How Hard Can It Be? (24 page)
Chapter 28
W
ho in the hell had turned out every light in the house? I’d already run into three fornicating statues in the foyer while trying to find my way back to the icky pink office. Forgetting my cell phone had been stupid and inconvenient. I considered leaving it at the mansion overnight, but my parents might call. If I didn’t answer, they’d drive to my apartment and find out I had moved. I had no energy to deal with that fallout.
ho in the hell had turned out every light in the house? I’d already run into three fornicating statues in the foyer while trying to find my way back to the icky pink office. Forgetting my cell phone had been stupid and inconvenient. I considered leaving it at the mansion overnight, but my parents might call. If I didn’t answer, they’d drive to my apartment and find out I had moved. I had no energy to deal with that fallout.
Cecil and the gals had made Shirley Temples to celebrate the completion of
Pirate Dave and His Randy Adventures.
Turned out Poppy Harriet was a recovering alcoholic. Well, she wasn’t . . . Walter Garski was. We got pretty rowdy and Cecil actually told three jokes. They weren’t funny, but we laughed anyway. He’d come so far out of his shell, we’d do anything to keep him there.
Pirate Dave and His Randy Adventures.
Turned out Poppy Harriet was a recovering alcoholic. Well, she wasn’t . . . Walter Garski was. We got pretty rowdy and Cecil actually told three jokes. They weren’t funny, but we laughed anyway. He’d come so far out of his shell, we’d do anything to keep him there.
“Motherfucker,” I whispered, nailing my shin on someone’s cement butt. It was creepy in there at night. I wondered where Evangeline was and prayed I wouldn’t run into her.
I quickly grabbed my phone from the office and made my way back to the fuck-foyer. Getting out of there was very necessary. The house had a sinister feel that late at night. I was almost home free when I heard soft moaning. Oh Sweet Jesus, was Evangeline getting it . . . wait, it was a man . . . and he was moaning in pain, not pleasure. Shit, had the Viper beaten the crap out of Herbie the Dentist Cop again?
Every instinct I had told me to leave. To run like hell without looking back, but I couldn’t. Whoever was moaning was in a bad way. I couldn’t leave someone there like that . . . even if it was Herbie the asshole Dentist.
I felt my way over to the wall. My worry about being caught by Evangeline evaporated, overtaken by my concern for whoever was moaning. I flicked on the light and my knees buckled. This had to be a nightmare.
“Oh my God, no,” I gasped. My insides clenched and I had to suppress the impulse to scream. “No, no, no,” I cried out, running to the foot of the staircase where Cecil lay crumpled and bleeding. “Cecil,” I whispered, “oh my God, Cecil, what happened?”
“Rena?” Cecil looked up and tried to focus on me. His eyes were dilated, a sure sign of a concussion. His lip was swollen and bleeding and there was a deep gash over his left eyebrow. Those were the injuries I could see; I worried about the ones I couldn’t.
“What happened to you? Did you fall?”
“Rena,” he choked out, “you have to leave. Now.”
“Clearly you’ve been smoking crack because I’m not going anywhere,” I told him, pulling some Kleenex out of my bag and pressing it against the gash. “This will hurt, but we have to stop the bleeding. You’re going to need some stitches.”
“Listen to me”—his voice was horse—“go home now. She’ll be back.”
WTF? “What do you mean?” I shook my head, trying to wrap my brain around the thought of Evangeline harming Cecil this way. “Answer me, Cecil.”
“I can’t.” His eyes pleaded with me, “Please leave, I’ll be okay.”
“You are not okay,” I said trying not to cry. “I’m going to call an ambulance.” I pulled out my recently recovered cell and started to dial.
“No,” he hissed grabbing my arm in a vise-like grip. “Don’t. Please God, don’t.” He winced and his face went slack with pain. He tried to hold his ribs, but his body fought him and he collapsed back to the floor.
“Shit, fuck, shit, shit,” I muttered, feeling panic swell inside me. He needed medical attention. Now. “Listen to me, Cecil, I promise I won’t call an ambulance, but I’m going to call my sister. She’s a doctor. You’re a mess and I don’t know what to do,” I said as my eyes welled up.
“Can you help me to the office?” he asked.
“I have no idea, but my answer is yes.”
Twenty minutes later, Cecil was in the office and Jenny was about ten minutes away. It took a hell of a lot of convincing to get her to come here instead of meeting her at the hospital, but when I promised her she could pick the return favor, no questions asked, she caved. I snuck back out to the foyer and waited for my sister. Cecil wasn’t talking. I’d threatened, begged, and whined, but he wouldn’t tell me what had happened. I thought I couldn’t possibly hate Evangeline any more than I already did. I was wrong.
A soft knock at the door yanked me back to my horrific reality.
“Holy hell,” Jenny whispered, looking around the foyer in shock. “What is this place?”
“My office.” I grinned weakly. “Come with me.”
I had filled Jenny in as much as I could when I’d called her. She’d asked pointed questions about Cecil’s injuries and had brought the instruments and meds she thought she would need.
“I shouldn’t be doing this,” she said. “We should be at a hospital.”
“I know, but this means more to me than you’ll ever know.”
“How old is your friend?” she asked as we quietly made our way back to the office.
“Late fifties.”
“Okay, and how do you think this happened?”
“I think Evangeline hit him and he fell down the stairs,” I said.
“Those stairs?” She pointed to the grand marble staircase and cringed.
“Yeah, I found him crumpled at the bottom.” The panic began to surface again.
“Rena, if he fell down those stairs, you never should have moved him,” she said, shaking her head. “Actually, if he fell down those stairs, he’s lucky to be alive.”
“He wouldn’t let me call you unless I helped him to the office.” My tears spilled down my cheeks. “What if he dies because I moved him?”
“Was he able to walk?” she asked, wiping my tears away.
“Kind of,” I said, taking a deep breath and trying not to flop to the floor and become a useless blubbering mess.
“If he was able to move on his own, it might not be as bad as I think,” she said reassuringly. “Take me to him.”
After Jenny grilled Cecil with questions, took his blood pressure and all sorts of other doctor things, she stitched his eye and lip. When she went to lift his shirt, he adamantly refused to let her examine his ribs.
“She’s a surgeon, Cecil.” I rolled my eyes. “She’s seen people’s insides, for God’s sake. Your naked chest isn’t going to offend her.”
“I’m fine,” he said, standing to prove it. The second he was upright his eyes rolled into the back of his head and he passed out. Thankfully the heinous pink couch was there to catch him.
“Oh my God, is he dead?” I gasped.
Jenny ran over and checked his vitals, “Nope, just passed out from the pain.”
“Alrighty then.” I glanced at my sister and started to laugh. The Inappropriate Laughing Monster decided to pay me a poorly timed visit. Thankfully he knocked on Jenny’s door, too.
“Help me with his clothes. I’ll check him while he’s out,” she said when she got control of herself.
We gently peeled off his suit jacket. Jenny hung it over a chair and I carefully unbuttoned his shirt. I froze. Oh my God, another missing puzzle piece smacked me in the head. Cecil didn’t like plus-size women. Well, he might like them, but he certainly wasn’t buying lingerie for them . . . he was buying it for himself.
Underneath Cecil’s crisp white dress shirt was a purple teddy, and if I remembered correctly, my guess would be that it was crotchless. Probably made going to the bathroom easier for the average guy who likes wearing women’s undergarments. This was what Evangeline had on him, but how would she even know? I couldn’t imagine why this would be such a big deal, but Cecil was from another generation and I’d bet a million bucks his mother had no clue.
“Um, Jenny, just because a man wears women’s underthingies doesn’t mean he’s gay. Right?”
“Why in the hell would you ask me . . . Oh my,” she giggled, taking in Cecil in all his purple lacy glory. “Just because a man likes lacy panties doesn’t mean he bats for the other team. Do you remember Uncle Carlton?”
“You mean Uncle Fucker?” I corrected her.
“Yes, exactly,” she said, smiling. “He wore Aunt Phyllis’s undies all the time.”
The Uncle Fucker stories were never-ending. Maybe I would go to the séance. It might be enlightening . . .
“Are Cecil’s ribs busted?” I asked.
“Let me feel around,” she said. She examined his rib cage and shook her head in bewilderment. “Call me crazy, but I think the boning and padding in his teddy may have saved his ribs. He’s bruised, but it doesn’t feel broken. We’re still going to get an X-ray. He may have cracked a rib and I’m worried about internal bleeding or a punctured lung, although his vitals are strong,” she said. “I just need to rule internal issues out.”
“So I see you’ve discovered Cecil is nothing but a useless fag,” Evangeline spat derisively from the doorway.
“Jesus Christ,” Jenny shouted in abject horror as she flattened herself against the wall. “What is that?”
I couldn’t stop the laugh that flew out of my mouth and had no desire to. Thank God, my sister had been born without the thought filter gene. The look on the Viper’s face was priceless.
“Were you in an accident?” Jenny stammered, digging an even bigger hole. “I mean, my God, your face. It’s just . . . just—” She shook her head and slapped her hand over her mouth before anything else came out. That made me sad; it was just getting good.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” the Viper hissed, “but I do believe you’re trespassing. Breaking and entering is a crime.” She smiled nastily. “I think I’ll alert the police.”
“Not so fast,” my sister said. “I’m a doctor and you have a very injured man here. From what I understand, this man is your employee. Why haven’t you called for medical assistance?”
“I was busy,” she snapped, “and he’ll be fine. He’s probably faking it. He’s not my problem”—she waved her hand dismissively—“but I am yours, Doctor. I didn’t call you, which means you are in my home illegally. That should make a lovely headline in tomorrow’s paper, don’t you think?”
“What I think, Ma’am, is that you have slightly larger problems on your hands.” Jenny spoke slowly and her enunciation was perfect. She was scaring the hell out of me. “My husband is a lawyer, and he’ll be representing Cecil when he sues you for attempted murder.”
The Viper’s bulbous lips thinned and her nostrils flared. “Oh, he won’t be suing me,” she guaranteed and pointed her claw at me, “he’ll be suing the slut who pushed him down the stairs.”
“There is so much wrong with that statement, I don’t know where to begin.” Jenny chuckled as if she were talking to an old, amusing, and slightly senile friend.
“Do go on, little trespasser,” Evangeline purred and absently began massaging her breasts.
Jenny was stunned to repulsed silence for a brief moment, but she loved a good fight. “My sister may be a lot of things, impulsive, reckless, profane, out of control, rude . . .”
“Um, Jenny,” I cut her off.
“Right,” she said, “but she is definitely not a slut. Furthermore, Cecil is lying here passed out in this pink . . . I suppose you’d call it an office. There is no possible way you’d know he was pushed down the stairs unless you did it yourself.” Jenny tucked her hair behind her ear and perched casually on the edge of the desk, “You see, as many bad qualities as Rena possesses, and there are many”—she winked at me—“she would never, ever harm anyone. And lastly, whoever your plastic surgeon is . . . the man should be shot and his license should be revoked. You’re a hot mess.”
Evangeline turned the most unattractive shade of purple I’d ever seen on a human. Of course her humanity is debatable . . . “My plastic surgeon is a woman,” she shrieked.
“I find that hard to swallow,” my sister shot back. “A woman’s touch is far less heavy-handed than the business you’ve got going on there. I’d be curious to take a look at the scarring under your wig. May I?”
My sister was forevermore going to be my hero. If Evangeline could have split in two like Rumpelstiltskin, she would have. “My hair is real,” she screamed, shaking with fury. She clutched her bosom as if it were a life line to sanity; too bad it was just Bulgarian silly putty. I worried a little bit about her coming at us. After we’d seen her handiwork on Cecil, who knew what she was capable of. I half expected her to pull an AK-47 out from between her knockers like Eviline had.
“I’m going to my boudoir,” she ground out. “I expect you to be gone in five minutes. And take that pathetic fag with you.”
“Just because he’s a cross-dresser doesn’t mean he’s gay,” I said, sticking up for poor passed-out Cecil.
“Oh, please,” she laughed, “any boy who’s worn girls’ panties since grade school is not a boy.” She turned on her stiletto bedroom mules and wobbled out.
“That’s the famous writer?” Jenny asked in disbelief.
“Famous? Yes. Writer? Debatable,” I said.
“Rena?” Cecil called weakly from the couch. “What happened?”
“Nothing,” I told him softly. If he hadn’t heard that exchange, he never needed to know about it. “Cecil, you have to go to the hospital. You could have internal bleeding and my sister’s risked her career and her medical liability insurance to come here.”
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