Vache d'Or - part 2

This is part two - of many -of the serial story Vache d'Or, Cash Cow. Begin the story one blog entry earlier. Enjoy. And please comment.


Frank could sympathize with Jason because an occasional snort of coke gave him energy to fuck CeeCee after working all day. He could read her mind. She always saw his euphoria in bed as adoration. When he crashed, well, he worked long hours, and lots of men fall asleep after making love. CeeCee sparkled after dinner if she rubbed just a little of the white powder on her gums every half hour or so. And didn’t drink too much wine.

CeeCee had a job with a non-profit as a social worker. That made her a Cash Cow, too, but Frank never said that aloud. In their small suburb west of Cleveland, he knew it would get back to her. She counseled addicts. No irony there, Frank thought. She took occasional private clients on the side, if said occasional clients could pony up the cash and then submit insurance claims themselves. CeeCee didn’t deal with health insurance companies. She even took a stab at working with high-functioning mentally ill young adults. No irony there, either.

Ben, Jason’s younger brother, was bi-polar, and a mean one at either extreme. His keen sense of smell sometimes helped his mischief. He ate asparagus then pissed in the liquid soap container in the men’s room at the diner on the corner - that Frank knew of - and he would have taken a turn in the ladies’, but Toni the waitress was always sneaking a smoke. Ben dropped casual marbles at the top of handicap ramps and spilled used motor oil and dog shit on the inclines. He made mutts across the neighborhood howl when he blew his silent whistle in the middle of the night. All good, clean fun.

You get the whole fam damily, especially when they were as fucked up as CeeCee’s boys, Frank thought. Still, he moved in with CeeCee and the boys. But gradually, carefully. Ben didn’t seem to care who fucked his mother, but Frank always inspected the condoms in the bedside table because Ben poked needles through the packages when he thought no one would notice. After working with Frank all day, Jason didn’t give Frank a second thought at home in the evenings. Frank didn’t mind being kind of a fixture to the boys, an invisible sex toy for their mother, her soon-to-be husband. Frank didn’t think of himself as a stepfather. And neither did the boys.

Frank and CeeCee set the date for a shoes-optional wedding to be held at a park on the shores of Lake Erie, in September, hopefully on a warm-ish day when the lake didn’t smell too bad. The park was convenient for the family. And for Mrs. Herman, who fluttered that she “just wouldn’t miss it for the world.” It would depend on who they could get to officiate, who had an internet license to minister and marry.

Dawn, the ex’s trophy, didn’t get an invitation in the mail. Neither did Toni the waitress, who sometimes hung around the deli and accompanied Jason when he dipped into the muscular dystrophy jar and then wandered with him down a couple blocks to the dealers on a corner.

September neared, and in August Frank moved in with his buddy Matt. “We’ve declared ourselves encore virgins, and we aren’t having sex with each other for six weeks before the wedding,” Frank told his friend. “We aren’t sleeping in the same house, let alone the same bed."

“I’m glad for you to pay half the rent, but the only times I see you are mornings when you show up to take a shower and change clothes. Where do you spend the nights?” Matt asked on Tuesday of Frank’s second week as he made coffee.

“Well,” Frank said. “What do people get married for? Lifetime sex? Boring. Someone to do laundry? Hire a housekeeper. Love?” Frank frowned at the thought. “Children? She’s already got some.” He sucked air through his front teeth and made a squeaky whistle. “Two can live as cheaply as one.” He considered a minute. “But only if one of them is dead.”