THE GOLD FISH: Wolfman (2.7)

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Don rubbed his hands together in anticipation of the fantastic dinner he had just purchased from Hale’s, which was without a doubt the best seafood joint this side of Northern Parkway. The place might look like a dump, but with plump, golden crab cakes made solely from backfin meat, crispy french fries generously overflowing their greasy paper boats, and the crunchiest, tangiest coleslaw, who cared? With Joan’s additions of a sleeve of Premium saltine crackers, a bottle of Heinz ketchup, and Lea & Perrin’s Worchestershire sauce, trails of sticky brown etched down its paper wrapper, it was a feast fit for a king.

Everyone was happy. Joan, because she hadn’t had to prepare dinner and it was now unlikely -- not impossible, but unlikely -- that Don wouldn’t awaken her later that night with a drunken stumble into the bedroom. Barbie, because her mother seemed happy(er) and dinner from Hale’s was just about her favorite meal on earth. The Belle because what was better than french fries and saltine crackers for dinner? And Karen… Okay, Karen wasn’t exactly happy, but she wasn’t unhappy either. Yes, it was a good meal, one she’d be happy to consume, but it could have been better. Don could have remembered her favorite item: shrimp steamed liberally in Old Bay seasoning and dunked into a cocktail sauce doctored up with enough horseradish to bring tears to her eyes. That would have made it an amazing meal, but whatever, it was fine.

Once everyone had food on their plates, the older Ward girls couldn’t help but watch their father prepare his meal. As was their habit. There was a lot to see.

First, Don flattened two crab cakes with a fork and liberally doused them in Worchestershire sauce. Next, he aligned his french fries in long, neat rows and coated them with a heavy, even dusting of salt and pepper. This took much longer than one might imagine, and required multiple spins of his plate. But once he had achieved the thick, perfectly mixed coating he was after, he pounded the bottom of the Heinz bottle and tap, tap, tapped out even globs of ketchup across the whole lot.

Barbie was more mesmerized than anything, but Karen hovered on disgusted incredulity, as was also her habit, one side of her upper lip curled in an expression that could only be described as disdain.

“Jesus Dad,” she finally uttered.

“Huh?” answered Don as he added a tidy stack of saltine crackers along one side of his plate.

Suspecting where her sharp-tongued eldest was headed, Joan tried to warn her off. “Karen...” she cautioned, letting her tone complete the sentence.

Don brushed cracker crumbs from his hands and turned his attention to Karen. “What?”

“Nothing,” Karen responded with evident sarcasm. Joan wasn’t the only one in the family who knew how to season a comment with tone.

“Bet me, it’s nothing,” said Don, his eyes narrowing. “You got something to say, say it.” And he braced himself for the teenaged sass that he knew was coming. It was exactly what he’d been thinking about earlier. It wasn’t his imagination. Karen was becoming a right old pain in the Rumpelstiltskin.

“Okay. Yeah. That’s disgusting,” sneered Karen.

Barbie’s stomach clenched, anticipating a coming storm. God how she hated conflict. Especially when it threatened to ruin a Hale’s crab cake dinner.

Don glared at Karen, his mind racing for an appropriate response. All he could come up with was, “maybe you’re disgusting. Didja ever think of that?”

“For godssakes, Don...” muttered Joan.

Don shook his head. “No! A man should be able to enjoy a nice meal that he personally procured without a smart-mouthed teenager...”

“Oh get over it,” huffed Joan. “She’s not--”

“Oh yes I am,” interrupted Karen. She gestured to Don’s plate. “I mean, how can he eat that? It’s gross. The amount of ketchup alone--”

BANG. Don slammed his hands on the table and stood up, knocking his chair to the ground behind him.

Barbie’s lips clamped tight, her eyebrows running for higher ground. From her highchair, The Belle whimpered.

Don’s eyes narrowed at Karen. “So help me God, one more word and I’ll...”

Karen knew her father was all bark and no bite. She smirked. “You’ll what?”

Now it was Joan who leapt to her feet. She jabbed an index finger in Karen’s direction. “You shut your mouth and you keep it shut, Missy, unless you’ve got something nice to say.” She whirled to Don. “And you, for godssake, sit down! All huffy and puffy like you deserve a goddamned trophy for picking up one dinner? You know how many dinners I’ve ‘personally procured?’”

The anger seemed to drain from Don as quickly as it had come. He knew Joan was right, and he really had intended to be the hero tonight, not the villain. Besides, his carefully prepared meal was waiting. And honestly, he had no idea what he was going to do to Karen either. The truth was he was a lover, not a fighter. And hardly a disciplinarian. His was a kind and gentle nature, a fact that, for some reason, used to incense Uncle Henry. In Uncle Henry’s mind being a bitter, vengeful person was somehow more manly.

But sadly, aggression just wasn’t in Don’s DNA, so he didn’t mind Joan forcing his retreat. Although to keep appearances, he did need to show Karen who was boss. This was the kind of behavior he was seeing more and more out of Karen, and it had to stop. He shot her a glance full of daggers then bent over to retrieve his chair, doing his best to disguise the jolt of pain that shot up his spine. With a deep breath, he resettled himself before his meal. The rest of family followed suit.

But Karen, unable to resist having a final word, snorted. “Wow Dad, ‘procured?’ Fancy vocabulary word.”

“Karen!” Joan exploded. “What did I just say?!”

“What? That was nice. It was a complement.”

Barbie stifled a giggle, but a stern look from her mother quickly shut her up.

:::

Twenty minutes later, Don, having secured his membership in the clean plate club, pushed back from the table and grabbed his cigarettes. He lit one then nudged Barbie. “Go get the ice cream Boo-Boo.”

Barbie’s face lit up with excitement. “There’s ice-cream too?!” Baskin Robbins 31 Flavors was next door to Hale’s and her father was a huge fan of their chocolate chip, so it shouldn’t have come as a surprise, but she still couldn’t believe her luck. Crab cakes, french fries AND ice cream. This really was the best dinner ever. On a Tuesday, no less. “Really?”

Don winked in response, and Barbie leapt to her feet.

Karen turned to her mother. “Can I be excused?” She liked ice cream as much as the next kid, but it was best to be gone before her mother needed help with the dishes. Let Barbie, the suck-up sap, be the last one standing. Besides, they’d never finish all the ice cream, and she could help herself to a bowl later than night. When she could enjoy it in peace.

Joan nodded her agreement. But a rattling knock at the front door froze the family in their seats. Interruptions at dinner time were rare. Barbie was the first to react and jumped to her feet. “I’ll get it!”

Oh for Pete’s sake, thought Karen, why did Barbie have to act like she was carrying out the most important mission known to man? Truly, was there anyone on the planet more annoying than her sister? If only she could punch her right in her stupid eager beaver face without any consequences, she would. Actually, she thought, as she watched Barbie prance to the front door, maybe it would be worth whatever punishment her parents could dish out.

Oblivious to her sister’s violent fantasies, Barbie cracked open the screen door and turned her stupid eager beaver face towards the stranger who stood on the porch.

It was a man, probably around 40, sporting large brass aviators behind which dark, beady eyes darted up and down the block looking for god-knows what. The nicotine-stained fingers of one hand caressed wiry, mutton chop sideburns, while the others tapped a thick envelope against his thigh.  

Barbie ventured a cautious “Hello...?”

“Yeah, lemme talk to Jesse.”

“Jesse?”

“Yeah. Jesse James. Tell him the Wolfman is here.”

Barbie’s eyes widened. “Sorry Mister, um... Wolfman, but there’s no Jesse James here.”

The man pointed to the number sign written in cursive above the door. “This is 2115 Pitney Road, ain’t it?” He leaned closer. “C’mon now. Tell Jesse to come to the door.”

“I think you’ve got the wrong...”

Joan’s voice boomed behind Barbie. “For godssake, Barbie, it’s dinnertime. Who’s there?!”

Keeping her eyes on the strange man, Barbie turned her head to shout over her shoulder. “Some guy named the Wolfman. Looking for Jesse James.”

At the dining table, Karen snorted.

But Don startled and sprang from his chair.“I got this Boo-Boo,” he called, giving Joan a whaddya gonna do shrug as he headed for the door. “He’s a customer. Total jokester”

Once Don was out of earshot, it was all Karen could do to contain herself. “Jesse James and the Wolfman?! You gotta be kidding me.”

Joan stabbed out her cigarette on her dinner plate. “For the love of God...”

Barbie dropped back in her seat, her confused eyes swinging between her sister and her mother. “Wait, Dad is Jesse James? The outlaw?”

“This is so excellent,” giggled Karen. “I can’t wait to tell Shay. She’s going to flip.”

“Don’t you dare,” hissed Joan. “You put a cork in your mouth and you keep it there. You hear me?” She snatched her cigarettes off the table, lit one up, and blew blue smoke out her nostrils like an angry bull. “Jesus Christ Almighty,” she continued to herself, “what the hell is that man going to get up to next?”

“What’s he doing, Ma?!” asked Barbie. “Tell us!”

“I said put a cork in it! Both of you!”

From her high-chair, The Belle whimpered for the second time.

Under the table, Barbie’s foot started tapping a nervous beat on the carpet. She didn’t like the looks of this Wolfman guy. Nope. Not one tiny little bit. Something was up with him, and whatever it was, it wasn’t good. It figures, she thought. Just when her father was coming home for dinner -- like a normal dad! -- something weird had to happen.

She took a deep, calming breath, and sent her gaze upwards to the brass chandelier that hung over the table. Her eyes lost focus and with a vertiginous shift, she was now looking down. Water gushed in, washing up and over the chandelier, which now stood like a table, its candle-flame-shaped lightbulbs casting caustics around the room. Barbie’s mind turned to the gold (pause) fish, and as if summoned, it swam out of the kitchen, sparkles of light shimmering on its golden scales. Against the real (dry) carpet, Barbie’s foot stopped its beat. Her brow relaxed. The edges of her mouth crept upwards as she imagined herself diving in to swim alongside it.

Through a haze of blue smoke, Joan followed Barbie’s gaze up to the chandelier. But for the life of her, she couldn’t see what was so damned interesting up there. Were the cobwebs back already? Or a spider? Jesus Christ Alrighty, she’d just passed her feather duster up there on Saturday. Was there no end to her battle with dirt? No reprieve... ever?! She peered more closely, her eyes searching for webs, bugs, or dust.

Don sauntered back in, breaking both Barbie and Joan’s reverie. “Now, how about that ice cream?”

“Yeah,” snickered Karen, sensing there might be more entertainment ahead. “I think I’ll have some after all.”

Next → Sweet Sting (2.8)