Surviving Stephanie Chapter 19
Disclaimer: Contrary to popular belief I am not Janet. I know you're crushed. And I am not making any money of this, nor will I ever. I know I'm crushed.
Note: It's under construction, it looks rough, and it's only a little over half there, but it's in existence. And that's always the hardest part, lol.
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Mac took off out of the parking lot like we were headed for a jump to hyperspace. I was pushed back into the Viper's seats and began to wonder if I would ever come unglued… then he started weaving in and out of traffic like we were in the middle of the Matrix car chase. I wondered if I wanted to come unglued. Probably I'd just get tossed around the car like a rag doll. Better to be glued in then.
Luckily of course these sensations weren't completely new to me. Something similar happened whenever you put my mother in the driver's seat of a sports car. Hippy, peace, love, and New Age acceptance to hell- she has to let all that pent-up aggression loose somewhere. The existence of her old Eclipse probably saved my father's life during their divorce. Unfortunately I didn't think Mac would take it quite the right way if I asked him to stop driving like my mother, but the weaving pattern, the sensation of high speeds, and the edge of danger looming in the back of my mind were making me homesick.
I missed my mommy.
Of course when we got to the gun range I quickly got over my homesickness. And a lot of other things that had been frustrating me, once he showed me how to fire the Glock. It was a very fun little toy. It was bright, shiny, made a satisfactory loud noise, and put holes in things. I now understood the old quip about having PMS and a Gun, and wondered if men in general knew how dangerous that might be.
Mac stood very close when he was adjusting my stance. I made a mental note to ask him what kind of cologne he used because it was delicious. When I wasn't being distracted by the yummy-smelling teacher, I was happy to discover I wasn't an awful shot, and that unlike Daddy's rifle, the Glock's recoil was not enough to send me sprawling backwards after a couple shots. In fact, I liked shooting it. I felt like La Femme Nikita, Sydney Bristow, and Buffy all rolled into one.
"Thought you didn't like guns?" Mac asked as we stepped out of the range.
"I didn't. I was scared of them. I guess I've changed." Into something rich and strange…
He nodded and put his arm around my shoulders. "It happens."
"Thanks for this, Mac," I said. "I really do owe you." He grinned down at me.
"How about lunch and we'll call it even."
I laughed. "Sounds like a hell of a deal. Lead on, Fearless Teacher."
I didn't get to Stephanie's parents until much later. Mac and I had had a long conversation about his childhood in Scotland, and his time in the military, all leading up to how he got the dojo and such. I had been careful not to let the conversation turn much to me since I had only a sketchy knowledge of Stephanie's pre-bounty hunting days. I had also noticed Mac hadn't made a single mention of Ranger through the whole story and I hadn't asked.
But now, standing in front of the Plum household, it all seemed a million miles away. I wondered if Stephanie had ever gotten this feeling: that the world stopped at her parents' front door. Somehow there was my life outside, but a whole new set of rules inside. Then again she wasn't pretending to be herself, so maybe not.
Grandma Mazur opened the door and ushered me inside. She looked weird. Well, weird in a way beyond her usual velour track suit, chunky Sketchers, and electrically blue hair. I blinked and looked again. Yes, it really was electric blue.
"Nice hair, Grandma," I said slowly, wondering if it was an accident. She smiled and patted it a little.
"Thanks. Just got it done today. I think it's more up-to-date."
"Yeah, it's very… punky." And I spared a moment to wonder if that would be what my generation looked like a few decades from now: a bunch of wrinkly peeps with whacky hair colors and ginormous shoes. Would we be playing Nelly and Snoop on the Oldies stations? Would our grandchildren be 1950's Pleasantville do-wopping?
I cringed and mentally cursed whatever idiot ancestor gifted me with this stupidly random brain. It has to be genetic. I can't have made myself this way…
"So what am I doing here?" I asked to distract myself.
"Come and see," Grandma Mazur said, pulling me further into the house and turning me until I was looking into the living room, specifically looking at who- or perhaps at this late date, what- was in the chair in front of the tv.
Sweet mother of cocoa. I thought Janet was exaggerating the pink fuzzy slippers. I had never before known that two innocuous small and pink fuzzy things could do that….
"It looks like a pink nightmare," I said in awe.
"I wasn't meaning them… but they are pretty bad now you mention it…" Grandma peered at them in sudden interest. "I was talking about your sister."
I drug my eyes away from the Pepto Horrors and glanced questioningly at the person on whose feet they were making their nest. I refused to believe those slippers had not slipped into sentience.
Yikes. And I thought I was bad off. Funny isn't it? Some people can be completely convinces they are having a psychotic out-of-body hallucination and still function (ahem, yours truly) while others go through a minor thing like a divorce and they come… unglued. Well, unglued was an understatement of Valerie's condition but I couldn't think up one drastic enough…
I tilted my head and stared openly, like I had just seen a TK boy walk into a calc class. It was that phase of weird. Valerie was entering the 9th dimension. Her hair looked like my sheep dog's when it went through cockleburs, her robe was stained with goddess-only-knew-what, I wouldn't have touch the clothing under it with a 10 foot pole, and even as I watched she proceeded to scratch her boob and let loose a belch any AKL would have been congratulated on.
"What have you been feeding her?" I asked, impressed in a horrified sort of way.
"Everything. She won't stop eating," Grandma sighed. "I'm beginning to think she might have bulimia." I shook my head.
"Nah. She'd have to move."
"Your mother's taken to cleaning around her. I think she might start ironing if something doesn't happen…."
Looking at Valerie, I mentally calculated my choices. The book dictated I introduce her to Kloughn and let them snoogy-uggums themselves and everyone else sick. Too bad I could no longer even think about Clown Boy without having visions of him in a bath tub with Candy Lightning-Pants and a rubber ducky….
Ugh. I was going to be ill. Nope, sorry Janet, but that is right out. I could dangle Ranger in front of her like a carrot I supposed. Only then I'd probably have to be his slave for life or find myself shipped to Eastern Europe. Although, it was still a vastly amusing idea, with oodles of possibilities… and he hadn't killed Steph over Mrs. Apusenja (of course that hadn't happened yet…). Surely Valerie wasn't that bad? Right?
And anyway, he was surrounded by a whole band of Merry Men. Val would be too busy staring to do any serious stalking probably… Later, I reminded myself. Later I could do this. I had enough on The List as it was. I'd have to settle for something less amusing for now.
"I see that smile," Mrs. Plum appeared at my side, startling me. She was looking at me with a distinctly accusatory air. "It's not funny." Yes, yes it was. The Fall of St. Valerie: New Drama of the week… "She's been like that since she lost her job."
I looked again at the mess that was the formerly pristine and sainted Val. Yesterday's mascara, last week's hair… I bit my lip to keep the offending smile from widening.
"We thought you could find her a job," Grandma Mazur said. "Something to get her out of the house on account of we're getting depressed looking at her. Bad enough we got to look at your father."
I blinked, momentarily confused at why looking at Daddy would be depressing. Plus he was barely ever indoors… oh. Oh yeah, Stephanie's father. I looked at Stephanie's mother. "I thought you were getting her a job?"
"She ran through all my contacts. And unemployment is up. I couldn't even get her a job boxing tampons." Mrs. Plum looked utterly defeated, and just a little annoyed. Huh, must be hell when you can't get the child who was supposedly a success to get her butt off the couch…
Sorry. I'm sorry but I'm a bitch I guess. I told you I wasn't a great humanitarian. I'm not. Mrs. Plum had annoyed me from day one, and so had Valerie. I can't help it, I just don't' feel bad. I'm a bad person. Damn it, it's Stephanie's job to be all guilty and shit. Where the hell is she? I'm sick of this part. It's making me feel bad.
Well, it's the way they're made, a voice in my head whispered. They can't help their dependence on men for happiness any more than you can help not understanding it. I frowned, and turned the idea over in my head. I had forgotten about that. Somehow it made it easier to feel a little bad for Valerie. Not bad enough to excuse the pink slippers, but it was something.
I gathered my thoughts and mentally flipped through my catalogue of movies and scripts until I found one. Myself would not be suitable for this scene. "Grandma, Mr-Mom, would you give us some privacy?" I requested. I waited for Mrs. Plum to nod and pull Grandma toward the kitchen before I took off.
"Valerie, get up!" I called in before I stalked through the doorway. "You have thirty minutes to shower and dress. Ugh, and put up the slippers. No, better yet burn the slippers. Send the demons to the abyss they came from. And please brush your teeth while you're showering…"
Valerie grunted. I took a deep breath and stepped between her and the television. Probably I was taking my life in my hands, but I figured, if I couldn't face her I was going to screwed come time for Abruzzi.
"Valerie! Don't make me shoot the god damned television," I growled, doing my best to look menacing. Valerie's eyes lifted up to my face and I took an involuntary step back. If I had to draw a homicidal maniac, it would have come out looking a lot like Valerie. Courage, don't fail me now.
"Glare all you want BeastWoman, but do you enjoy your kids seeing you like this?" I asked, keeping my voice low as I walked toward her. Soft tones, slow movements…. Why did I leave the gun in the car again? Does anyone have a tranq dart?
Tears started welling up in Val's eyes. Good. Tears don't kill, angry ex-wives do…
"I know it's hard, " I said, crouching down next to the chair, but keeping out of the danger zone of the Pink Nightmares. "I went through this, remember?" Well, not me, exactly, but my parents got divorced…. Did them worlds of good. I've never seen them so happy. Hm, better not say anything about that to Valerie…
Valerie sniffled and nodded. She seemed to struggled for a moment, but finally the dam burst and she was bawling for all she was worth. Frantically I looked around but no tissues were anywhere near. "I thought everything was perfect!" she wailed.
I settled for handing her the cleaner edge of her robe and patting her gingerly on the shoulder. "Yeah, I know," I said quietly. She took this as incentive and launched into a long tirade against men, her husband, marriage, etc. At least I assumed she did- it was hard to tell with all the hiccups and sobs.
I nodded when she paused and bestowed friendly pats where warranted. Wow, it was so weird to deal with someone who actually cared about being married. Culture shock. Just another reminder of how I didn't belong here. I belonged in a world where everyone got divorced as often as possible. In fact some people got remarried for the sheer happiness of divorcing all over again. We take bets on marriages. Generally the only reason to get upset was…. Hey, wait a moment…
"So he took all the money?" I asked Valerie. She nodded tearfully.
"Offshore accounts. And he took from his partners and there's nothing left…" she sniffled.
Never mind. I knew how to deal with this after all.
"Come on, Valerie. You have to get dressed now," I said, taking her hands and tugging her up.
"What? Why—"
"I'm throwing you a party. Tonight. Go get cute."
"I-I c-can'-t. I m-"
"Valerie!" I sighed as I pulled out my cell phone. "The money is gone for now. He'll have it locked in Swiss bank accounts, and he's probably already making up a new identity. You have two choices of what to do about it." Valerie stared at me blankly, so I continued. "You can either stay in that chair and grow mold and let him win. Let him ruin your life and your daughters' lives… or you can get even. Maybe even get everything." Ah hah, the First Wives Syndrome has set in after all. I saw a new light beginning to flare in Valerie's eyes. The light of cold, calculating female anger.
"But you and Dickie-" she said hesitantly. "You didn't-"
"I let him win,' I said authoritatively. "And You know what? I'm sorry I did. But it was just me. You have Mary Alice and Angie to worry about."
"For the girls…"
"Exactly."
"But how am I going to get even with him? I don't even know where he is?"
I smiled at her. This might be fun after all: I could distract myself from the inevitable unpleasantness with Abruzzi, hone my lethal bounty hunting skills, and possibly get that much closer to meeting both number 2 and number 9 on my List of Evil Things…
I shooed Valerie up the stairs, pointedly ignored the curious faces of Mrs. Plum and Grandma Mazur, and stepped onto the front porch to make my calls.
"Jack? This is Stephanie. I—"
"Stephanie, are you okay?" Jack sounded concerned.
"I'm awesome. Mac took me to the gun range. Maybe you should next time. It's great therapy and it'll save you loads of effort." He laughed.
"You sound a lot happier." Guh, of all the times to get all therapy-oriented…
"I am. I have a fun challenge. Wanna help me?"
"Do I even want to know?" he was smiling. I could hear it.
"My sister Valerie's husband left her for the baby-sitter, took off with their money, his partners' money, and lots of other people's money. I want to find him."
"Steph, that's going to be really—"
"Exactly. It's different. It's new. It's challenging. And it will help me improve my finding-people skills." I was bubbling over with excitement now. Maybe I really am evil…
"All right. But how do I fit into this?"
"You're a psychologisty thingy, right? That means profiling stuff. And you know about undercover stuff, too."
"You could ask Ranger," he said slowly. I frowned and thought about it. Yeah, that would have been the smart thing to do but…
"I don't want to take advantage. He's…." I let myself trail off like I was searching for the words. "a busy guy. You're busy too I know, but, well, I dunno.. I just don't feel comfortable asking Ranger."
And that was, for once, pretty much the truth. I was having enough trouble rationalizing one night. A lifetime of sexual servitutde would be… um… right, why the hell wasn't I asking Ranger?