Easy Money

There were no customers in the store so Penelope was in the back room. Nose in a book.

“Whatcha’ reading?”

“The History of Mass Communications. I changed my major. What could I do with a degree in Art History? Who cares about the Greeks and the Romans? The Egyptians or the Etruscans? I need to make money.”

I changed my major too – after I graduated. From English to setting up waterbeds that she sold.

“I’m never gonna make it here. No benefits. No insurance. Just a salary. Dave promised me a new store. It’s all talk,” she said.

She marked her place in The History of Mass Communications with a swizzle stick. I figured she was past the part about the Gutenberg Bible by then.

“Maybe Miguel will ask me to marry him. It wouldn’t be so bad. I’d be covered by his health insurance,” she said, right before The History of Mass Communications went airborne, hit the wall, and crashed to the floor.

I was wrong. She must have gotten to the part about radio waves.

“Who fucking cares about Mass Communications?” she complained.

The bell chimed in the front of the store. Customers cared.

“Why don’t they stay home?” she said. “Here.”

I read the name and address on the invoice. Gertrude Elfers. 602 Annie Street .

“It’s an Econo King with a heater. No headboard. The lady who bought it lives less than a mile away.”

I smiled at the scent of easy money. Everyone needs a little of that.

There was commotion in the showroom.

“Dammit! They’ve got kids. I hate kids,” she said. “And they’re messing up bedspreads.”

She stomped into the showroom and snapped at the customers who acted snake-bit, Egyptian asp if I’m not mistaken. Her father returned with an ice cream cone from the shop a few doors down. Ever since his wife died, he spent his days at the store.

“Penelope, those bedspreads look bad,” he said, wrinkling his nose at the ripples the children left in some of the comforters.

She grabbed the side of her head like it was ready to explode.

Thirty minutes later I drove to a convenience store and made a call from the pay phone when I couldn’t find the house. A lady with a strained, distant voice answered. She sounded like she was talking through a tin can.

“My house is on the corner,” she whispered. “It looks like it’s on Henry Street , but the address is 602 Annie Street . Come to the house next door where my son lives.”

When I got there an older woman, crowned with white bandages like Nefertiti in rehab, greeted me. The bandages covered the top of her head and overlapped her temples. A neck brace supported her head and the swathe of bandages. She had on a thick, crimson housecoat. It was almost six in the evening.

“You’re early. We haven’t finished the room yet.”

Her voice was strained and tight as bridge cable. Her mouth barely opened like it was painful for her to talk. She coughed the words from the back of her throat.

“The invoice says five o’clock,” I said.

Gertrude Elfers tugged at her temple.

“The bandages? You were wondering about them,” she volunteered. “Don’t mind me. I was almost killed in an accident.”

She gripped the side of her head and hobbled to an interior bedroom where her son maneuvered a piece of paneling against a wall. A girl stood to one side and watched. Both were dressed in shiny, black leather that fit like snakeskin. Long key chains hung from his front and rear pockets. When he hammered nails into the paneling, the chains jingled.

“We want the bed against that wall,” Mrs. Elfers said, reaching again for the crown of white.

The wall she pointed at was partially covered with paneling. It was the same wall where her son fit another piece over an electrical outlet. He cut a five-inch square for the receptacle. The adjoining piece of paneling buckled in the middle and angled toward the corner. It looked like an optical illusion room from an intro to Psych book when Penelope was a psych major.

“I told you to start on that wall first,” his mother scolded.

I forgave her, being so close to her deathbed and all. I didn’t feel so inclined towards her son because I got paid by the job not by the hour. There was no choice in the matter so I helped line up the next piece of paneling.

“That looks bad,” his mother said.

She shook her head then grabbed the white crown. Her cheeks turned crimson like her housecoat.

“The waterbed will cover it up. I had it all figured out.”

He smirked at the girl. She had long, auburn hair and a light, strawberry complexion.

“Nail it where it makes you happy,” he said.

We fit several pieces of paneling following his haphazard pattern. When we finished he stepped back, proud as Nebuchadnezzar at the Hanging Gardens of Babylon .

They departed for Mrs. Elfers’ house next door. She tottered along behind them, her housecoat fluttering, her hand buttressed against the bandages.

They returned when the plastic mattress was almost full of water. I had already gathered up my tools to leave.

“Where’s the headboard?”

I looked up from the polished terrazzo. The floor felt hard and cold like an ice rink. I reached in my pocket for the invoice.

“You didn’t order a headboard. It’s fifteen dollars extra.”

“Let me see that,” she said.

Her hand shook while she read.

“We didn’t order one. We want a headboard, right, Jeffrey? It just doesn’t look right without a headboard,” she said, glaring at the headless waterbed.

Her throat clicked like she was choking on something.

“It doesn’t matter to me,” Jeffrey said, “as long as I can fuck Teresa in it.”

His metal chains rattled, and he grabbed for Teresa. He pawed her breasts and dry humped her like they were the only ones in the room. Their leather clothing squeaked.

“Goddammit! Stop that!” his mother said. “I’ll pay you for it tonight, cash money.”

I tapped my foot on the cold surface.

“I’ll have to empty all the water to move the frame away from Jeffrey’s wall. It’ll take a half hour to pump it down.”

The sun had gone down by then.

“That’s not bad,” she said, then grimaced. “It throbs every so often. Makes me want to faint. They didn’t think I was going to live.”

“The pump’s at the store,” I said.

“Mercy sakes, my head!”

Mrs. Elfers moistened her lips.

“I know it’s a lot of trouble, but I can’t put the headboard on myself. Ever since the accident. I’m willing to pay fifteen dollars cash money for the headboard.”

The bandages, the whimper, and low moans convinced me.

“I’ll call and see if we have a headboard,” I said.

“Yeah, call that real, nice girl that sold us the waterbed,” she said.

When I called, Dave answered the telephone.

“Where’s Penelope?”

“She went home with a huge headache like she’d been eating ice cream too fast,” he said. “And she had to get away from her father. He’s driving her nuts, just moping around.”

“You have any king-sized headboards?” I asked, then explained the situation.

“None in stock, but we can fix ‘em up,” Dave said. “We’ll put a queen-sized headboard on it. They’ll never know the difference. They’ll be as happy as pigs in slop.”

“It might look bad,” I said, but reconsidered when I thought about Jeffrey’s wall behind it.

“Is Mr. Lopez still there?”

“Yeah. Can’t get rid of him.”

When I returned to 602 Annie Street I had the water pump, a queen-sized headboard, and a king-sized headache to match Mrs. Elfers and her son. I brought Mr. Lopez along.

I took him to Jeffrey’s house. He walked in and surveyed the paneling.

“That sure is a crappy job,” Mr. Lopez said.

He was dressed in gray slacks and a crème-colored guayabera. Gertrude Elfers couldn’t take her eyes off him even though it was difficult for her to turn her head.

“Would you like to go next door while he puts on the headboard?” she asked. “I’ve got some fresh, homemade apple pie.”

“Apple pie?” Mr. Lopez choked up. “I haven’t had anything homemade since my wife got sick and died. My daughter won’t do it.”

“You poor dear,” Mrs. Elfers said.

She leaned against Mr. Lopez to the door. Jeffrey and Teresa followed.

I pumped the water out of the mattress to move the frame. Attached the queen-sized headboard, slid the bed back into place, and refilled it. Everything was ready for Jeffrey and Teresa to go at it on the new waterbed his mother had already paid for.

Mrs. Elfers presented me with fifteen dollars from inside her housecoat. No tip for all the trouble including delivering Mr. Lopez to her door.

I went outside and waited for him. Five minutes. Ten minutes. Thirty minutes. He never showed. Jeffrey and Teresa didn’t look too happy when they walked to the van.

“Who does he think he is? He wants you to pick him up in the morning,” Jeffrey said.

Dave was waiting to close the store when I returned. The History of Mass Communications was in the trash can.

“What took you so long? Where’s Mr. Lopez?”

“Never mind. Here,” I said handing him the fifteen dollars Gertrude Elfers reluctantly forked over.

“Aah,” he waved me off, “keep it.”