Shot through the heart, and you’re to blame. Darling, you give love a
bad name.
-Jon Bon Jovi
When Tré got home, he found Rosie on the couch experimenting
with avant garde makeup. She’d
painted yellow suns around her eyes and was teasing her hair out. She was wearing a neon tank top over
leggings and was listening to Skinny Puppy, turned up to eleven.
“Can you turn it down?” Tré yelled over the music.
“It’s awesome, isn’t it?” said Rosie, turning it down. “Fred and I used to listen to it in
high school when we wanted to make Daddy go bananas.”
“Yeah, awesome,” said Tré, who did not think it was awesome
at all. “But I need to talk to
you.”
Rosie walked over to Tré and wrapped her arms around his
neck. “Let’s talk after a nap,”
she said.
“We could sleep together
and then you could sleep alone.”
“Not now, baby,” he said. “We have to talk.
Come and sit with me.”
Rosie shrugged and followed Tré to the couch. He pulled out his checkbook and
showed it to her.
“Look,” he
said. “I’ve got a balance of
$31.50 and I haven’t paid rent in two months. I can’t keep living like this. I can’t keep going out every
night. I just can’t afford it
anymore.”
“Oh my god, Tré,” said Rosie, shocked. “I had no idea! I thought Daddy was paying you a decent
salary. I’ll talk to him.”
“No,” said Tré.
“No no no no no no! I do
make a fair salary. I couldn’t
expect to make any more on a foot-in-the-door job. But the drinking and the clubbing is too expensive and too
exhausting. I’m so tired,
Rosie. I need to start staying
home at night. We can hit the
clubs maybe on Sunday and Monday, but I need to work and rest the other
nights.”
“We can’t do that, Tré!” said Rosie. “People will forget who we are if we
only go out on industry nights.
Look, I’ll go back to work and make some money and help out. We’re a team, Tré. We’re practically celebrities. If we stay home five nights a week,
people will forget who we are.”
“I don’t care,” said Tré. “I sick of all this partying. I'm too broke and I'm too tired.”
“But this doesn’t last,” said Rosie. “We only have now to be this. We need to enjoy it while we can.”
“But, baby,” said Tré. “I’m not.”
They argued for a while, but eventually Rosie realized Tré
wasn’t going to change his mind.
It was OK, she thought. He
was just tired. Of course he was
tired. She hadn’t thought about
it. He was only getting a few
hours of sleep every night and that must have been wearing on him. They’d take a couple of nights off from
the clubs. They’d stay in tonight
and tomorrow she had plans with her family. She would talk to Daddy about what
he was paying Tré. She’d be able
to convince him to loosen up the purse strings and pay Tré what he was
worth. When Tré got the raise he’d
be too happy about the money to be upset with her. And they could go back to being the fabulous couple they
were.
Yes, this was a good plan.
(This was a TERRIBLE plan)
Rosie kissed Tré and said, “You’re right. Let’s stay in tonight. I’ll run out and get pizza and a movie
from Blockbuster and we’ll just relax.”
By the time Rosie got back, Tré was sound asleep on the
couch. Rosie put his head on her
lap, had exactly one slice of pizza and watched Pretty Woman by herself.
At the end of the movie, she kissed him gently awake and sent him off to
bed.
When Tré woke up nine hours later, he felt better than he
had in weeks. He went into the
office early and finished all the tasks he’d laid out for himself. He wrote up a proposal making the case
for incorporating a “green” philosophy into the rebrand. He designed three table tent
promotional tools for Bulstrode to choose from. He drafted out some sample beer menus. And he was still able to be home by
6:30 with Chinese food and a copy of Dirty
Dancing. But when he came
home, there was a note instead of Rosie.
Having dinner with the
family and then drinks with Fred.
Don’t wait up! Love you!
Tré ate the Chinese food himself and watched the
first half of the Bulls game before falling blissfully asleep on the couch.
Rosie had dressed carefully for night out with her
father. She needed to look like
Daddy’s little girl, but not so much that it was obvious. They were just going for pub grub at
one of the Lightweight restaurants, so she didn’t need to look too fancy. She decided to just wear jeans and a
pink sweater. She pulled her hair
back into a ponytail and wore just a little makeup. She’d eschewed her lovingly compiled assortment of fabulous
footwear in favor of a pair of plain white keds. When she got to the restaurant, she gave her father a big
hug.
“Rosie,” he said.
“You look very nice tonight.”
Susan wasn’t at the family dinner. She’d been expected, but had been called to an emergency
board meeting. Rosie decided that
this could work to her advantage.
She would slip into Susan’s role as family facilitator; steer
conversation, be pleasant, make her father happy. She’d shine especially bright in filial attachment what with
Fred so bummed out and quiet.
But Bulstrode seemed determined to be distracted and
crabby. Rosie asked questions
about the rebrand, discussed church politics, gently teased her brother for his
layabout tendencies, but nothing seemed to improve his mood. So, over dessert, she decided just to
go for broke.
“Daddy,” she said. “Don’t you think you could pay Tré a better salary? Things are so tight for him and he
works so hard!”
Bulstrode, unsurprisingly, went apeshit.
He ranted and raved about “this generation,” who expected
everything handed to them on a silver platter. He blustered and bloviated on his own self-made-ness. No one ever gave Bulstrode
anything! He’d worked hard and
socked his money away diligently. He hadn’t blown his earnings on bars and
nightclubs.
“Actually, Dad,” said Rosie wryly. “That’s exactly what you did.”
This unwise, if technically true, statement sent Bulstrode
off on a re-energized rant. He
gestured angrily for the check, paid it, tipped poorly and stormed off.
“That went well,” said Fred, finishing his beer.
“Oh whatever,” she said. Rosie wasn’t particularly bothered by her father’s
rants. She didn’t take them
personally. “I’ll talk to Mom
tomorrow. She’ll get him to come
around. Whatever he’s paying Tré
it’s not enough. And what’s the
point of dating the boss’s daughter if she can’t grease the wheels for you a
little.”
“Does Tré know you’re asking this,” said Fred.
“No,” said Rosie. “But he’ll be glad enough when the money
starts rolling in.”
“Yeah,” said Fred, dubiously. “I don’t think you’ve thought
this one through.”
“I have,” said Rosie.
“Now, I got fifty bucks from Daddy before he went off the rails. Let’s go to The March and spend it.”
“I can’t go if Mary is there,” said Fred, miserably.
“It’s almost ten o’clock,” said Rosie. “She’s never there that late. It’s
cool.”
When they got there, Gio was standing at the door, chatting
with one of the regulars. Rosie
asked him if Mary were still there.
“It’s all right, Fred,” said Gio. “She left right after her shift. You can go in. What happened anyway? Why is she so pissed at you?”
Fred just shook his head and said, “I need about 14 drinks
before I get into that and, what’s worse, I need my sister to pay for them.”
As they walked in, Fred could hear the regular begin, “You
mean you didn’t hear what happened…”
Fred just shook it off. He figured he had it coming.
Rosie bellied up to the bar and ordered a top shelf vodka
and soda, with a splash of cranberry and a Bud for Fred. But before he accepted it, he shot an
inquiring look at Caleb.
“It’s OK, Fred,” said Caleb, squeezing a lime into Rosie’s
drink. “Sit down. I want to talk to you anyway.”
Caleb handed Rosie her drink and she wandered off to find
someone more fun to talk to. Caleb
put his hands down on the bar and looked Fred in the eye.
“I gave Mary the money she gave your bookie,” he said. “That means you’re into me now. I’m a little more flush than Mary so
you can pay me back without feeling obliged to do anything stupid. When you get a job or, more likely, get
back on your Dad’s good side, pony up.
Understood?”
Fred nodded guiltily.
“Now, look,” said Caleb. “I was pretty hot that you brought that shit into my
bar. But I don’t believe you did
it on purpose. And I hope you’ve distanced yourself from that man now.” Fred nodded again.
“I’m not one to hold a grudge. It’s all
right if you come in here when I’m working. I won’t be looking sideways at every $2 beer. But, you know, Mary isn’t cool with
you. And I wouldn’t hold my breath
waiting for that felicitous moment.”
Fred nodded, guiltily.
And sipped his beer.
He sat alone at the bar while Rosie flitted and flirted
around. Fred thought about how he
was 24 years old and had been bailed out by a guy who worked for his father,
how the girl he was in love with couldn’t stand him. How he didn’t know what he
wanted to do with his life. He
settled deep into a morass of uselessness and depression, with no idea how to
get out and no energy to look for one.
