Sour Cream and Candy

Chapter 3

Optimists Conspire Further

By Maleika (how boring is that?)

The slightly stinging smell of freshly ground roasted beans submerged in boiling water fills my nostrils. Coffee. How I hate coffee.

“…so I inherited my father’s production firm and now I do movies. Tell me something, are you an actor?”

“Uhm…”

“That’s no problem! I’ll make you one! I’ll make you into a superstar. No, THE Superstar!”

“Uhm…”

“What about your girlfriend? You know the one passed out on the couch. Is she any good?”

“She’s my fiancé. Not. My. Girlfriend.”

“Brilliant! The dry bitterness of it. We’ll have you dazzling the audiences in no time!”

I blink at my watch. Jesus Christ in pink pantyhose who is this person? And what the hell is he doing in my apartment at three forty-two AM?

“Are you any good at singing? Because if you are we can make you into the next all round idol. I can see it now: the glitz and glamour… Oh swoon.”

Oh retch. Ray and idol do not go into one sentence together. Exchange “idol” with “stupid spawn of Satan” and I’ll give my blessing.

As stealthily as possible I sit up and peek over the back of the couch, through the open kitchen door.

Ray is sitting at the kitchen table, nursing a very big mug of steaming something, across from a very big pink something. A very big something in pink fluff pyjamas and a face full of black smears and stuff. IT looks like some kind of weird mixture between a fluffy pink rabbit and a goth. And it is male.

Oh I wish I had a camera. The expression of extreme torture on Ray’s face is a thing for the yearbook. Brilliant.

The It wears contact lenses with big yellow stars on them. Abruptly two black painted brows shoot up disappearing under a chunky black fringe, creating a comic expression of surprise. I blink some more. Holy mother of God, It’s spotted me.

“Oh the little miss is up! How are you dear? Head hurt? Want some coffee? Need some Advil? Want a cushion? Anything I can do for you?” I think he said that all on one breath.

“Uhm…” Now I know how Ray must be feeling.

“Don’t be afraid, precious, the nasty little burglars are gone. Uncle Timmy scared them away.” I have no problem believing that. I do have a problem with being treated like a five year old. So I open my mouth to complain and-

“Don’t say it, I know. I was brilliant, wasn’t I? Brilliant! And the expression of horror on their faces, just beautiful! Maybe I should find them and get them contracts for my next big Thriller…I know, YOU could be part of it as well! What do you think Ray, wouldn’t she just make a great fainting damsel in distress?” It smacks It’s forehead. “Oh how insensitive of me. I shouldn’t be talking about such things in front of you right now. APRIL!”

Just when I think things can’t become any stranger, she walks in. She is a pretty young woman with a very sane, sweet smile, wearing one of the aprons from our kitchen and holding another big steaming mug. “Hush Timmy, you’ll wake the neighbours.”

Grinning insanely It takes her by the arm and gently shuffles her over to the couch. She tips her head to the side a little and nods. “Hello Rachel. I’m April.”

I don’t bother asking how she knows my name, and that I really like hot chocolate, which the big mug that she gives to me contains. Gratefully I take a big sip of the scorching liquid, flush it about in my mouth and swallow. April smiles some more and pats It’s head. “Now Timmy, why don’t you and Ray go back to the kitchen and I’ll take care of Rachel here?”

Through the gap between her and It I can see Ray blanch. He he he. So help me, or don’t; I feel nothing but glee at the prospect.

“Wonderful idea my little Buttercup,” It chirps and let’s April lead it back to the kitchen. “Now there’s a good wife, Ray! April’s such a darling, so kind and–” It is cut off as April pulls shut the door and shakes her head benignly.

“Don’t mind Timmy,” she says, taking a seat beside my cast, “he’s a darling. Just an… eccentric one.”

“Who are you?” I finally manage to blurt out and she laughs a little.

“Oh I’m sorry. I forgot that you were out when the introductions were taking place. As I said my names April, April Field. That man in there,” she paints at the kitchen, “is my husband Timmy. We’re your across-the-hall neighbours.”

Well that explains everything. Like what the hell these two are doing in our apartment in the middle of the night. “Um… I don’t mean to be unkind or anything, but what are you doing here?” And why is your husband wearing pink PJs and makeup?

“Oh that. Timmy heard the burglars break in, so he came over here.” She grins a little sheepishly. “I’m very sorry he beat Ray up, but you have to understand, Timmy thought he was going to attack you with that knife.”

I choke on my hot chocolate and begin coughing loudly.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I’m so silly to mention that at a time like this,” she apologizes hitting me on the back gently. God, she just made my day. Ray got beaten up by a pink fluffy something because it looked like he was attacking me, and she’s apologizing? I’d break my other leg to have seen it. “But really, I find it all most fascinating. Ray told us all about your arranged marriage and–“ This time I choke for real, and not from attempting to contain my laughter.

He told them what? Can the twerp not keep his mouth shut? Do I need to sew his bloody lips closed? Well yes, I do, but not now. Excruciating pain to be inflicted on him is for later.

“I’m fine, thanks,” I wheeze, setting the mug down on the coffee table. “Really. Nothing there to apologize about.”

“Are you sure?” Concern is scrawled out on her forehead in big bold red capitals. How on earth did someone so sweet and gentle end up with something so strange as Timmy?

“Yeah. I’m fine. Really.” I’d be a lot better off though if I had a bottle of arsenic and some painful instrument of torture with which to amuse myself with. I feel the urge to say more. “Thank you very much for your help, you were very kind.”

“My pleasure dearest. As a fact I’ve been meaning to come around and welcome you to the building but with a household to keep up and kids to take care of, some things just never get done.”

I nod as though I understand something about running a household. “How many kids have you got?” I hope God has at least taken pity on them and made them take after their mother instead of their presumed father.

“Oh three. Timothy junior is five. Lucy’s twelve, darling little angel she is. Julian’s a little older than you. He goes to your school though.” I blanch. I hope to God – one would think I’d given up on that enterprise by now – that she did not mean Julian, as in Julian the slime of a slick best friend of The Spawn and threat to every sophomore’s chastity. “You might know him, he’s tallish with black hair. He’s on the football team too.”

I just had to hope didn’t I? Then something occurs to me. I know without fail that Slime is seventeen, and April doesn’t look a day over twenty-five, certainly not like she’s given birth to and raised three kids. “So, he’s adopted?” Almost immediately I want to beat myself with a blunt object for the crudeness of that.

April, God bless her, just keeps right on smiling. “Him and Lucy. Their father was Timmy’s brother, and he and his wife died on vacation to Pluto when I’d just married Timmy. Timmy junior is all ours though. Darling child, just like his father.”

Life, oh, life.

X X X X X X X X X

I love Saturdays; sleeping late, pigging out on cotton candy at Amusement Central, blowing the weeks allowance on new accessories with Vicky.

Bliss.

Oh, wait, that was back when I still had a life.

Now I get dragged out of bed at seven thirty AM by my overly enthusiastic mother’s pet dragon. To go grocery shopping. And vacuum the apartment. And do the dishes. And, and, and, and.

I stare at the arm long slip of paper. And stare. And stare. By the time I look up, my mother’s face has disappeared from the ComScreen and her MAD is weaselling its way out of my window. Trish peaks her head out from under the bed, half eaten Power Pack clenched between her jaws.

This cannot be my life. I sink down on the couch –damn it too- and stare at the slip. Then at the credit card. The household account, my mother says. You have to learn to deal with your money, she says. You have to earn your money, she says.

With good behaviour, she says.

Bad behaviour, like throttling your fiancé, leads to deductions from the account, she says. And I’d just put on some credit on for you to buy those new shoes you wanted. Sorry Ra, she says.

Which leads to the conclusion that she says too much by far.

Why me? Why can't Ray be a good male and do the shopping?

Wait, I wouldn’t trust him with a credit card if I was a dead sheep.

So, unless I want to starve, there was exactly enough food in the apartment to support us until today, I have only one choice. The Mall. The only place I know where to get anything.

The favourite hangout of Ginger Fangs, and her Heels.

And I am still wearing a cast.

No. Way.

Ray is out at the nearest police station with It and the chastity case. They made quite a trio, the man in red spandex, his nephew and his nephew’s best friend. A Kodak moment that my camera shall forever treasure. I will not be nearly half as amused if I have to hobble to the mall, alone, or starve.

Thank God for April. She is sweetest, kindest most amiable person I have ever met. She’s so great I can't get sick of it. I didn’t like to see her do when she and Timmy left, around two-ish. Then I had to convince Ray to sleep on the couch in front of the door. I had to promise to make him lunch for the rest of the month. The degradation.

But, I have a plan. Not a fully worked out plan, it’s still in its test phase, but I have a plan. A godamn ingenious one if I may say so myself.

April greets me at the door with Timmy Junior on her hip. Nothing half as scary as Timmy Senior, but fourteen months old.

Fourteen months is never a good age. I remember my brother at that age so I try to make my smile look extra friendly so he won’t try biting me like Benjamin did. He observes me suspiciously for a moment before sticking his fist halfway in his mouth and chewing on it.

Masochist. Probably gets it from his dad, unless of course dressing up to scare people witless is a weird sort of sadism.

“Hello, dear, come in. I’ll be right with you, I just have to give Timmy his bottle.” April heads of into a living room that mirrors ours except for furniture. I hobble after her to the kitchen, where, lo and be hold, the first thing that catches my eye is the massive knife rack above her stove. And there in a neatly looked little glass cabinet, rat poison, bug spray and other things with big sculls on them. And a good old bottle opener, the antique kind where bottle’s still had little metal cap like things. I once read a book where some completely brilliant chick threatened to break her stepbrother’s fingers with one.

I so want to try that out. This is heaven.

“Beautiful morning, isn’t it?” April asks gently as she squashes little Timmy into a highchair. He endures the procedure without a flinch, though what was there to expect from one who chews on himself? He also chews elaborately on his bottle.

“Uhm. Yes. Quite.” Brilliant Rachel, just brilliant. “I wanted to ask you, if, um… you-would-mind-helping-me-with-this?”

She eyes the slip of paper with a smile and studies it for a moment. Her smile grows to twice its width. “Groceries, hm? And you on your crutch. Yes, of course dear. Why don’t you have a seat in the lounge while I finish off here. Then I’ll take you anywhere you need to go.”

X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X

AN:Hmmmm…