Love Over Moon Street Read online

  Pen stood mesmerized. “Wow…”

  “Come on, I’ll get you all set up. You can take a nice bath and I’ll talk to Cheryl about us all living happily ever after. I mean, providing you want to stay and I’m assuming you do,” Lexus said, with the aplomb of the all-knowing.

  Cheryl slumped down on the couch. How could Lexus do this? Pen was most likely going to the state home and Lexus had offered up an orphan’s dream and given Pen hope. Well, not hope. Hope wasn’t what was written across Pen’s face. It was more like resignation that this morning was not to be her life nor would it ever be. Pen, like Cheryl, knew that ten-year-old orphans didn’t get permanent homes until they made their own when they turned eighteen.

  Lexus returned from the bathroom and stood staring at Cheryl like she was some errant child about to be grounded. “Have you lost your fucking mind?” she said.

  “Me?” Cheryl said, indignant now. “You’re the one making promises you can’t keep. Fruit Ninjas for life, like that’s going to happen.”

  “And why not? I don’t see people lined up to adopt a ten-year-old. Everyone, yourself included, wants a drooling, shitting and pissing machine. She’s fucking potty trained.” Lexus jabbed her forefinger at the bathroom door.

  “Lexus, we can’t just bring her home and keep her. She’s a ward of the state now.”

  “So, we un-ward her. You want a kid, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “She’s a kid, right?”

  “Yes,” Cheryl said.

  “You want a family, right?”

  This logic is going nowhere, Cheryl thought. “Yes.”

  “She needs a family, right?”

  “Yes, but it’s not that easy.”

  “Nothing in life is easy. I will fill out the forms. She’s special and she deserves a chance and we have the opportunity to give it to her. No, she’s not a baby, but it’s like that Rolling Stones song, ‘You can’t always get what you want, but if you try sometimes, you get what you need.’”

  “Only you would make a serious life choice based on the lyrics of a song,” Cheryl said, still angry.

  “It’s a universal truth.”

  “What if she doesn’t want to have two mommies? What if she doesn’t want us?”

  “I’ll ask,” Lexus said.

  She went to the bathroom and knocked.

  “Not now,” Cheryl said, feeling panicked.

  “Why not?” Lexus said.

  “Because we’re not done discussing this.”

  “Yes?” Pen said from the depths of the bathroom.

  “Would you mind staying here with us? I mean, I know the gay thing and stuff, but we’re not pedophiles, we don’t do drugs, we have steady incomes and I won’t make you wear pink if you don’t want to.”

  “What does Cheryl think?”

  “She’s concerned that you don’t like us. I know, silly, right? But she’s always undervalued herself.”

  “Do you guys really want to do this, or am I like the stray cat people feel sorry for?”

  “We’ve been trying to have a family, but up to now it hasn’t worked, so I’d say your timing was spot-on. We are in serious need of a junior Moonie.”

  Cheryl sighed heavily, her anger draining away in the face of Lexus’s determination to make them a family. “Lexus, don’t you think we should be, like, sitting around the kitchen table having this discussion instead of talking through a bathroom door?” she said.

  “What’s a Moonie?” Pen inquired.

  “It’s a person who lives at 33 Moon Street,” Cheryl responded, speaking loudly enough to reach into the depths of the bathroom. That wasn’t entirely accurate—Lexus’s strange friend Phred, the activist clothing designer, was an honorary Moonie, for instance, and goodness knows who else—but she didn’t want Lexus to scare the kid with stuff about what being a Moonie meant, since that seemed to change with each new one they got.

  “Why don’t you do a little drumming and then let us know. Drumming can be a spiritual experience. Do a little thinking and a little drumming and we’ll talk when you get out. Now, if you don’t want to stay, you have to tell us, okay? Promise?” Lexus said.

  “I promise.”

  Lexus held her palms up in a see-now-wasn’t-that-easy gesture.

  Cheryl couldn’t decide if she should be mortified, angry or elated.

  “This is what the universe manifested for us and I think we should take it,” Lexus said. She put her hands on her hips. “You have five seconds to get on board or I’m throwing you out.”

  “Really?”

  “Naw…I just wanted you to know I’m serious. Can we do it please? I want this so bad,” Lexus said, clutching at her chest. “Please…”

  Cheryl took a deep breath and thought of the Rolling Stones’ song. Perhaps all three of them were getting what they needed. “Okay, we’ll try it out.”

  Lexus whooped. Only a life coach would whoop at life’s dramas, Cheryl thought.

  “Come on, give us a whoop,” Lexus said.

  “I’m not a whooper. I don’t whoop,” Cheryl said. At the moment she was having heart palpitations. Had she really just agreed to take on this child? Just got up, had coffee and changed the entire course of her life? It seemed unimaginable.

  “Lexus, I’m scared.”

  “Just sing the song with me,” Lexus said and began singing it a cappella. She whirled Cheryl around the room. They both sang the refrain. “You can’t always get what you want, but if you try sometimes you just might find you get what you need.”

  Sometimes having a life coach for a partner was a good thing.

  “I’m still not whooping.”

  “We all have our limits,” Lexus said, and she kissed her.

  Chapter Four

  The Logistics of Couches

  “I know this is hindsight, but we should have taken the narrow hallways of our beloved Moon Street abode into consideration before making a purchase of this size,” Lexus said, her arms akimbo.

  In hindsight, Sparky thought, I should never have slept with the Eye-Biter. Then she would still have the slim-lined Danish modern furniture that Wesson, aka the Eye-Biter, was holding. She’d purchased her living room set before she and E.B. moved in together, when she was a mere pup of twenty-two, and now nine years later it was being held hostage and Sparky saw no way of negotiating its release.

  She felt guilty for abandoning her stuff like she’d cast off old friends. She’d had her Danish furniture ever since she started work at McAlester Electric—she’d paid for it after she advanced from being an apprentice to a certified electrician. While in college she’d worked after school with her father so she would finish her apprenticeship training about the same time she finished her B.A. degree. But as Lexus had said, acting as a life coach in the IKEA store, “It’s only stuff and realistically speaking ‘used stuff.’ Just pretend like you lost it in a fire and move on.” She’d patted Sparky’s arm and pointed at a coffee table that would go with the couch.

  The couch was now wedged in the stairway leading up to Sparky’s apartment. It was a Natuzzi brown leather couch with square arms and very clean lines. “It’s Italian and will wear well, trust me,” Lexus said. She appeared to know her furniture—excepting the fact that the couch was also larger than they anticipated. Sparky had wanted something more comfortable and less streamlined than her previous Danish modern furniture and apparently her lust for comfort now was biting her in the ass.

  “It’s a matter of logistics,” Lexus said, eyeing the couch.

  “Have you run into this problem before?” Sparky asked. Lexus seemed so much more worldly, being a Moonie and all. At least that’s the way it seemed. Sparky’d been living in a dark, solitary, friendless, cloistered, reclusive and hermitic place for so long that the world had become rather foreign to her. She and Wesson, aka the Eye-Biter, had secluded themselves out in the boonies and hunkered down to stick out the rest of their lives in a fog of beer and arguments. They seldom went anywhere other th
an work and had lost contact with most of their friends.

  “Only once and it was in a book,” Lexus said, tilting her head from one side to the other while staring at the couch.

  “What book?” Sparky wondered if there was a book pertaining to the moving of furniture—like Furniture Moving for Dummies. She doubted it. But one could always hope. Sparky had spent much of her time with the Eye-Biter hoping things would get better. She was good at hope.

  “It was Dirk Gently’s Holistic Detective Agency.”

  “There was a stuck couch?”

  “Yes, the couch figured prominently throughout the book,” Lexus said.

  “How’d they get it unstuck?” Sparky was a reader. Reading had kept her sane while the insanity of her life threatened to cave it in. She missed her books. E.B. was also holding them hostage. She’d never read that book, but she knew if an issue figured prominently throughout a book it had to be resolved.

  “The police cut it in half.”

  “I would really like to not do that,” Sparky said.

  The front door to the apartment building opened and Cheryl and Pen came in carrying grocery bags. Pen was also holding a Walmart bag. She glanced down at it and looked at Lexus. “I needed socks,” Pen said.

  “And a few other things,” Cheryl said.

  “We got lots more cereal too,” Pen added.

  “Fantastic,” Lexus said.

  “Sparky, have you met our new roommate, Pen?” Cheryl inquired.

  “Is it stuck?” Pen asked, staring up at the couch.

  The Eye-Biter would have said, “What the hell does it look like, you fucking moron?” She was always rude that way. Sparky had gotten used to it. Not being around the rudeness on a daily basis made it more apparent now.

  “No, I have not had the pleasure,” Sparky said.

  Pen looked at Sparky and then at Cheryl. Cheryl said, “She means that it’s nice to meet you.”

  “Oh,” Pen said. “Hi.” She stared up at the couch again.

  “Well, now that we have two more intelligent life forms at our disposal, let’s brainstorm,” Lexus said. She glanced over at Pen. “What do you think?”

  Sparky thought this was the pleasant and sane way to deal with the circumstances, much better than E.B. screaming about what a fucking mess this was and certainly better than her behavior would’ve been. Being a Moonie seemed to impart of sense of serenity regardless of the situation.

  “You could return it and buy a smaller couch,” Cheryl offered.

  “A possibility, but I think we will use that as a last resort. Sparky really likes this couch,” Lexus said.

  The Eye-Biter would have said, “Or she wouldn’t have picked it out, stupid.” E.B. was really a mean person. Why had it taken her this long to figure it out? Was it like being on the inside of something kept you from having any perspective?

  Pen set down her bags and went to examine the couch. She came back down and dug around in her South Park backpack, retrieved a small flashlight and returned to the underside of the couch.

  “What is she doing?” Sparky asked.

  E.B. would have said, “How the fuck do I know?”

  Sparky wondered how long it would take before she stopped having imaginary conversations with her ex-girlfriend. She did not want Wesson-speak in her head anymore. It was bad enough she dreamed about her. Daylight should offer a reprieve.

  Pen’s muffled voice came from under the couch. “We can unscrew the armrests. It’d be skinnier.”

  “I’ve got a tape measure in my truck. We’ll measure and see if it’s enough,” Sparky said. She flew out the rear door of the building, the one that opened onto the parking lot, and almost plowed down a woman coming into the building—one she hadn’t seen before. “Sorry.”

  The woman smiled. “The place isn’t on fire, I hope.”

  “No, but there’s a couch stuck in the stairway.”

  “Hmm, that could prove a problem,” the woman said.

  “Why?”

  “I live upstairs.”

  “Oh,” Sparky said.

  The woman stuck out her hand. “I’m Vibro, Vibro Squirm.”

  Sparky took this in. “That’s an unusual name,” she said, shaking the proffered hand.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Sparky.”

  “Tres normal.”

  The woman had a point. Sparky blushed. She took in the woman, trying not to be too obvious. One did not run into truly gorgeous women on a regular basis. There were plenty of good-looking people wandering around—but someone who was truly beautiful, as in perfect, was rare. When you met one in person you had to be taken aback. Sparky was taken aback.

  Vibro was tall. She was thin. She had long black hair and cherry red lips. The word “sultry” came to mind. She appeared to be around Sparky’s age, maybe a little older. She was also oddly dressed. She wore the uniform of a Union general sans sword, dark navy with gold accents and knee-high leather boots. Sparky wondered if she was in a theatrical production.

  “Now, let’s go see about this couch, shall we?” Vibro said.

  “I need to get a tape measure. I’ll be right back.”

  “I’ll be waiting with bated breath.”

  Sparky blushed again and ran for her truck.

  When she got back inside, Lexus said, “We need a screwdriver too.”

  Sparky went back out to her truck and retrieved that too. By the time she’d gotten back, Lexus and Cheryl had measured the couch and Vibro was consulting with Pen.

  Vibro called out. “And a socket wrench.”

  “Shit!” Sparky said. She went back out to her truck and lugged in her full-sized toolbox, which is what she should have done in the first place. She couldn’t help thinking this was the most helpful and nicest group of people she’d encountered in a long while. Maybe being out in the world wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

  The night she’d made a run for it, she’d been scared about being alone and afraid Wesson would come looking for her. Uncle Milton was covering for her now. He’d given her a hiatus from electrical work while she remodeled the downstairs apartment for Mr. Agassiz. That way she wouldn’t be caught unawares at the office. Wesson hadn’t gone to her workplace yet, but she would. It was only a matter of time.

  Sparky was pretty sure Wesson thought she was staying at her parents’ house. They had bought a motorhome and gone touring. They were in Alaska right now. Wesson probably thought Sparky would cool off and, after giving her life some serious consideration, return to Wesson with a list of improvements they needed to make—like she’d done twice before. All would go back to normal. She and Wesson would be extra careful and nice with each other until the next time they had a huge fight.

  Only now there wouldn’t be a next time. Wesson had no idea that Uncle Milton had a friend with an empty apartment and need of a maintenance person. Uncle Milton had every kind of friend, which was why Sparky’d gone to him and confessed.

  He said he’d had his suspicions that Wesson pushed Sparky around. “Ya know we all have our marital problems, but hey, it’s gone far enough. Your Aunt Delcie, she’d threatened to burn her bastard husband in his bed. I sent her to live with her sister in Milwaukee, Wisconsin. I figured it beat prison. I helped her out until she got on her feet and she’s loving life now. That’s what you need to do.”

  So Sparky had done it. Only now she wished she taken some of the furniture her mother had slated for one of her infamous garage sales. She could’ve used some of it. For the present, though, she had a side job, an apartment and a couch stuck in the stairwell.

  Sparky went back inside and handed the tools over to Pen, who was the only one small enough to wedge herself between the wall and the couch. She got the bolts and screws loose. Sparky sat as close to her as possible to coach her.

  “Just turn the lever that way and it’ll click the ratchet part so you can loosen the bolts,” Sparky told her.

  “Like that?” Pen said.

  “Perfe
ct. You’re pretty good with tools,” Sparky said.

  Pen beamed. “I had to fix things sometimes before when I was with my mom.”

  “Pen has lived an expansive life,” Lexus explained to Vibro.

  “And apparently a practical one,” Vibro replied.

  “She did figure out how to get the couch up the stairs,” Sparky said, winking at Pen, who smiled shyly.

  “Where’d you get her?” Vibro said.

  “The hospital,” Lexus replied.

  “They are able to birth fully formed and potty-trained children who can take couches apart now? Christ-on-a-bike, we’ve come a long way,” Vibro said.

  “No, silly, we’re fostering her,” Lexus said.

  “And how’d the paperwork work go on this one? Was it as bad as the adoption stuff?” Vibro asked, obviously privy to the banes of the state’s red tape.

  “Not nearly as bad as that. If all goes well, in sixty days our eligibility should be finalized. I meet with the social worker tomorrow, then we have a home visit,” Cheryl said.

  “Should I be home?” Lexus said.

  “You have to be.”

  “What about my hair?”

  Everyone including Pen, who popped her head out from under the couch, stared at Lexus’s hair, which was magenta with yellow and orange tips and gelled into a Medusa-like style.

  “I have a lot of drag queen friends with really good wigs,” Vibro offered.

  “Do you think they have a Marilyn Monroe one?” Lexus asked.

  “How about a nice brunette page boy?” Cheryl suggested.

  There was a clunk on the stairs as the armrest of the couch fell away. “Oops, sorry,” Pen said.

  Sparky picked it up. “It’s leather, which is practically indestructible. No worries.”

  “Oh, if only it were so for our hearts,” Vibro said, putting her hand over that organ and staring at Sparky. “You’re kind of cute.”

  “And available,” Lexus said.

  “I have a girlfriend,” Vibro said.

  “Yeah, right,” Lexus said.