Chapter 2

When Roger opened his eyes, the pale blue light of the previous evening had turned to a brilliant yellow. He winced.

"God! What happened!"

There was a cheery voice from somewhere in the room, a voice that he couldn't have located if his life had depended on it.

"Rise and shine!! Come on, sleepy head. Rise and shine."

"What the fuck...."

"Roger, let's go. Time to get up."

"What are you talking about, time to get up! It's Saturday!! "

"Yes, I know, isn't it wonderful ... no work, and no rain. Look, it's beautiful out there."

"Yeah, it's also cold."

"Not as cold as it was last night. And you yourself said that there were people outside. Remember, you saw some of them getting mugged."

"I know."

"Come on Roger, I don't want to stay inside all the time. I'm going to die without ever seeing the sun again. Please. Let's go for a walk."

"A walk!!! Are you man."

"No, but I'll get angry if you don't come with me."

"Where are you going. What time is it. Christ! We haven't even had breakfast yet!"

"I know, I know, you're going to buy me brunch at the plaza."

"Oh I am, am I? I love the way you spend my money. Maybe I missed something, like, maybe we got married already, and I just don't realize it? How about that? Is that why you're so willing to spend my money."

"Oh Roger, are you going to start again?"

"Start what?"

"Start being such a bore."

"A bore? Just because I don't feel like paying $40 for you and me to have a breakfast that George can fix here, and I might add, more competently. Well, if that's boring, maybe you should leave."

She looked hurt.

"Oh please Roger, can we not fight."

He sat up on the side of the bed and made a tentative effort to stand.

It didn't work too well.

"My God, my legs don't work. What's wrong with me. I'm going paralyzed. I've got a terrible nerve disease."

"Take it easy and relax. You've got a hangover."

"Huh? I do?"

"Of course you do. Or don't you remember? That's why we had to come home early last night, my dear, because you were too drunk to go to the theater, and then you started spouting all that nonsense about the streets not being safe. I swear, Roger, you've been acting most peculiar lately. Perhaps what you need is to get married."

"Please. That's the last thing that I need. I like my lifestyle. I like being single. I like writing, and I can't write when I live with someone. And besides, you wouldn't marry me if I asked you to."

"Why not?"

"Because you find me tedious and boring, and if you were married to me, you'd already have a legal claim to my money ... therefore nothing would stop you from running around on me."

She looked genuinely hurt.

"Roger! How can you say something like that?"

"It's very easy. I simply open my jaws, force air over my vocal cords, and produce sound, modified by my tongue and lips. There, you see, and you thought that you couldn't learn anything from hanging around me."

"My God," she muttered, "I think I liked you better drunk."

"Yes, you know, so did I. I get so morose and philosophical that I frighten everyone else away. I told you, essentially I'm a loner. Can't you see that by now?"

"Roger, would you like me to leave? Am I annoying you?"

Roger sighed and fell back into the bed.

"You should know better than to ask me anything when I've got a hangover."

"Well, you shouldn't have drunk so much."

"What time is it?"

"It's already after nine."

"NINE!? " he thundered. "As in, o'clock?"

"Well of course. What a silly question."

"Why did you wake me up so early?"

"Oh Roger, I told you why. I thought I might be able to breathe a spark of life into you. But, I fear it was a doomed effort from the start."

"Meredith ... please don't start."

"I suppose you'll spend the day at the typewriter again, won't you?"

"Meredith...."

"My, what an exciting life you lead, Roger. Most writers I know pursue the profession because it gives them a freedom they don't have in an office job. I have to commend you though, I suppose it takes a rare kind of person to be able to become more of a prisoner at as a free-lance writer than you'd be if you worked for ... IBM or RCA or CBS or whatever letters are hiring these days."

"Yeah, well, have you stopped for just a second to consider that you are enjoying many of the fruits of that servitude, as you describe it. Maybe I'm chained to my typewriter, but I live in a damn nice apartment-"

"Which you constantly complain about being a prisoner in."

"I was drunk. Don't interrupt me."

"Sorry."

"You make me laugh, Meredith. You really do. I'm carving out a fairly comfortable life style for myself, and you haven't had a single qualm about tagging along for whatever the ride's worth, but you keep on digging at me for earning what it takes to sustain it. What do you want me to do? Bag groceries? Wash cars? Pump gas?"

"Roger, you're an educated man. I never meant to imply that you'd be working at such a menial task."

"Yeah, well you just check the Classifieds tomorrow in the Times. You'll find damn few vice-president jobs open. The best I can hope for is a job as a typist. We're talking minimum wage there, Meredith. Let's not be cute about this. Minimum wage means either you spring for taxis, or we take the Subway."

She recoiled in horror.

"When's the last time you were down in one of those dark, wet, train stations, huh Meredith? You have to step over the bums, Meredith. Everything smells like piss, because everything's got piss all over it. Is that what you want, Meredith?"

"Roger, you are getting more and more tedious by the second."

He sighed. It was a long, weary sigh.

"Tell me something, Meredith. Why is it that every time we have a great time in bed, the next day you have to start in on me? Hmmmm? Why is that? What's the matter, are you afraid that I might get the idea that you really do want me? Hey, not to worry. Just because you spent two straight hours babbling "Now now now, I want it, I need it, more more more," I wouldn't ever get the idea that you had any kind of real feeling for me. Every slut in heat says shit like that."

He regretted it immediately.

He didn't even want to look at her, but he forced himself to.

She was standing in the same place, her bottom lip quivering.

"Aw, Meredith, I'm sorry ... hell, I didn't mean that."

"You're a bastard, you know that, don't you?"

"Look Meredith, you give me shit, I give you shit ... it all adds up to the same thing. The point is that we keep everything in balance, right?"

She shook her head.

"Roger, I'm tired of it. What you call balance is just sickness. That's all it is. Sickness. I don't want to play any more."

He couldn't believe it. She was actually talking about walking out on him. He should have thrown her out two years ago, and here she was walking out on him.

It made no sense.

"Meredith, give me a break, will you? I didn't mean anything by it. Honest I didn't.

Look, do you want to have breakfast at the Plaza?"

She sniffled.

"Do you mean it?"

"Sure, sure. Come on, I'll get dressed and we'll have breakfast at the Plaza. But then, damn it, I have to write. I've been putting it off too long. So promise me you won't keep giving me shit about it, will you?"

"All right."

"No, I mean it, I want a promise."

"Roger, don't press me like this."

"Meredith, you're going to make my life difficult, no matter how you have to do it, aren't you."

"Not unless you force me to, Roger. Now come on, you're going to have to get up. They don't serve brunch all day long, you know."

"It's only nine o'clock in the morning. We have plenty of time."

"I lied. It's only eight-thirty."

"WHAT!!!? "

"Now Roger, please don't go and get me upset again. I really couldn't stand it."

He glared at her. She was intent on driving him crazy. That's what it must be. She was a government agent. That's what she was. A government agent, and she was here to ... to punish him! Yeah! That's what she was here for. To punish him for lying on his last fifteen income tax forms. They'd looked his records over ...

'Do you think we need to audit him?'

'Nah! It's obvious, isn't it?'

'Looks so to me.'

'So what'll we do to him?'

'Let's let the bastard fall in love.'

'You don't mean ...? '

'Yep. Special Agent Fawcett.'

'Is she available?'

'Sure is. Just got back this morning ... Meredith would you step in here ... '

"Roger. Roger. Roger!!! "

"Huh?"

"Roger, you were just staring off into space. What is going on with you, anyway. You leave me hot and hungry in bed to go over to the window and babble about muggings and the streets not being safe ... you start fights for no reason ... I don't know what's wrong with you, Roger, but I think you need to be alone. Good bye."

She threaded her arms into her coat, and picking up her bag, exited without so much as a backwards glance.

He heard the front door slam.

Then he sighed, and started counting slowly to himself. One ... two ... three ... four ... five...."

There was a knock.

"Yes, George."

The door opened silently, and there stood George, his personal valet, and general house man. He took care of Roger's life admirably.

"Good morning sir. Shall I prepare breakfast for one, or will the lady be returning."

"What did it sound like to you, George?"

"Ah ... perhaps she'll return when she cools down, sir, but I fear the Druids will be in Stonehenge first."

Roger scowled at him.

"Please, George. It's eight-thirty and I can't take lines like that this early."

"Yes sir. Sorry sir. She did seem to be a bit miffed, however."

"Umm," Roger grunted. He tried to decide whether or not to get up, or try to sleep some more.

"You appear puzzled, sir. Is something the matter?"

"Yeah. I want to go back to sleep, but I'm to upset about Meredith. Damn the woman! Why does she always have to pull tricks like this?"

"Like what, sir?"

"Oh, pretending to walk out on me."

"Ah yes, I see. Forgive me sir, but perhaps she was thinking of making this a bit more permanent than you're thinking."

"Eh ... and why's that?"

"Just a little remark that she made to me on her way out."

"And what might that have been?" He cleared his throat. "Out of my way, turdball."

Roger turned and stared. "Meredith said that?"

"I fear she did sir. I realize that she's always treated me with a wary distance, but this would suggest that she wasn't too concerned about having to face me again. Surely she can't think that I'd overlook something as crude as this?"

"No ... you're absolutely ... uh, right, George ... absolutely right."

"Shall I prepare breakfast now, sir?"

"No ... no, that's all right, George. I'll ... well, I don't just know what I'll do. She's a volatile woman."

"They all are, sir."

Roger looked at his servant, and they nodded in mutual agreement.

George went back out into the other room, and Roger sat there a moment, stewing over their latest fight. He was getting tired of them, as apparently she was too. Still, he hadn't expected her to walk out. What did it mean. Maybe they were over the hill. Maybe it was time to stop the whole affair.

He pulled the covers back over him, and even though he wasn't really relaxed, he began to drift off once more. Until the door bell woke him, that is.

He lay there a moment, waiting for George to inform him of the nature of the visitor's business, whatever it was. Who the devil was here this early?

George knocked.

"Come in, George."

The door opened. George cleared his throat.

"Sir, perhaps you should dress yourself and venture forth into the living room. There seems to be some pressing business that demands your attention."

"Who is it, George."

"A Fran Wheeler."

George puffed his cheeks out.

"God, what does she want, more money?"

"No, sir. I don't believe so. In fact, I would bet my salary on the fact that she has something instead for you."

"Huh? What are you talking about?"

"Well, I don't know for sure sir. She told me nothing, of course. She simply said that she had urgent business with you."

"I can see it's going to be a lousy day. All right, George. Tell her I'll be out."

Shit, he thought to himself. Fran Wheeler was the last person he needed to see this morning. Or any morning, for that matter. They were cousins, and had never gotten along. He had a feeling he knew what she wanted and why. What really galled him was that he knew he'd Day. Guilt was a powerful tool.

He pulled on a flannel bathrobe and walked out into the living room.

"Well, well, look at this. Company. Howdy Fran. Hello girls. I didn't expect to see you two here."

He wondered if he'd masked his surprise well enough. There was suddenly a deep-seated sense of dread and foreboding rising up from the pit in the middle of his stomach.

"Hello, Uncle Roger," said one of the girls, a strikingly beautiful blonde. The other, also blonde and a perfect duplicate of the first, merely smiled. Alluringly. Christ, thought Roger. How old were they the last time I saw them? Couldn't have been over ten. He frowned, trying to think. That would have been ... six years ago. Not too long before the accident. He'd missed the funeral, but he'd sent his condolences, and some money ... he was always lousy at family matters as it was. Fran had taken the girls in and used it to put the bite on him from time to time. Why did he suddenly hope that was the purpose of her visit now? Why did he doubt it?

"So Fran, what brings you here?"

"Well Roger, I'll get to the point. The girls are here to stay with you for a while."

He didn't want to insult them, but there was no way he could keep the shocked horror from his face.

"Aw, come off it Fran, we've been over this.

I'm in no position to take in two young ... teenaged girls," he said, casting a deferential glance in their direction. "The way I live is no kind of environment to raise kids in, and you know it. What do you want, more money? We've got an arrangement, and you know we do. I'll be glad to help out. But you can't just show up and drop them off into my lap, and expect anyone to come out ahead. It's not fair. To them or to me."

He saw the downcast looks on the girls' faces and quickly added on an explanation.

"Now, listen girls, you know that I love you. We're family, and I love you like you were my own. You were my brother's kids, and I want to do right by you."

He wished his head would stop hurting.

"But you understand that this is no kind of atmosphere for you to grow up in. You need a home, with people who can look after you. I keep real weird hours, and I do all my work here. I can't have people wandering in and out ... and ... aw hell, Fran, what are you doing this for? Why didn't you at least call and let me know you had this in mind. What's going on? Why can't you and Hector keep the girls?"

"Because Hector has a chance to be transferred overseas, and if we take it, we don't want the girl's to have to drop out of school."

"Okay, that's a fair enough suggestion. Suzy, Cindi, how do you feel about that? Would you like to go overseas with your Aunt Fran and Uncle Hector?"

The stunning young women exchanged looks and tried to hide their bitter grins.

"That's okay, Uncle Roger, we understand. You don't want us either."

Fran spoke up. "Now girls, please, that's not fair. You know we discussed this at length and we all decided...."

"That's all right Aunt Fran. You don't have to explain. We really don't care."

She looked at them wide-eyed.

"Suzy ... that's not fair. Really. You know we reached a decision. All of us."

"Not quite, Fran," said Roger, wondering just how this day had gotten started so wrong and if there might not be a way to go ahead and just give it all back and start again. Why didn't they make that proviso when they were setting up the world? If you decided before ten o'clock that everything's working out wrong, let you go back and have another crack at the day. It made fine sense to him.

"Fran," he said, "I don't like being put in the position of either letting you jam something down my throat like this, or else looking like I don't care about my two nieces. I do care about them. I care a lot. But you know that I just can't take them in. There's no way that I can give them a decent home. Come on, Fran, I have women in and out of here ... I drink ... I take drugs ... " Out of the corner of his eye he saw the twins exchange glances again. They were grinning at each other ... surprisingly knowing grins.

Damn, he thought. They sure were beautiful. In fact, he couldn't remember when he'd last seen such beautiful young girls. Their breasts were so perfectly firm ... and they were wearing jeans that looked like they'd been sprayed on. Tucked tightly down between their legs, line running up in a 'V, seeming to converge in an arrow pointing to the promised land.

Stop that! he told himself. Unhealthy. They were young girls ... his brother's children. It was inconceivable that they would come to live here.

Fran stood up.

"All right, girls. Come along. Roger, you'll hear about this. I'm going to go to court, and I'm going to get a child support order against you. You can't shirk your familial duty."

"Aw Fran, will you please cut it out. This isn't doing anybody any good. You're gonna make these girls think that no one loves them, that no one wants them, and that just isn't the truth. Dammit, you should have called me first."

"Then you'd have just turned me down over the phone. I thought you should have the opportunity to turn the girls down to their faces."

"Oh ... that's a low blow, Fran, a real low blow. You know what, you're a despicable scum, and I'm really sorry these girls have to live with you."

"Don't insult me. Don't you dare insult me. Do you hear. I won't have it. You're going to regret this."

"Girls," Roger said, turning to the identical twins, "you tell me. What would you think of living here? I'm a pain in the ass to get along with. I keep weird hours, and if I say you have to be quiet, that's it. There can't be any argument. How does that sound?"

Their faces both brightened like lights suddenly flicked on.

"We'd be good, Uncle Roger, honest we would."

He looked at them, at their faces, their incredibly beautiful faces ... so smooth, young, bright, innocent....

He turned to Fran. "Just one thing, Fran."

"What's that, Roger." Smiling sweetly, knowing that she'd won.

"Get the fuck out of here, and I don't ever want to see you again. I think you're a fucking turd."

Her eyes widened with shock.

"How dare you--!! "

Roger turned to the girls. "Where's your things, girls?"

"Down in the car," they said.

"Come on, let's go. You too, Fran. You're going to help carry this stuff."

And so, Roger Stoddard's life went through two major transitions, first losing a woman, then, unexpectedly, gaining two. He would soon learn precisely what it was that he had gained.