My relief came in at eleven. She seemed a little drunk too. A lot of drunks work in group homes, like it's their way of paying penance: a vodka binge, then they go in and wipe up a retard's ass and they think they don't have to quit drinking. But this woman, named Raquel, could be drunk but it didn't seem obnoxious, even at eleven in the A.M.
Right when Raquel walked in and went down to the basement to clock in was when Archie called me, my drug-dealing ex-fiancée. This job was sort of my antidote to all I had just gone through with him, kinda like I was paying penance too but just for being a total fucking fool. But Archie kept following me. I mean, I was living with my dad, and I was moving all my stuff out of the town house we were at one time sharing, and every time I went to get more stuff he was there, hangdog in the face. Sometimes when I was going around doing my business and shit, I would see him in his Escort in the rearview mirror with that same hangdog, stalker look. Like he was having his picture taken for the cover of Pathetic Small Town Dope Dealer magazine.
"What? How did you get this number, you son of a bitch?" I was whispering, hoping Raquel wouldn't hear. Everyone was out in the living room, watching VH1, doing whatever. Tom A. and Tom B. were sitting on the love seat, of course. Holding hands. Sally was in her pink sweatsuit, on the floor, talking to a piece of a jigsaw puzzle. Larry was really the only one watching the TV, while Damon rocked in his lounger with his eyes closed, kind of like Stevie Wonder does.
"I hired a private detective," Archie said. He laughed.
"Bullshit. Listen, I'm at my new job, and I am trying to make something outta myself."
"Okay, okay."
"So it's over."
"I love you so much."
"Go smoke your crack, Archie. Just fucking go smoke your crack."
I hung up. As if she'd been waiting at the bottom of the stairs for me to finish, Raquel marched up, her hair all ratty-looking, in a pair of nylon sweats and flannel shirt. She smelled like perfume and cigarettes and just the thinnest vapor of Jack Daniel's, almost sweeter-smelling than the perfume.
"Hey," she said, not looking at me.
I had just finished up with the kitchen, so I was ready to go. Pulling an eleven to eleven was more than I thought it would be.
Raquel looked out in the living room. Then she got panicked sort of. She turned around and told me, "You're letting Tom and Tom sit out there like that?"
"Yeah," I said.
"Good God, if Kate found out . . . "
Raquel yelled, "Tom. Hey Tom. Don't hold Tommy's hand now. You guys split up. It's time for some alone time. Okay?" Raquel's smile was nervous, like she was talking to someone during a hostage crisis.
Tom B. looked up, responding to being called Tom. He smiled. But his eyes were afraid at the same time. He blew out a sigh and let go of Tom A.'s hand and stood up and went over beside Sally on the floor, small and polite like a little Japanese guy.
Raquel turned to me, "If you let them do that, they don't know when to stop. They'll get so into each other, they'll not know when to quit. One time they locked themselves in the bathroom for a day and all they did was well you don't want to know. Let's just say they went through a whole bottle of hand lotion." Raquel laughed into her hand. She flopped down at the picnic-type table, lit up a cigarette.
I smiled. Sally was talking to Tom B.'s foot now. I wondered just what the fuck I was getting myself into. Heard Archie's voice in my head, pleading. At one time, he was gonna do construction and I was gonna go back to community college for something in nursing. Ha.
"Guess I'll go," I said.
"Yeah," Raquel said, smoking.
She stood up, and with her cigarette dangling, walked out into the living room.
"Look at all my babies," she said kind of loud, but then she looked up at me and her eyes were real clear. They were the eyes of a drunk lady who used to have kids but for some reason lost them and now she was in a roomful of retarded people that she was claiming as her own, and she was saying it like a joke on herself, on the retards and on me. But it wasn't mean-spirited. It was pathetic and it was sweet.
I laughed a lot right then. Probably from being so sleep-stunted. Tom A. and Tom B. were trying to sneak off for a quickie, and I saw. So did Raquel, squatting next to big-headed Damon. She grabbed two throw pillows from the couch and tossed them at both the Toms, hard.
"Stop right there." Her voice was joking and not.
They stopped, went to separate corners like obedient prize-fighters. I wanted to give them permission right then. Go for it. I wanted to get the hell out of there worse though.
I left that day without saying anything else. Thinking I was not ever going back.
piece of a jigsaw puzzle. Larry was really the only one watching the TV, while Damon rocked in his lounger with his eyes closed, kind of like Stevie Wonder does.
stood up and went over beside Sally on the floor, small and polite like a little Japanese guy.
