Chapter 22

“Dear Corrigan, My older brother was messing around with his drunk friends last weekend and one of them sent me a dick pic of my brother’s penis from my brother’s phone. He swears it was not him and I believe him. Although he may be a bit distant, but he has never been spiteful to me or anyone in the family. I forgave him; however, I cannot get that picture out of my mind. His penis is ugly. It is discolored, there are uneven lines on the head and scars. He looks like a botched circumcision. Do I say something? -Scarred.”

“Dear Scar, Your brother is the victim of a cruel joke. Dollars to doughnuts, your brother is embarrassed by his presentation below the belt and probably, unusually self-conscious. If you want to be a good sister, first tell him to ditch his friends because they are not worthwhile. True friends don’t invite humiliation. Second, because we are discussing THE PENIS, no one is going to tell him that lovers don’t care what the appendage looks like as long as it is used in a loving, giving manner. Screwing up the courage to speak, you need to tell him. Yes, say something, say the truth and reassure him. -Corrigan.”

Nicola handed back his phone, “It’s a fake. Everyone wants to know if it’s a big dick or a little one.”

“You were raised with an avalanche of porn every day and from every direction,” Mikel said, shaking his head in disgust. “Acknowledge the cynicism and put it aside. Ugly and disfigured people have been having sex in every generation since before the dawn of humankind.”

“Yes, the famous joke from my father’s repertoire. Budweiser: helping ugly people have sex for a hundred years.” Nicola said. “Let’s get some breakfast. I need some time to figure out if I know the combination to the gun safe in the basement.”

“Surely, with the paranoia infused into the fabric of this family, there is a forbidden loaded gun in the nightstand drawer waiting for its moment of foreshadowing,” Mikel said. “Unless your father does not trust your mother when she is falling down drunk.”

Nicola shook her head. “Mother is much more visceral in her violence. She much prefers an eight-inch chef’s knife and would not be satisfied until there are spurts from severed arteries across the walls and floor. Daddy prefers the quick and to the point response as he neither taunts defenseless creatures nor toys with his food.”

“Lovely family you have inherited,” Mikel said. “What’s for breakfast?”

“Genuine Choco Chews cereal if no one found the secret stash, or yogurt with toasted whole grains if mother purged the place. Mei is already here tending to Poppy and Louisa is running late because the traffic lights are out on the south side and the roads are a mess.”

“And Sal?”

“We have an hour,” Nicola said, jiggling her mobile. “If you keep mother downstairs and occupied, I can rummage through the nightstand and daddy’s armoire.”

“Do you know if he is coming alone?” Mikel asked as he pulled up his trousers. When he looked up, she shrugged her shoulders. Slipping into his shoes, he followed her downstairs. By the time he had tied his laces, she had discovered that the cereal had indeed been discovered and disposed of.

After breakfast, Mikel sent a “how are you feeling?” message to Remy who did not answer and a message of “help” to Aria who did not answer. A moment later, his phone rang back, “What is your emergency?”

“Probable assassination attempt,” Mikel typed.

“Your request is being routed to the appropriate sub-routine. Please wait.”

Mikel paced the hallway again and then walked around the outdoor pool and terrace. He watched the minutes tick by without a response. He was sweating.

His mobile beeped. “No sub-routine is qualified to respond to your request. Your request has been escalated to the next available A.I. Please wait.”

His phone beeped again with a text message. “Hey baby, good to hear from you. I stepped down from prescription pain meds to the basic stuff last night. The incision still looks angry and red, but I can already see that my pussy is going to look beautiful. I have three pinhole scars on my neck from where they were tweaking my thyroid hormones and my vocal folds. I can’t wait until I can touch myself!”

Mikel wanted to cry. He felt trapped between heaven and hell, and Hell was far too close. He ran back into the house in search of Nicola. He saw her mother’s head as she bent over the kitchen island with her tablet. He hesitated before continuing into the kitchen.

He cleared his throat. “Good morning, Aubrey. Louisa hasn’t managed to get here yet?”

“No,” she growled. “I don’t have coffee and all we have is some fuckin’ yogurt with fake jelly. I want a hunk of thick chewy bread with a hunk of tough chewy beef and enough hot sauce to drown this frickin’ headache.”

“Yeah, I always go for the carbs the next day,” Mikel said. “Did you realize that Sal is going to be here in less than twenty minutes?”

“I ordered that buffoon to cancel for today when I texted him last night, but he didn’t answer,” she said. “The last thing I need is that pompous ass leaving shit stains on my good furniture. He always talks first and never listens to what anyone says; he is annoying as fuck. I really need my coffee, Mikel.”

“I would help but I have no idea where anything is in this kitchen, Aubrey,” Mikel said. “Would you like me to look in the pantry while you look for the coffeemaker?”

“Fin-ne,” she muttered, stomping over to the wall cabinets. Mikel checked the shelves in the pantry and came up empty. On a whim, he stuck his nose in the freezer compartment and found a brick secured with a rubber band. He estimated he was holding over $500 in his hand or €650 if he was being snotty about it. He felt poor and indigent.

“Found the coffee,” he announced, holding up his trophy.

A gong sounded. “Shit, that’s Sal and I haven’t had my coffee,” Aubrey yelled with a red face. “If he says one stupid comment, I’m going to cut his balls off with the carving knife.”

“I thought a paring knife would suffice,” Mikel quipped. She gave him an odd look before walking over to the screen and tapping some buttons.

She grunted and tapped one more time. “I let him in. He must be slumming because he’s driving a crappy rental car. I suppose sacrifices had to be made or some other sort of bullshit.”

The man who got out of the car was tall with the beginnings of a potbelly pushing at the top of his tan chinos. His buttoned shirt was some sort of blousy material that probably cost more than a month’s rent for Mikel’s apartment, but it did not have the snap of freshly pressed. Sal was having issues, Mikel concluded. Even his Italian styled leather loafers had seen better days.

The doorbell rang. Mikel looked at Aubrey, taking in her sour face. She jerked her head, indicating that he should get the door. He held up his hands in surrender and marched to the door, intent on offering a slight subterfuge.