The Misadventures of the Laundry Hag (8 page)

I thought back to this morning when Neil wanted me to shower with him. “I try, but sometimes life gets in the way.”

Dr. Bob slammed his pen down. “That is just an excuse and a pretty lousy one. Right up there with the classic “Not tonight dear, I have a headache.” He made his voice all breathy and effeminate which was hysterical. I laughed until I caught his scowl. Whoops.

“Do not make the mistake of getting hung up on what’s normal, Maggie. While sex once a week is a rich bounty for some couples, others might go insane without for more than thirty-six hours.”

For once I didn’t have a witty response on my lips. “Do you mean some couples or some men?”

“Sex is an elemental need, like food or shelter. Think of it this way; if one well dries up, does a man just roll over and die? Or will he venture down a new path to find another well?”

Chapter Seven

Was the entire world obsessed with sex?
I wondered as I perused the homework assignment given to me by Dr. Bob. How was I supposed to accomplish
that
with Marty and his pregnant girlfriend in my bed, Josh locked in the bathroom for a healthy portion of the day and Neil at work to get away from the chaos. Not that I blamed him. I’d tried to reason with Dr. Bob, told him that a house full of relatives was not conducive to one orgasm—let alone the baker’s dozen called for on this piece of paper—but he’d hustled me out through the empty reception area.

Maybe we should leave my brother in charge for a week and take this to-do list and hit the Caribbean. Yeah, no snow
or
torched birds, the idea held merit. Of course, Child Protective Services would be camped out on our doorstep within twenty-four hours and how would I concentrate with that mental picture? And concentration was essential, as well as some time and perhaps a few scented candles….

Shoot, I really was an old fogy.

Swathing myself in my scarf, hat, earmuffs, gloves and heavy parka, I‘d taken my first step toward my car when I remembered about Neil’s phone. Not wanting to bother Dr. Bob, I scoured the waiting room, but only the DSMV IV on the coffee table was smaller than a breadbox. Maybe he hadn’t left it here? On my hands and knees, I checked under the sofa and was about to conceded defeat when I heard the door creak open.

“Mrs. Phillips?” The doctor’s tone was flat, no inflection whatsoever for the sight of my hind end in the air. I scrambled up, bashing my elbow on the table in my haste.

“Sorry, I was just looking for Neil’s phone.” I rubbed my elbow and smiled sheepishly.

“Your husband retrieved his phone yesterday afternoon,” He informed me. “He was quite relieved to have it back.”

I’d started to nod, but stopped mid-motion and scowled. Neil hadn’t told me he’d come back here. And what was with the doctor’s word choice. Relieved? That seemed a bit over the top. He’d known he left his cell here, noticed it missing in the car on our way to the Valentinos, after my battery had crapped out.

Why hadn’t he told me he’d picked it up? Neil told me everything, at least everything that wasn’t classified. Honesty was the cornerstone of our relationship. True, I hadn’t told him I was coming back here today, but that was different, dammit. And now Dr. Bob knew Neil had withheld information from me, no matter how insignificant.

Mountain out of a mosquito bite.
I told myself. It doesn’t mean anything. Hiding my real thoughts was a challenge, but I somehow blanked my expression. “Of course, it probably slipped his mind. Thanks again, I’ll see you next week.”

I hustled out of there, not wanting his insight into the matter. Dr. Bob had done enough damage to my psyche for one day.

So what if Neil had gone out of his way yesterday, before picking up the boys, to retrieve his phone? He wanted it back, just in case.
In case of what?
My inner

skeptic surfaced and smirked at me.
What call would have been so important that he refused to go one night without his phone? Anyone could reach him at the house, right?

Unless
anyone
didn’t have the house number, because Neil didn’t want
anyone
talking to me? Maybe for the same reason Neil didn’t want me picking up his phone, having an opportunity to scroll through the incoming and outgoing calls—

“Stop it!” I shrieked at my runaway thoughts, the sound doubly loud inside my tiny car. Damn Dr. Bob and his well metaphor and Eric and even Marty for cheating and watering this ugly seed of doubt.

Needing to hear Neil’s voice, I plucked my cell phone out of my bag and hit speed dial number one. His phone must have been off because my call went straight to voicemail. I didn’t bother leaving a message, just hit speed dial number two, and waited while the line rang at his desk. Five rings later I was about to hang up when an unfamiliar male voice answered.

“Um, hi, I’m looking for Neil Phillips?”

“Sorry, lady, he ain’t in yet.” The guy who’d answered replied.

My queasy stomach flipped over. My dashboard clock ready 11:08. Neil had left the house shortly after seven. “I thought he’d be at his desk, you know, trying to pick up some overtime?”

The guy with the south Boston accent laughed. “Didn’t you hear? The company shelved all overtime, due to the economy. Why pay us hardworking stiffs extra when third party can do it for less?”

‘No overtime,” I echoed; my voice hollow in my ears.

“Nah, but he’ll be in for his regular shift at two. Or you could try him at home, if you’ve got the number.”

“I have the number, thanks.” Not like he’d answer that line either.

How many times had Neil left the house claiming he was going to pick up a little overtime? Just since the holidays, at least two dozen I could call to mind. How had I missed this?

Shoving all of my emotions away, I turned on the car and pointed it toward home. I’d made it about a block when I pulled over at a Cumberland Farms, hopped out and stuffed Dr. Bob’s homework in the trash. I had cleaning to do and an unwilling partner to light a fire under; homework was not going to happen this week.

Breezing into the house on the prow of the North Wind, I slammed the door and bee-lined to my war pantry. The new customer, a divorced man new homeowner, had been utterly clueless about what kind of cleaning he’d needed. “Can’t you just come over and clean?” He’d whined.

That was exactly what I planned to do. Exhaust myself, not thinking about Neil, his movements, his phone or any other depressing thoughts. Just clean and make some money, little Mary flipping Sunshine with a Swiffer.

“Is everything all right?” Penny’s flat vowels and lack of g’s grated on my last nerve.

“No, every
thang
is NOT
all rite.
Did you get an appointment with an obstetrician yet?”

Penny nodded and glanced away, but not before I saw the hurt in her eyes. Damn, what was I thinking? Mocking a pregnant woman. When had I become a bully?

I exhaled between clenched teeth. “I’m sorry, Penny. Please ignore ninety-five percent of what comes out of my mouth. I’m not upset with you, okay?”

She nodded, but I knew it wasn’t okay. Was it the girl’s fault I was used to being queen bee around here and had taken serious umbrage to being displaced by the pregnant princess? And she was a girl, barley out of her teens, if I was any judge. “How old are you, Penny?” I asked.

“I’ll be twenty-two in April.” Her chin jutted out and I smiled.

“That’s about how old I was when I took over caring for Josh and Kenny.”

“Good for you.” Penny spun on her bare heel and marched off to the bedroom. Apparently, I had some serious fence mending to do there.

“Marty!” I bellowed. No answering shout. After stuffing every spray, foam and squirt bottle I could think of into my carrier, I opened the garage door. Marty and the boys were in the middle of weight bench reps. I waited for Josh to finish a set before speaking. “Hey Marty, we need to leave in ten.”

Kenny traded with Josh and Marty moved to the spotter’s position. “I’ll be ready as soon as we finish here.” He waved me off.

Loading my supplies only took a minute. Restless, I stomped to the den and flicked on the computer. Neil had promised to look into the property rights for the advertising sight, but I didn’t want to think about what Neil had or hadn’t done right then.

The website was still saved under my favorites and after a quick scan, I didn’t pick up any copy write protection on company names or slogans. So why hadn’t the dead bird sender just snagged my entire name instead of only the logo? Might be a weird coincidence.

I surfed to Google and typed in
Phoenix, bird
just to see what would surface. First was the Wikipedia page, which I ignored, ‘cause any Joe Schmoe could add stuff on there. The next was a link about the mythology around the Phoenix, which symbolized immortality, resurrection and life after death. Fascinated, I began to read.

* * * *

“Maggs, I think it’s clean enough.” Marty gestured at the innocent stainless steel sink I’d scrubbed with a vengeance. My new client, Lucas Sloan, was nowhere to be found, but his brother had let us in to “do our thing.” The old ranch home, a similar layout to my own abode, was in desperate need of some TLC. Other than a massive T.V. and beat-up recliner, the place held only cardboard boxes. And about two years worth of grime.

“I’m doing shiny sink, 101.” I answered my brother as I scoured the last of the Comet from the basin. “I’ve already bleached it to remove set-in stains and all that’s left is to Windex it to a shine. This should be done every six months.”

Mary leaned against the counter. “Fascinating, truly. “ I caught his eye roll in my peripheral vision.

“Did you finish vacuuming?” I asked, while I spritzed the basin.

“Yup and I even used the attachments for the corners and whatnot.”

“How about the master bedroom?” I wiped down the swan neck faucet.

“Done, as much as I could. Looks like the guy’s living out of a suitcase. There weren’t any hangers in the closet or pharmaceuticals in the medicine cabinet.”

Being a snoop, I’d already noted the lack of medicine. “It’s a rental. Ben, the guy who let us in, says that Sloan is in a custody battle and he wants the place spic-n-span before the court sends someone out here to evaluate.”

“Poor bastard,” Marty shook his head. “Bad enough his marriage broke up but now he’s gotta live under a microscope to spend time with his kids. How come the wife always gets custody?”

Ignoring Marty’s stall tactics, I pointed at the Swiffer duster. “See if you can reach that light fixture in the foyer. Oh and the ceiling fan in the den.” Lucas Sloan’s personal life was none of our business, and while that usually didn’t stop me from sticking my nose in, I didn’t have the fortitude at the moment.

Leo had once charged me with having a “bad case of the shoulds.” As in, one should organize a library by author
and
by genre and Kenny, you should have thought of that before we left the house. He claimed it was part of my control-freak personality and asked how I benefited from knowing how something should be done. I’d taken his musings as a rhetorical question.

Marty grumbled and skulked out of the kitchen. I studied the sink, confident that my labor had helped. While the 1970’s era kitchen didn’t exactly sparkle, it did appear tidy and nothing pointed to a salmonella outbreak. My work was done.

Lugging my Rubbermaid bin of cleaning supplies towards the door, I noticed an envelope stuffed under the phone base. The logo on the upper left hand corner caught my gaze. Safari Power Solutions with the slogan,
Go on Safar,i while we do the work
. I was pretty sure it was a subsidiary company owned by one Markus Valentino. Neil had also dropped the name a few times in reference to some project or other at his job.

Peeking around the corner to note Marty’s whereabouts, I set my bin down and picked up the envelope. It was open and empty, but a phone number had been scribbled on the back. For no apparent reason, I keyed the number into my cell phone but before I could hit send, the front door opened.

“You all done in here?” Ben Sloan called out, not coming all the way into the house. From his vantage point, he could only see the hallway leading to the bedrooms and the living room. Luck on my side, I slid the envelope back under the phone and hefted my bin.

“Just about,” I smiled and he grunted in response. If this euphoric personality was a family trait, I could understand why Sloan’s marriage had tanked. “We still have to pack up our supplies. Here’s one of my cards, could you give it to your brother for me?”

Ben nodded and pocketed my card. I called to Marty and humped my load of cleaning paraphernalia to the Mini Cooper.

Hot on my heels, Marty dumped the duster and vacuum unceremoniously into the back, making the car dip and bounce. What had I been thinking, buying this clown car to haul all of my crap? While I’d watched a video where the car held fifteen bags of quick dry cement, it could only do it with the rear seats down and my vacuum was an industrial strength model, translation, BIG. On a normal day, I had to drop my cleaning stuff at home before I could pick up the kids. Ah, who was I kidding? I loved that car.