The Misadventures of the Laundry Hag (7 page)

“10 AM if you’re serious, Mrs. Phillips. If you don’t show up, I’ll know otherwise.” A distinctive click had me gaping at the phone.

What a control freak! Doubts surfaced about my resolution but I shoved them to the dark recess of my brain. I’d made a decision and would stick with it, regardless of his snide attitude.

Okay, next on the priority list came Marty, but I didn’t feel up to another round. While my cell phone was out I scrolled through the contact list, feeling a bit like Earl, trying to improve my Karma by righting my many wrongs.

“This is Leo, leave me a quickie and I’ll tap you back.” I giggled at the tinny recording and cleared my throat before the beep.

“I’m sorry, Leo. I was being a twit. What I
should
have said is that I’m very happy for you and Richard. There, I’m going to shut up before I stick my foot back down my gullet. Love you. Oh this is Maggie, by the way.”

There. Despite the frostbite, I was starting to feel better. Undoubtedly, Sylvia would come around and Leo would forgive me. I still had no idea what, if anything, to do about the dead bird, but there was no frigging way I would drag Detective Capri into it without an okay from the Valentinos.

Neil’s Escort pulled to a stop in our driveway—Marty had moved the RV up enough so we could park off the street—and Kenny scrambled out, followed by a more somber Josh.

“Hey you guys!” I greeted them. “You wanna help mom with some self-improvement?”

Kenny eyeballed me, a wary expression in his green gaze. “You’re not gonna make us eat bean curd again are you?”

Sylvia had given me a Vegan cookbook for Christmas which really is an oxymoron; since from what I’d seen, the Vegans don’t really cook so much as prepare various greens. Dutifully, I’d invited Sylvie and Eric over to sample the result. I shuddered at the memory. After they left, Neil had picked up a pizza.

“Not in this lifetime, Sport. I wanna start an exercise regime. You guys are all fit and I need some pointers.”

Now Neil was shooting me a squinty-eyed glare. “What gives?”

“I’m trying to make my health a priority is all.” I huffed.

Josh laughed. “Dad said you don’t like Uncle Marty’s new girlfriend.”

“We just met,” I hedged. “I don’t know her well enough to decide if I like her or not.” Though I was strongly leaning towards or not.

We trudged up the front steps. Neil grinned, probably at the astuteness of our oldest son. “What kind of exercise are you thinking about, Uncle Scrooge?”

“Well I went jogging the other day, but I didn’t make it very far.” Understatement of the year.

“You have to get a rhythm going for jogging.” Neil knocked his boots against the doorframe in an effort to shake loose some of the crusted-on salt and grime. Kenny and Josh didn’t bother, just kicked their shoes on the runner. “That’s why military formations always chant as they run. Maybe you could try listening to music while you exercise.”

“You can borrow my iPod, if you want.” Josh volunteered. “I have an armband carrier you could wear. I’ll even make you a Playlist.”

I shucked my jacket. “Thanks Scamp, but I doubt I’ll like your music.” Josh listened to rap, which was not my cup of tea.

“No, I meant a Playlist with your music. Dad had me transfer all of your CDs into iTunes, so it’s only a matter of picking songs with the right tempo.”

“Uh…” I had no idea what he meant or even how to work an iPod. I was a few years past the technologically savvy generation.

“I’ll show you how to work it.” Neil whispered, a smile in his voice. Of course, Neil was older than me, but much more in tune with the times. Technology didn’t intimidate Navy SEALs who were trained to disarm a nuclear warhead as well as rebuild an engine. An iPod wasn’t even a blip on Neil’s radar.

Kenny dumped his backpack on top of his coat and boots and padded down the hall to the fridge. “You got to remember to stretch both before and after you exercise so you don’t injure yourself. If you really want to get in shape, you need to add some weight-lifting to your routine, too, maybe three times a week. Cardio only burns calories for a few hours, but strength-training burns for up to two days after.”

I gaped at him. He opened the refrigerator door. “Where did you learn all this?”

Kenny shrugged, or at least I think he did. It was hard to tell with his head MIA, scrounging for an after school snack. “From Dad.”

Neil caught my gaze and while he didn’t quite smirk, his expression gloated,
see my boys listen to me.

Of course. The better question was why didn’t I know any of this? To me, physical exertion should have a reward for all the effort. Like baking a cake or scrubbing out the tub. Exercise for the sake of exercise had never appealed to me. And most of the exercise Neil and I engaged in together was not for fitness purposes.

“How y’all doing?” Penny glided from the hallway, greeting Kenny and Josh with a warm smile. She turned up the heat for Neil and I clenched my molars together.

Be nice.
My mother’s voice cautioned. Still, this tart was eyeing my husband,
again
and I didn’t like it at all, especially when she was supposed to be with my brother.

“Where’s Marty?” I stepped in front of Neil and Penny shifted her focus to me.

“Out in the garage, looking for something he needs to fix the shower in the camper.”

“Excuse me,” Neil practically shoved me aside in an effort to keep Marty from rearranging his entire tool chest.

After clearing my throat, I introduced Kenny and Josh to Penny, and then asked the room what they’d like for dinner. Josh shrugged and Kenny murmured an "I dunno." Typical, so I shuffled over to the pantry to search its contents.

“Can I do anythin’?” Penny drawled from behind me. The g was lost in her accent.

I closed my eyes; face still buried between the minute rice and Quaker oats. “Just have a seat and keep me company.” I gestured over my shoulder toward the counter and my ugly barstools.

The boys may not have an opinion about dinner, but I needed comfort food. Meatloaf, my grandma Irma’s recipe, Mac-n-Cheese and broccoli—to help move all that cholesterol through the body—was the ticket.

I grabbed the breadcrumbs and a box of Rotini, which actually holds the cheese sauce better than elbows, and turned around and bumped into Penny. I dropped my armload in an effort to catch her, but she took a graceful step back, absorbing the impact. And avoiding the mess of breadcrumbs on the floor.

“Sorry,” I muttered. “I thought you were going to sit down.”

“I’ve been sitting for days on the drive up here. I wanna move around a bit.”

“How ‘bout fetching a broom, then?” Shit,
my
accent was deepening the longer I talked with her. I’d made an effort to lose the southern since most native New Englanders would talk slowly around me after they’d picked up on the accent. At this rate, I’d be y’all-ing by bedtime.

Penny smiled and asked me where I kept the broom. I pointed to the laundry alcove where my Laundry Hag Commandments plaque hung above the washing machine.

Neil had outdone himself with the new sign. Before I started my business, Neil and the boys had called me the Laundry Goddess and lived in constant fear of my wrath should they try to pirate a load of wash. After one particularly memorable rant, where I’d dubbed myself the Laundry Hag, Neil had immediately gone to work on a new sign, this one hand-painted on a huge slab of slate. Penny handed me the broom, but returned to read the sign aloud.

“1. Thou shall separate thy whites (i.e. socks, undergarments)

from thy colored clothes.

1. Thou shall not mix thy sheets with thy towels.
   
2. Honor thy (my) lint screen and keep it free of crud.
   
3. Thy workout clothes must be washed with thy towels not my new white top.
   
4. Empty thy pockets of gum, Chapstick, baseball cards, wallets, keys, candy, Swiss army knives, and all other pocket flotsam or thou will evoke the wrath of the Laundry Hag.
   
5. Thou shall not mess with the water temperature settings without my permission.
   
6. Thou must remove clothes from the washing machine in a timely manner, i.e. before the plague of mildew sets in.
   
7. If thou are confused about liquid vs. powdered detergent, ASK!”
   

“Cute, if a bit blasphemous.” Penny smiled at me, her hands propping up her lower back in classic pregnant woman repose.

I swept the breadcrumbs into my dustpan. “I’m pretty sure God has a sense of humor. How else could you explain Yanni?”

“Gotcha,” Penny grinned and I felt the first tentative string of friendship tether us together. Maybe this wouldn’t, Josh liked to say, totally bite.

“When’s dinner?” Neil emerged from the garage and asked.

I sighed and I dumped the remainder of the breadcrumbs into the trash. “Gonna be late. I need to run to the store and buy more breadcrumbs for meatloaf.”

Neil groaned. “They’re predicting six to eight inches of snow tonight. The stores are going to be mobbed. You
might
get back here by breakfast.”

“You got any bread? That’s what I use in my meatloaf recipe.”

Neil’s eyes lit up. “Yeah, why don’t you try that Maggie? We never did have lunch and I’m starving.”

But it won’t be the same as Grandma Irma’s,
I wanted to whine. I held my tongue though, since Neil’s missing lunch was due to my need to investigate the dead bird and my brother’s appearance.

“It’s good to try new things.” My face felt stiff as I said the words.

“How ‘bout I cook and you take a break?” Penny said and my spine stiffened. There were three things in life that I was proprietary about to the point of hoarding. My husband, my romance novels and my kitchen. Leo was the only person I allowed to cook in my kitchen because he respected my system.

“Sounds like a plan,” Neil said and smiled at Penny, who smiled back. I looked at my brother’s pregnant girlfriend and felt our string of friendship snap like worn out dental floss.

Chapter Six

The ringing telephone jarred me awake the next morning. I rolled off the air mattress and my knees hit the living room carpet eight inches below. Neil groaned, the motion had jostled the bed, and then rolled over. It had been a lousy night for both of us. I’d been in a mood before dinner and the fact that Penny’s meatloaf was truly fabulous, only soured it further. Josh, the little wisenheimer, had indeed made me a Playlist for my exercise regime, dubbed Mom’s Old Fogy Music.
Dire Straights
is not fogy music.

I scrambled for the kitchen and picked up in the middle of the third ring. The clock on the stove read 5:58. “Hello?”

“Mrs. Phillips?” This is Mrs. O’Toole. We’re calling in the phone tree, for a two hour delay.” Mrs. O’Toole seemed perturbed by the early hour. I know I did. The Superintendent of our district was a nut, afraid that Big Brother was watching his every move and refused to upgrade to an automated emergency system. So we had to do the phone tree thing in alphabetical order every stinking time there was a snow delay. To top it off, he always put us on a two hour delay first, even if Rudolph was needed to see through the soup, so we had to do it twice.

“Do you know who your contact person is?” Mrs. O’Toole grumped.

“I’ve got the Prescott’s number memorized.” And on speed dial number four in case, like this morning, I didn’t have my coffee yet.

“Talk to you at eight.” Mrs. O’Toole hung up.

I called the Prescott residence, relayed the message and shuffled down to the boys’ room to turn off their alarm clocks.

Kenny, a very light sleeper, blinked up at me. I clicked his radio off. “Wha…?”

“Go back to sleep, pal.” I murmured and backed out of the room.

I yawned and headed toward the coffee maker, stopping short to see my husband already filling the pot.

“What are you doing up?” Since it was Wednesday, Neil didn’t need to be in until two for his four hour shift.

“Thought I’d head to work early, see if I could catch a little more overtime this week.”

“Oh,” I said. While his explanation made sense, I hated any extra time Neil spent at work. We’d missed out on a great deal of together time while he was career navy and though his current job was less demanding, I still felt cheated when he wasn’t around.

“What’s on your agenda for the day?” He asked as he scooped grounds into the coffee filter.

Not wanting to mention the make-up Dr. Bob visit, I struggled for something else to tell him. “I have a cleaning job at noon. New client over on Rosewood Lane.” I hastened to add at his scowl.

His expression cleared a bit. “Do me a favor and beg off any more jobs at the Valentino’s for a bit, okay? That bird was a warning for them and the whole situation gives me a chill.”

“Me too,” I agreed, hoping he wouldn’t notice that I hadn’t promised anything. While I never lied to Neil, I did sometimes leave out information, for his own peace of mind, of course. I wasn’t due back at the Valentino’s ‘til Friday afternoon anyhow.

“Are you still looking for a new cleaning partner?” Neil queried as he retrieved the Frosted Flakes from the pantry. I swear the man eats like an eight-year- old.

“I’m not sure,” I answered. I watched him dump
four tablespoons of sugar
on his ½ cup of cereal. And the crazy part was he’d never had a cavity in his life. “I’m only working about twenty hours a week at this point and the schedule is erratic. It’s hard to find an employee who’ll put up with that.”

“Why don’t you ask Penny? She might help you out.” Neil dumped milk over his tooth-decay-in-a-bowl.

Was he serious? “If you’ll recall, I’ve tried the pregnant cleaning partner route before and it didn’t turn out very well.” I poured my coffee and took the first bracing sip.

Neil shrugged and ate his cereal. “It was only a suggestion. She seems nice, kind of reminds me of you.”

Coffee went down my windpipe and I choked, tears welling in my eyes. “What do you mean?” I wheezed.

Neil shook his head and rinsed his empty bowl. “Nothing, I guess it’s the accent.”

Grrrr.

“I’m going to take a shower. Wanna conserve water and share?” The heat in his green eyes was unmistakable. Chances were good that until Marty and Penny moved on, the only private time we could claim would be in the shower.

I opened my mouth to reply, but Penny glided into the room. No waddling for this pregnant Southern Belle. “Morning ya’ll. That sure is one comfy bed, much better than the fold out in the camper.”

“I’m happy you slept well.” I stretched to alleviate the stiffness in my back. Neil gave Penny a wink and headed off to the bathroom. Alone. I sighed and poured more coffee.

“So, Penny, have you thought of any baby names yet?” It struck me as I observed her silhouette that I was going to be an auntie. I loved babies and babies that I could cuddle and spoil on a regular basis were the best.

“Not really,” Penny said mildly. She poured a glass of milk. “I guess we’ll see what she looks like.”

“So it’s a girl?”

“I don’t know.” I waited for her to continue, but she just drank her milk.

“Well, have you had an ultrasound yet?” I probed.

“Nope.”

A nasty thought took root. “You have been to an obstetrician, right?”

“Nu uh.”

“A midwife then,” I grasped. No reply. I blinked and then blinked again. “Penny, you have to get prenatal care. You should be on vitamins, and have tests—”

“Relax, Maggie. Women have been having babies since the dawn of time. It’s a natural process.”

“Yeah and women
died
having babies without proper medical treatment. Do you have medical insurance?” But I already knew what the answer would be before she shook her head.

Fricken’ perfect. My brother had no job and no insurance and apparently neither did Penny. Unless this baby wanted to wait until Obama care set in, they were up the creek. With a child on the way and no place to live except an ancient death trap on wheels. Lord, have mercy.

“If you’ll excuse me a minute,” I shot her a wan smile then marched to my bedroom. Marty lay sprawled on top of the covers, bare ass exposed to the world. I swiped a sneaker from the floor and flung it at the full moon.

“What the—” Marty launched out of bed.

“Get your hide in gear. You’re coming cleaning with me.”

“Now?” Marty asked with a glance at the alarm clock.

“No, later. Now, you’re going to get on the computer and do a little research into insurance plans and OB/GYN’s for your pregnant girlfriend. Did you know she hasn’t been to a doctor yet?” I hissed.

“Well, that’s really her call—”

“Not while she’s carrying my niece or nephew and sleeping in my bed it isn’t. This family has endured enough tragedy and I refuse to sit by and do nothing while you two endanger a child.”

“Calm down, Maggs, we’re on top of it.”

“The only thing you were on top of is my duvet. Now you have a choice. Either be a grown up and earn your keep or get out.”

Marty took a step back, eyes going wide. “You don’t mean that.”

“The hell I don’t.” I understood his disbelief. Even before Neil and I had married, my home had always been Marty’s safe haven, a place to weather any shit storm he’d stirred up. Time and again, he’d put strain on our home life and my relationship with Neil. But expecting to mooch and act like a runaway from Juvie hall wasn’t gonna happen this time.

Marty opened and closed his mouth a few times like a large mouth Bass. Really, though, what could he say? I stepped closer and lowered my voice. “You’re better than what you’ve become, Sprout. I want to be proud of you, I do. You have to earn it, though. So get to work.”

“Anything else, boss?” though his tone was snide, I answered him seriously.

“Yeah, put on some pants for Chrissakes.”

* * * *

“Hello?” The obnoxious clock in Dr. Bob’s waiting room read ten minutes to ten when I answered my cell. There was still no sign of a receptionist and no voices carried from behind his closed door. True to my prediction, the schools were closed due to inclement weather. I’d left Penny in charge of the house almost half an hour before, not wanting to be late to my therapy session. Somehow, I doubted Dr. Bob would accept the weather as a suitable excuse for tardiness.

“Hey there, Laundry Hag,” Leo’s voice carried over the phone and I sighed in relief to hear him so chipper.

“I’m very sorry,” I began, though I still wasn’t sure why he’d been so upset the day before. We’d known each other for a decade and this wasn’t the first time I’d behaved like an insensitive buffoon.

“Water under the bridge, Maggie, really. Can I ask you a favor though?”

“Sure Leo, anything. Ask away.”

“I was wondering if you were still seeking a cleaning partner.”

“Oh my God,” I breathed. “Leo did you get fired?” I couldn’t imagine it, my in-laws without Leo. I’d have lost my spy in the enemy camp.
It’s not always about you, Margaret.
My mother’s voice scolded, but then again she’d never met Laura.

“No, no you silly goose.” Leo laughed and I closed my eyes in thanksgiving. “I’m asking for Richard, not myself.”

Ah yes, the notorious Richard Head. Seriously, what had his mother been thinking? Maybe,
if I name my baby Richard Head, he’ll never have a relationship and take care of me in my dotage.
Seemed like her plan was working too.

“Richard wants a cleaning job?” I asked, my gaze on the ticking clock. I didn’t want Dr. Bob coming out and catching me on the phone, though I wasn’t sure why it mattered.

“Yeah, he told me last night he lost his job at the bank, he’d been a loan officer, you know and I guess he made one too many bad calls with lending. Anyhow, now everyone is tightening up their belt buckles and he’s SOL. So, I talked him into trying something new.”

“By coming to clean with me? Leo, I just hired Marty, who is in a mess of his own and I don’t have enough jobs….”

“So take on a few more.” Leo suggested.

“Well, like you said, with the economy, people are looking to scale back. There aren’t that many more jobs to be had, Leo.”

“You should think bigger. How about cleaning for businesses? Like doctor’s offices or a law firm.”

That’s what I love about Leo. America’s in the throes of financial crisis and he makes it sound like I’d be an idiot not to expand my business.

It was two minutes to ten. “All right Leo, I’ll look into it on one condition.”

“What’s that?” His tone was wary.

“I’ll need two teams of two and you have to pair with Marty or I might throttle him.”

“Oh goodie,” Leo said with relish. Unlike me, Leo intimidated Marty, not in a homophobic way as much as in an
I don’t get you, man
way. I knew Leo would not only moonlight as my team two point man, but get some actual work out of my brother. Plus the likelihood of Marty’s death-by-strangulation went down considerably.

“I’ll check into it and get back to you.” I said and shut my phone. Dr. Bob’s office door swung inwards.

“Mrs. Phillips,” Dr Bob made a sweeping gesture indicating I should enter his private domain.

“How are you, Dr. Bob?” I asked politely, forcing a smile. Possibly, I was more nervous than I’d been the day before. He ignored my attempt at pleasantry.

“So Maggie,” Dr. Bob began as I sat on the edge of the chair. “Did you and your husband have sex last night?”

So much for chit chat. “No,” I answered honestly, though why I felt a pang of guilt was a mystery.

“I see.” Dr. Bob scribbled something on his pad that looked suspiciously like the word frigid. “Do you make your desires known to him, Maggie?”

No one had ever accused me of being subtle. “Always,” I stated.

“And how would you rate your sex drive, on a scale of one to ten.”

Hell, he was asking me to do math? I thought I’d been done with math after scraping by the accounting class requirement for my business degree several years ago. “I’m not sure—”

“How about Neil’s then? What would you rank his desire for sexual intercourse as being on that same scale?”

“Um, I’m not sure—”

“Is his higher or lower than yours?”

“Higher,” He is a man, after all.

“How much higher? One point, two, five?” Dr. Bob dug like a bloodhound sniffing out a meaty ham hock

“I’d say he’s about three points higher, but that’s normal, isn’t it?”

He didn’t answer, just scribbled away on that damn pad again.

Do not get huffy or defensive.
I counseled myself. Not like anyone else was going to see the notes he was making about my sex life.

“In any relationship, communication is essential. When I say communication, I’m referring to both verbal and non verbal. In a romantic relationship, sex is a big part of non verbal communication. You must be open to all forms of communication from your spouse. Do you make yourself available, Maggie?”