The House on Olive Street

  “Each one of you has so much talent and brains, you excel in what you love, but you can’t be bothered to study in school. I’ve got a musician who can convince the whole neighborhood we’re having an earthquake, but gets D’s in English. I’ve got a mechanic so skilled that people come from miles to get help on their cars, but would never consider getting a degree in something so that he can get off my payroll and have a life. I’ve got a prize-winning athlete, a gifted radio-operated airplane pilot, a marksman and a champion diver…but not one of you will pick up your goddamned Coke cans or carry your cereal bowls to the kitchen. I don’t know how long I would have continued to be your maid, but I’ll tell you this right now, I am through catering to a bunch of ingrates who store enough pot to open a storefront operation. This tears it. I’m through with you. I’m through giving you my time, my hard work, my money and my life. You want to live in a pigsty? Fry your brains on this shit? Have it. It’s all yours.”

  “Mom, this stuff isn’t ours,” Bobby said. “It’s—”

  “Bobby, have you ever used this shit?” she demanded.

  “Mom…”

  “Have you? Ever?”

  “Well, yeah, I’ve tried it a few times, but I—”

  “All of you have, right? Well, this shit is drugs. I know, we’re supposed to be modern about all this, it’s a new generation, after all. Well, there isn’t anything new as far as I’m concerned! I’ve still got the same irresponsible slobs who could care less about their living conditions, never ask if they can help out, never offer to do anything to make the house your dad and I pay for a decent place to live, never go out of their way…and now all I’ve added to it is a bunch of lowlifes who think a little joint now and then is okay! Maybe that’s why you were so unmotivated you couldn’t remember to buy me a damn Mother’s Day card, Joe. Or maybe that’s why you got so many traffic tickets, Bobby. Or maybe that’s why you forgot registration one semester, Matt. Or maybe that’s what got you D’s in English and history, Billy. All I can say is I know there are some things you care about and some things you don’t. And I’m one of the things you don’t care about!”

  “Okay, you’re all going to do some time for this here,” Mike said, stepping in at what he thought was his moment to play father. He was going to clip their wings, ground them.

  Barbara Ann whirled on him. “I don’t think you get it, Mike. I’m leaving. You seem to be content to live in a frat house—have at it. I’m through. I’m leaving you all. Forage for your own food. Wear dirty clothes. Pay your own car insurance. Eat off paper plates…if you can find anything to eat without me going to the store every damn day. There’s just one thing I’d like you to understand about me leaving.” This was where the tears began. “It isn’t as though I haven’t loved you. It isn’t as though I haven’t tried. I had this stupid idea that if I could show you how to live in a clean house, you’d learn to be clean, that if I demanded that you be decent, it would be automatic for you. But you’ve thrown it back in my face. My house is a hovel, no matter how hard I work. There are at least four cars being worked on in my driveway and half-done projects all over my house and yard, not to mention the dirty dishes, dirty clothes, trash heaps, overgrown lawn, algae-infested pool and chipped paint everywhere. There’s a goddamned lawn mower motor in my bedroom and I deserve better for all my hard work! If you’re still not catching on, all I’ve ever asked for from any of you was respect!”

  “Mom…we…”

  “Joe, you’re too late to say you respect me. You have time to spend hours tinkering with your computer for your own entertainment, but my lawn needs to be tended. Bobby can play rock music till four in the morning, but is too tired to pick up his dirty clothes. Matt’s got a full schedule, sure, but there’s time left over to work on cars for friends. Where’s the time left over for family responsibilities? The house has needed to be painted for years now! Billy, all that’s ever asked of you is that you get decent grades in school, but you’re too busy with planes and sports and music to study for a test. And God forbid you should pick up after yourself to save me one-tenth of the work I do every single day.

  “This is my fault,” she went on. “I tried, but I somehow failed to teach you that you show respect by lending a hand, by treating the property of others with care, by keeping shipshape the surroundings that you live in and someone else pays for. I’ve tried to reason with you, I’ve threatened you, I’ve begged you. And you all blew me off. That,” she said, pointing to the collection on the table, “was the ultimate fuck-off. You not only don’t care about me, you don’t even care enough about yourselves to steer clear of that dangerous, mind-altering, cell-damaging crap. You’ve really done it now. You’ve pissed off the help.”

  “Okay, boys, we’re going to make a few resolutions around—”

  “You’re too late too,” she said, turning on Mike. “You can’t back me up now because by tomorrow, when I’m insane again because no one around here gives a damn, you’ll be telling me they’re just boys. You blow me off, too! How does a grown man expect to set an example by leaving his own clothes in a pile on the floor? I’m sleeping with a lawn mower motor, for God’s sake, and it’s not as though I haven’t asked you to get it out of my bedroom. The fact is,” she said, turning back to the boys, “I’m the only member of this household who works two full-time jobs. I have a job as a writer—a stressful, difficult, time-consuming job—and I come off that job only to clean, cook, shop and do laundry for the rest of you. I don’t come off my job to lounge around the house that you made clean, or eat the food that you bought and prepared, or wear the clothes that you laundered for me. And on top of this, I find drugs in my house. Enough drugs, if I’m not mistaken, to qualify for a felony!”

  They all had the good sense to hang their heads in shame. But Barbara Ann was too far gone to be tricked into giving them another chance. She was done living on cupcakes and Snickers bars to dull the frustration.

  “You’re abusers, all of you,” she said, taking Mike into their fold. “You abuse me every day that you neglect my constant pleas for help, for consideration. You aren’t going to have me to kick around anymore.”

  She swept the collection off the table and into her arms. “Your supper’s on the stove. After this, you’re on your own.” She stormed off to her bedroom. By now the tears were stinging her eyes and running down her cheeks. She almost screamed in agony when she recognized a familiar sensation—she was hungry! She could numb a lot of what was hurting her by eating a cheese-cake!

  She closed her bedroom door and got out the suitcases. She’d been thinking about what she would pack all afternoon while she was constructing her speech to them, but now that she had an opened suitcase on the bed, she couldn’t remember. All she could think about were her babies, her little boys.

  Sometimes when the house was sort of quiet and Barbara Ann was watching a television movie, Matt would lie on the couch and put his head on her lap. Twenty-one, six foot two, one-eighty, drop-dead handsome, and still her little boy. She’d gently caress his floppy blond hair and he’d turn those incredibly blue eyes up at her and say, “If I don’t find a woman like you, I’ll never be able to get married.”

  When Bobby, her most difficult and stubborn child, would find himself ecstatically happy about something, he would pick her up off her feet and whirl her around like she was just a girl. He’d squeeze her so hard she couldn’t breathe, kiss her on the cheek and tell her how much he loved her. Even though he was a real jerk twice a week at least, he would always say he was sorry and that he loved her more than he was able to show.

  Joe was Bobby’s opposite; his emotions were hidden far beneath the surface. He was the tall, handsome, silent type. But when his girl had dumped him, he’d gotten Barbara Ann out of bed at eleven-thirty to say he had to talk. He’d leaned his head against her breast and wept because he’d lost love and his pain was too intense to suppress. She’d stroked his head, her grown boy, and told him he would find love again because he was s
o lovable.

  And Billy, her heart, who had been left out of the older boys’ games since the days he toddled, who had a dangerous case of mononucleosis when he was thirteen and had spent two weeks in the hospital, had brought her home trophy after trophy for football, basketball, baseball; team champions, most valuable player, player of the year, team captain in his junior year. And with his beautiful shining eyes had smiled and said, every single time, “I did it for you, Mom—my best girl.”

  Which one had rat-holed enough dope to stay stoned for a year?

  She hadn’t forgotten why she adored each one of them. Sometimes they really came through for her. They’d been wonderful about Gabby’s memorial—scrubbed, handsome, patient and sensitive. Too bad she’d come home that night to find her house a disaster and about five extra young men gathered around the big-screen TV for a basketball game.

  Mike came into the bedroom. “You can’t be leaving me,” he said. When she turned to look at him she was struck first by his handsomeness. His once-blond hair had darkened over the years and was streaked by gray at the temples, but he still had a boyish, bearish look about him. The next thing that struck her was the weary, pained look he had around the eyes. It had always amazed her that a man so handsome, so strong and fit, could love her so thoroughly, even when she’d gained thirty unwanted pounds and her body showed the rigors of so much childbirth. This was killing him; he loved her so much. It stunned her even now.

  “I can’t do it alone anymore, Mike. You’re willing to have me put up with too much.”

  “I’ll help you get them in line,” he said. “I’ll whip the shit outta them. You’ll see.”

  “Great,” she said, turning back to her suitcases. “Call me when you’ve had them in line for a month or so. I’m not banking on any more promises. I’m not sure you’d recognize a dirty house if it bit you in the ass.”

  “Barbara Ann, baby,” he said, hugging her from behind. “I know you’re all upset, but you didn’t give us any warning. You gotta give us a chance here.”

  That made her cry harder. “I warned you all for twenty-three years! I begged and pleaded and threatened! The best I ever got was twenty-four hours of cooperation! I can’t do it anymore! I’m forty-three and I’m tired!”

  “Honey, you’ve been through a bad time—”

  “You’re goddamned right I’ve been through a bad time! My best friend is dead, my other best friend is going nuts before my very eyes, my other best friend is being beat up by her husband and I’m losing my job! Do any of you care? You say, ‘Oh, that’s too bad, honey,’ and then drop your dirty clothes on the floor and leave your dirty dishes in the family room! Jesus, Mike, no matter how much I love you all, even I have a limit!” She took a breath and pinched her eyes closed. “I want to live in a clean, well-repaired house. When I’m talking on the phone, I’d like respectful quiet rather than shouting and cursing in the background. I’d like my messages written down and rags used to wipe up spilled oil instead of my good towels. And I want to look at the young men I’ve raised with pride instead of shame. That’s what I want.”

  “Barbara Ann,” he asked sweetly, “are you getting your period, honey?”

  The phone rang at Gabby’s house and the only person who could answer it was Eleanor. Beth was hiding from Jack, Sable was hiding from the press, and for once, the ladies were the only ones at home.

  “Hello?” Elly said. “What? You can’t be serious? Where? How much? Oh Lord, I don’t believe this. Fine, fine. We’ll think of something. Call him and tell him what? Now, what’s that? Yes, I can do that. Oh, I’m sure we’ll come up with it somehow, don’t panic. Well, I guess we can put you somewhere. Okay. Goodbye.”

  By the time Elly hung up the phone, Beth and Sable had been drawn to the kitchen, waiting for an explanation.

  “Barbara Ann’s in jail. We have to go bail her out.”

  THIRTEEN

  “I’ll pay you back somehow,” Barbara Ann said to Sable.

  “There isn’t going to be anything to pay back,” Sable said. “You aren’t going to jump bail, are you?”

  “Elly, what did Mike say?”

  “He seemed thoroughly confused. I told him that the police picked you up for speeding and found a box full of drugs in your car that you found on the front lawn by the mailbox that you were just en route to delivering to the police because you didn’t know what else to do with it. The police arrested you because you had it, even though you swore you’d only found it and your family knew nothing about it. By the time we were hanging up, the police were at his door.”

  “I’d better call him,” she said. Barbara Ann went to the phone and had a very brief conversation. She returned a few minutes later. “Well, for once they were smart,” she said. “They told the police they didn’t know anything about any drugs and nothing was found in the house or garage. So I’m the only one in trouble. The police did tell Mike that it looked like the place had already been searched. Mike assured them that it was just the appearance of a house occupied by five sloppy men. When the police asked them if they knew where I was, Bobby told the police I left them because they’re worthless pigs. And the police officer in charge said it looked like I was the only one around there with any sense.”

  “What were you going to do with the marijuana, Barbara Ann?” Beth asked her.

  “Oh, I was taking it to the police. I sure wasn’t going to leave it there. The boys would either sell it, smoke it or dispose of it in some stupid way and get themselves put in prison. I was so pissed off, I was speeding.” She leaned back into the chair she occupied. “Well? Can I stay?”

  “Barbara Ann, is this really what you want?” Sable asked. “After putting up with them for all these years?”

  “It’s more than that. I just don’t have anything left. I’ve had one canceled contract and two rejections in a row. I feel like it’s only a matter of time before my editor calls me and tells me another finished book isn’t good enough….”

  “You’re borrowing trouble,” Sable said. “The worst that’s going to happen is they ask for some rewriting. They’re not going to cancel another book on you before giving you a chance to revise it. Honestly, Barbara Ann.”

  “That isn’t how it feels. It feels like I can’t do anything right, like I’ve lost it. And frankly, I’ve lost too goddamned much lately. That stash of pot put me over the edge. Much as it killed me, I could live with turning four selfish slobs loose on the world, but I couldn’t live with turning loose a bunch of dopers. If that’s how far they’re willing to go, they’re going to have to go without me. I’ve had it.”

  “Poor Mike,” Beth said.

  “Yes, poor Mike,” Barbara Ann mimicked with sarcasm. “You know, I love the man. In a lot of ways, Mike is a prince. He’s faithful and decent and hardworking—and a total chauvinist. I’d scream my brains out at those boys and he’d back me up all the way…but all they had to do was watch him to learn their behavior. And they were watching a guy that went to work every day and came home to a big man-size meal, after which he’d take to his chair. A couple of times a year I’d be able to shame him into cleaning up the yard or digging out the garage. But a couple of times a year isn’t enough. It takes more than that to run a household. What the hell kind of sty would we live in if I was motivated to take care of it twice a year? It’s time for poor Mike to figure out there’s a lot more to managing a family than yelling, ‘Do what your mother says.’”

  “So you’re really just interested in teaching them a lesson,” Elly observed.

  “Well, Elly, that depends entirely on whether they’re capable of learning one, which I seriously doubt. Wouldn’t it be nice if they figured this out real fast? I love taking care of my family. I love filling up the shopping carts, covering the table with good food and watching them appreciate it. I even love making the kitchen and bathrooms shine. What I don’t love is doing it over and over and over, only to have some inconsiderate baboon trash it right behind me. All I’ve ever wante
d from any of them was a little help in keeping it nice.

  “So, I figure they don’t do it because they can’t, because they’re domestically challenged. It’s hereditary, and it comes from the Vaughan side of the family. Mike’s mom and dad live in a cute little house that hasn’t been vacuumed or painted or picked up in twenty years. Mike’s dad has been saving an old refrigerator motor on the front porch since we got married. I’ve been fighting it for twenty-three years, and I’ve been fighting a losing battle. They’re incapable.

  “I’d like to stay here for a little while, finish going through Gabby’s things and make sure the rest of you are all right. Then I’m going to get a job and an apartment—a nice, little, white apartment. It won’t be much, given the kind of money I can earn, but it will be mine, it will be clean, the toilet seat will be down and there won’t be axle grease on everything but my underwear.”

  “Don’t you have a book due in September?” Sable asked.

  She shrugged. “Screw ’em. I’m going to call my editor tomorrow. I’m going to tell her I need an extension because my best friend died and I’m separated from my husband. I may never write the book. I won’t get any money for it anyway. Since they canceled my contract on the last book, I’m in the red. I now owe them five thousand dollars, which of course I don’t have. They’ll suck it out of my royalties, so I’ll earn even less. I can’t do it anymore. I work too hard to be treated like dog meat all the time.” She took a deep breath. “All I want right now is a box of peanut butter crispies and a good night’s sleep. I’m going over the edge with the rest of you lunatics.”