Nothing Better To Do - a novel in stories - Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

Harry Kresge picked up the phone. There were few seconds of dead air before someone would finally speak. Harry figured it was probably a sales call. He knew the drill: A computer dialed their number, now he would have to hold the line until the salesperson came on. Doesn't that just beat the band, he thought, I'm waiting for them to try to sell me something I don't want.

"Hello, may I speak to Jenny Chiu?" It was a woman's voice.

"She's not home."

"Is this Mr. Chiu?" Her voice sounded mechanical, almost computerized, as if she was reading from a script, reading with false enthusiasm, her bogus cheerfulness, a turn-off.

"Yes, this is Mr. Chiu," Harry lied for no particular reason, except it was probably easier than explaining, easier to say "no" with finality, when saying it with the imputed authority to speak on behalf of Jenny P. Chiu. He figured he could hang up when he finally tired of playing her and maybe she wouldn't call back. The man of the house would have spoken on the matter.

"Hello, Mr. Chiu. This is Betty, calling on behalf of Ameritech. How are you today?"

Harry wondered why they always started off this way. It provided him with the perfect opportunity to throw them off their script. "Not too good," He told the woman. "I just learned that my mother has been kidnapped by Albanian rebels in the Nicaraguan rain forest."

There was a moment of confused silence, then, "Oh, I'm sorry to hear that." Then more silence as the woman fumbled, trying to find her place on the script. "Mr. Chiu, the reason why we're calling today is to introduce you to a wonderful new feature that will enhance the performance of your Caller-ID service."

"We don't have Caller-ID - and we don't want it. I told the same thing to the guy who called yesterday. Thank you. Goodbye." Harry hung up before she could find that paragraph in the script that deals with customers who haven't already signed up for Caller-ID.

Harry was pleased with himself. Mr. Chiu, hah! He smiled for a moment before a dark cloud crossed his moon of a face. Could it be the joke was on him?

He looked out the big picture window in the living room to see where Jenny's ten-year-old has wandered off. He had heard him getting his bike out of the garage, earlier, now he wasn't anywhere in sight. He hoped the little shit didn't get hit by a car, but he wasn't worried enough to go out and look for him. He had other things to do.

The washing machine had just stopped. Once again, he had forgotten to add fabric softener during the rinse cycle. Damn that phone call... He toyed with the idea of running the machine through the rinse cycle a second time, just so he could add softener. Jenny had a knack for catching him when he forgot. He decided to risk it. He unloaded the wet laundry into a wicker basket and took it to the clothesline in the backyard.

He looked around to see if Snake was in his yard. Do I give a shit if anyone sees me out here...? I've got more important fish to fry. Fish to fry... Literally, he thought. He had forgotten to take the chicken out of the freezer. It looked like Mrs. Paul's fish-sticks for the second time this week. Jenny was going to have a bird.

"Can I have a drink?" a small voice hollered out the back door.

"Be careful, don't spill!" Harry was glad to have a handle on the boy again.

The laundry hung, he came back into the kitchen to find an open container of milk on the table, a half-empty glass next to it. He had returned just in time to hear the front screen door slam behind the boy.

"Where you going?" Harry called after him, but there was no reply. So he was back where he started. He put the milk carton in the refrigerator, but left the glass where it was, in case the kid returned. Only two more weeks until school's back in session, Harry comforted himself. He couldn't wait to have the house to himself again. Summer is torture.

The glass on the table reminded him of something he'd forgotten to do. He went to the sink and started to load the dishwasher. The phone rang. He dried his hands on a dish-towel and picked up the receiver from the wall phone in the kitchen.

"Did you remember to vacuum?"

"Jeez, Jenny... Gimme a chance. I've been working like a slave all morning."

"Just reminding you," she said, her skepticism barely disguised.

"How's work?" he asked, hoping to sidetrack her.

As he talked, a movement caught his eye. He turned to see Jenny's daughter, trying to get his attention. She was cradling a half dozen pairs of jeans in her arms.

"Hold on a second," he told Jenny. "What is it?" he asked the girl. "I'm on the phone with your mother."

"Don't forget my jeans, when you do the laundry!" the girl said, dropping them in a heap at Harry's feet. She turned and stalked off to the self-imposed isolation of her room.

"What was that?" Jenny asked.

"Oh, nothing. Just the bitch giving me orders, again."

"Harry!"

"Yeah, yeah... I know..." He rolled his eyes. "But... Does she have to wear a clean pair of jeans everyday?"

"Make sure Billy practices the piano. And no video games. You got that? Where is he now?"

"He's in the bathroom," Harry lied. If Jenny knew he didn't have a clue where the brat was at that very moment, he'd have to endure the other lecture, the one about it not being good for the boy to be out gallivanting around all day.

The phone call finished, he went to the girl's room and listened at the door for a moment. The radio was playing softly. He knocked.

"What is it?" She sounded annoyed.

"I've already done the laundry. If you want those jeans washed today, do it yourself!"

The door flew open. The girl pushed past him, stomping emphatically all the way to the kitchen. She picked up the jeans and brought them back to her bedroom, where she dropped them in a pile in the middle of the floor. She slammed the door in Harry's face and turned up her radio.

"Bitch!" he tried to out-shout the radio. He went back to the dishes.

***

Now it was three o'clock. Harry heard the screen door. "Billy?"

"Yeah."

"Don't go anywhere. What do you want for lunch?"

"Cocoa Puffs," the boy responded without any hesitation, despite the fact that Harry had told him a hundred times that he can't have Cocoa Puffs for lunch.

"Grilled cheese, soup, or a hot dog?" Harry asked.

"French toast," the kid said, ignoring his menu.

"Deal." Harry was happy with the compromise. "While I've got you here, don't leave without practicing the piano."

"Later."

"Not later, either now, while I make your French toast, or right after you finish eating."

The boy turned on the television. Harry could hear him flipping channels until he got to the Jerry Springer show. There were the sounds of expletives being bleeped out, people shouting, furniture being smashed. Billy was laughing. He started to give Harry a play-by-play, calling it out all the way to the kitchen.

"Turn that shit off!" Harry moaned.

"Not yet. It's not over."

"Your lunch is ready."

"Bring it in here!"

***

It was six o'clock. Harry heard Jenny's car pull into the driveway.

"Your mother's here," he told the boy. "You better turn off that video game."

Billy jumped up from where he'd been manipulating the game controller on the couch. He unplugged the game and turned the television to the news. He barely scampered back to his seat by the time Jenny opened the door.

She stopped at the threshold and surveyed the room.

"What a shit-hole!"

"And a good evening to you, too. How was your day?"

"Don't try to be funny, Harry. My day sucked and the trip home was worse. I got a speeding ticket, 41 miles per hour in a 25 zone." She handed Harry the yellow summons.

Harry glanced at it idly, not really taking in any of the writing.

"I told the cop, 'I was only doing 35, you fat ass, and that was on a down-hill.'"

"Are you nuts?"

"Well not really, but I wanted to. And he wasn't really fat. In fact he was tall and skinny."

Harry glanced at the ticket, again. He was trying to locate the officer's signature. When he found it, he lets out a low whistle.

"What now?" Jenny asked.

"Orel Paige. You got a ticket from the notorious internet cop. I didn't know he was assigned to traffic."

She ignored Harry and looked around the living room, again. "Why is the video game on the floor? You call this room vacuumed? Did you feed my kids, Harry?"

The phone rang.

"I'll get it," Harry said, happy for the chance to escape. He picked up the receiver in the kitchen.

"Mr. Chiu?" asked an unfamiliar voice.

"Yes, this is Mr. Chiu."