Chapter Five – The Fuck-With-Me Gun
"Goddamnit." muttered George as a kid on a skateboard suddenly appeared on the street just ahead of her, causing her to slam onto the brakes. With a screech, the Mustang came to a halt several feet from the kid, who was frozen to the ground in shock.
"What? What are you waiting for? Go!" shouted George, finally breaking the spell the kid was under, and he skated away.
"Damn kids," she muttered darkly as she manouvered her car onto the street where she and Daisy shared a house.
As she neared the house, she saw that a relatively nice car was parked on the curb.
Who might that be? Mason? Better tell him to get rid of it before the police track it here.
Opening the door, as she put down her purse on the table next to the door, she saw the one man who she never wanted to see again, sitting in a chair by the fireplace.
Thomas "Trip" Hesburgh III.
"What the fuck are you doing here?" she snarled, anger streaking across her face.
"I finally got back from New York, George." replied Trip as he stood up with an ice pack on the right side of his face.
"Got back from New York?"
"Yeah. Had to go there for a month to deal with my dad's estate."
"Then why the fuck didn't you call, or let me know?" she shouted.
"I tried, goddamn it!"
"Bullshit!"
"Look, I lost the post-it that your...friend Mason gave me with your address on it."
"He gave you a post it?"
My God, Mason. How can you be so fucking stupid?
"Yeah, he wrote your address on the back of it. I put it into my wallet, but it got lost somehow."
"Uh huh," replied George, skepticism in her voice.
"So I tried the first thing you do when you forget an address, but you know the name..."
One Month Ago, Seattle-Tacoma Airport, First Class-Traveler's Lounge
"Goddamn it, Trip. We don't have the fucking time to look up your 'girlfriend', our flight leaves in twenty minutes," shouted Ashley Hesburgh as she watched her brother head to the phones in the lounge with a white pages book.
"Be quiet, Ash; It'll only take few minutes; I only have a few more names to go."
The first one on the list of names listed as G. Lass, was one Gertrude Lass, while the next one was Gareth Lass.
Fuck. That just leaves this one, thought Trip. The one he'd been saving for last, despite it's obviousness, because of the awkwardness.
LASS, Clancy and Joy...3851 Beatrice Lane
Georgia...3851 Beatrice Lane
Yes, that would be such a great call, he thought. I'm calling to try and get in touch with your daughter, I had sex with her but lost her address, can you give it to me? Thanks so much!
With unsteady fingers, he punched in the number for 3851 Beatrice Lane. Oh god, I hope I don't fuck this up.
After several rings, a voice came on the line.
"Hello?"
"Is this the Lass household?"
"Yes it is." replied the voice, which sounded pretty young.
Didn't George say she had a sister?
"Uh, I'm calling to try to get in touch with Georgia Lass, do you have her address or phone number?"
On the other end, Reggie's eyes widened. Get in touch with George? Does this mean this guy knows George somehow?
"Uh, how do you know George?" asked Reggie, trying to keep her voice down so that her mother wouldn't overhear their conversation.
"I uh, met her at a...social meeting, and we got to be pretty good friends, and now I'm trying to get in touch with her, but forgot her number."
"How was George?" asked Reggie, a little too loud.
"Uh. Smart, funny, and sarcastic."
Suddenly, the line dissolved into random noise, with the faint cry of "Mooomm!" in the background before an older woman's voice came onto the line.
"Joy Lass here, what's this about George?"
"Uh, Hello, Miss Lass; I'm trying to get in touch with your daughter..." stammered Trip, his well thought out plan to get George's number falling apart like he was a rookie reporter, not some seasoned writer.
"Look, I don't know who the fuck put you up to this, but stop fucking with us," snapped the voice over the line.
"There's no reason to get hasty, Miss Lass; I met your daughter at a social event and I'm trying to find her address so I can get back in touch with her..."
"Get in touch with her? You might think that's a joke, but I don't." With that, Joy brought the phone down into it's cradle, cutting the connection.
"I swear if this goddamn shit keeps up, I'm getting Caller ID." she muttered to herself. First the calls at almost every hour of the day where nothing was said, just breathing, and now random people feeding Reggie's delusion that George was still alive?
Fuck, why was life always so complicated?
Present Day, Hagen/Adair Residence
George listened to Trip's elaborating of his abruptly ended call to the Lass household with mounting dread.
"When I finally got back from New York, I came over here as soon as I could. Your 'friend' Mason wasn't too happy to see me." finished Trip as he shook the ice pack he was holding over what appeared to be a pretty enormous black eye.
"I had some time after Mason left, and before you arrived, so I called in this address through directory service; and a Georgia Lass doesn't live here, but a Sally Adair and a Mildred Hagen."
"Um," stammered George, her rising fury at Trip for abandoning her and leaving her high and dry disappearing faster than an ice cube in an oven as she realized the implications of what Trip was saying.
It was at that point, that I realized that not only had the universe cocked the fuck-with-me-gun, but had fired it. Repeatedly.
Fuck.