Monthly Archives: October 2012
Mark drops me off at my mom’s house. The house is empty and it smells like potpourri inside. On the counter is a note; really a list of things to do while she’s out of town: feed the dog; water the plants; things like that. My mom has also left three numbers that I can get in touch with her at if I need to. Below the “Love Mom” is a P.S. that reads “no parties.”
I crumble the note and pour myself a drink. I call Timmy but no one answers the phone. I realize it doesn’t matter, though, because my mom’s car is still in the driveway. She’s taken her keys, but that doesn’t matter because I’ve made myself several sets of copies.
As we speed along in Donald’s SUV, I call in to the gallery and talk to Marcus briefly.
Marcus tells me some reporter from Fleur De Lis Magazine has called and is trying to set up an interview time with me. Marcus tells me the guy’s name is Ian B. Cane, and this strikes me as odd so I ask him, “He actually referred to himself as Ian B. Cane, with the B and everything included?”
Donald guns it before I’m even all the way in the back seat, but then slams on the brakes and yells, “Shit, she just turned left into traffic. Get in.”
I clamber into the back seat and then, from there I climb into the front passenger seat.
“Watch it,” he yells as I get myself into place. “Hold on.”
He cuts the wheel sharp and accelerates hard. We pull back out onto Metairie Road and nearly get hit by some mullet-headed looking guy in a souped up Camaro. They honk at us but Donald flips him the bird and focuses only on the traffic in front of it.
“Shit, shit, shit, shit,” he mutters lowly, a weird mantra. “Do you see her car up there?”