Pink Slip Prophet by George Donnelly Page B

proportion of legs to buttocks played some role. He set aside his rage. She wanted him to lose control. Then she would have the upper hand. That path led to the first twenty years of their relationship, where Ian did what he was told, where he was manipulated and fattened for the slaughter. The conflict was coming, but Ian would select the right time for it.
    ***
    “Dad, I need your help. Can I still call you Dad? Mom told me.” Michael stood behind Ian in Ian’s office. He looked around. “You’re really putting it to good use.”
    Ian turned around and contemplated Michael. He was twenty-one now: fully an adult. His life was already a disaster. Ian planned to fix that. He pushed a fold-up chair in Michael’s direction and the young man sat down.
    “Look, Michael. I raised you. I invested in you. I was there when you were born. I took you to the emergency clinic when you came down with that weird disease when you were three. I taught you to ride a bike. I taught you how to read and tie your shoelaces.”
    Michael opened his mouth to speak and Ian silenced him with a shake of his head.
    “As far as I’m concerned, you’re my son,” Ian said.
    Michael put his hand over his eyes. “I’m glad to hear that, Dad, because I need money, and a lot of it.”
    Ian’s eyes rolled back before he could stop himself.
    Michael laughed, then sank into his chair a little. An ashamed frown crossed his face. “I’m a disappointment. I know that.”
    Ian looked at the floor. “I don’t know if I would put it quite that way.”
    Michael stared at him blankly.
    “I know your girlfriend is pregnant,” Ian said. “Is her family—”
    Candy walked in. She held a fresh bottle of vodka in one hand. “He’s got more than one girlfriend, you know.” She laughed. Her eyes were half-closed and she swayed.
    Michael stared down at the floor. “Mom…” he whispered.
    “Like mother, like son,” Candy said with a noticeable slur.
    “His girlfriend is pregnant,” Ian said. “It happens. We’re handling it. Why don’t you go do something else, Candy.”
    “Which one did he tell you about?” Candy giggled, then burped.
    “Mom, please! Let Dad and I handle this.” Michael glared at his mother and jerked his head toward the kitchen. “Please!”
    Ian contemplated him. He looked at Candy and tried to figure out what was happening. She always supported him. Now they were fighting.
    Michael stood up. “Mom, get out!” He grabbed his mother by the arm and pulled her toward the kitchen.
    Candy ripped her arm away and lost control of the open vodka bottle. It arced in Ian’s direction. He reached for it. It was heavy, almost full, a fresh bottle. Transparent liquid leaked out of the top and hit the floor behind it. It fell too fast. The bottle hit the floor and vodka sprayed onto Ian’s pants, his lap, chest, face and onto his keyboard and screen. The mostly-empty bottle bounced off of the wall and rolled back towards her.
    “What the hell!” Ian yelled. He stood up and tried to clean himself off but his pants were soaked through. The floor puddled with vodka. Even his sneakers squeaked and squelched.
    “Damnit!” Michael said. “I’m sorry, Dad.”
    Candy leaned forward, covered her mouth then burst out laughing. Her body swayed backwards and forwards with glee. “Good thing you made that robot,” she said.
    “Maria, cleanup, please.” Ian looked around the room and sighed. “This room is going to stink of cheap alcohol for weeks now,” Ian said. He grunted in frustration.
    “I’m sorry, Dad,” Michael said.
    “Oh, the good son, now, huh?” Candy said. She eyed the vodka puddles longingly.
    Maria pushed past them and began mopping.
    “Oh, Daddy, Daddy. I need money, money,” Candy said.
    Ian felt a cold despair come over him. He sat down and slumped into the chair. How did this family get like this? He knew the answer. It was Larry. Larry screwed it up for him more than once. This was Larry’s influence, the