CHAPTER TWENTY
Fringe
I no sooner pull into the shop’s lot than Frank is at the door, motioning for me to get in his office. Slowly taking off my gloves and unzipping my coat, I move at a snail’s pace, wanting to delay this as long as possible. There is nothing good Frank could possibly have to say to me today.
I called in sick yesterday. Just wasn’t feeling up to it after everything that happened at the hospital. Frank must know something is going on. I don’t think I’ve missed a day since I started working for him. It doesn’t matter. I’m not about to tell him that I’m worried to show my face anywhere.
What a fucking mess.
I need a plan.
So far, all I’ve come up with is a big, fat goose egg.
The only thing that’s come to mind is to pay a visit on dear old dad. I seriously don’t want that to be my only option. Until I can figure something better out, I might as well get my ass to work today and let the shitstorm land where it will.
“’Morning, Fringe.” Frank waves to his beat-up guest chair. Instead of sitting, I amble to his coffeemaker and raise a questioning eyebrow. “Sure, help yourself. Cold as a witch’s tit today, eh?”
That’s Frank for you. Kind old man, but riddled with clichés.
I suppress a chuckle and pour a cup of coffee into a white Styrofoam cup, keeping it black like my mood’s been. No milk or sugar for me today. Taking a sip before sitting, I grimace at the harsh flavor. “Sure is, and it’ll only get colder before this winter is finished with us.”
He nods and sighs. Deep creases in his forehead cast a troubled countenance, which can only mean trouble for me. Taking out a rag, he wipes his mouth and stuffs it back into a pocket then leans forward and shuffles a few papers around on his ancient black metal desk.
I feel like he’s stalling now as much as I did to get here. Not in any rush to hear what he has to say, I settle into the chair and sip the scalding brew.
Another sigh comes from Frank as I busy myself perusing the many pinups of women from various calendar months that decorate the walls, some going back as much as twenty years or so. They feel like old friends since I see them almost every day. My particular favorite is Miss October, nineteen seventy-six, a lush redhead straddling a Harley Low Rider and wearing nothing but a sweet smile.
“Well, Fringe, I guess I gotta show you something.” I look back to him as he turns his appointment book for me to see.
Swallowing hard, I brace myself for the worst, and the worst it is. The calendar is nothing but crossed out appointments for the rest of the month.
“They all called to cancel. Said in one way or the other they’re taking their business elsewhere until I reconsider my staffing situation.” He raises his eyes to meet mine. “I’m sorry, son, but I gotta let you go. I can’t stand up to this or I’ll go out of business.”
I nod. I knew this was coming, but it’s still hard to hear. Shifting my coffee, I stand and hold out my hand to shake and Frank clasps it in a hard hold, even as he’s pulling out his rag to wipe his face again.
I think I might be in shock. It’s not really registering that I have to leave now, and not come back. What the fuck am I going to do with the rest of my day? Fuck that, the rest of my life?
“No hard feelings, Frank. This wasn’t your fault.” The words come automatically. The things you’re supposed to say in a situation like this.
“Thanks for that, but it doesn’t make me feel much better. You’re a good man. If you need a reference you just ask.” He opens a desk drawer and takes out a sealed white envelope and holds it out to me. “I hate to see ya go.”
“What’s this for?”
“Money owed for work performed and one-week severance. I’d give you more if I could.”
“You don’t have to do that.” My own words sound funny in my ears, like they’re being filtered through a pillow. I feel like I’m sleepwalking.
“Damnit, Fringe, you earned it. Go on, take it.”
My arm raises, like it belongs to someone else, and takes the envelope and I stuff it in my pocket. “Thanks. I’ll see you around, I guess.”
I nod to him but he’s already turned away, his rag out again. Did I see the glitter of tears in his eyes? Why the fuck would he be crying over a punk like me? Makes no damn sense.
Setting the half empty coffee cup on his desk, I walk out the door and clamber on my bike, gun the engine in the cold, silent morning. I have no idea where I’m going.
Hours later, and very drunk, I text Dawn, hey.
Yeah, that’s about all I can manage.
Dawn: Are you okay?
Me: Yeah
I want to tell her no, I’m not in the least bit okay, but stupid macho pride prevents me from whining to her over text.
Dawn: Good! So much going on. Divine is moving in today! We’re picking her up from hospital in an hour. So excited!
Me: That’s good, talk later?
Dawn: Sure!
I can’t figure out what Dawn is talking about. Divine moving in? Where? It hurts my head to think about it so I let it go for now.
I look around. Good, I’m home. Sometimes I don’t know where the fuck I am when I drink too much.
Stumbling to the kitchen, I open another bottle of beer.
Tomorrow, I’ll deal with my crap life. Tonight, I’m going to wallow in self-pity.