Brokenhearted in Bakersfield

 

75 - MAGGIE THE CAT

Next morning before my Staff Meeting at the offices of Broken Heart Park, Inc. in downtown Bakersfield, I went over to Owen’s place to ask him a favor.  I knocked on the camper’s flap.  “Owen?”  I wondered if I should cover my eyes.  “You decent?”

His head stuck out from behind the curtain hung in front of his bed.  “I’ll be right out.  Make yourself some coffee, partner, less you wanna skip right to the chaser?”

I pushed a couple of cats off a chair and sat at the tiny table in his kitchenette.  I’ve seen my share of messy trailers in my time, hell, I messed plenty of ‘em myself and went right on living in ‘em, but Owen’s little place was outta control.  There was flowerpots stacked up all over the damn place.  Scads of kittens and cats, young ones and old ones, poking fuzzy heads outta pots on the stove and broken pots under the table, and there was pots and pieces of pots with stick-figure people and horses and stars and zig-zaggedy lines drawed all over ‘em.

“Owen?”  I was examining one of his pots and asked, “You switch from vet school to ceramics?”

He come out from behind the curtain hitching up his jeans.  “Wha’cha mean?”

I gestured at the piles of clay pots.

“Oh, that,” he looked around kind of nervous.  “That’s just my new hobby.  I’m thinking about importing some of them Indian souvenirs from Mexico to sell at the flea market.”

Owen stepped into his kitchenette.  “Now let’s get that coffee going.”  He grabbed an aluminum pot, and ran some water.

I sat patiently pushing cats off my lap.  “Owen,” I asked, “I was wondering if you could do me a favor?”

“What’s that, partner?”  He smiled and scratched his backside.

“Well, I sorta gotta go to this business meeting, and it would sure help if I could tell The Boss someone was out collecting the rent money.”  I shook my head in a gesture of affirmation hoping Owen would take the bait.

“Yeah, who?”

Owen’s mind was a fortress.  I plowed ahead anyhow, “Well, I was sorta hoping you might be free to pick up the rent for me today.  Do you think you could do that, partner?”

I watched Owen trying to boil water, and I began to wonder if he was my best bet.  Lately he’d been acting nuttier than squirrel shit.  Then I started thinking how odd it was that a house should reek so strongly of ammonia and be so filthy.

“What do I gotta do?” Owen handed me a piping hot cuppa java.

“I dunno.  Maybe you can go around pounding on people’s doors and yell, ‘Rent’s due, gimme your damn money.’  See how that works.”

Funny how the ammonia redolence got even stronger as Owen continued boiling water.

After some further explanation outlining to Owen about the ins-and-outs of picking up the rent, and after he agreed do it, I hitchhiked back to Maggie’s condo.  She was up and all ready to go see Christos and the Kartone Boys down at the corporate office.  I couldn’t wait to check out if I got a luxurious office suite to go with my illustrious job title.  Then I couldn’t help noticing with disappointment that Maggie was putting on some extra pounds, and that her tight black dress had a bump in front like she was try’n to smuggle a small basketball.

“I got Owen picking up the rent money,” I assured her.

But Maggie was in a silent mood this morning.  We just got into her car and silently headed for the meeting at franchise headquarters.

Once we arrived at our destination, I noticed Maggie was moving slow.  I waited for her at the front door so we could climb those rickety stairs and face The Boss together.  I couldn’t help thinking how all this cracked marble and warped oak paneling might look shabby now, but at some point this must have been a real classy operation.  How good things turn to crap so fast has always been a mystery to me.

It must have taken us ten minutes to negotiate our way to the top.  With Maggie by my side, I forcibly pushed open the door and let her lead the way.

Doll-Face was still sitting on the edge of her desk like she hadn’t moved since the first time I was here.  Her hair was piled high, her legs was crossed, and her file was fly’n across her nails in perfect synchronization with her gum-cracking jaw.  The hot, sweet stink of her cheap perfume hit me.  I stepped back for a second only to see Maggie looking around all wild-eyed and panicky.  Next thing I knew, she dropped to her knees and grabbed the wastebasket next to Doll-Face’s desk.  Maggie blew chunks.

After hurling a full load, and following a couple of dry heaves, she lifted her face from the bottom of the wastebasket, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, looked up at the blonde receptionist and said, “Sorry, morning sickness.”  Then she added, “But if you’ll excuse the presumption, I’ve got two pieces of advice.  First, no amount of perfume can replace soap and water.  Second, if you’re going to wear miniskirts at your age, pantyhose is essential.”

Doll-Face blew a bubble and shouted toward the Army blanket, “Hey, Frank, he’s here.”

I pointed at the wastebasket, “You might want to contact Facilities about that.”

I helped guide a shaky Maggie toward the inner office.  Demonstrating the proper good breeding of a gentleman, I let her enter first.

The Boss himself stood up with open arms in false greeting.  “Well, well, Miz Gato,” his lips contorted into an ugly smile.  “Where’s my money?”

The Kartone Boys was sitting around just like before.  They glanced up from their card game and knife-tossing to give Maggie and me the evil eye.

“Owen’s out collecting the rents right now,” I beamed.

“Owen?  What’s an Owen?”

“Owen Purty.  You know, the guy living in the little camper with all them cats?  On lot Number 18.5?”

Christos squinted and leaned forward, “Lissen,” his voice rumbled, “I run dis franchise for over tirty years.  I don’t know no Owen Purty, and dere ain’t no lot Number 18.5.  Lot Number 18.5?  What’s dat, a joke?”  Now The Boss was really getting worked up.  “Oy!”  His fist slammed the end of a board and everything at the other end went flying.  “Dis is really startin’ to irritate my bowels.  You haven’t even unpacked and I got dead people on my hands.  Do I have da rent money?  No.  I got dead people.  Some of dem rather important to da operation, might I point out.”

“Well I ain’t the one that killed ‘em,” I correctly pointed out.

“Excuse me,” Maggie interrupted.  “Could I bum a cigarette?”

Christos straightened up and I was surprised to see his face soften a little as he looked at her.  I guess he was in the mood for a smoke, too.  “Sure ting, lady.  I’ll even join you.”  He extracted a large cigar from a nearby box.  “Da law prohibits us from partakin’ in da work environment,” his arm gestured toward the open window.  “So please join me outside in da reserved smoker’s lounge.”

Maggie gave me a look as she followed The Boss toward an open window and the fire escape.  With a grand flourish, Christos Kartone took Maggie by the arm and helped her through the window out to enjoy a smoke.  He lit her cigarette and they begun to share a private conversation.

Natural curiosity drew me toward the window, but Matt and Marko blocked me in silent menace.  I decided the better part of valor was to stay rooted where I was.

I knew The Boss was upset because I hadn’t brought him no rent money yet, but boy oh boy, I didn’t know he was gonna be that pissed off.  Out on that fire escape I could see his arms flying around like the windmills up on Horny Toad Pass, and his cigar was flapping up and down like a broken derrick outside Oildale.  Christos was turning shades of red and purple I figure ain’t healthy in a man his years.

But it didn’t matter what Christos did, my Maggie could take care of herself.  No one was gonna push her man around and not get an earful about it.  Maggie leaned right up into The Boss’ face, poking his big fat belly with a stiff little finger.  I could she was pretty upset herself, and it was obvious she had her own list of grievances and The Boss was gonna hear every last one of them.

After a bit Christos calmed down some, and the conversation started to mellow.  He said something, then she said something, and then they both said something back to each other again.  Then I saw him smile and reach out and run a finger along her jaw.  She smacked his hand away and tossed her hair back, flicked her burning butt, and scrambled back through the window.

The Boss followed her, shouting, “Girlie, who d’you tink you mess’n wit here?  You ain’t foolin’ me none.  C’mon, everybody’s got a price.”

“Yeah?” Maggie snarled back.  “How much did your mother charge?”

The Boss didn’t answer, he was too busy wiggling the rest of his fat hairy body through the small window.  Once he was fully inside he straightened up, bigger’n a Kodiak bear and double ferocious.  “You two don’t get it yet.  I got me a sweet little operation goin’ on here.  So get somethin’ straight right now.  You can be wit Christos, or you can be anti-Christos.  An one of dem is not a good choice.”

I prayed there was more options.

I smiled back at The Boss trying to manage expectations, and cheerfully added, “Well, I guess we’d better get on back home.”  I took Maggie by the hands as we inched toward the blankets, “And start counting those checks.”

“Just remember what I said,” The Boss roared.  “I expect service from all my employees, including a prompt delivery of my orders, got dat?  It’s about deliverance of da rents an’ not fukkin’ aroun’ wit me.”

Maggie shouted as we raced back to her car, “Always a pleasure.”