Crash!

I ducked as a beer bottle sailed past my head, shattering into a million tiny pieces against the far wall.

“Dad, stop!” I screeched, wishing I could physically stop him, but I knew trying would just make it worse. Instead, I stood by helplessly as he grabbed my mother by the hair and dragged her to the table. Her back arched at an unnatural angle, and her face crumpled in pain.

“What is this slop?” He held her face inches from his plate, the veins in his neck bulging as spittle flew from his drunken lips.

“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! I’ll make you a fresh plate!” She would promise anything to appease him, trying to keep him from smashing her face into the oily, congealing mess.

The nine of us had sat for dinner hours ago when it was still a hot meal of sausages, baked beans, and corn. They were all cheap but filling foods she had scrounged from damaged or ‘expiring soon’ sales at the mini mart where she worked.

“You’re damn right you’ll make me a fresh plate! How dare you serve me this cold shit!” He yanked her hair again, pulling her away from the plate, and knocked it to the floor with one hand as spun her around to face him with the other. In the blink of an eye, his fist flew into her face again with a crack! The kids behind me cried out.

The impact of fist to flesh threw her backward into the counter. She barely managed to grab hold of the formica edge and stop her trajectory before she fell to the floor.

“I’ll make you a new dinner right now. Just give me a minute.” It took both her hands to hold herself up and turn herself around. She paused for just a moment, bracing herself against the counter before shuffling to the refrigerator with one arm wrapped around her bruised ribs.

“I’m so sorry. I tried to keep it warm.” She turned away from where we huddled, trying to hide her blackening eye. I viewed my mother like an outsider looking in. She appeared decades older than her forty years with thin, stooped shoulders and shaky hands. My siblings and I stayed silent as we watched her grab a clean pot to heat the beans and a pan to cook fresh sausage, which she removed from the now empty refrigerator.

Instead of coming home after work to the hot, fresh dinner Mom had ready for him, Dad went to the bar to drink up his paycheck. Now inebriated, a violent slovenly beast, we were all paying for it. There was no telling how long this drunken rage would last.

“You!” He swung to look at me where I stood at the kitchen table with my siblings huddled around me, all of us too afraid to move or make a sound. Anyone who dared disturb his buzz was swiftly rewarded in pain.

I slowly lifted my head to look him in the eye. We all learned quickly in this house that even a hint of sullenness or insubordination would be met with violent discipline. Our father wasn't going to tolerate misbehavior from his kids. Fist, belt, or any handy object would do. We had felt them all at one time or another.

“Yes, Daddy?” I squeaked out. Even at 21, I was cowed. I still lived at home under his iron fist. I had no other options. Not yet.

“Move your ass. Clean this mess up and get your brothers and sisters to bed. Your mother and I have things to discuss.” He swung his head back to look at her. “And hurry it up. I worked hard all day and I’m hungry.” He teetered drunkenly before falling into a chair.

“Yes, Daddy.” Dropping my eyes, I shooed the kids into the other room with a wave and a whispered, “Go on. Get ready for bed.” They scattered in a hurry, relieved to be out of the danger zone. When I was sure they were all out of the kitchen, I made my way to the sink to stand next to my cowering mother, and grabbed a sponge.

“Hurry up, girl. Ain’t no one gonna want to marry a slowpoke. I hope that fancy night school isn’t giving you any ideas.” He tugged on his suspenders, stretching them out before letting them snap back against his chest. The thin elastic strips were the only things keeping his pants up under his voluminous gut. “I keep telling your mother that when a man works hard all day, he wants to come home to a hot meal, a quiet house, and a willing wife.” He slapped her ass, making her jump.

Chuckling at his effect on her, he went on. “I can’t believe I have to put up with this shit. You would think she woulda learned by now.” He puffed his chest in proud display. “This is what I get for taking on an ‘educated’ woman.” He took his place at the table, hitching his pants up over his gut again before sitting to survey ‘his women’ at work. “I don’t know why I let you take those damn night classes. You should be home helping your mother. You got responsibilities to this family.”

I silently dropped to my knees, running the sponge over the worn but previously sparkling clean floor, now littered with the drying bits of his dinner.

“But I’m a good father. I let my kids get their learning.”

“No, Daddy.” I shook my head. “I’m not getting any ideas.” I crawled to his chair to wipe up the last of the beans. “My classes don’t get in the way of my responsibilities.”

“Good. Now git.” He pushed me back with a knee. “I don’t want to hear another peep outta those kids for the rest of the night. Tell ‘em they’ll be sorry if I hafta come in there.”

“Yes, Daddy.” I stood, dropped the bits of food in the trash, set the plate in the sink, and rinsed the sponge. Hip to hip, I exchanged silent words and knowing glances with my mother before slipping out of the kitchen. On high alert, I crept down the hall to the bedrooms, making sure there was nothing out of place to set my father off. Even a stray sock or a glass left on a side table could bring pain down on us all.

The four boys shared one room with bunk beds on both walls. Twins Pete and Andy shared one set and baby Toby and my brother Russ shared the other. We kept a chair pushed up against Toby’s mattress to keep him from rolling out at night. The four of us girls had the other room.

I hurried them all through washing their faces and brushing their teeth, cycling them through our one tiny bathroom. Afterwards, I quickly herded the stragglers back to their rooms and tucked them in before going to stand at the small window at the end of our room. I leaned my head against the glass, the faint glare of a street lamp falling across my face. I closed my eyes and dreamed of one day getting out of here.

“Lena!” The feedback screech from the intercom penetrated my concentration as I sat transcribing a pile of notes.

“Yes, Mrs. Buckingham.” I paused and stood, facing the big desk behind the glass walls at the front of the room.

“The boss needs a girl to take notes at a meeting. You’re up.” She peered at me over her spectacles, the long beaded glass chain swung, framing her gaunt, wrinkled face.

“Yes, ma’am.” I smoothed my skirt and walked from my desk at the back, up past everyone who had been there longer than me, to her monstrous desk in the ‘fishbowl’ at the very front.

“Third floor, Lena. Don’t be late.” Ms. Buckingham pronounced imperiously when I finally stood next to her. She handed me a fresh legal pad and two pens and pointed wordlessly at the elevator against the far wall.

“Yes, ma’am.” I bobbed my head at her and then turned, tucking stray hairs into my bun as I hurried to the elevator. I hugged the notebook to my chest, wobbling a bit as I tripped on a bump in the floor along way.

Gah! I couldn’t afford to screw this up. I would do anything to be pulled from the secretarial pool and assigned to a specific office. My biggest fear was being stuck in the pool forever, slaving for minimum wage, celebrating only when I moved up a row as someone else got their big break.

I dreamed of a life I would probably never achieve. This faint glimmer of hope was cruel. Mrs. Buckingham dangled it like a carrot and I was the rabbit, forever hopping whenever she called. Why does she hate me so much?

Ding!

The elevator doors opened, and I scurried down the hall to Mr. Tander’s office. I could feel sweat beading, making my blouse stick to my back. When I reached him, he was already impatiently watching for me.

“Sit,” he commanded. I quaked in my thrift store slip ons. Like a mouse, I complied, silently taking the chair in the corner. I uncapped my pen and set my notebook on my lap, ready for whatever he needed me to do.

“I have a meeting in five minutes with a young man who could bring significant financial resources to our company.” He stared at me. “You are to write down everything. I want a perfect record of this meeting.” His tone brooked no argument.

“Yes, sir,” I murmured as a bead of sweat trickled down between my breasts. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest and blood thundering in my ears. I couldn’t screw this up. I wouldn’t screw this up. I had no idea how this opportunity had landed in my lap, but I wouldn’t waste what might be my big chance.

I nervously glanced around. Sonia, Tander’s regular secretary, stood at her desk just outside his office, greeting a tall man. His silhouette showed aquiline features and an aristocratic nose.

Why isn’t Sonia taking Mr. Tander’s notes?

I glanced up through my thick eyelashes to watch Mr. Tander greet the striking man as he joined us in the office. “Noah!” Mr. Tander’s voice boomed through the room. “Glad you could make it.” They shook hands. “This is Sonia, my assistant.” He gestured toward his assigned secretary. “She has all the files prepared. And Ms….” He flicked his eyes at me. “What’s your name?”

“Bishop, sir. Lena Bishop.”

“Ms. Bishop here is up from the pool and will be taking notes.”

The men got right down to business, and I tried to follow. My pen took off, scribbling my shorthand across the page. I had no idea what was important and what wasn’t, so I wrote it all down.

The man seated across from Mr. Tander seemed young but powerful. He held himself with an air of importance, and it was clear Mr. Tander was no match for him. The exchanged words at first, but soon the young man took over the meeting.

I could feel my skirt riding up my thighs, but the men spoke so fast I was afraid to stop even for a moment. Dammit! I had a run in my stockings and a week until payday. No dinner for me tonight. Mrs. Buckingham wouldn’t let me in the door tomorrow unless I bought a new, unblemished pair. I could hear her words in my head: Appearance is everything, girls! Always be presentable. You never know who is watching.

“Mr. Hendrix, Noah, let’s talk numbers. What can you bring to the table for this new BioTech division you want to start?”

“Well, Mr. Tander…”

“Call me Hank.” Mr. Tander interrupted him with a jovial grin, leaning back in his chair and chewing on the end of a cigar. “We are going to be working closely very soon, I hope.” I could tell that was a mistake. This young man did not like to be interrupted. The very air around him changed.

“Hank,” Mr. Hendrix began, his face devoid of humor. At that point he completely edged Mr. Tanner out of the conversation and their exchange became a lecture. I didn’t understand most of what he was saying, but I put my head down and kept writing. My hand created meaningless strings of words across the note paper.

I resisted the urge to look at him, but my ears perked up, and I tuned back in when Noah brought up resources. “I have the backing of the Hendrix fortune.” I never had enough, so talk of money always interested me.

“Very good.” Mr. Tander smiled even more widely. A calculating gleam in lit his eyes. I could tell he underestimated the young man.

“Don’t mistake me for a pushover, Hank. I intend to be very hands on.” He leaned forward, looking Mr. Tander straight in the eye. “I will sign off on every expense. I am not a free ride.”

“Oh no, no. That’s not what I meant.” Mr. Tander sat up in a rush, putting both feet on the floor and leaning toward Noah with an earnest look on his face. “I would never expect you to just write checks. Of course you will run the division.” Suddenly, he was a supplicant at the foot of the young executive’s power.

“Exactly,” Noah said, reaching for one of Mr. Tander’s Cuban cigars. “This is going to be unlike anything anyone has ever seen before. We are going to change the world.”

Noah stood, straightened his coat, and reached out to shake Tander’s hand. He was a man in command of the entire room. “Put together a proposal. I’ll forward it to my legal team. If the terms are agreeable, then you have yourself a deal.” He smelled the cigar, popped it in his mouth, and tasted the end as he left.

There was something magnetic about him.

Muffled yelling filtered through the thin walls of the tiny apartment as I stood at the kitchen sink, rinsing the soap out of my thin blouse and skirt. The basin was cracked porcelain, and the water pipes shuddered as I ran a thin stream over the wet cloth.

“No! Stop!”

Smack.

“Lena, I’m hungry,” Toby whined, pulling on the back of my skirt.

“You’re gonna have to wait. Mama isn’t home from the store yet. There is nothing here.”

“But I’m hungry!” My four year old brother was ruled by his stomach. Unfortunately for him, he was born into the wrong family. There were eight kids, two parents, and never enough food to go around.

“Please! Stop!”

The sounds that all too often came out of our apartment were no different than those from the ones around us. The screaming. The crying. The begging.

I covered my ears for a moment, trying to tune out my life. The insistent whining of my hungry brother, the violence next door, the shouting never stopped. No matter what I did, I couldn’t tune out the misery around me.

I don’t know how much more of this I can take. I lowered my hands and leaned on the chipped sink.

Thud!

I winced at the sound of a body hitting the wall. It was going to be a long night if my neighbors continued to go at it like that. The husband, a loud, violent drunk beat his wife until her sobs echoed through the building. It happened every time he got a little money and, just like my father, spent it all down at the bar on the corner. He must have found where she’d hid the little bit she tried to save for groceries. It was the same thing every week. No matter where she tried to hide them, he’d find them and drink them up.

“You think you can keep this from me?!” he yelled.

Smack! Smack!

“Please stop!” she cried. “Just take it!”

A door slammed and I heard more sobbing.

I wiped one hand on a dish towel and reached over to turn the knob on the little radio, filling our small kitchen with the sounds of classical music. Toby finally tired of begging for food he wasn’t going to get. He grabbed his blanket and toddled around the corner to the living room where eight-year-olds Pete and Andy struggled to ignore the noise and focus on homework.

The sweet sounds of piano music coming from the radio transported me back to the one night I had attended a performance by Vladamir Horowitz in the late 1980s. I began to sway as I finished washing my work clothes so I could wear them again tomorrow. That night, my mother spent our grocery money on standing-room-only tickets and brought me along for a rare taste of culture.

It was my favorite memory of her. As we listened to the lovely melodies, the lines on Mama’s face just fell away. She was so beautiful. That concert gave me the only glimpse I’d ever had of what peace and joy could do to a woman. And it was over too soon. We went home to the tiny apartment and a man just like my neighbor, who ruled his domain with an iron fist.

“Doris!” I hollered at my sister,

“Just a minute!” I knew she was back there, primping in front of the small chipped mirror in the single bathroom we all shared.

“Doris! I’ve got to go!”

“I said just a minute!”

I closed my eyes, drawing air in through my nose, trying to calm my useless anger and frustration. “Doris, you’re in charge! I’ll be back later! Mama should be home with food soon. Make sure everyone gets fed.”

It was her turn to take care of dinner. Mama would be in no shape after fourteen hours on her feet at the Stop ‘n Go. Hopefully they’d had some decent expired stuff available cheap that day. Mr. Hubert felt sorry for her and sometimes expired things early just as an excuse to send it home to us. Dad took her pay, but she had a deal with Mr. Hubert to take some money from her checks so he couldn’t spend it all on booze before we had food in the house. Thank God. Otherwise, we would never eat.

I had five minutes to finish up and head to class. At the rate I was going, I would never finish my degree, but I was sure going to try. “Doris! I’m leaving!” I shouted as I grabbed my coat and books and flew out the door.

“Oh, excuse me.” I said, bumping into my neighbor as I scurried down the hall.

“Mmmmph.” She mumbled something indecipherable as she ducked her head to hide her blooming black eye and scuttled past me to take her trash out back to the dumpster. She reminded me of my mother—stooped, hair prematurely gray, long sleeves hiding the marks of her husband’s love.

Hopefully, I’d made a good impression with Mr. Tander at work that day. With the little I earned as the lowest of the low in the secretarial pool, I was never gonna earn enough to get out of there. I couldn't share a room with my three sisters forever. Life as an unpaid babysitter and part-time punching bag held no appeal. This isn’t all there is to life, is it?

I thought my father would blow a gasket the last time I even mentioned moving out. He called me an ungrateful child, said I was abandoning my family in their time of need. Of course, we wouldn’t need so much if he didn’t blow it all at the pub.

I thought the world was going to end three years ago when my father got injured at the mines. A coal cart came loose and ran over his leg. He couldn’t work for a year and was left with a permanent limp. After that, they only let him do odd jobs around the yard since he couldn’t walk well enough to go down into the mines. Big man that he was, he worked three hours a day, took what little pay he got, and went to the bar to drink it away.

All I wanted to do was escape. I won’t fail. I can’t. I won’t become my mother. When he got injured, I had to drop out of high school and get a job. Who hires a girl with no high school diploma?

As much as Dad hated the time I spent studying, I stayed up late into the night, poring over text books, and finally got my GED. I was determined to make something of myself.

Lost in my musings, I stopped at a red light just in time as a car blasted past. I watched it roll by before crossing the street and continuing down the sidewalk to night school. No matter what it took, I was going to be somebody.

The Lost Billionaires