Page 40 of Eyes Like Angel
Bjorn hummed in taciturn amusement, scrolling on his phone screen.
“Well, this is where I save the best news for last. Father Divine contacted me yesterday and offered me to have the house clean. He’s sending someone in—Ah, Praise the Lord!”
Bjorn snorted, ludicrous at her fake gospel.
“By what, spill more Holy Water and give his blessings and prayers to our goddamn house?” Dad said lowly, hatred evident in his eyes. “Linda, I don’t want any of this bullshit in my quiet early breakfast.”
Dad usually dislikes any unwanted or unwarranted visitors at his private time, considering how his responsibilities were annoying and increasingly overwhelming from previous travels and social protocols to meetings, presentations and rewards ceremonies, etc.
“Perhaps we could hire some of the staff from Dad’s previous job,” Bjorn simply recommended with disinterest. “Dad trusts them. They don’t steal or cheat their way to cleaning.”
“Don’t you mean a nanny?” Mom concluded, her blue eyes broadened in displeasure. “Hendrix doesn’t need to hire a nanny to clean up the estate. Anyone can do better.”
Occasionally, Dad has thrown a word or two regarding to Mom’s dislike, other times it was Bjorn’s own will. Mom’s jaw was tight shut and gritted with every scratched sound muffled in her shut lips, rattling on the inside.
“A nanny or a housekeeper does a better job than what Father Divine’s offering,” he challenged.
Mom disliked his dismissal. “A holy offering from him has been great for us, for me! Nannies often steal shit and manipulate others to get into her worn out legs for quick cash and a bonus. Nannies are incompetent; they’re looking for a shortcut! We need someone who behaves well, someone who takes anyone’s crap and doesn’t say shit about it.”
Secretaries and nannies were the last thing she wants to hear. Whenever Dad spoke of his work, Mom had to coil herself like a cat, to brace herself for the worst.
She’d often thought the worst of Dad.
Whenever he’s diligent on his computer and his paperwork and making phone calls, he’s either with a secretary, or a nanny to do the dirty work in the estate.
Mom hated both to overstay their welcome at her place. In fact, she despised them. Anyone who comes an inch closer to touch his sleeve, Mom was ready for a brutal kill.
My mom liked to pull anything that’s long, not in a sense of filthy fashion on taking Dad to bed or by his grey-colored tie, which he doesn’t wish for the tie to crumple by her freakishly long acrylic fingers, but I referred to anything she could grabwith her hands on, either a door handle, a five pound bell bars at her yoga setting downstairs, or somebody’s hair.
When she was a child, she loved to pull to anything that makes noise, including the sharp slap on a leathered belt; the silver metal dangled and rang, like a dog’s collar roped on a dog’s neck.
“Want someone to behave well? Get a fucking dog, Linda,” Dad retorted.
She stomped her heel. “No!” Then she stomped twice as she said, “Fuck no!”
“Why the fuck would you ask Father Divine about housekeeping services?” Dad intruded, chest heaving at her revelation. “Him being involved in our personal lives isn’t what I had in mind. Why can’t you call the Curtis family and ask them if they know any maids and housekeeping services? They know someone.”
Mom’s shoulders bopped. “Why the fuck not? I decide who gets hired and cleans this house, hubby.”
A bunch of newspapers crumpled. Bjorn leaned his spine back onto the couch cushion.
I watched Bjorn’s face contorted, groaning. “No, Mom, don’t do that.”
She had her hands on her hips. “Do what, honey?”
“That shit you’re pulling. Younger women said that shit. I didn’t expect the word ‘hubby’ come out from my own mother,” Bjorn grunted, grimaced. Bjorn’s not the type of guy who endlessly watching and scrolling viral videos on his phone. He used his phone for serious business with a grumpy face to a point he reminded me of a dwarf with a collared-stripe suit. But his office friends had a spare time making meme references and watched several jokes to get a fuller context.
“That shit isnotowned or invented by younger women. Anyone could say it,” she protested, voice shrilled like a child who hasn’t gotten a brand new toy.
“Only influences on the internet say that,” Bjorn shot back, leaning forward. “You should be a mother, not some stripper-wannabe.”
Her anger fueled.
She banged the table down with a hand smacked, leaving their coffee mugs fell and shattered on the floor and coffee stains smothered on their expensive collared shirts, then she ripped the other newspapers apart, and some were thrown at the heated fireplace.
Dad whined, calling her ‘honey’ in his best formulate performance on gaining her affection through his affectionate-like voice, and Bjorn’s eyes hardened, clenching his fists, desiring to flip the glass table.
“The maid will be here soon, and you are all going to accept it! So help me God I’m going to fucking tear this place down if you guys don’t cooperate with Father Divine! This is my last warning! I fucking mean it, you fucktards!”
