Chapter 4 - Trix is for Kids
(...a break room...the next day...)
A microwave. A coffee maker. A soda machine. A table with chairs. Ah, the amenities afforded to the employees taking a rest from their work.
Tim sits at the table. In the years that he's worked here, he can count on one hand the number of times it had been purely white. As much as he respected the people with who he worked, he had to admit that they could be real slobs, sometimes.
He takes a sip from the can of cola he purchased and silently muses. These headaches he suffered varied in magnitude. Sometimes, they could be mild annoyances, but they were quite painful at other times. And figuring out the cause was a headache in itself. Except for the occasional cold, Tim's been the picture his health his whole life.
Just then, an unfolded newspaper is slid under him. His eyes transfix on a picture. The young woman in the picture has her hands in the air and her mouth open, most likely screaming for joy. The caption reads 'Jet-setting party girl set to come home'.
"Check that out." It was Trixie Tang. Tim hadn't thought about her in many years. With Virginia at his side, there was no need to.
Tim averts his eyes from the paper. "Uh, yeah, that's nice", not a trace of interest in his voice.
"Nice? That's Trixie freakin' Tang! Have you been living under a rock!" Yes; a damn comfortable one, Tim thought to himself. He knew that Harry Reese, the guy engaging him in...let's call it conversation, was something of a ladies' man and would love nothing more than to enjoy the company of Miss Tang. Tim felt it wise not to let on that he knew her because, his great family aside, Harry looked like just the type of person who would ride him for his affections. ("Did you hit that?" "Did you ever hit that?" "Why didn't you hit that!"...and so on.)
Tim tugs at his collar. "I guess I don't really follow people in the field of...wait, what does she do?"
Tim takes a sip. "Well, Trixie's incredibly rich."
"Yes, but what does she do?"
"She travels the world flaunting her status."
"That really doesn't sound very substantial."
A snort escapes Harry's lips. "Maybe if you knew her better, you'd see the good she provides."
Tim knew he wasn't going to get a straight (or remotely satisfying) answer out of Harry. He checks his watch. "Oh, man, look at the time." He gulps down the last of his soda. "I gotta get back to work." Tim rushes back to his desk.
(...the streets of Dimmsdale...hours later...)
Tim turned the steering wheel, sending his car around a corner. It was the end of the work day, meaning that he'd be happy. Unfortunately...
'The good she provides'! He knew that letting little things like this get to him would be most detrimental to his day, but he couldn't help it. Although he managed to get his work done, he was incredibly annoyed at that statement. A lot of the people Tim went to school with still felt that Trixie Tang was this incredible person, though they were either envious of her lifestyle or thinking with their...twigs. Having been more smitten with her than most, he knew all too well that 'Trixie' and 'good' had no business sharing the same language, let alone a sentence.
He shakes his head as he thinks back to a time in his life...
(...a cafeteria...fifteen years ago...)
Timmy sits hunched over at a table. The plastic fork in his hand pokes at the chili on his tray. At least, he was sure it was chili.
He straightens up and the back of his head bumps into a pair of water balloons. Some of these seniors were merciless, to say nothing of unsubtle. He turns around to find that the water balloons are wrapped in fleece...and that they aren't balloons at all.
"Hello, Tommy." Trixie.
Timmy gulps. "H-hhhh-h-hi."
"May I sit down?" She's in the seat next to him before his lips move.
"I think you know the junior prom is tomorrow night, don't you?" With the flyers papering the hallways and the daily announcements ("The junior prom is coming! Don't be the only loser without a date!"), it was hard to miss. She rests her right hand on his leg. He nods dumbly.
"Do you have anyone to go with?" He shakes his head. Her other hand finds his arm. It's a good thing her right hand is closer to his knee. Otherwise, both hands would be meeting his face with a vengeance.
"Oh, good. I was wondering if you...if you might...oh, I'm not very good at this."
Her face moves closer to his, their noses touching. Timmy can smell exactly where her perfume was applied.
"Would you like to...drive me to the prom?"
"Oh, I'd love to--what?"
"Oh, Tommy, I knew you'd help me. My regular driver came down with the flu and I heard you were a pretty good driver." Indeed, he was; his road test went off without a hitch...and being coached by a pair of fairies didn't hurt.
(...the streets of Dimmsdale...the following night...)
Given the expression on his face, Timmy still couldn't believe this was happening. Him, in a limousine, with Trixie Tang...going to the prom. Granted, her and her rich friends were in the back without a care in the world and he was in the driver's seat, but--no. He had wanted to be close to Trixie, to go out with her, to enjoy her company, not be a substitute chauffeur.
His mind reeled at the other possibilities that she might seduce him into doing: blowing off college to travel, partaking in something like skinny-dipping...then leaving him in the middle of nowhere or killing off her husband in an insurance fraud scam. Sure, he was being paid for his services ($50 and "the pleasure of my company", in her own words), but he kind of felt like he ought to be giving her money. After all, she did provide him with a mild (and momentary) parody of satisfaction.
(...the streets of Dimmsdale...)
Tim turns another corner, the memory fresh in his mind. He soon gains a surprising feeling of...wistfulness, and why not? You're driving down the road, things are going pretty well for you, and then, a tree leaps out in front of you and...a tree!
Tim snaps out of it in time to grab the wheel and steer away from the tree. Unfortunately, the force is such that the rear of the car jumps the curb and slams into it. He spins around and allows himself a breath. He turns back, only to be greeted by the deploying airbag. There's nothing like American cars.
(...outside the Turner home...twenty minutes later...)
Tim pulls into the driveway. Virginia's car isn't there yet. Wonderful. He takes out a remote control and points it at the garage. The door opens and Tim drives in.
(...the Turner home...)
Tim walks inside. It's quiet. The twins must be asleep. There was no sign of Ashley; probably a family crisis. He closes the door and looks around. His eyes find a picture hanging on the wall.
He and Virginia are on the beach, laughing and holding each other. He remembers asking a stranger to take a picture of the two of them. This was about a year after college. Tim gazes at the photo longingly. He stares at Virginia in her bikini top and sarong. She looked like some kind of goddess.
His head starts to throb. He falls to the floor, yelling in pain. He grabs his head.
The front door opens. Virginia walks in. "Hi, Tim. I--" A yell cuts her off.
She rushes to her husband. She grabs his hand and tries to lift him to his feet. "I'm taking you to a hospital."
"Nn-nnnooo."
"What?"
"I don't...ahhh...need a hospital."
"Tim, this is for your own good."
The man unsnags his hand from hers by applying a whip-like motion to his arm.
"Virginia, I'm fine."
"But not 30 seconds ago, you were--"
Two pairs of footsteps can be heard pattering down the stairs.
"Mommy! Daddy!" There is fear in Violet's voice.
"Are you alright?", Thomas asks with nervous concern.
"Your father...he's..."
Tim stands proudly. "...feelin' fine."
"But we heard..."
"Just stubbed my toe. It's no big deal. Now, go back to your rooms."
The kids oblige their father. Virginia glares at him.
"How could you lie to them like that?"
"Why create a panic? Things are fine, now."
"Tim..."
He puts his hands on her shoulders.
"You worry too much. Whatever happens, I can handle it."
He walks toward the closet. The brunette can't help but stare at her husband. First, he's convulsing, and now, he's pretending nothing happened. Something doesn't add up.