David Alan Dedin
The Work Release Program
Eight
The Work Release Program
2006
“I find vibrator in sink and used rubber on nightstand. I no clean. You clean.” The supercilious couple at the front desk gasped as Juanita zipped by, while Jim handed them their room key with a gentrified smile. “Isn’t she just a little spitfire?” They walked away quickly. Jim’s glasses shot to Alan –
“If you don’t have a talk with that little Mexican cunt about her language in front of guests, I’m going to shove my burrito up her ass.” Alan smiled, reaching for his shaking phone. His boss had the uncanny ability to make the c-word sound like velvet.
“Does your burrito even work anymore, Jim?”
“I have pills.”
Alan looked at Caller ID. He didn’t recognize the number, so he replaced his phone in his pocket. That’s the third time today. Across the lobby, Charlotte walked to the bar with menus. “Genevieve? Party of two? If you’d please follow this way.” Jim ogled from the desk as two stunning older women carrying glasses of white wine were led into the restaurant. Alan noticed this. “Tongue goes in the mouth, Heff.”
“I love the Naperville singles scene,” Jim admitted. “So. Much. Eye candy.”
“They’re Stepford wives, Jim.”
“I didn’t see rings.”
“Do you even know what a Stepford wife is?”
“I do. It’s a lady who does exactly as she’s told.”
Alan rolled his eyes. The ladies – though indeed beautiful – looked as though they’d spent every dime of alimony on plastic surgery, recreating the woman their exes first fell in love with. In the case of these two, Alan thought, we have Judith Light from Who’s the Boss and Joan Collins from Dynasty. From his vantage point behind the desk, Jim could see that the entire bar was teeming with aging Naperville Barbie dolls. He headed for Old Places. Alan looked annoyed –
“Hey – if you told me that I can’t drink on the job, the same goes for you.”
Jim paused, smiling devilishly. “I’m going to send those two cougars a beverage.” His silver pompadour vanished into the bar.
Juanita shot passed the desk with a plunger. Alan tried to stop her, but she was as fast as a cartoon mouse. Jim emerged from the bar a few minutes later, replacing an American Express card into his wallet. He looked at Alan. “Did you know you have a visitor?”
“In the bar?” Jim nodded.
“Who?”
Alan’s phone buzzed again. It was the same out of state number. This was starting to piss him off. “The woman in the bar - what’s her name?” Alan came round the counter. “Oh God, it’s not that bitch from the downtown business association again, is it?”
“Well, the lady in the bar is a little bitch,” Jim admitted.
“We are not sponsoring their team again,” Alan said firmly. “It’s just an excuse for all those horrible women to show off their diamonds, tans, and tits. And who plays croquet on the Riverwalk anyway? The balls keep rolling off the edge!” His phone buzzed again. Alan held back so the bartender could run Jim’s drinks, then angrily snapped it open – “WHAT?”
“Alan? It’s Audrey Williams, Guinevere’s mom,” came the voice in the speaker. She sounded stressed. “Look, I’m sorry for calling like this, but we have a really big problem here.”
“Audrey!” Alan was surprised. “What’s wrong?”
With the booking officer behind her, Audrey stood in the Peoria Heights police station – with a very drunk Dale, in cuffs, being led to the back. Alan could hear him shout, “I didn’t steal dad’s car!” Audrey cleared her throat.
“It appears that my responsible adult son just blew a point one six, after doing sixty in a school zone. But that’s not why I’m calling.”
With the phone to his ear, Alan looked into the dark ambience of Old Places. At the far end of the bar, past two Loni Andersons and one Kate Jackson, he saw a familiar face, drinking root beer from a wine glass.
“The Buick is missing again,” Audrey told him. “The officers found it through OnStar like you said they could, and Alan…it pinged in downtown Naperville.” She paused before asking, “I know this is going to sound strange, but is Stephanie with you?”
“Yes…” Alan said carefully, “And it looks like she’s okay.”
“Oh, thank God!”
“Audrey, listen…let me call you back.”
“They say I need a lawyer,” Dale slurred in the background as Audrey said okay before quickly ending the call. Alan’s phone snapped shut. He entered the lounge slowly, then cautiously came up behind Stephanie. The young girl watched his approach like a cat through the bar’s big mahogany mirror, as the bar’s pianist softly crooned Gary Jules’ Mad World –
“…I find it kind of funny and I find it kind of sad…”
Alan took the seat next to her. A manicured hand moved Stephanie’s glass aside, and carefully placed a grilled cheese and fries in front of her, served on fine white china. She smiled when he presented the ketchup – “A bottle of our finest red.” Alan gestured for the bartender to bring him a scotch. He watched the young girl eat.
“One of us is in trouble,” she said, breaking the silence.
“And whom might that be?” Alan asked, smiling at her audacity.
“My mom used to drink on the job, too. Only, she drank from cans.”
“That’s not good.”
“Have you ever noticed” – Steph shook ketchup as she changed the subject – “how all the women in this bar use the lights?”
“What do you mean?” Alan nodded thanks when a glass of Glenlivet appeared in his fingertips. Gesturing towards a brunette down the way, Stephanie shoved half a sandwich in her mouth, chewing while she spoke.
“Look at Jennifer Hart down there. Then look at the light right above her, in the ceiling.” Alan did as she asked. The bar’s shiny counter was illuminated by a strategic row of discreet spotlights above. The lounge’s designer had done this intentionally, so martinis would twinkle as the bartender poured them. The 68-year-old woman to which Steph referred was also quite aware of this, and used the spotlight to her facelift’s advantage.
“See how she stays just right at the edge?” Stephanie chewed. “It lights up her hair and makes shadows in her craters. She thinks she looks younger, but all it really does is make her look like that laughing crypt-keeper puppet.”
Mmph!
Alan nearly spat out his drink as several Goldie Hawns shot them dirty looks. He wiped his mouth, then noticed two police officers in the doorway, with Jim. “Is that her?” Jim mouthed, pointing at Stephanie. Alan nodded yes. Jim gave him a thumbs-up, and then took the officers out of view. Alan returned his attention to the girl.
“So, you know you scared the hell out of your grandmother, right?”
“That was my intention.”
“And you know that I have to take you home now?”
“Why? This is a hotel.” Stephanie placed Audrey’s Visa on the bar. “I want to order room service, then watch dirty movies on cable.” Alan smirked. That’s exactly what Guinevere would have said.
“Where did you park the car?”
“Across the street. In the parking deck. Behind the bookstore.”
Alan’s phone buzzed again. The Caller ID said Audrey, but he let it go to voicemail. Between Gwen’s death, Jacob’s leg, Dale’s DUI, and now Steph’s little stunt, the old woman must have been spinning. He looked at Stephanie, weighing his options; he polished off his scotch while the young girl finished eating. As the bartender removed her plate, Alan proposed a compromise.
“How about if you and I make a deal?”
* * * * *
The lights snapped on as Alan keyed in his alarm code, a bag of cereal, milk, and Funyuns in his teeth – while also attempting to talk on his cell. Stephanie raced into the room in front of him, face-planting on the couch. She rolled over when Alan sat his messenger bag on the coffee table. Behind the two, the red light blinked on the answering machine.
“She’ll spend the night here, then we’ll leave first thing in the morning,” Alan spoke in the phone. “No, that’s not necessary…I’ll have one of my employees drive the truck. I’ll take the Buick with Steph…Yes, okay, I’ll let you pay for gas…Yes, she’s right here…She doesn’t need to sleep on the couch. I have a guest room…Would you like to say goodnight to her?” Alan winced when his ear was smacked by an unexpected explosion of expletives. He snapped the phone shut.
“Your grandmother says goodnight, and that she loves you very much.”
“Liar.”
“Guest room’s that way. It has its own bathroom.”
The young girl snatched the Funyuns and scampered down the hall. Alan heard the light click on. “This is a nice place,” Steph yelled from the bedroom. “Hey – this black light clock is just like moms!”
Alan set the cereal on the counter, then disappeared behind the refrigerator’s door, making room for milk. When he closed the fridge, Steph’s location had changed.
“Wow – your basement is just as clean as your house!” she yelled from downstairs. He retrieved his MacBook, opening it on the counter. He started to type but stopped cold – the BASEMENT!
“Holy shit! You’ve got a sex dungeon down here!”
Racing to the open basement door, Alan skidded to a stop at the top of the stairs. He arrived just in time to see Steph at the bottom, holding a long black dildo that wiggled. “Why does it need two heads?”
“Please come upstairs,” he said firmly. “The basement is off limits.”
She vanished around the corner, but didn’t return right away. Alan heard her yell from the playroom. “What’s a CB-3000? Do guys put their dicks in it?”
“Put that back where you found it!” Alan shouted. “And wash your hands!”
The young girl ran up the stairs and smirked. “Don’t get mad at me. I already said that you were a pervert.”
“Bed!” Alan’s finger shot towards the guest room. “Now.” He snatched away the Funyuns when she passed. “Don’t forget to wash your hands!” He thought for a moment, and then added, “Thoroughly!”
“Cum, he told me…or I’ll whip, whip, whip, whip!” Steph sang from the bathroom. Alan gasped with a sudden Checker’s memory –
So…much…like…Guinevere.
“Oh my God! This room has a Bates Motel theme! Your house is so fucking cool!” Trying not to tear up, he yelled back –
“Be sure and brush your teeth! There’s new toothbrushes in the medicine cabinet!” He stood in silence as the bathroom faucet squeaked off. The young girl returned, now wearing his black kimono. He stayed quiet while she got a Coke from the fridge, then grabbed the Funyuns from him. She planted herself on the couch, flipping on the TV.
Alan could say nothing.
Joining her on the sofa a few minutes later, Alan dimmed the lights and sipped a whiskey while the two watched The Home Shopping Network. Joan Rivers was on the screen, and her fingers carefully handled a turquoise necklace for the camera. “I like her,” Steph said, popping a yellow circle into her mouth. “She’s really funny.”
“We’re leaving at seven Steph, so you have to go to bed soon.”
“Can we please watch this a little?”
Alan nodded quietly but chose to watch the girl instead of television. From the side, with the way that her hair had fallen around her shoulders, with the way her eyes widened in the flickering television light, the man saw a ghost in his home, a haunting profile of a woman who knew his every flaw, secret, and dream – and a friend that he was only just realizing how much he now missed.
Migod, Schnookums…why did it take your death to make me realize this?
The two sat quietly as the forgotten answering machine blinked red in the dark.
* * * * *
The following morning, Alan’s pickup screeched to a dusty stop in front of the Williams’ home, as though police had been chasing its driver, Juanita. Alan could almost hear banjos as he followed behind in Jacob’s Buick, parking along the street because the driveway was now clogged with service trucks. Big, corrugated hoses snaked from the trucks, across the yard, and into the house through the open front door. Steph climbed out of the car with Alan, stopped, grinned, covered her nose in her shirt, and read the trucks’ logo aloud, “Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap.”
“I no clean shit in basement!” the maid yelled from the street.
“Juanita, stay by the truck.”
“This looks interesting,” Stephanie smirked, heading inside. Alan followed, but recoiled the moment his nose hit the interior’s air. The house stunk like an open sewer. The pulsating hoses – clearly moving waste – ran through the living room, kitchen, and down the basement stairs. The two found Audrey in the middle of the mess, sitting alone at the kitchen table. She had poured herself vodka. She looked as though she’d just completely given up on life.
“Apparently” – the old woman offered before being asked – “Dale, in his inebriation, accidentally nicked a plumbing line in the basement, which caused” – her fingers pointed over her shoulder, towards the back yard – “some type of disturbance within the septic field. The plumber said that the system was installed improperly to begin with, and that the tank should have never been buried where it was, when considering the property’s slope.”
“But I thought shit rolled down hill,” Stephanie joked, peering out the back window; there were just as many hoses leaving the slider as there were going through the front door.”
“Not in our case, Dear,”
Steph’s eyes widened. “My ROOM!” She raced to the basement.
“You should wear boots for that!” Audrey yelled.
Alan was at a loss for words. “Audrey, I’m so sorry…I don’t even know what to say.” A thought occurred to him. “I did bring your car back, though.”
“That’s great because we’ll need to live in it for a while.”
“It’s ruined!” Stephanie cried from downstairs. “My clothes, my bed, all my things – it’s all ruined!”
“…and then there’s that,” Audrey went on.
“Mrs. Williams?” A contractor holding a clipboard slopped in from outside. “We’ve got a rough estimate – how long has your foundation been sinking?”
“And then, there’s that.”
Alan’s phone buzzed. It was that damn out of state number again.
Stephanie appeared in the doorway, her eyes streaked with tears. “What am I going to wear?” She collapsed into her grandmother’s arms, sobbing.
“I’m going to take this outside,” he told the women, sensing they needed privacy. Once in the front yard, he took a deep lungful of fresh air before venting his frustrations on the caller. He flipped the phone open.
“Look, I don’t know who the fuck this is, but take me off your goddamn calling list” – he stopped midsentence, now hearing the recorded message –
“…This is a collect call from inmate – Patrick Tyler – in the Las Vegas county Correctional Department…to accept charges, press one…”
Alan pressed one.
“…Please hold for inmate…”
“Alan?” Patrick’s voice sounded tired and distant. “Alan, are you there?
“Yes, Patrick, I’m here” – Alan braced himself – “what’s happened?”
“Alan, listen…I’m in real trouble…”
His friend took his own deep breath before sharing his story.
Still behind the steering wheel, Juanita watched her employer sit down in the mud, a sobering expression on his face.
His phone never left his hear for almost twenty minutes.
* * * * *
The next afternoon, Alan kept Stephanie close as they threaded their way through the busy Midway terminal, carry-ons in hand. Alan’s phone buzzed in his pocket, and he opened it by his ear – “Audrey?” he said. “Yes, we’re about to board now. How are things going at the house with you?”
Bright orange & green tarps were being unrolled over the house when she answered. The Williams family home now looked like a circus tent. Holding her cell phone between her neck and shoulder, Jacob’s cast was hanging out the window as she carefully closed the Lucerne’s passenger door, trying not to injure him further. “Oh, you know, just another day in paradise,” she said. The septic vans had been replaced by ServePro vehicles –
“All I can say is, thank God for homeowner’s insurance.”
“How bad is it?”
“Well now, you’ll have to be a lot more specific with that question.” Alan was happy to hear a little levity in her voice. “How bad is the leg, how bad is Dale’s case? Or are you asking how bad my house is right now, as we try to get rid of the smell?”
Alan smiled slightly. “Hey – at least I got you guys hooked up at a nice hotel, didn’t I?”
“Thank you very much for that, by the way. We really do appreciate it.”
“No problem.”
Audrey lingered outside the car for a moment. Her tone grew grateful. “And listen, Alan…both Jacob and myself genuinely appreciate you taking Stephanie off our hands for a few days. I know the circumstances aren’t the best for either of us, but I think a trip will do her good.”
“You’ve gotta’ admit, the timing’s perfect,” Alan said. “Unfortunate, yes…but also perfect.”
“I really hope your friend gets through this,” Audrey said.
“And ditto with you and Dale.”
“Have a safe trip.”
“I’ll text you when we land,” Alan said. “Oh – and don’t go stingy on the room service. That bill’s on us, remember.” He smiled one last time before snapping the phone shut. He looked at Stephanie. “Ready for an adventure?” She nodded.
Boarding passes in hand, the two new friends walked together towards the Southwest Airlines departure gates. Thirty minutes later, they were 36,000 feet in the air, their Boeing 737 gradually banking west.