saw Brian holding him there, standing between me and him, while
Tiger gnarled a few feet away. The man was foaming and spitting and he swore at
Clarissa and jerked himself away from Brian, who was twice his size and a
hundred times more a man, and who continued to menace him, forcing him back to
his car. Before he peeled away, Brian took his foot and kicked the Mercedes
door, which I realized later had probably created a three-thousand-dollar dent.
Clarissa
swept up her boy, who was wailing like a siren. She held the back of his head
against her and he slowly calmed. The scene quieted, and we stood there in
silent tableau, but anyone coming upon us would have known that something awful
had just happened. Clarissa approached where I lay in a clump on the ground and
asked was I all right. I said yes. She pointed to the raven-haired woman and
said this is my sister Lorraine, and I said that’s Brian. And Brian stood there
like Rodin’s Balzac. He looked around, “Everybody okay?” Yeah, we all said.
Then Clarissa urged the child forward and said, “This is Teddy.” Teddy held up
his arm, spreading his fingers and showing me a grass-stained hand. My shirt
was torn open and Clarissa touched my exposed ribs. “Ouch,” I said. And I was
pleased that I had chosen the perfect word for the occasion.
After
making sure that Mussolini was gone and couldn’t see our destination, we five
soldiers marched up to my apartment. Brian took charge and I asked if he had a
Red Bull and yes, he did. Then I wondered if I had made a mistake; I worried
that it might be dangerous for Clarissa to have a Red Bull now, when she was
most inclined to load a gun and mow down her child’s attacker. I decided to put
her on crime watch. If ever there was a moment for my Quaalude-laced wheatgrass
drink, it was now, but I had long since decided that spiking punch was a bad
idea, bordering on the immoral. Anyway, I was nervous about the chemical
collision of an upper and a downer, and wondered if the combination could
create a small explosion right in the can.
Teddy
scrambled around my apartment on hands and knees, occasionally rising on two
feet and moving hand over hand along the windowsill. Brian stood like a sentry
and was asking questions like “Who was that guy?” that never quite got
answered. But I did know what he was: an angry, unmanageable tyrant, haunted by
imagined slights, determiner of everything, father of Teddy, ex-husband of
Clarissa. This marriage couldn’t have lasted long, as she’s young, the boy’s an
infant, and the husband’s too violent to have been with her a long time. I
assumed that Clarissa would have left when his monstrous streak first appeared
and that he had no reason to hide it once he was in possession of her.
Clarissa’s
sister, who evidently had flown in from somewhere to stand sentry over Teddy
until the crisis passed, was the most upset at Mussolini and also was the most
lucid, rattling off all his worst qualities to Clarissa and listing all the
legal and practical ways to intimidate him. “Clarissa, I know you can’t hate
him because he’s the father of your child, so I’ll hate him for you,” she
said.
Clarissa
quaked imperceptibly, and I watched her contain herself. She pulled herself
inward, doing what she had to do as a mother: think how she could protect
Teddy. She looked around the room as she thought, holding each position for an
instant before shifting her head or body. As ideas occurred through her, she
would respond to them physically. She shook her head; she would express dismay;
her lips would tighten. Finally she whispered, “I can’t go home. Where can I
go?”
Lorraine
said, “You can stay with me.”
“No,
no,” said Clarissa. “He knows where your hotel is.”
I said,
“You could stay here for the night. All of you.” They all looked at one another
and knew it was a good idea.
A few hours passed. Brian
had secreted Clarissa’s car behind the building and parked it
Tiger gnarled a few feet away. The man was foaming and spitting and he swore at
Clarissa and jerked himself away from Brian, who was twice his size and a
hundred times more a man, and who continued to menace him, forcing him back to
his car. Before he peeled away, Brian took his foot and kicked the Mercedes
door, which I realized later had probably created a three-thousand-dollar dent.
Clarissa
swept up her boy, who was wailing like a siren. She held the back of his head
against her and he slowly calmed. The scene quieted, and we stood there in
silent tableau, but anyone coming upon us would have known that something awful
had just happened. Clarissa approached where I lay in a clump on the ground and
asked was I all right. I said yes. She pointed to the raven-haired woman and
said this is my sister Lorraine, and I said that’s Brian. And Brian stood there
like Rodin’s Balzac. He looked around, “Everybody okay?” Yeah, we all said.
Then Clarissa urged the child forward and said, “This is Teddy.” Teddy held up
his arm, spreading his fingers and showing me a grass-stained hand. My shirt
was torn open and Clarissa touched my exposed ribs. “Ouch,” I said. And I was
pleased that I had chosen the perfect word for the occasion.
After
making sure that Mussolini was gone and couldn’t see our destination, we five
soldiers marched up to my apartment. Brian took charge and I asked if he had a
Red Bull and yes, he did. Then I wondered if I had made a mistake; I worried
that it might be dangerous for Clarissa to have a Red Bull now, when she was
most inclined to load a gun and mow down her child’s attacker. I decided to put
her on crime watch. If ever there was a moment for my Quaalude-laced wheatgrass
drink, it was now, but I had long since decided that spiking punch was a bad
idea, bordering on the immoral. Anyway, I was nervous about the chemical
collision of an upper and a downer, and wondered if the combination could
create a small explosion right in the can.
Teddy
scrambled around my apartment on hands and knees, occasionally rising on two
feet and moving hand over hand along the windowsill. Brian stood like a sentry
and was asking questions like “Who was that guy?” that never quite got
answered. But I did know what he was: an angry, unmanageable tyrant, haunted by
imagined slights, determiner of everything, father of Teddy, ex-husband of
Clarissa. This marriage couldn’t have lasted long, as she’s young, the boy’s an
infant, and the husband’s too violent to have been with her a long time. I
assumed that Clarissa would have left when his monstrous streak first appeared
and that he had no reason to hide it once he was in possession of her.
Clarissa’s
sister, who evidently had flown in from somewhere to stand sentry over Teddy
until the crisis passed, was the most upset at Mussolini and also was the most
lucid, rattling off all his worst qualities to Clarissa and listing all the
legal and practical ways to intimidate him. “Clarissa, I know you can’t hate
him because he’s the father of your child, so I’ll hate him for you,” she
said.
Clarissa
quaked imperceptibly, and I watched her contain herself. She pulled herself
inward, doing what she had to do as a mother: think how she could protect
Teddy. She looked around the room as she thought, holding each position for an
instant before shifting her head or body. As ideas occurred through her, she
would respond to them physically. She shook her head; she would express dismay;
her lips would tighten. Finally she whispered, “I can’t go home. Where can I
go?”
Lorraine
said, “You can stay with me.”
“No,
no,” said Clarissa. “He knows where your hotel is.”
I said,
“You could stay here for the night. All of you.” They all looked at one another
and knew it was a good idea.
A few hours passed. Brian
had secreted Clarissa’s car behind the building and parked it
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