Page 42 of The Curve
The expression on the kid’s face changes and his voice rises to an angry pitch. “Quit embarrassing me, Mom! I’m talking!”
Shit. Brick and I look at each other, waiting for the other shoe to drop. But instead she pretends nothing unusual just happened. Maybe she’s used to being talked down to by the Midas men. They’re both short shits who like to boss women around. Little Jeffrey sounds like his father talking to his secretary the first time I met him. They’re both assholes.
“Alright, don’t get upset.” She looks at us and adds one more word. “Teenagers.”
Jeffrey the jerk-off shoots his mother a disgusted look, quieting any further comment.
“Maybe you’d like to come to one of our practices. Bring your friends,” I say trying to get past the awkward scene.
“Great idea,” Brick adds.
Now the kid’s the picture of happiness. “Oh man, yes! Thank you!”
Out of the corner of my eye I see Mr. Midas approaching, wearing his nut hugger banana sling. I haven’t seen a tan like this since my parents’ home movies of 1960 summers. He looks like he’s made of leather with a thick sheen of lube on top, just so he doesn’t crack. Eighty never looked so fucked up.
“Mr. Swift!” he says, slapping me on the arm.
The top of his head lines up with my bicep, but his black toupee with grey strands hanging out the edges adds another three inches. I’m standing holding this fucking prissy drink with a big smile on my face like I just saw my long lost best friend.
“Midas! Looking good, my friend.”
I extend my hand for a shake. No such luck. He throws his arms around me and brings me in for a hug. Son of a bitch. As we step back he looks at the front of my light-blue shirt and laughs.
“Oh sorry! I got a bit of oil on you.”
I look like an oil slick floated by me. I’m not gonna tell him it’s a Prada shirt he just ruined, cause I see Brick giving me the silent message to shut the fuck up.
“What’s a little oil between friends?” I say.
My brother’s shoulders relax and everybody’s happy. Midas turns to his son.
“Go play with your girlfriends.” He gestures to where Mallory and Paige are sitting by the pool. “We’ve got business to discuss.”
The kid snorts out his disgust. “Those most definitely arenotmy girlfriends.”
You little piss ant. You should be so lucky.
“Whatever. Go!” the father orders the son.
“They’re with me,” I say locking eyes with the boy. I hope he can read by my expression what a tool I think he is.
Immediately his expression and tone changes. “Oh! I’ll go say hello and introduce myself.”
And off he slithers. I’m pissed. Brick’s the only one who figures it out. Mom and dad Midas are unaware of the deficiencies in their son’s character.
“Let’s go have a cigar and another Midas Mule. Mommy, will you go grab my phone? Thanks.”
Holy hell, he calls his wife Mommy. I may puke.
* * *
Here she comes.Checking my watch, I calculate how long I’ve been sitting here waiting. My fault, because I was the one who said,Take your time Mallory. I’ll be making a few calls from the car.
The passenger door opens, and she slides in. I don’t think I’ve ever seen such a happy look on her face. She leans her head out and calls to Paige who stands amidst a group of kids, Jeffrey and his friends among them. “Call me as soon as you get home!” She waves a goodbye to the group.
Pulling away from the house, I watch Mallory position herself to see the boys in the outside mirror.
“What’re you smiling about?” I say. As if I didn’t know.
