I show up early ’cause I’m interested in, well, snooping around. There’s a slew of cars in the side lot and I wonder if I got the wrong day. The huge room where the projector use to be is now a banquet room. Also they added on a small screening room. Waiters are serving drinks and hors deserves. I pop open a beer. Alchy is spieling, circled by a bunch of political groupies. “My aim is to usher in the postpatriarchal. I want the world to be a better place not just for my daughter, but for all daughters no matter their race, religion, or lack of religion. I don’t mean just by picking a woman for VP. Of course that is important. I don’t want to change biology. I love being a man. But I often wish I’d been born a woman …”
He meant all that crap. Only Alchy, if he’d been born a woman, she’d still be a control freak.
I see Hugo Bollatanski hovering over the buffet table. He got gray hair and a droopy face. I don’t care if Alchy has forgiven him for the shit he pulled with Absurda, I’m thinkin’ of giving him an old-fashion McFinn hello when some dude taps my shoulder. It’s Spencer Frieberg with Amy Loo next to him. We never met and they want to thank me ’cause Audition Enterprizes put up money for ritevway.com, the microblogging site. I ponied up for that one, ’cause I passed on riteplay.com, which caused me to make like five mil to Alchy’s hundred mil. I wonder if they’ll still be Alchemy fans when he starts taxing them at ninety percent! They introduce me to Elizabeth Borden and Dewey Winslow, who is Alchy’s political pals. They ask if they can conversate with me sometime about Alchemy. I say sure, but not today.
I excuse myself and check out the house. It’s the only place Alchemy has lived in for more than a few hours before thinking about moving. Laluna supervised some renovations like the glass patio and making the third-floor two bedrooms into one big one for them and building a playroom for Persephone, and her toys and shit is everywhere. No doubt about it, they love and spoil that kid. He moved the Select-o-matic and a couch into one of the downstairs rooms that has piles of books and magazines on the floor. Looks like he inherited Nathaniel’s filing system. Instead of his collection of old music mags like Trouser Press, Creem, and Punk, I now see politico mags.
I want to investigate my former room, so I start up the staircase when one of the ex-con security guards puts his up hand, “Sorry, off-limits.” There’s a photo of us on the wall from about ’98. “See that? Not off-limits for me.” He steps aside. For years, “my room” hardly been touched, but now I guess Laluna fumigated me out of there with a paint job. There’s nuthin’ in there but one double bed and a coupla dressers.
I’m heading down the hallway when I hear Mose and Laluna coming up the stairs. They’re laughing and all buddy-buddy. Mose is saying, “I agree we have to act together, and do what is best for Perse.” They clam up the second they see me. Laluna gives me a hug. Me and Mose shake hands.
Persephone rushes out of her room and jumps in Mose’s arms and kisses him. “Unc Mose, come in here, I want to show you my crayon box and crinkly paper Granmamma gave me.”
“Okay, honey, but I only have a few minutes. Your daddy and I are working today.” He nods to me and they go into her room.
I says to Laluna, “You hiding out from the do-gooder I’m-better’n-you brigade?”
“Not my kind of peeps.”
“Mine either.”
“I do have to make a brief appearance.” She sticks a finger in her mouth like she wants to gag.
“How you dealing with all this shit?”
“Mostly, I don’t. I do what I want. He’s always bouncing ideas off me. That’s fun.”
“Yeah, he always wanted my ‘perspective.’ I knew he always wanted this but I still don’t get it.”
“Like he says, if someone with his money and influence won’t do it, only the assholes will.”
I prefer not to opine on that one, so I says I’m gonna go hang out in the studio.
“Ambitious, give me thirty minutes and I’ll meet you. We can kick around some tunes. Figure out our choices for the promo.”
On the way to the music studio I see Salome in the space between her cottage and her art studio. She’s relaxing on a lounge chair under an umbrella, reading a book. Her hair is gray streaked and not as long as it used to be. Her face got some old-age lines, but she’s looking pretty good.
“Is that the still-infantile-but-no-longer-an-infant known as Ambitious Mindswallow? Sit down,” she orders and places the book under her chair next to her flashlight. I pull up a lounge chair. “What brings you up to our cozy hideaway?” I explain that I’m early for an Insatiables meeting, and ritzy politicos ain’t my type.
“You know the only place to spit in a ‘ritzy’ man’s home?”
I let loose on the ground.
“No, you silly boy — in his face. Only this ritzy man is my son.”
“What I hear, he may not be so ritzy after tossing his fortune into this political Dumpster.”
“I commend him for it. It’s what he and Nathaniel always planned, had he stayed with us.” I know better than to talk politics with Salome, so I don’t say nuthin’.
“I am upset with you, you know why?”
“I thought you was always upset with me, so, nope.”
“Specifically because I never heard from you after Nathaniel moved on. For all the teasing, he was quite fond of you.”
I did feel shitty, only I’m not sure how to handle those things. “Alchemy said the funeral was private. And, Salome, Nathaniel died years ago and you seen me since.”
“I could explain to you that there is no such thing as time.” She let out her loony tunes laugh goin’ up the scale. “There is no statute of limitations on expressing sorrow.”
“Why is there no such thing as time? I’m starting to feel old.”
“Tell me, how often do you think about Absurda?”
I says, “How do you mean ‘think’?”
She pats me on the head. “Nice to hear how you remember her, but that kind of fantasizing has nothing to do with time. I can’t divulge anything of such import to you.” She laughs loud. Salome is still as biddy-bip as the day I met her. And I still feel old, and Absurda is still dead.
“Speaking of the once dead and still alive, is my son’s so-called brother here?”
I’m perplexed for a second. “You mean Mose? Yeah, just seen him before I come over. Was with Persephone and Laluna.”
“Damn it. I may have to go and put a stop to that.” She stops. Looks up. “Beware, we have an intruder.”
Standing about ten feet away is a woman who looks like Salma Hayek. “Hi, I’m Carlotta, I planned today’s event and I’ll be supervising the annual Super Bowl party.”
I wonder if she can get us a serious football pool, instead of Alchemy’s usual pools on the over/under on how many times the announcers call the players “heroes,” coaches “geniuses,” and compare football to war.
“Laluna asked if there is anything special you would like to eat or drink today or on Super Bowl Sunday.”
Salome waves her toward us. “First, my son should ask me, not you or Laluna. I don’t blame you. You don’t know better. I’m good today, thank you. I will not be partaking in the Super Bull festivities. You like football, don’t you, Ambitious?” Before I answer, Salome says, “What about you, Carlotta?”
“It’s not my favorite sport. I have to get back, but if you change your mind anytime between now and the day of the party, I can bring you what you want.” She hands Salome a card and starts back down the path.
“Cute, yes? Good smell, too. Hello, Ms. Solano!”