Chapter 22

Otis Cries for You is dedicating an hour to deceased pets, or what Otis refers to as their “unintended departures.” A long list of tragedies are showing up with photos posted via Instagram. Otis reads them on air while Bisquick pecks at his bald spot. “Christ! Ouch!” Otis says at one point. “Do the goddamn show yourself, stupid bird.”

Otis comes upstairs rubbing his head.

“You’ve got dead air, Otis.” Max says.

“Go tell them I’ll be back. I need an aspirin or something.”

Max goes down and puts on a record. “Here’s a funky tune by Albert King called ‘Hey Pretty Woman,’” he says. “Otis will be right back with more sad stories. Just sit tight.” Bisquick jumps on Max’s shoulder.

They come upstairs as we’re cleaning the brownie pans. Max talked Muller into making another batch of brownies. Margot looks ready for a nap. Her eyelids droop like old curtains. “Go use the bedroom downstairs,” Ruby tells her. “It’s made up.”

“And take that goddamn bird with you,” Otis says. Otis gets some milk out of the fridge. “Max,” he says, “you’d better take over for a while. Play some more Albert King or Spencer Wiggins.” He lies down on the dining room rug. His eyes close. Bisquick jumps on his stomach. “Give it a rest, Bisquick,” Otis mumbles.

Max starts with some O. V. Wright, a tune called “Don’t Let My Baby Ride”, and we listen while Otis snores in rhythm. Muller helps Ruby clean up the last of the plates. He keeps giving her looks until I finally take him by the arm. “Come on,” I say. “The girls are waiting.”

He hands Ruby his dishcloth. “Thanks, big fella,” she says. “You’re a good man to have around.”

“Any time, Ruby.”

Ruby gets her cigarettes off the window ledge. “Don’t tempt me,” she says patting her stomach. “You’re one helluva cook, Muller. But I have to watch my waistline.”

Margot’s head hits the kitchen table. “Help me get her downstairs,” Ruby says. We take Margot to the bedroom and head off.

All the way home, Muller just sits there. The man’s on a different playing field, somewhere between Star Trek and The Flintstones. “Stop looking so miserable,” I say when we pull in the driveway. “Mary already suspects something.”

“I like Mary.”

“Yeah, well, another stunt like the other night and she’ll be a distant memory. You’ll be locked up somewhere.”

“I’m not crazy, Sam.”

“Difference of opinion.”

He takes out a cigarette and puts it in his mouth. He lights it, draws in some smoke, and then exhales. “I would have come up,” he says.

“You might have told me that before I swallowed half the lake.” He blows out some more smoke and wipes his eyes. “Here,” I say, handing him my handkerchief. “Come on, wipe your face. And blow your nose.”

When we come in the house, Judy jumps up and gives Muller a big hug. “What’s the matter, Muller?” she asks. “You look miserable. Have you been mean to him, Daddy?”

“I haven’t done anything.”

“Is your ear still bothering you, sweetie?”

“I’m just tired, Jude,” Muller says. “I’m going downstairs.”

“Do you want me to make you some soup?”

“I just need to lie down for a bit.” He goes downstairs, closing the cellar door behind him.

“What am I going to do with him, Mom?” Judy says.

Mary gives me a look. “Is there something you’re not telling us, Sam?”

“Nope.”

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.”

The Rec Room of Sound is on the computer. Otis is sitting there wiping tears from his face. The man’s decrepit. Mary keeps looking at me until I finally say I’m going for a bath.

One of these days, I need to get the washroom renovated. The tub’s barely big enough to hold me. I don’t know how Muller does it. He sloshes around like Flipper. Half the water is on the floor when he gets out and he leaves wet towels everywhere.

I slip down in the water. I’m practically submerged, breathing out my nose, watching the water ripple. Out in the kitchen, I can hear Wilson Pickett singing, “Land of a Thousand Dances.”

There’s a clatter of pans in the kitchen, a spoon falling on the linoleum. I finally get up and towel myself off. Then I go in the bedroom and put on a clean shirt and pants.

When I come out again. Mary and Judy are cooking away, The Rec Room of Sound is playing, and Meek and Beek are chewing their bars. I get a beer and watch Judy peeling potatoes. “You smell good, Daddy,” she says.

“Thanks, sweetie.”

On the computer screen, Bisquick’s bobbing up and down, Max is working the turntables, and Ruby and Margot are doing the camel walk. Margot’s bifocals are hanging from one ear. Max tells everyone Otis is on his way. “He’s grabbing a shower,” he says.

I go downstairs and find Muller hooked up to his oxygen machine. He’s breathing like Darth Vader. I kick him in the leg. “Take off the mask, Muller. Sit up, for chrissake.” Muller props himself on his elbow. “Look,” I say. “Judy’s not stupid. She knows something’s wrong. Every time you come down here, I’m covering for you.”

“You don’t have to lie for me, Sam.”

“I’ve already lied for you. I’m sick of lying.”

“I should talk to Judy.”

“And say what?”

“Tell her how I feel.”

“You bring up Ruby and you’re dead meat.”

“Maybe I should talk to Ruby.”

“Shut up about Ruby, for chrissake. What’s the matter with you?”

“I just feel affection for her somehow, Sam.”

“I should have left you in the lake. You’re a fucked up asshole.”

“I’m sorry.”

“And stop saying you’re sorry.” I sit down on the edge of the cot and take a hit of the oxygen. Then I hear Mary calling us to dinner. “We’d better go up,” I say.

“Sam, thanks for worrying about me.”

“I’m worried about Judy. You I could kick to the curb.”