12. Frederick
12
FREDERICK
M y knuckles rap sharply on Rochelle’s wooden door, announcing myself.
She opens the door, surprised to see me. “Frederick! What are you doing here so late?”
“Well, I wanted to come by to tell you I put the money in your account. How did it go yesterday? With Amyra?” I’m still slightly panting from climbing the steps. The elevator was occupied, and I didn’t feel like waiting.
“Wait, you came all this way to tell me that? A text would have been just fine.” Rochelle gives me a confused look. I can’t tell if she’s bothered by my presence or appreciates that I made the effort to show up.
“Well, I also wanted to see you. You know, face to face.” I chuckle to help break the tension.
She laughs in return. “Well, come in. I apologize for the mess. Sigourney and Walken are over, and I haven’t had much success in reining them in.”
She moves to the side and allows me to pass. I can hear the kids in the other room. It sounds like they’re arguing over something.
“So, how did it go, though?” I ask.
“Oh, uh, it was great. It’s really nice to have someone professional on my side. I don’t think I’ve ever worked with a lawyer before. At least, not one who's so on top of her game. Steve doesn’t have a chance.” She smiles after the last sentence as if it brings her immense joy to think that Steve is finally against the ropes.
“That’s great. I’m really glad it’s working out. I’ve heard great things about her, so you shouldn’t have to wait too long to see results.”
We stand in awkward silence in her kitchen for a moment. Then it dawns on her. “Oh, duh, do you want water or anything? I got some soda and snacks for the kids. We’re about to have a movie night.” She walks over to the fridge to pull out the soda.
“Um, yeah, soda is great. What movie are you watching?” I ask.
“Well, that depends on them. I think they’re still arguing about it in the living room.” She pulls a two-liter of lemon-lime soda and sets it on the counter. She reaches into a cupboard for a cup. I notice she just has an assortment of different cups from various locations. No two are identical.
“Here, this one should be good.” She hands me a souvenir cup from a fast food restaurant. The graphics are all faded, so I can’t quite make out what movie or show it’s from.
“Thanks,” I reply as I grab the bottle. I don’t think there’s any way to look elegant or classy when pouring from a two-liter, but I try my best.
Suddenly, Walken storms into the kitchen, TV remote in hand. Sigourney chases after him.
“You guys are gonna have to be the tie-breaker,” Walken announces. He doesn’t even acknowledge Sigourney next to him, reaching for the remote.
“Walken, I said give me the remote!” She tries to snatch it, but he holds it just out of reach. It’s obvious that this is a dance they do often.
“Give it to me,” Rochelle reaches out her hand, and Walken reluctantly hands it over. “What are you guys trying to watch?”
“I want to see a superhero movie, and she wants to watch some girly unicorn thing,” Walken replies, rolling his eyes as he speaks.
“It’s a good movie, Walken! Just because it has girls, you think it’s stupid!” Sigourney crosses her arms in contempt.
“I’m good with either one. What do you say, Frederick?” Rochelle looks at me. I feel trapped by expectations.
“Uh, um, uh…” I freeze. Part of me thinks Rochelle would appreciate me siding with Sigourney, but what if she likes superhero movies, too? Has she ever mentioned anything about them?
All three of them stare at me for an uncomfortable amount of time. “Uh, unicorns.” I stammer. Sigourney pumps her fist, and Walken just sighs in defeat.
“That was nice of you,” Rochelle puts her hand on my shoulder. I smile as faintly as possible. I made the right choice.
In the living room, the kids have spread their stuff all over the couch. I see several candy bags and a bag of popcorn on the coffee table. They really went all out on the snacks. As they take their seats, I notice the couch doesn’t have room for all of us and pivot to the armchair nearby.
I settle in as they get the movie started. It’s an animated film, and it looks like it’s made for small children. Much smaller than Sigourney. Walken looks ready to melt and the credits have only just started.
As the opening credits roll, Rochelle is already discretely glancing down at her phone every so often. Sigourney is practically on the edge of her seat, and Walken is reluctantly watching, hoping it’s better than he expected.
“Do you want a Milk Dud?” Walken offers me one as he grabs the box on the table. I politely decline.
He shrugs his shoulders and leans back. He shakes half the box into his mouth, and then can barely close his jaw to chew. I resist the urge to snicker.
“Oh, there’s some leftover pizza in the fridge if you want it. We ate earlier.” Rochelle motions to the kitchen.
“I’m good, thank you.” I lean back in the chair, careful not to break it. It seems like I could snap the back in half if I lean too forcefully.
As the movie progresses, I can see Walker getting into it. Rochelle and I share looks every now and then at the silliest parts of the story, but only when Sigourney can’t see us. Whether it’s a bit young for her or not, she’s really enjoying it. I wouldn’t want her to think we’re making fun of her show.
About half an hour into the movie, I hear the muffled sounds of screaming coming from the apartment below. I flinch, glancing uncomfortably at the kids. They don’t seem to even notice.
“Ugh, right on time,” Rochelle whispers.
“Every night?” I ask. I’m a little surprised the superintendent here lets that go on, but I’m self-aware enough to realize that’s probably a very rich-person worldview. There’s probably worse stuff going on in a lot of apartment buildings that would blow my mind.
“Practically. You’d think they’d get tired of it.” Rochelle rolls her eyes.
“It sounds pretty intense,” I reply.
“Wait until you hear the sounds of glass breaking and stuff getting thrown against the wall.” Rochelle scoffs.
“That sounds dangerous. Has anyone ever called the cops on them?” I whisper. Thankfully the kids are too invested in the unicorns to pay us any attention.
Rochelle sighs, giving me a skeptical look. “Around here? It wouldn’t matter. Besides, what would we do, call every night? They usually stop after like an hour or so. Either he leaves, or they storm off into different rooms.”
I look at the kids to see they’re still transfixed on the TV. I can’t tell if they don’t hear the commotion downstairs or are actively choosing to ignore it. I remember how captivated I was by screens at that age. It’s definitely possible that they’re tuning the rest of the world out.
The shouting continues, and I’m pretty sure I hear the sound of a glass breaking against the wall. Rochelle points in the air when it happens. See? What did I tell you? She doesn’t have to speak, but her actions are clear as day.
After a while, I can hear the woman screaming at the top of her lungs. I can’t quite make out what she’s saying, but it sounds like, “I hate you! Why don’t you just die!”
And it sounds like what he screams back is even worse. “Why don’t I just make sure you do?” Is that a threat?
Rochelle may be used to this kind of activity, but I’m not. “I’m going to use the bathroom.” I stand up to excuse myself.
“Second door down.” Rochelle points.
Inside the bathroom, I call 911. No one should have to deal with this every night.
“911, what’s your emergency?” The screener asks.
“Yes, I’d like to report a domestic disturbance. My neighbors are threatening to kill each other.”