MAUREEN
As soon as I enter the kitchen and see Tammy and Mabel, I know something’s up. It’s the energy in the air, that feeling when you walk in the room, in the middle of two people whispering, and you know it’s about you and you know it’s not good. That’s what it is, crackling above them, their guilty, hushed faces. Mabel’s standing next to the card table we use as a dining room table, orange juice sloshing back and forth in her glass like she’s just been twirling it around. Tammy’s sitting, and she doesn’t look up at me as I enter.
“Good morning,” I say cheerfully.
They don’t answer me.
“Is everything okay?”
“Where have you been?” Mabel asks, surveying me with those beady bug eyes of hers. “It’s been days.”
“I’ve been busy.”
Tammy doesn’t look at me. What would she think if I told her about Phillip? I am suddenly embarrassed by the weight of it all, the secret I hold between us. But it’s all for her, I tell myself.
“Besides, it’s none of your business,” I say to Mabel.
“It most certainly is.” Mabel slams her glass down on the counter and glares at me. She’s puffy this morning, her eyes round, with dark circles under them. She’s got on one of her boyfriend’s T-shirts, and as she crosses her hands across her chest the football logo smashes between her breasts. “Tammy, if you’re not going to do something about this, I am.”
“What happened, Mabel?” I sit down next to Tammy and unwrap a Pop-Tart. “Did you mistake your hemorrhoid cream for toothpaste again?”
Tammy remains motionless. It’s like someone’s just said her dog’s missing. I’m worried something bad really did happen to her—her mother, maybe? Or had Benny bothered her?
“You’re a thief,” Mabel says dramatically. “Try and lie your way out of it this time. I’ve caught you now.”
I poke Tammy. “Hey, what’s with all this?”
She looks at me then, and there’s a hatred in her eyes that I’ve never seen. It throws me. Through all of Mabel’s bullshit I always had Tammy on my side at least. I feel heat coming to my cheeks.
“Where’s my rent money, Maureen? I want it back.” Mabel’s eyes are flashing. It’s a good performance—she could rival Bette Midler—but it’s not a joking moment. Something’s wrong. Really wrong.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Like you said, I haven’t been around. I didn’t touch your rent money, you twit.”
She recoils, but I can see the triumphant glare in her face. She knows she’s won this one. “It was here, on the table. I left it for Tammy. And now it’s gone. So who would’ve taken it?”
“Maybe you were drunk and you spent it on Doritos and don’t remember.”
“Oh, that’s just great. Yeah, great. Do you hear this, Tammy? Do you hear her?”
“Tammy?” I ask. “Is everything okay? You don’t believe I’d—”
“I want you out,” Tammy says in a low, determined voice. “Get out.”
“What?”
“Out!” She screams it, standing up from the table and slapping her hands on it. She tips the chair over and runs out of the kitchen. Even Mabel seems surprised.
Tammy heads to the living room, where she curls up in a ball on the couch, sobbing, while Mabel looks on from the doorway.
“My god, Tammy. I didn’t. You listen to her?” I go close to the couch, staring down at her in disbelief. Mabel huffs and rolls her eyes. “You really think, after everything, that I would take a few lousy dollars off the table?”
“It’s not about that,” Tammy says, her words clipped. I’ve never seen her so angry.
Mabel steps forward now. “We don’t want you around anymore. Ever.”
“Tammy? She’s setting me up—”
“Just get out,” Tammy says.
Someone raps on the front door. I’m closest, so I throw it open. My heart’s beating and I’m ready to rail at whoever’s there. It’s a guy, not much taller than I am, with a white-brimmed Dick Tracy-style hat hiding a bunch of bushy brown hair. He’s wearing a short-sleeved shirt and a skinny tie. He’s a dweeb, twitching like a nervous boy ready to ask someone to the prom. Only missing the wrist corsage.
“Can I help you?” I bark at him, no interest in patience.
“Are you Maureen.”
I feel my stomach twist at the way he says my name, and the fact that it’s not really a question, not at all; this boy knows I’m Maureen. And I know who sent him here.
“I gave him money yesterday,” I say, low, my voice catching in the back of my throat. I can feel Tammy and Mabel behind me, aware they are listening to every word. I try to move out into the hallway, but the goon won’t budge so I’m stuck here in the doorway. He twitches again, sniffs, rubs his nose, and I realize that the twitchiness isn’t nerves. He’s high as a skyscraper.
“Who is that?” I hear Mabel hiss.
The goon sniffles at this and wipes his nose again. “I’ve brought you a present.” He thrusts a box at me. It’s wrapped in red paper with a black bow. It’s about the size of a tissue box. I stare at it warily. “Go ahead.”
I open it, half expecting to find a mound of earthworms inside. But it’s not worms or insects. It’s a slinky black garment that glides across my hand, too thin to be a dress. Some sort of negligee. I hold it with the tips of my fingers, then let it quickly fall back into the box like it’s going to bite me. There’s a card, too, in Benny’s handwriting that reads: “Saturday, 6 p.m.,” along with an address.
The goon smiles, twitches his head to the side like a puppeteer above him just had a sudden itch to scratch and lost the tautness of the line. “Benny said to tell you it’s worth one grand.”
I throw it back at him, and it hits his shirt and falls to the floor across his feet. “Keep it,” I say. “I’ll have his money for him soon. You tell him that.”
The goon kicks the lingerie to the side. He leans in the apartment and looks Tammy and Mabel up and down, rubs a hairy hand across the edge of the door and shakes his head. “Ladies,” he says, clucking his tongue. “My dad’s a locksmith, you know. I could get him to come by and put something heavier on these doors. If you’d like.” He turns to me. “He charges a lot, though.”
“I think we’ll be fine,” I say.
He shrugs, winks, points at the dress. “I’ll leave it there in case you change your mind.”
I shut the door.
“Will someone tell me who the hell that was?” Mabel’s angry, her voice rising an octave. She’s loud but she’s scared, too.
“Don’t worry about it.”
“Don’t worry about it? You have the goddamn mafia coming to our door!” Mabel advances toward me. I think she’s going to strike me, but she shoves me aside, throws the dead bolt on the door and slumps down on the couch next to Tammy. “I mean, what the Christ?”
For a second, I see a flicker of the old Tammy. The one who gave me her scarf. Who drove me to the carnival in the middle of the night to get my suitcase. The one who thought Mabel was over-dramatic. But then her face hardens again into its new mask. And the thought knocks me off my feet like an unexpected tidal wave: no one’s coming to save us. This is up to me.
I push past Mabel and into Tammy’s room. My tears keep getting in the way as I throw random clothes in a bag, grab my purse, and go back into the living room. “Don’t worry about it. I’m gone. I’ll be back for the rest of my stuff once I’m settled. You don’t have to worry about me anymore. I’m going to fix all this. Tammy—listen, I’m going to fix it. No one’s going to bother you.”
“You don’t fix anything,” Mabel says. “You make things worse.”
I close the door behind me.
As far as I can tell, Tammy never once looked up.