Dotty said. “But, you know, it just takes one little thing they can fasten on for them to turn someone down. Don’t worry. Something else will come up.”
But would it? Not in this district, Riley knew. Once you’re rejected, you’re rejected. Her chance here had come and gone. Bob Cody. All smiles and hey, how ya doing. The fucker! The weak little pussy! If only she could show him some lack of compassion, but first she had to get her ass out of her current, now untenable situation.
Skills. She had them. At middle management level. She could parlay what she did into another profession—like prison guard? What about going back to school to get her Ph.D. School boards like to hire someone with a doctorate. And it would give her a break from the grind. But did she have the money to take that break? Night classes? Or was she simply due for a move in another direction.
Riley almost laughed to herself, despite the pain. She was so sure of her life’s plan, had it all laid out. And now this. It almost put her in the same boat as her brother and sister. She knew Frank hated being a lawyer and Eden was frustrated with her low pay. Riley had felt so superior. Until now.
Mama Bear—Riley Needs a Job
According to her lights, it had all gone so well, that interview to be principal of Mary Bethune Elementary School. She listened carefully, presented her accomplishments in her current position, informed them she was ready to learn exactly what they wanted for the elementary school to advance, especially in test scores. Riley would love to work at the elementary age level, sweet kids, unlike the middle school where she now worked. Six grade, okay, seventh, eighth, ninth grades, so many problems. Girls getting their periods, boys having their testicles and their voices dropping. Did she need that?
Besides, being a principal would bring in so much more money. She could consider buying her own house instead of living in a duplex. Right now she was stymied, as the owner of the duplex lived in the other unit, took care of the lawn, snow plowing, all that. Great, except Riley had always been a gardener. That was forbidden. The yard was all grass, the trees were mulched, all she could do was put flower pots on her stoop—and remember to water them.
She had started interviewing for this new position shortly after her father died. The first was just preliminary, the other two were more in depth. But she so thought she had it. Instead, just that afternoon she had received the news that it was going to a man, allegedly so the children could now have a father figure.
Riley would admit it. The board had a point. But still, she was human. She went home and cried. Later that evening, she got a call from her friend Dotty, the principal at her former school, where she had been a teacher. Dotty had moved up to the superintendent’s office. She assured Riley that she had pushed for her but, “Check your references. Maybe next time don’t use Bob Cody.”
Bob Cody was her current boss, the principal of the middle school. Riley thought he loved the work she was doing. “Dare I ask why?”
There was a bit of a silence until Dotty said, “He damned you with faint praise and then added that your major fault was that you ‘lacked compassion.’”
“Lacked compassion?” Riley was shocked. “I did make it clear that my job as assistant principal was to take care of problems, including problem children, problem parents, which Bob doesn’t want to deal with. I can’t believe this!”
“I know. I explained this,” Dotty said. “But, you know, it just takes one little thing they can fasten on for them to turn someone down. Don’t worry. Something else will come up.”
But would it? Not in this district, Riley knew. Once you’re rejected, you’re rejected. Her chance here had come and gone. Bob Cody. All smiles and hey, how ya doing. The fucker! The weak little pussy! If only she could show him some lack of compassion, but first she had to get her ass out of her current, now untenable situation.
Skills. She had them. At middle management level. She could parlay what she did into another profession—like prison guard? What about going back to school to get her Ph.D. School boards like to hire someone with a doctorate. And it would give her a break from the grind. But did she have the money to take that break? Night classes? Or was she simply due for a move in another direction.
Riley almost laughed to herself, despite the pain. She was so sure of her life’s plan, had it all laid out. And now this. It almost put her in the same boat as her brother and sister. She knew Frank hated being a lawyer and Eden was frustrated with her low pay. Riley had felt so superior. Until now.
October 20, 2022
Steve Applebaum
Steve Applebaum was a nerd. He knew it. He didn’t take pride in it. But it paid well. He was so glad his criminal record from when he was sixteen had been expunged. However, it meant being on the straight and narrow until he turned eighteen. Like he did anything with the financial information he hacked into. It was just a game, a challenge. Unfortunately, the judge on the case had just suffered through identity theft. Steve’s lawyer tried to get the judge to recuse himself, but no such luck. It took Steve’s therapist and tearful parents to get him that two-year probation and two hundred hours of community service. He spent them working in a nursing home, helping old people get their finances in order—and recognizing fraud when he saw it, which was often.
He hoped never to get old, at least that old when he didn’t have all his marbles. If it wasn’t relatives defrauding the old, then it was nursing care, or doctors’ billings. Some of those old people were so trusting. When he was younger, he remembered hearing about an indigenous tribe in Alaska that put its old on an ice floe and let them float away. Not a bad idea. Except with global warning, there would be no ice left. Except in the refrigerator.
But all that was in his past. Right now, here he was in DC, working international security. Yeah, still hacking. But making mid-range six figures for it. He tried to get out every day, so he didn’t develop prison pallor from sitting in front of the computer for so many hours. He also tried to make personal connections, like with real people. It was hard because, well, he really wasn’t a people person. Not that he had any fetishes like plastic dolls. But somehow women found him—weird. Communication with anything but a screen had always been hard for him.
The photo he had used for this new dating site, his umpteenth effort, was professionally taken. His glasses were missing and his hair was groomed. His mother called it Einstein hair. She was fond of him, but sometimes expressed the wish he’d be more like his two brothers. Normal. This new dating site was extra cautious, texts came through them, no cell phone numbers unless the clients decided to have more than one first meeting. Less chance of stalkers. Not that Steve couldn’t find a number had he wanted to. But rejection takes its toll. Tonight he’d try not to look defeated—to begin with.
Here he was at Mario’s, waiting for his date, wearing his signature infinity tie. Not that he was expecting much. He was used to being spotted and then rejected from across a crowded, smokey room, if he wanted to be Forties romantic about it. He looked at it this way, if they didn’t even want to sit down and talk to him, then they probably weren’t worth it anyway.
Oh—here this one was, carrying a pink clutch, as an identifying sign. He tried to pretend he hadn’t seen her, in case she was still sizing him up and found him wanting. One time he had risen to greet his “date” with a smile and a wave of his hand, only to have her turn and rush out of the restaurant. Women can be so cruel. Well, so can life, he thought philosophically.
This one was, well, what his mother used to call “cute as a button.” Not that he had a thing about his mother. His “date” had what he would size up as a cheerleader’s figure, with a complexion that probably freckled in the summer. Her hair was blond with highlights that shone in the dim Mario’s lights. Dress: Pants suit, so nothing sexy. A date that would be all business, he thought.
Oh, good. She hadn’t rejected him out of hand. Dare he stand as she made her way toward his table? But then would she— Oh hell, all five foot ten of him rose, he plastered a tentative smile on his face. There she was, standing across from him at their small table for two. “Hi. Uh. Eden?”
“Steve Applebaum. Infinity tie. Looking nothing like his photo?” Eden questioned.
Eee—Yikes! “Busted,”he said with a nervous smile.
“Oh, well, what else do I have to do?” Eden ungraciously put it, placing her pink clutch down on the table and her fanny on the chair across from him. She picked up the menu, wondering what was the cheapest dish she could order. Even the appetizers were expensive. Maybe just garlic bread?
The waitress came over. “Water,” Eden said. “Tap.”
Steve had a feeling he wasn’t going to be able to rescue this evening. “Couldn’t I persuade you to share a nice pinot noir with me?”
“Do they have anything under ten dollars a glass?”
“I’m paying.”
“Oh. By all means, then.”
He ordered. A bottle. Then informed her it was a New Zealand pinot noir. “I don’t know if it’s the best, but I have a fondness for the south island, ever since I visited there.”
She almost rolled her eyes. “Oh. Let me guess. You’re a Tolkien fan.”
Steve didn’t know if she was going to need the wine, but he certainly was. Miss Negativity over there was given him a sour stomach. “More C. S. Lewis, although I did see Peter Jackson’s interpretation of the novels. What did you read when you were a child? Aside from Black Beauty.”
“I never read ‘Black Beauty.’ ‘Harry Potter,’ of course. And I loved fairy tales. Cinderella was my favorite of all time. The wicked step-mother. Something I can definitely relate to.”
“Oh. Sorry.” Maybe that was the explanation for her personality, which he found wanting. “She scarred you for life?”
“Only the last two years. But I keep losing my glass slipper. So far no one has found it and come searching for me.”
He laughed. She didn’t. “Oh. I thought that was a joke.”
Sighing, Eden thought, let the game begin. She asked, “So what do you do, Steve Applebaum, aside from travel to New Zealand and wear some god-awful tie.”
Hold back the dawn, Steve, he told himself. “I work in security.”
Great, Eden thought. A security guard. Just her luck.
“As an analyst, that sort of thing. I do a lot of traveling to make sure systems aren’t being corrupted, even though actually most of the work can be done right from here. But companies—and countries—like their hands held.”
Now interested, Eden leaned forward. “You’re that sort of security? Like seeing if someone’s been hacked or some company is about to be held for ransom?”
“Well—more involved. Let’s just say it’s a lot of computer time. And what do you do, Miss Eden?”
“Eden’s my first name.”
“I know. I thought— I was just trying to be playful.”
“Really?”
Maybe they could have one glass and he could take the rest of the bottle home, Steve thought. Why try?
“Sorry,” Eden said. She sighed and collapsed into her uncomfortable wooden chair. “My life’s been pretty much shit lately. We’re doing a ceramics exhibit, and one of our featured potters claimed we broke her vase, which is nonsense. She just wants the insurance payoff from us. So I spent the afternoon hearing her weeping—so fake—and listening to my boss berate me because of our liability. Everyone has a racket. I guess in your business, you see it all the time.”
At least it was something of an apology, Steve thought. “Have some wine. Forget about work. Tell me about your wicked step-mother instead. I also love fairy tales.”
Eden pondered what to say. If she should say it. And not come across as a total whiny bitch, as she had so aptly put it to her brother. “My father— Well, okay, so there was this sales rep named, as you might expect, Heidi—get that vision in your head and keep it there—who made a play for my father. God knows why. He was an old man. But suddenly, it’s love—yeah, sure. He divorces my mother, marries the yodeler, a few months later, dead, in flagrante delicto. Trussed up like a chicken. Like, at that age, should he even be having sex? And of course we are left high and dry financially, as Heidi inherited Dad’s hefty portfolio. Almost. Except she didn’t and we didn’t get the mere pittance he decided to leave his children—because—da da—Dad invested with a friend who was touting Allgate Realty, which turns out to be a money laundering operation, leaving us all in the lurch. Don’t mind about Heidi because I suspect she murdered my father for the money. But I could have done with the measly twenty thousand I was to get. And that’s the story of my life. No happy endings to this tale.”
Swirling his wine, Steve frowned. Two interesting points here to ponder. Someone murdering her father and the money-laundering scheme. Just the sort of thing he liked to delve into. He’d start with the first. “What makes you think Heidi killed your father?”
“So soon after their marriage and kinky sex?”
“Maybe that was part of Heidi’s attraction. Also, oldest story in the fairy tale book, man takes a new wife, leaves children out in the cold. Only now it’s done via divorce.”
“You’re not being very sympathetic.”
“I’m trying to analyze the situation. That’s what I do.”
The waitress came. Steve ordered the veal marsala, and, after assuring her he was paying, Eden had the filet mignon.
When the waitress left, Eden continued with, “Don’t you think it’s rather suspicious that my father died so soon after his marriage? He was only in his sixties.”
“First you say he’s too old, now you say he’s not too old.” Steve shrugged. “Could he have had a heart condition?”
“He was a cardiologist,” Eden threw back at him. “And why did Heidi zero in on him, when her whole job was marketing drugs to hundreds of doctors?”
“Maybe he made himself available.”
“But my mom—she had no idea. The whole think stinks. Something rotten was going on. I think Heidi’s a black widow and has done this before, but my brother—the lawyer—said to keep my mouth shut or I could be sued. So—I suffer in silence.”
Steve smiled at that one, then leaned back as their food was being delivered. “Wow,” Eden said. “I can take half of this home.”
“What’s the full name of Heidi? I can check her out, if you like.”
“I can’t pay you.”
“I gathered that.”
Eden gave him an appraising look. This Steve Applebaum might not be bad if he got difference glasses, had his hair professionally styled, and bought a new wardrobe. “Her name as far as we know is Heidi Fairfax Franklin. Franklin’s the new last name.” She paused. “You want a pen to write that down.”
He shook his head. “Don’t need it. How’s the steak?”
“Seared.”
“Good for reheating then.”
Eden thought for a minute that he was probably making fun of her, but she let it go, as he was paying. Then he politely asked her more about her work and she was off, as communications might not be his thing but it was definitely hers. At least this guy listened and didn’t try to impress her. As if he could. And when the bill came, he threw down a Visa Infinite card. Yippee.
Outside the restaurant, she was pleased to see he didn’t suggest a continuation of the evening but was looking to hail her a cab, even though she could have easily taken the Metro. “Are you seriously going to look into this Heidi situation?” she asked.
“Of course.”
“Then you’ll probably need my number to tell me what you’ve found out.”
He waved that away. “Don’t worry. I’ll have no trouble finding it.”
Okay, a bit scary, Eden thought, as she slid into the taxi to take her back to her four-roommate apartment. With the gerbil. She leaned out to say, “Thank you. For the meal—and everything. It wasn’t as bad as I thought it was going to be when I first saw you.” She could only hope he appreciated the compliment.
Mama Bear—Steve Applebaum
Steve Applebaum was a nerd. He knew it. He didn’t take pride in it. But it paid well. He was so glad his criminal record from when he was sixteen had been expunged. However, it meant being on the straight and narrow until he turned eighteen. Like he did anything with the financial information he hacked into. It was just a game, a challenge. Unfortunately, the judge on the case had just suffered through identity theft. Steve’s lawyer tried to get the judge to recuse himself, but no such luck. It took Steve’s therapist and tearful parents to get him that two-year probation and two hundred hours of community service. He spent them working in a nursing home, helping old people get their finances in order—and recognizing fraud when he saw it, which was often.
He hoped never to get old, at least that old when he didn’t have all his marbles. If it wasn’t relatives defrauding the old, then it was nursing care, or doctors’ billings. Some of those old people were so trusting. When he was younger, he remembered hearing about an indigenous tribe in Alaska that put its old on an ice floe and let them float away. Not a bad idea. Except with global warning, there would be no ice left. Except in the refrigerator.
But all that was in his past. Right now, here he was in DC, working international security. Yeah, still hacking. But making mid-range six figures for it. He tried to get out every day, so he didn’t develop prison pallor from sitting in front of the computer for so many hours. He also tried to make personal connections, like with real people. It was hard because, well, he really wasn’t a people person. Not that he had any fetishes like plastic dolls. But somehow women found him—weird. Communication with anything but a screen had always been hard for him.
The photo he had used for this new dating site, his umpteenth effort, was professionally taken. His glasses were missing and his hair was groomed. His mother called it Einstein hair. She was fond of him, but sometimes expressed the wish he’d be more like his two brothers. Normal. This new dating site was extra cautious, texts came through them, no cell phone numbers unless the clients decided to have more than one first meeting. Less chance of stalkers. Not that Steve couldn’t find a number had he wanted to. But rejection takes its toll. Tonight he’d try not to look defeated—to begin with.
Here he was at Mario’s, waiting for his date, wearing his signature infinity tie. Not that he was expecting much. He was used to being spotted and then rejected from across a crowded, smokey room, if he wanted to be Forties romantic about it. He looked at it this way, if they didn’t even want to sit down and talk to him, then they probably weren’t worth it anyway.
Oh—here this one was, carrying a pink clutch, as an identifying sign. He tried to pretend he hadn’t seen her, in case she was still sizing him up and found him wanting. One time he had risen to greet his “date” with a smile and a wave of his hand, only to have her turn and rush out of the restaurant. Women can be so cruel. Well, so can life, he thought philosophically.
This one was, well, what his mother used to call “cute as a button.” Not that he had a thing about his mother. His “date” had what he would size up as a cheerleader’s figure, with a complexion that probably freckled in the summer. Her hair was blond with highlights that shone in the dim Mario’s lights. Dress: Pants suit, so nothing sexy. A date that would be all business, he thought.
Oh, good. She hadn’t rejected him out of hand. Dare he stand as she made her way toward his table? But then would she— Oh hell, all five foot ten of him rose, he plastered a tentative smile on his face. There she was, standing across from him at their small table for two. “Hi. Uh. Eden?”
“Steve Applebaum. Infinity tie. Looking nothing like his photo?” Eden questioned.
Eee—Yikes! “Busted,”he said with a nervous smile.
“Oh, well, what else do I have to do?” Eden ungraciously put it, placing her pink clutch down on the table and her fanny on the chair across from him. She picked up the menu, wondering what was the cheapest dish she could order. Even the appetizers were expensive. Maybe just garlic bread?
The waitress came over. “Water,” Eden said. “Tap.”
Steve had a feeling he wasn’t going to be able to rescue this evening. “Couldn’t I persuade you to share a nice pinot noir with me?”
“Do they have anything under ten dollars a glass?”
“I’m paying.”
“Oh. By all means, then.”
He ordered. A bottle. Then informed her it was a New Zealand pinot noir. “I don’t know if it’s the best, but I have a fondness for the south island, ever since I visited there.”
She almost rolled her eyes. “Oh. Let me guess. You’re a Tolkien fan.”
Steve didn’t know if she was going to need the wine, but he certainly was. Miss Negativity over there was given him a sour stomach. “More C. S. Lewis, although I did see Peter Jackson’s interpretation of the novels. What did you read when you were a child? Aside from Black Beauty.”
“I never read ‘Black Beauty.’ ‘Harry Potter,’ of course. And I loved fairy tales. Cinderella was my favorite of all time. The wicked step-mother. Something I can definitely relate to.”
“Oh. Sorry.” Maybe that was the explanation for her personality, which he found wanting. “She scarred you for life?”
“Only the last two years. But I keep losing my glass slipper. So far no one has found it and come searching for me.”
He laughed. She didn’t. “Oh. I thought that was a joke.”
Sighing, Eden thought, let the game begin. She asked, “So what do you do, Steve Applebaum, aside from travel to New Zealand and wear some god-awful tie.”
Hold back the dawn, Steve, he told himself. “I work in security.”
Great, Eden thought. A security guard. Just her luck.
“As an analyst, that sort of thing. I do a lot of traveling to make sure systems aren’t being corrupted, even though actually most of the work can be done right from here. But companies—and countries—like their hands held.”
Now interested, Eden leaned forward. “You’re that sort of security? Like seeing if someone’s been hacked or some company is about to be held for ransom?”
“Well—more involved. Let’s just say it’s a lot of computer time. And what do you do, Miss Eden?”
“Eden’s my first name.”
“I know. I thought— I was just trying to be playful.”
“Really?”
Maybe they could have one glass and he could take the rest of the bottle home, Steve thought. Why try?
“Sorry,” Eden said. She sighed and collapsed into her uncomfortable wooden chair. “My life’s been pretty much shit lately. We’re doing a ceramics exhibit, and one of our featured potters claimed we broke her vase, which is nonsense. She just wants the insurance payoff from us. So I spent the afternoon hearing her weeping—so fake—and listening to my boss berate me because of our liability. Everyone has a racket. I guess in your business, you see it all the time.”
At least it was something of an apology, Steve thought. “Have some wine. Forget about work. Tell me about your wicked step-mother instead. I also love fairy tales.”
Eden pondered what to say. If she should say it. And not come across as a total whiny bitch, as she had so aptly put it to her brother. “My father— Well, okay, so there was this sales rep named, as you might expect, Heidi—get that vision in your head and keep it there—who made a play for my father. God knows why. He was an old man. But suddenly, it’s love—yeah, sure. He divorces my mother, marries the yodeler, a few months later, dead, in flagrante delicto. Trussed up like a chicken. Like, at that age, should he even be having sex? And of course we are left high and dry financially, as Heidi inherited Dad’s hefty portfolio. Almost. Except she didn’t and we didn’t get the mere pittance he decided to leave his children—because—da da—Dad invested with a friend who was touting Allgate Realty, which turns out to be a money laundering operation, leaving us all in the lurch. Don’t mind about Heidi because I suspect she murdered my father for the money. But I could have done with the measly twenty thousand I was to get. And that’s the story of my life. No happy endings to this tale.”
Swirling his wine, Steve frowned. Two interesting points here to ponder. Someone murdering her father and the money-laundering scheme. Just the sort of thing he liked to delve into. He’d start with the first. “What makes you think Heidi killed your father?”
“So soon after their marriage and kinky sex?”
“Maybe that was part of Heidi’s attraction. Also, oldest story in the fairy tale book, man takes a new wife, leaves children out in the cold. Only now it’s done via divorce.”
“You’re not being very sympathetic.”
“I’m trying to analyze the situation. That’s what I do.”
The waitress came. Steve ordered the veal marsala, and, after assuring her he was paying, Eden had the filet mignon.
When the waitress left, Eden continued with, “Don’t you think it’s rather suspicious that my father died so soon after his marriage? He was only in his sixties.”
“First you say he’s too old, now you say he’s not too old.” Steve shrugged. “Could he have had a heart condition?”
“He was a cardiologist,” Eden threw back at him. “And why did Heidi zero in on him, when her whole job was marketing drugs to hundreds of doctors?”
“Maybe he made himself available.”
“But my mom—she had no idea. The whole think stinks. Something rotten was going on. I think Heidi’s a black widow and has done this before, but my brother—the lawyer—said to keep my mouth shut or I could be sued. So—I suffer in silence.”
Steve smiled at that one, then leaned back as their food was being delivered. “Wow,” Eden said. “I can take half of this home.”
“What’s the full name of Heidi? I can check her out, if you like.”
“I can’t pay you.”
“I gathered that.”
Eden gave him an appraising look. This Steve Applebaum might not be bad if he got difference glasses, had his hair professionally styled, and bought a new wardrobe. “Her name as far as we know is Heidi Fairfax Franklin. Franklin’s the new last name.” She paused. “You want a pen to write that down.”
He shook his head. “Don’t need it. How’s the steak?”
“Seared.”
“Good for reheating then.”
Eden thought for a minute that he was probably making fun of her, but she let it go, as he was paying. Then he politely asked her more about her work and she was off, as communications might not be his thing but it was definitely hers. At least this guy listened and didn’t try to impress her. As if he could. And when the bill came, he threw down a Visa Infinite card. Yippee.
Outside the restaurant, she was pleased to see he didn’t suggest a continuation of the evening but was looking to hail her a cab, even though she could have easily taken the Metro. “Are you seriously going to look into this Heidi situation?” she asked.
“Of course.”
“Then you’ll probably need my number to tell me what you’ve found out.”
He waved that away. “Don’t worry. I’ll have no trouble finding it.”
Okay, a bit scary, Eden thought, as she slid into the taxi to take her back to her four-roommate apartment. With the gerbil. She leaned out to say, “Thank you. For the meal—and everything. It wasn’t as bad as I thought it was going to be when I first saw you.” She could only hope he appreciated the compliment.
