Mercenary Ranger takes a job for Rangeman on Nantucket Island, MA. This story will make no sense unless you've read my other stories especially The Price is Right and Jane's Dilemma and The Math Teacher. But maybe you'll enjoy it anyway?
Happy Fourth of July!
a/n: in memory of summers on the Cape and good times. (on a much less lavish scale, lol.)
A Perfect Fourth of July
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[Ranger]
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This was a few weeks ago:
I get a text from my brother Anthony: pls call my mother
I stare at the screen for a few beats. Call his mother, not my mother.
New text: nothing is wrong
Oh well fine then. I consciously decide not to waste time wondering why my aunt Olivia doesn't call me herself, I press her speed dial number. Actually I know why she didn't call me, she doesn't want to bother me at work, she's very - - - boundary conscious?
"Hey, Ranger." She picks up.
"Yo."
I wait, I wait...Then, "Livy? What's up?"
"How are you, Ranger?"
I sigh. "I'm fine. How are you?"
"I'm good. But, well, here's the thing." Oh thank god, she's gonna spill. "I'm up here on Nantucket with Jilly's kids and...um." Jilly is my sister-in-law, among other things.
My "aunt" is beautiful and smart and kind and good; she's also a very very wealthy woman. She comes from a successful family, grew up in NYC and Connecticut; she's an amazingly talented and more to the point, successful, artist with paintings in museums all over the world. And she's the widow of a very wealthy man. You'd never know it, because there she is with paint on her pretty nose and cupcakes in the oven, wearing old jeans, going to the flea market or the thrift shop, or making peanut butter-and-tomato sandwiches for a picnic with the kids.
She has an enormous house on Long Island and yes, an even bigger - - - though tastefully grey shingled/ blueberry blue shuttered - - - house on Nantucket. (yeah, the place in Idaho, and Key West and...well...)
So anyway obviously she's up on the island now.
"Is there a problem?" I ask carefully.
"Here's the thing, Ranger," she says again. "You know how the all Presidents like to come to the islands in the summer? So I guess the current First Family, they're vacationing on the Vineyard in August, but for the Fourth the president is just coming up - - - with his family of course, a flying visit, in and out - - - for the long holiday weekend. It seems it was a spur of the momenty thing?"
"Spur of the moment-y?" I echo.
"Uh huh and his staff is scrambling like crazy."
"And?"
"The President remembered enjoying our party last Christmas and his staff asked me if I'd do a little BBQ thing for them. For the 4th weekend."
"I can intervene and get you out of it, Olivia. Not a problem.''
''No! No, I want to do it, it'll be so fun! You know I love a party, Ranger. But even though of course the Secret Service will be here and plenty of presidential security, well I was wondering if you - - - Rangeman - - - could also supply some security for the day? I'll pay of course."
''Of course." No way would I bill her, absurd.
"I know it's an imposition for your men to work on a holiday but I can put them up here or in the guest house, they can enjoy Nantucket when they're off duty..."
"Bring their wives and kids?" I say sarcastically.
"Absolutely. Just let me know if we'll need extra babysitting or anything?"
"Olivia. The men don't mind working on a holiday. They get paid extra. They will not be bringing the kids."
"Oh. Too bad...But maybe you and Steph and the girls - - - Julie is visiting? - - - can come and you can get Anthony to come and we'll have a family 4th! I am going to do hot dogs and my potato salad and all the real family foods. Burgers. Chips. Americana. Little flags..."
I tune out. A family Fourth. With the President of the United States and his entourage. Fucking wonderful.
...
But here I am - - - so far we've been to the town parade with all the fire trucks and the mayor in an old Caddy convertible and the high school band. It's hot and sunny, it's blue skies, blue hydrangeas, green green grass Nantucket July and instead of playing golf I am wearing an ear wire and body armor and I am watching for drunks and tangos. [terrorists]
Anthony laughed his ass off when I relayed the plan and said, "NFW, dude." [no fucking way]
I said, "Grucci fireworks? Justin Beiber?"
Anthony laughed hysterically. "You made that up."
"Swear to God the Beebmeister is playing for the girls, the President's daughters.''
"That's just sick, man. Yeah okay the fireworks, fine. But that kid?"
"Tell your mom, I'm just event security."
...
Mid-afternoon, the president arrives. It's a whole procession...black Suburbans, Presidential limo - - -all disgorging a mob of First Family, aides, First Dog, and Secret Service detail.
Instead of an oh-so-boring reception line, Olivia has a pretty blonde college student greeter who is handing out red-white-and blue popsicles to each guest as they arrive. The adult popsicles are made with rum and pureed fruit, the kids' are classic sugar water.
I carefully survey the party. The good thing about working is that I do not have to participate in a social way. Olivia requested that we not "appear in our Rangeman thug outfits" so I am seeing things like Binky in madras shorts and a Yale tee-shirt by the bar and Hal in khakis and a pink golf shirt, over near the opened-sided food tents. And yes: I - - -and the Secret Service - - -are dressed similarly. Please do not ask what color my golf shirt is, I think it's um, lavender? Awfully close to in shade to some of the hydrangeas, but I am getting lascivious stares from the anorexic summer people ladies so I guess it works. In its own way.
There is no hint of a terrorist alert and of course the Secret Service thinks they have the presidential safety 100% covered. This is, after all, Nantucket. Monomoy to be exact, home of the rich and famous who like to live in very large homes on a very small island.
I continue to scan. The President and Mrs. Pres' are chatting happily, everyone has drinks. Julie is hanging with the First Daughters, their heads together over by the beach chairs. Children are everywhere underfoot, screaming madly, playing tag or something. I consider organizing a softball game for the kids and look around for Olivia, to ask if that would be okay.
Instead I catch sight of my daughter Zoë, who seems to be leading the chase, along with her fat dog Killer and the Presidential hound, a Portuguese Water Dog?...big black poodle thing anyway. Zoë is wearing a dress that seems to have been made from an American flag and clashingly gaudy neon yellow Crocs. She is closely shadowed by her newest bodyguard, my friend Dragan the Romanian hire-kill guy. Somehow Drag, or Dave as we call him now, snagged the only black polo shirt. He looks fine to me but the President's security detail is eyeing him nervously. Dragan ignores them, does a 360 scan of the area, just like I am doing. His eyes linger behind my shoulder and he stares at someone, something.
A pair of servers pass by me and walk over to him, he takes a champagne cocktail but leans in and says something I can't quite hear. The drinks guy almost drops his tray. The waiter with the canapés steers the drinks guy away in a hurry and I hear the canapé man say, " What's he sayin'?"
"He said we're dead, with an accent! Geez, like a fricken vampire."
"What?"
"Dead. Says we're dead, man."
"Why? What did we do?"
"How the fuck do I know, I'm a fuckin' waiter, James. Did you see his gun?"
The kid is dark-complexioned but sounds like an American college kid. They both do. I give my head a tiny shake, eyes locked with Dave. Dave shrugs and follows Zoë into the crowd, then circles around to join me because Zoë is headed my way.
"Daddydaddydaddy! You are not having fun!"
Olivia's guests turn and watch her, silly smiles on their faces, their eyes going from the tiny whirlwind to me, comparing our faces. More smiles. Shit.
Oblivious, Zoë thrusts Killer the pug into my arms and I look down, say, "What?"
"Killy needs his Kool-Aid, Daddy."
What's with the Kool-Aid thing, anyway?
I just say, "Yeah?"
"He's hot!" A few people laugh out loud. Killer is overheated but he is NOT "hot"...he is ugly. In an embarrassingly adorable way.
"He looks like he needs a swim, chica, not a cocktail."
"Oh yes yes yes. Can we swim?" She whips her dress off over her head, flings it on the grass in a heap. Underneath she wears a rather tiny swimsuit, a bikini. Silver with holographic silver stars. In the sun she glows, glitters. Shimmers. She hurts my eyes.
"I don't think this is a pool party, baby," I say, cursing my big mouth.
"But daddy..."
I look around, all seems well, then I grab her hand, Killer under my other arm like a football. I tell Drag I mean Dave, ''You stay here, cover my post.''
He nods.
Olivia's pool is off-limits in a hydrangea fenced enclosure overlooking the beach, but she has this , well, thing. For kids and dogs. It's on the other side of the house near the deck and kitchen windows, away from the lawn party. The thing is like an urban splash pad or sprinkler park. But not ghetto. No, it is fancy: seaglass and tumbled limestone tiles form a play space maybe 15 feet square and all around it and in it are these sprinkler gadgets.
There's a fountain thing in the middle but no water of any depth so it's safe. She actually had it built for the family pugs to play in but the grandkids love it too.
Zoë whoops and runs in, Killer on her heels.
I sit down on a shaded bench, just for a moment. And catastrophe. The horde of other kids has followed, I'm the fucking Pied Piper. Even the President's daughters and Julie arrive and all are screaming and spraying and splashing, all at top volume. The kids get in whether they have swim suits or not. I rummage in my pocket for my Advil.
What? I'm a security consultant, I'm not the nanny here.
An hour later the burgers 'n dogs are served. I shut off the water jets and follow my crew of bedraggled kids to the buffet.
Stephanie stares at me, hands me a plate. "Veggie burger." She looks cool and beautiful in a blue sundress with little sparkles on the chest.
"Thanks."
She looks me over. "You look beat. What happened?"
"I got my ass kicked. By a roving gang of small evil people."
She smiles. "Now you know how I feel."
... ... ...
Much later. Boom. Wheee, zap! Booom, kaboom. The fireworks. I sit on a blanket on the grass, Stephanie leaning into my side, Zoë on my lap. We are all eating ice cream. When the massive display of the red-white-and blue finale explodes, Beiber's backup band segues into The Star Spangled Banner. We all get to our feet. Stephanie takes my hand, my other arm holds a sleepy Zoë. Julie suddenly appears at my other side, by Zoë, her skinny pre-teen arm wraps around my waist.
A moment in time. Now you know why I do what I do.
The national anthem ends, play ball, I reflexively think - - -and everyone applauds.
Life is good...
the end