Chapter 22
Slim
Ma ma ma ma.
Is he asking for her?
Bell is in the bed next to me, dead to the world, still wearing her makeup from last night and reeking of cigarettes and booze. I didn’t even hear her come in last night.
I briefly wonder what she was up to after I left, but shelve that thought for another time.
“Can’t remember the last time I was up this early,” I tell Junior as I open the door, to his great delight. “Yeah, yeah, I’m happy to see you too. But maybe I’d be happier at 9?”
Okay. What now? Diaper. “You can stay in your PJs, right?”
“Ma ma ma,” he tells me.
“Da-da. Daddy. That’s what you should be saying. Daa-ddyyy. Da-da.”
Nothing.
“Breakfast. Breakfast. I ain’t making muffins at this hour, fuck that recipe. Can you have eggs?” I ask him once we’re in the kitchen. “Let’s ask Mommy.”
“Ma ma ma!” He exclaims enthusiastically while I type.
My phone dings a few minutes later. “Mommy said yes! High five!”
Rebel comes downstairs around 11, looking like hell. I’ve been stacking Junior’s colorful plastic cups into towers so he can knock them over for the last 45 minutes, and his interest in the activity hasn’t diminished a bit.
“Hey,” she greets us in a raspy voice, beelining for the fridge.
“When did you get in last night?” I ask as she opens an energy drink.
“Around two.”
“Hmm. Who did you ride with?”
“Claw.”
I glare at my wife disapprovingly, but she grimaces like I’m being unreasonable. After she takes a few sips of her drink, she goes and sits on the couch.
“You know there’s a cum stain on there?” I ask.
Rebel raises her eyebrows at me, so, in order to explain how I noticed it when I went to change DJ yesterday, I lead with the poop story.
I expect her to be in stitches at my descriptions of the whole thing, but all she says is, “I guess we forgot to clean up the other day.”
Sometimes, I get this niggling suspicion that Rebel doesn’t actually like kids, and thinking that always makes me feel like shit.
Sure, Marissa was always smiling at babies and kids, even before she was pregnant, but that doesn’t mean anything. She never made snarky comments if a child was throwing a tantrum at the supermarket. I remember thinking she was weird at first, but later I thought it was kinda nice.
Stop, I catch myself, stop comparing. You always do this. What is wrong with you?
But the truth is, I’d probably be happiest with some Frankenstein’s lover combination of the two women. Marissa to nurture and coddle me and my children, and Rebel for the crazy addictive emotions she inspires in me.
“What are your plans for the rest of the day?” My wife asks, interrupting my shameful thoughts.
“I’m gonna take DJ to Mom’s for lunch, and then Marissa’s gonna pick him up there at four. You’re welcome to join us. You know Mom goes all out.”
My mouth waters as I think about the feast that awaits us. I've been craving a home-cooked meal.
“I can’t, sorry. I have to sketch this intricate piece I’m doing tomorrow.”
“Can’t you do it in the morning?”
I hate this. How are we back here again, back to me begging for her time, attention, affection?
Rebel seems to read my face correctly, so she comes over and sits on my lap. Her lips touch my forehead.
“We both know your mom doesn’t like me. Why ruin her day with the grandson she sees so rarely?”
My stomach unclenches. “You’re right.”
Rebel smiles and gets up. “I’d better go take a shower and wash this raccoon makeup off.”
“Can you strip the sheets and put them in the washer?”
“Sure thing.”
High on my victory, I decide to take DJ outside and to call Claw. I still stand by my claim that his services are no longer necessary, but Rebel has repeatedly stated that she doesn’t trust Carlos’s word and that she feels safer with Claw around when I’m not there.
As soon as DJ and I are back inside, I smell it immediately.
“Shit,” I mutter as I dial Buzz. “Hey man, can you ask your brother to come to my house? The burnt rubber smell is back, and I’m worried it’s an electrical fire.”
“Boss, Pooh said he checked all the wiring twice and didn’t find anything.”
“I trust my own nose more than I trust Pooh. Besides, your brother is a certified electrician. I don’t care what it costs to get him out here today, do it. I have my son this weekend, and I’m not taking any risks.”
“There’s no end to it,” I tell DJ after I hang up the phone. “If it’s not an issue at work, it’s an issue with the club. If not there, then at home. If not that, then it’s your Mommy busting my balls. If not her, then Grandma. Speaking of, let’s get you out of your PJs and go see her.”
I put DJ into the guestroom crib while I find an outfit in the bag that Marissa packed. Rebel is getting dressed in the bedroom when I come in.
“I can’t wait to have a kid with you,” I tell my wife as I hug her waist. “At the rate we’re fucking, it should’ve already happened,” I add, thinking out loud.
She steps away from me.
“Why do you say it like that?” She asks, sounding irritated.
“Like what?”
“Like it’s supposed to happen quickly.”
“With DJ it did,” I shrug. “And maybe, I don’t know, something happened during the procedure? Maybe we should consult a doctor?”
“Oh, my God! Why do you keep bringing that up?” She practically screams, and DJ starts crying in the other room.
I give her a reproachful look, and she storms off, leaving the whole unresolved mess in my lap.
I make shushing sounds at DJ as I take him into my arms. “Come on, don’t cry.”
*
Being at Mom’s with DJ on a Sunday feels like being teleported back in time. I keep expecting Marissa to come out of the kitchen and announce that she’s “all done” with the dishes.
Around four, she does show up, but she has Baldy with her again.
It was pretty clear from his emails that he has a hard-on for her, but Marissa should know better than to sleep with the first guy who throws her a bone.
She has a kid to take care of now, for fuck’s sake, and he's, like, ten years older than her.
And why the hell is she wearing such short shorts? Her legs look more muscular. Maybe it’s the tan?
No.
There’s something different about her overall; I noticed it yesterday when I picked DJ up. I can’t quite put my finger on it. There’s a freshness and energy in her every movement.
Buzz saw her at one of the Bike Week events and told everyone at the shop that she must have gotten a boob lift. I glance at her chest. They do seem perkier. Is that what she spends the child support money on?
It doesn’t help that Mom fawns over Hawk like he’s God’s gift to womankind.
“And what do you do, Hawk?” She asks as Marissa smooches DJ like she hasn’t seen him in months.
She’s gonna make a sissy out of my boy if she keeps it up. Sorting out formal custody’s gonna be a good thing. By being with me on the weekends, DJ can learn what it means to be a man.
Hawk drones on about the security jobs he does, and I think I get it now. Occupational hazard. That’s why he sits so close to Marissa, almost shielding her from me with his body.
“What’s the craziest security job you’ve ever worked?”
“Last year, I worked on a reality show out in New York where ladies got into fistfights a lot. I was surprised to find that the fights were real. More real than wrestling,” Hawk says, and both women laugh.
“How exciting! Is there a chance I might have seen it?” Mom asks.
“No, ma’am. I think it hasn’t aired yet.”
“Well, I’ll make sure to keep an eye out.”
I haven’t seen Mom this animated in years.
“DJ and I had a great time together,” I announce proudly. “I even gave him a bath after dinner last night.”
Marissa has our son on her lap, and she is smiling at something Hawk whispered to her while I was speaking.
My words only get a nod from Mom, and she says, “That’s nice.”
“He ate a whole egg this morning. And I have two of those fruit pouches left, if you want them,” I continue.
Marissa blinks. “No, thanks. We’re good. You can keep them for his next visit.”
Marissa goes into the kitchen to make Hawk a plate at my mother’s insistence, and I can’t hold it in anymore.
I feel like a fucking intruder in my own mother’s home.
“Enjoying my leftovers, are you?” I ask Hawk in a low voice as my mother cuddles DJ.
He has the audacity to respond with a huge grin. “Oh, you have no idea how much.”
I feel like he sucker punched me. I jump to my feet right as Marissa comes back into the living room. She doesn’t say the dishes are all done, nor does she have the long hair I used to enjoy so much. It pains me to say it, but the new haircut suits her.
“I have to go,” I tell her. “I’ll call you about the next visit.”
She gives me a small wave with her free hand as she hands Hawk his plate.
Fuck all of them.
I don’t even remember driving to the clubhouse.
All I know is I'm inside, and I see my wife in the corner with Claw, who’s supposed to be fucking guarding her instead of trying to get in her pants.
The two of them seem to be in a world of their own, and when I see her hand disappear behind his back, I yank him away from her and I pummel him and pummel him until someone pulls me off.
“Dylan, what are you doing?” Bell shouts.
I give her a look that makes her clamp her mouth shut.
“What the fuck, man?” Claw wipes his bloody mouth and nose with the back of his hand. “Are you on something?”
“Stay the fuck away from my wife,” I tell him as I struggle to breathe.
“You called me, told me to keep an eye on her,” he tells me like I’m slow.
He seems genuinely confused, and it calms me a bit.
“You don’t need her hands on you for that. Keep your distance, fucker.”
“Everything has gone to shit,” Twitch exclaims. “Now we’re fighting among ourselves, brother against brother.”
I look around the room, and none of the brothers meet my eye, not even Truck. I know they all resent Rebel for the money and resources that were lost because of her, and now they’ll also blame her for the infighting.
Fuck, I need to think before I act. Whoever is holding me lets me go, and I help Claw off the floor.
“Sorry, man. Needed to let some steam off.”
“I can sell you something next time.” He smiles a bloody smile.
“Nah, I’m good. Can you imagine how insane I’d be then?” We both laugh.
I buy him a beer, and all’s good.
Rebel disappears somewhere, probably to sulk. I don’t care. I decide I’m gonna fuck the attitude out of her when we get home. She’s my wife, and she’d better act like it.
I’m not who I was seven years ago, and she’d better remember that.
*
“What the hell do you want now?” I ask the scrawny fucker sprawled out in one of the armchairs of my shop’s waiting room.
He stands up and pulls out an envelope from his back pocket. “Dylan Barnes, you’ve been served.”
“You already served me three weeks ago!” I protest as I rip the envelope open.
“That was the summons and petition for the custody case; this is a client pressing charges.”
“What the fuck,” I murmur, scanning the papers.
Gross negligence
Severe health issues
Infection
Amputation
Damages
I don’t even hear the door open.
“Mister Barnes, I’m Sheriff Danos,” a deep voice says, and I look up to see a familiar face.
“I’m here to execute a search and seizure warrant.
This is the court order authorizing the confiscation of your shop’s CCTV footage spanning these dates here,” he talks and talks, and I keep waiting for someone to jump out and yell, Candid Camera!
But nothing happens. I stumble over to the break room.
“Babe, what’s going on?” Rebel wraps her arms around my torso, and it steels me.
There’s nerds with gloves milling around the shop, and the fucking sheriff out front is for sure gonna be bad for business. I close my eyes and thank God that Truck stopped laundering drug money through the shop after DJ was born.
“You have a family to think about now,” he told me. “And the strip club is doing well.”
I need to make sure to thank him.
“Some asshole is suing me. I haven’t read the whole thing, but I wouldn’t worry,” I lie through my teeth, and Rebel nods.
“There’s always some genius who forgets he signed a waiver,” she says, and I turn around to hug her.
“Damn right. I’ll have the club lawyer take a look at this, maybe it won’t even get to court.”
“I’ll call Sly,” she says, and I take a deep breath.
It’s fine. Everything is okay.