Chapter 22

Dad Stuff

Brooke Wellington, ex-supermodel and current socialite, was currently in the midst of planning this Hillwood's annual Fall Charity Gala, as she usually did at this time of year. Most did not know just how much work went into such things… a venue had to be secured, speakers and entertainment needed to be booked, the celebrity guest list vetted, caterers and decorators hired, publicity arranged… it was all quite the undertaking, and as one of Hillwood's most prominent citizens she was expected to take lead. Such was the busy life of a high society lady.

So when her person phone rang, she thought nothing of it; after all, dozens called her every day, so why would she expect anything unusual?

Those pretenses were shattered when she heard the voice on the other end.

"Barbara."

It was a name she had not heard in twenty years, spoken by a voice she had hoped to never hear again. By all rights, she should have immediately hung up the phone, but that wouldn't stop him. Not if he anted something. And it was an absolute certainty that he wanted something. Why else would he have tracked her down after all this time?

But that didn't mean she was just going to roll over. No… she would find out just what it was he wanted. And then she would make for damn certain that he would ever, ever have it.

"I'm sorry," she said calmly, giving nothing away in her tone. "You must have the wrong number. There's nobody here by that name."

"Don't play coy with me, Barbara. I know you changed your name. I suppose the name I gave you wasn't good enough."

"What do you want?"

"I'm your father. I want what every father wants… I want to see my family."

Inwardly, Brooke seethed. The nerve of that man… to call after these years, as if nothing had ever happened. As if he deserved to speak to her, after what he had done. After what he had taken. "I don't want you anywhere near my family. If you dare…"

"You can't keep a grandfather away from his grandchildren…"

"Watch me." Brooke ended the call and immediately blocked the number. It wouldn't stop him, oh, she had no doubt of that. But it would give her a little while to think about where she would go from here. And besides… she would not give that man the satisfaction of hearing her cry.

She'd already managed to compose herself by the time Buckley had returned from his golf course appointment with the State Senator. Being a blubbering mess simply Would Not Do, after all.

"Buckley, dear, I would like you to look into extra security for our family, if you don't mind," she proposed.

"Brooke, darling, what brought this on?" he replied, confused. Usually, it was he who tended to be concerned about such things.

"Oh, no reason, really, it's just that you can't be too careful when it comes to- oh, I'm not fooling you at all, am I." She let out a deep sigh. "It's Clayton Wendell."

"Your father?" asked Buckley, raising an eyebrow.

"Clayton Wendell," she repeated. "That man lost the right to call himself my father years ago," Decades, actually, but that would be admitting her age, and a lady simply did not do that.

"What could he possibly want after all these years?" mused Buckley.

"He claims he wants to see his grandchildren. I don't know if he's telling the truth and, frankly, I don't care. All I know is I don't want him within a hundred miles of my girls. Especially not Rhonda."

"Turtledove, I share your concern, but you do know Rhonda of all people is quite capable of taking care of herself. Why, just last week she literally tore a burning truck open to save the driver."

"Of course she's strong… physically. Emotionally, she's just as fragile as anyone else, and that's how Wendel works. What he did to my brother is proof of that."

"…all right, I'll look into it. But… I think maybe you should speak to Rhonda herself about this. If she's in danger, it's best she knew what to look out for."

"….You're right as usual, dear.' She sighed. "I'm sorry you have to deal with this. You married Brooke Wellington, not Barbara Wendell."

"You're right. I married Brooke Wellington, a beautiful, smart, capable woman and regardless of who she was in the past, I married her for better or for worse, and if Barbara is a part of that, then I suppose I married her too. I just hope they don't get me for bigamy." He chuckled.

"I never thought I'd have this conversation," Brooke continued. "But… you're right. Rhonda needs to know where she came from, and why I am who I am today. And why she must never be ashamed of who she is."

Appliance King Warehouse

-HELGA-

It was a familiar sight from her childhood; Big Bob in all his glory, prancing around in his faux-ermine-lined cape and this big, ridiculous crown, as a line of chorus girls sang his praises behind him. Sure the merchandise had changed, and sure Bob had shed a few pounds (by demand of his cardiologist) and more than a few hairs (by the even more inescapable demand of time), but here, he was once again king over all he surveyed, and his royal decree slashed prices like an executioner slicing the head off a tax cheat.

The chorus girls were winding down their intro now, and it was time for Biig Bob to go into his spiel. "That's right, I'm Big Bob Pataki, the Appliance King! And I declare an end to high prices! Here at Appliance King, we will not be undersold, we cannot be undersold. Our prices can't be beat. Take this Sangsum high-efficiency washing machine, $809 at the big-name stores. At Appliance King, $774.95! This Maelstrom side-by-side refrigerator/freezer, $1250 at our competitors. At Appliance King, it's yours for $1195! This Kitchensmart three-rack dishwasher, $950 elsewhere. At Appliance King, you can have it for just three low payments of $299! Remember, folks, don't be fooled by fast-talking tricksters… if you want big deals on brand-name appliances, there's only one man to go to… the King! And remember, free beeper with every purchase! And, cut! Alright, we'll tack on the usual disclaimers at the end, slap on some o'them fancy computerfied graphicals, and that's another great Big Bob's Appliances commercial in the can!"

"Still using the kickline, huh, pop?" I said, drawing his attention. I knew better than to interrupt him while engaged in the oh-so-important act of self-promotion, but now that the commercial was done filming, I was free to get his attention.

"Oh, hey, O-Helga." Good catch. He still slipped up from time to time, but not nearly as often as he did in the old days. "Of course I'm still usin' the kickline. Can't have a commercial without a kickline. 'Sides, I gotta pull out all the stops if I wanna compete with the Appliance Wizard on Route 202. Hey, did I mention that I'm gonna be opening Appliance King's first official showroom?"

Only about a hundred times. "Why, no, this is the first time I'm hearing of it."

"Right across the street from the Appliance Wizard! Let's see how that pointy-hat-wearing weenie likes that, huh? I can see the commercial now; I take of my crown and slap on an army helmet and say 'King Bob's declaring war on the Appliance Wizard and his high prices, and no magic spell can save him now!' Heh heh heh, it's gonna be brilliant. Serves 'im right for prancing around in that ridiculous outfit."

I bit back my sarcastic response (it would have been waaaaay too easy; besides, the Appliance Wizard was a gigantic dork), and said instead "So, business is really booming, huh."

"I'll say. That's the thing; the high-tech stuff goes obsolete before you even blink. Yesterday's hot phone is tomorrow's paperweight. But people are always gonna need washing machines, refrigerator, stoves, all that stuff, and other than a few fancy new computer chips they're still basically the same as they were thirty years ago. Take this fridge here; it may have woo-foo and artifactual intelligence an' all that, but its main purpose is still to keep your beer cold, your veggies fresh, and your steaks frozen. Sure, it knows when you run outta milk somehow… I'm not sure I trust that… but basically, it works the same as my old Anama from back when your mother an' I first got married."

"Mmm-hmm," I nodded. If I said nothing, he'd go on and on for an hour. "Got it, old stuff good, new stuff weird and confusing. Anyway, we were supposed to have lunch together?"

"Ohhh, yeah, right, that was today, wasn't it? Actually, this is perfect, there was someone I wanted you to meet."

My eyebrow went up of its own accord. He wanted me to meet someone? Who? He wasn't trying to fix me up with one of his business partners' kids, was he? Wait, have I even told him I'd broken up with Arnold yet? I'm not sure I have. Besides… it wasn't really like him to show a ton of interest in my romantic life. Olga's, sure, mine, not so much. Oh, occasionally he'd ask "You still with that weird-headed Alvin kid?" but he'd drop the subject immediately after I answered. So… no, that probably wasn't it. Which just raised the question of exactly what it was…

Chubby's 'Cue, down the road from the warehouse

I scanned the menu. "Chubby's Ribonanza, please," I ordered.

The waitress looked me over. "Really, kid? You think you can finish that?"

"Oh, I can finish it," I insisted. "Just make it happen.

The waitress shrugged. "Your bellyache, kid," she remarked. "What about you?"

"I'll have the chicken-fried steak," he said.

"Dad…" I warned.

"And a salad," he added pointedly. "Criminy, Helga, one chicken-fried steak ain't gonna put Big Bob Pataki in the morgue. I been behaving myself. I eat that kwinn-owa crap an' go joggin' an' stuff like that. Besides, what you ordered is way worse."

"Yeah," I whispered once the waitress was out of earshot, "but I also have two hearts and three stomachs and a jacked-up alien metabolism." Which, granted, I mainly used as an excuse; it wasn't like the other girls ate like I did. Still, my point was made. "So, who's this mystery person you want me to meet? And does it have anything to do with that dead animal you're wearing on your head?"

"Hey hey hey hey HEY! This here is a high-quality hair-replacement appliance! I'll have you know I got it from the same place that makes Shatner's!"

"William Shatner?"

"No, the other guy, Walter Shat- oh, mother may-I, I got ripped off, didn't I. Shoulda known the price was too good to be true. Oh, it's late, here she comes!"

"She" was a woman in her early thirties. Hair color out of a bottle, tan out of another bottle, boobs and nose courtesy of plastic surgery, you know the type. The kind of woman you knew was named "Karen" or something like that.

"Bobby!" she gushed, a hint of nasally Lawn Guyland in her voice, "You would not believe the day I've been having, First, that bitch at the nail salon gives me dusty rose instead of pale rose, and has the nerev to ask me for a tip, then at Moonpenny's they made me wait in line, do they know who I am?"

I instantly dislike you, I thought but did not say.

"This city, huh," Bob said non-commitally. 'Whattaya gonna do. Karen," Ha! Called it! "this is my younger daughter, Helga. Helga, this is Karen Falucci,"

The name was vaguely familiar, but nothing I could nail down. "Nice t'meetcha," I replied neutrally. Not much more needed to be said, really. It was clear what was going on here. "So, did you know kids were part of the deal when you staked your claim? Well, don't worry, one's all grown and one's pretty close to it, so don't worry too much."

"Ah-hahaha, you never mentioned your kid was such a comedian," Karen fake-laughed.

"Yeah, that's me, just call me Groucho Pataki," I remarked. "So, Karen, what's your deal?"

Karen raised an eyebrow. "Seriously?" she asked. "Do you really not know who I am?"

"Heh, you know kids. They don't watch the news. Helga, Karen's the weather lady at KCRG News."

"Ohhh, that Karen Falucci," I conceded. I must have heard the name in some random news promo while watching something I was actually interested in.

"So, uh… Helga… what a lovely name," Karen continued, clearly not particularly interested in continuing the conversation but obligated by social conventions to do so, "why don't you tell me a little about yourself?"

"Oh, not much to tell, really. I'm a professional contract killer for the mob, but that's just something I'm doing to raise money. My real dream is to start my own cult to release the Elder God Yog Sothoth and bring about the end times."

"Heh heh heh, never a serious moment with this one," Bob interrupted, whispering "Can I talk to you in private for a minute?"

"Look, Helga, would it kill ya to be polite for a minute? I want Karen to get a good impression of you, an' so far you ain't really helpin' with that."

"*sigh* I dunno, there's just… something about her that's really rubbing me the wrong way."

"Olga liked her."

"Olga is a lot better at faking politeness than I am. Look… I'll reign it in, but let me say right off the bat that she is gonna have to be really, really charming to win me over and right now, I don't see that happening."

"I'm not saying you have to start calling her mom or anything, but at least give her a chance, okay?"

"Okay, I- wait, 'mom'? You didn't already marry this chick, did you?"

"Well, n-no… but I'm takin' her down ta Vegas next weekend and you know how it is, anything can happen down there."

"I'd really rather not have to think about that. Fine, I'll be *finger quotes* 'polite', but just slow it down, okay? She just gives me a bad vibe is all."

"Hey, I know you're just lookin' out for me, but don't worry about me. I can take care of myself. I already got my lawyer on speed-dial in case I need a pre-nup."

"See, this is what I'm saying. How long have you been seeing this woman, a week? Two? Don't rush into things."

"Look, you gotta understand, it's not easy meetin' new people at my age. I been off the dating scene for a long time. But… I dunno, I got a good feeling about this."

"*sigh* Fine. I'll… give her a chance. For you."

"Atta girl. Hey, how's it goin' with that Albert guy with the weird head?"

"Arnold. And we broke up a month ago when he moved to San Lorenzo. Actually, I just started dating this new guy, Brian…"

"Yeah that's great, honey," He checked his rug in the mirror. "Dunno what you're talkin' about, this looks fine t'me… C'mon, let's go back to the table."

I managed to behave myself for the rest of lunch. No sarcasm, and believe me, that's not an easy thing to do for me. Not that I got a ton of opportunity, as Karen pretty much dominated the conversation with a detailed litany of every microaggression she'd encountered over the last week, which as it turned out was many, many microaggressions. I wondered what exactly Bob saw in- well, okay, it was actually pretty obvious what he saw in her… she was a busty blonde who paid attention to a paunchy middle-aged man. But surely he was more discerning than that… I mean, going from Mom to this airhead? And the worst part was he'd already implied he was thinking of marriage. This bimbo could wind up my new stepmother! Sure, Miriam had gone out with a loser or two since the divorce, but it had never really gone beyond that. But Bob was already planning to take Karen on a rad trip. I was not okay with this. Not okay at all. But… barring the possibility that I stumble onto proof that she was a spy sent by the Appliance Wizard to take down Big Bob's empire from the inside, I really didn't have much in the way of leverage here.

No, I held my tongue, and grinned and bore the entitlement and whining and occasional bit of diet racism until it was time to leave. Once I was free, I would never have to think about her for the rest of the day.

"And then after she sends her fish back a third time, she starts demanding to see the chef, and when he finally comes out, she starts hinting that she's going to call INS… which she called IMF, by the way… never mind it turns out the guy's a third-generation American citizen, but that's besides the point…"

"My," Phoebe replied, scanning one of the bookshelves, "this woman sounds like quite the piece of work."

"You got that right. It's like, if a bad quality exists, she has it. It's like some mad scientist set out to create literally the worst human being possible. And yes, I'm purposely being hyperbolic, of course she isn't up there with history's greatest monsters, but you get the idea."

"Have you spoken of your concerns to your father?"

"Of course I did, but he gave me the whole lonely middle-aged schlub getting back into dating after a long lull and damn it, what do you say to that? Maybe… maybe he'll manage to bring out some good in her?" I snickered. "Man, is this what it's come to? I'm looking for Bob to be the good influence? Wow, Arnold's done a number on me, huh."

"I wasn't going to say it, but… at this point in the old days, you'd be in the midst of concocting some sort of elaborate plan to drive them apart."

"Heh, yeah, I'd be all like 'I"ve got it! I'll get an internship at the TV station, work my way up to becoming Karen's personal assistant, then I'll secretly record everything she says until I catch her cheating on him or trashing him behind his back! Hah hah hah, what a great plan.' …actually, now that I think of it, my grades are good enough that I probably could get Principal Stevenson to recommend me for an internship…"

"Helga!"

"Just kidding, Pheebs. By now I've figured out that my elaborate plans tend to be spectacular failures. I'm just gonna cross my fingers and hope this fizzles out."

"That's certainly a healthy attitude to take."

"…and if that doesn't work, then I'll try an elaborate plan."

"*sigh* of course."

A.N.: Well, here's everyone's "favorite" character, Big Bob, making his first appearance in the series. Clearly Helga's relationship with him has improved, and he's softened a it, but that fundamental Bobness is still there and he's surprisingly fun to write.

As for our other plotline, I've been wanting to get into this backstory I have for Brooke for a while now, and it's not pretty. Let's just say there are reasons she wanted to leave her past and her old name behind.

Jose: Well, hopefully this chapter clears it up a bit, and I'll be going into further detail next chapter, but for now, let's just say that, as Gerald might say, Clayton Wendell is not a good man. Not a good man at all.

See you next time!