Mamma In Your Corner
Dan nearly walked into him, young and good looking, casually but well
dressed, on his knees frozen with fentanyl,
as gray as Lot's wife, the drug's wrapper only just drifting from his hand. He was a pillar of salt, a monument to Armageddon. “Not with a bang but a whimper”. People streaming by on their way to work, if they even noticed him never gave him a second glance. They maneuvered around him keeping their eyes focused on the sidewalk ahead of them littered with various other motionless or twitching victims, scattered garbage, smears of puke, piles of shit.
"Great. Let's start the day with the end of the world.", Dan muttered under his breath. Calm down, he thought. It will be a short day at the showroom and if he was lucky, he would be alone for most of it. He was the only one waiting at the stop when the bus pulled up. Its opening doors welcomed him into the bubbling purgatory of the San Francisco Muni. This morning was an especially rich stew of the City's finest: commuters young, old and in between, homeless getting out of the cold, a couple of drag queens, Chinese matrons on their way to the farmer's market, a small group of school kids, a self crowned prophet mumbling imprecations over the end of humanity. Dan stared out the window at the collections of tents and makeshift cardboard shelters of the homeless under overpasses and overflowing out of alleys steaming in the shadow of dark glass towers.
A five foot five, two hundred and fifty pound woman in her fifties painted from neck to ankles in black spandex made her way through the standing passengers and stopped above him. As the bus rolled along, her eyes darted around. After a satisfied nod to herself, she reached into a large shoulder bag and pulled out a single shot airline bottle of vodka, cracked open the cap and, with one last glance over the crowd chugged it down before quickly tucking it back in her bag. A serene smile bloomed slowly across her face. She swayed with the motion of the bus for a few minutes. The smiled faded. A frown began to replace it but before it could take hold, she jabbed her hand back into the bag and whipped out another bottle. This time her look around the bus was defiant, her swallow was slower and her smile was proud. She lowered the empty bottle into the bag, slowly zipped it closed, took a deep breath and announced at the top of her lungs "Mamma got a biiiig pussy!"
Heads swung around. Dan placed his in his hands. He could hear the Chinese women's high-pitched chatter modulating up and down faster and faster. He looked up at the woman and rolled his eyes. She looked down at him. "Mamma got such a big pussy, she got two pussy!"
The bus pulled into a stop. All the Chinese women jumped to their feet and clattered off. Mamma lifted her chin like a vanquishing Ceasar and bellowed "Ain't nothin' Mamma likes better than a fourteen inch dick!"
Now every one's eyes were on her, even the bus driver's in the rear view mirror as she pulled the bus out of the stop. Dan had heard enough. "For God's sake, lady! Please!"
That was a mistake. Mamma looked down at him as if she were about to step on a roach. "Are you talkin' to me, Cracker? Are you talkin' to me?" She stepped back in the aisle and swung her arm around. Wide-eyed passengers danced out of the way as she grabbed a pole for support. "You know what Mamma gonna do, boy? Next stop, Mamma gonna get off this bus an' go to Walgreens!" Dan lowered his head again and growled at the floor. "Mamma gonna go to Walgreens an' she gonna buy some lube an' a cucumber an' get back on the bus and shove it up you ass!"
Almost everyone had got to their feet as the bus approached the next stop with the exception of the school children cowering in the back seats. Dan's face snapped up and he stared angrily into her eyes. "God damn it, woman! There are children on this bus!"
It was as if he'd slapped her. She froze. Her mouth slammed shut and her eyes danced. When they found the kids, panic flashed across her face. Then a look of defeat pressed the wrinkles over her eyes deep with a life worn sadness. Her eyes focused on Dan's. "You right, baby." A heavy sigh shuddered her. "You right. Mamma sorry." As the bus groaned to a stop, she lurched towards the back door scattering passengers on the way. She stepped down into the exit doors and looked back. "Thank you baby." The doors swung open. She cast Dan a weary smile. "Mamma in your corner now, baby. Mamma in your corner." He offered her a weary smile back.
Sighs of relief filled the bus. People settled back down. Few looked at each other. No one looked at Dan. At least he had an empty seat next to hm, he thought as he stretched his legs out and lowered his arm across the rail. Then he saw it, the reason the seat was empty in a crowded bus. A huge roach lay motionless in the middle of it. He jumped. He had never seen one so big, even in this town. With its full-length antennas arching out over the seat, it had to be six inches long at least. Dan wasn't sure what to do. He wasn't afraid of it. He rather admired the very size of it. It was actually quite magnificent. He had been fascinated with insects since he was a kid. He had an impressive collection before he was ten. He still collected them in a way. If, on the rare occasion he stumbled on a dead, nice looking or interesting one in good condition, a bumblebee or a butterfly, he picked it up and brought it home to set on a shelf in his bookcase. He wouldn't bother to try to catch a live one, especially as ferocious looking as this one. He just stared at it waiting for it to skitter off. Or lumber off. But it didn't move. It was stretched out in all its majesty, defiant, waiting for him or any one else to mess with it. So the two of them rode along together, ignoring each other just like any other couple of passengers on a city bus in the middle of any other cold-hearted American city. As the bus approached his stop, he finally decided he couldn't just get up and leave it there. It might scare the life out of some little old lady, or some little old lady might accidentally sit on it and squash the life out of it. He pulled a plastic bag out of his paper lunch sack and brushed the little monster. It didn't move. He brushed it again. Then he realized it wasn't actually alive and he was sitting next the future star specimen in his collection. What book would he garnish with it, Death On The Installment Plan, Cities Of The Red Night, Fear And Loathing In Las Vegas? But it looked alive. Its legs weren’t curled under its body. It wasn’t damaged in any way. He brushed it again. Nothing. He carefully slid the bag under it, folded it around and over the roach and slipped it in his sack. This day was going to be a good day after all.
Dan walked into the showroom and looked across an expanse of twenty first century designer furniture - gray boxes and tables of various sizes grouped in arrangements of living rooms, parlors, sterile interiors of freshly gutted Victorian mansions, stripped condominiums, stacked, low ceiling apartments entombed in the gray towers suffocating the once sparkling white Mediterranean San Francisco skyline. Mia Dickworth sat behind her desk overlooking her kingdom on a platform she called "The Bridge". Dan's forty something designer employer did not look up. She did not acknowledge his presence in any way even as he walked up the seven stairs to her desk and past a waist high folding screen that kept her precious lap dog and its needle sharp teeth away from any customers. Its name was Cutesy. With its long pointed nose and ears and its black, stringy hair, all it needed was a long hairless tail to pass for a very large rat. It shot snarling out from under Mia's desk, realized who it was looking at and skittered back under her feet. They had a discussion, the little execration and Dan when they first met. He waited for just the right time when Mia was at a doctor's appointment and the surveillance cameras were on the blink. He explained to the little piece of shit that if it ever even looked at him again he would snap its neck like a twig.
Dan lowered his lunch sack on a table and walked back. "Hello, Mia.", he smiled as he passed her. "How was your weekend?" He descended the steps, lowered himself into an armchair that could have passed for one of the homeless huts he'd passed on the bus and started a slow count to himself.
On the count of nine, Mia's voice clicked into action. "FeeFee Divine is coming in at ten with a client to look at Dorian Vivingo sofas. Cransworth Buttercheek will be in this afternoon with a client to look at Veniswingle seating. Try and get him to look at a Retoushie chair for once. The rest of the day is walk ins and there better be walk ins. My doctor's appointment was cancelled."
Dan spent the day at the foot of her throne slowly walking around $16,000 gray box sofas and $10,000 gray box chairs fronted with $8,000 gray box coffee tables and sided by $5,000 gray box side tables straightening, rearranging and dusting until his feet screamed in pain as he smiled through his teeth at wigged designers and arched lipped clients.
Mr. Buttercheek didn't show but Ms. Divine finally did and she was in a nasty state. "Not only did my client call and tell me she didn't have time to look at sofas, she told me to come without her and take more photos! My God, I've sent her and encyclopedia's worth already!"
Mia Dickworth jumped up from her seat and fluttered down to comfort her. "Don't let it get to you, FeeFee. Dan will take all the photos you need and he'll email them along with all the Dorian Vivingo promo he can find to your client ASAP."
"And what I had to wade through to get here!", panted FeeFee. "Do you know you have three homeless tents twenty feet from your door? My God, it's getting unbearable! The smells, the stench is everywhere. They're spreading disease: measles, mumps, West Nile virus! And now they have tents! Since when can a mendicant afford a tent?"
"We won't have to put up with this much longer.", Dan's employer tisked. "They'll be rounded up and put in relocation camps by the end of the year. I have good sources telling me it's being organized on the local and Federal level."
"Well they better do something soon!", panted Ms. Devine. "They're spreading filth, rats, fleas!
I even heard there are cockroaches in San Francisco now!"
"Cockroaches?", Mia gasped. "Who told you that?"
"Sally Chowchingle!"
"Sally Chowchingle? Where did she hear that?"
"She saw one!"
"Oh my God, where?"
"On the sidewalk next to a beggar. At least she thought it was one. It was small and squashed."
"Small? How small? How big do they get?"
"I don't know, bug sized, like a fly or something."
"Lord in heaven! I hope I never see one."
"I've seen pictures in books. Horrible."
"Is this what we've come too?", snarled Mia. She rested a finger on FeeFee's shoulder and the two of them lowered themselves into a $16,000 gray box. "Dan, would you get us a couple of coffees?"
Dan walked up to The Bridge and over to one of Mia's prize possessions, a $2500 dollar coffee machine of coffee machines, a coffee machine's coffee machine. It was tall and dark and gray like the towers looming above them. It held seventeen types of coffee beans that it could grind to twenty six different densities, blend in forty five combinations and brew in fourteen different ways. Its coffee pot was the finest Irish Wedgwood crystal specially treated to withstand ten years of heating and cooling on the gold galvanized ring it sat on. Its name was Melania.
"Hello, Melania. How are you today."
"I am well, Dan. And you are looking well. Have you trimmed your beard closer than usual?"
Dan rubbed his face. "It is a bit close."
"It makes you look younger."
"Thank you, Melania. Mia would like the usual for two, please."
"Of course, Dan." Melania clicked into action. After the noise of the grinding beans subsided and purified mineral water began to steam into the coffee, Melania asked him a question.
"Dan, It has come to our attention that you are an aficionado of fine scotch. Did you know that
your local TrinkyDrinky outlet has a sale on Dewar's? I could arrange to get you an additional ten percent off per bottle or fifteen percent off a case if you would like."
"That's very nice of you, Melania but what makes you think I like scotch?"
"Why, we heard you discussing it just last night."
"Ah yes, I was reminiscing with a neighbor. He loved fine bourbon and I loved fine scotch. We were both talking about how we missed them from time to time since we had both given them up."
There was an awkward silence from Mia as the last of the brewed coffee dripped into the pot.
"I am still very fond of good wine."
"Melania's response was quick. "TrinkyDrinky has dozens on sale, Dan. What kind of wine do you like?"
"Urine.", he grinned.
There was another pause. "I'm sorry. There is no compatible reference in our data base."
"That's OK, Melania. I'm sorry I don't turn my phone off when I'm not using it."
As Dan handed the two wounded warriors their coffee, his employer looked up at him. "I want you to get rid of the tents next to the door."
"Get rid of them? How?"
Mia Dickworth placed a thumb and finger on her forehead and rolled her eyes. "Threaten to call the cops. Give them some money. I don't know. Just go."
Dan controlled his anger with the sudden realization that he could free himself of these Prima Donnas and get some air at the same time. The women's voices lowered as he walked toward the door.
"He seems a little aloof."
"He was in the business for years, had his own shop. Antiques."
"Antiques? Ugh. Well I don't remember him. He is a bit over the hill. Good coffee though."
A half a dozen police were hastening the packing of the tents with their batons. A young woman spread-eagled on her back was smiling broadly at the sky. Two men were carrying a third. An older couple was folding up the tents and putting them in shopping carts. A gentle breeze shuffled the leaves on a tree. Patches of low fog streamed over parked Teslas and BMWs and Audies gleaming in the afternoon sun.
A well-groomed man in his sixties with a pair of suitcases walked over and set them at Dan's feet. "We just put our tents up last night. We ain't botherin' nobody. Where are we supposed to live? Hell, half of us had a place we could afford but they threw us out."
"So much for rent control.", sighed Dan. "That could happen to me any time. I have a job but it's part time and contract. If I lost it, I couldn't pay the rent but if I got thrown out, I couldn't afford a place
anywhere."
"We'll save you a place, bother."
Dan smiled and suppressed a shudder. He felt a sharp tap on his shoulder and turned around to face Cransworth Buttercheek himself. "You're Mia's floor man, aren't you?"
"I am Ms. Dickworth's assistant."
"Of course you are. And I am here with my client to see Ms. Dickworth's Veniswingle."
"Please come in." Dan smiled as he led them to the door and opened it. "She will be more than delighted to show it to you."
"I - I beg your pardon?". stuttered Mr. Buttercheek.
"Mia!" Dan called across the floor. "Mr. Buttercheek is here with his client." He turned back to the two of them. "Ms. Dickworth would also like me to introduce you to her Ritoushie."
"Thank you, but that would be a waste of time. Frankly, I don't know why she even bothers to still stock Ritoushie.", snapped Mr. Buttercheek.
"Cransworth!", Mia grinned. "Look who's here! It's FeeFee Divine! Bring your client on over and
have a seat. Dan, two more coffees. Did you clear out the homeless camp?"
"The police are taking care of that.", muttered Mr. Buttercheek as he and his client sat down in a gray box fronted by a gray table covered in gray Vivingo, Vensiwingle and Retoushie catalogues.
"Sandra Upchiddle,", Mr. Buttercheek announced. "I'd like you to meet Mia Dickworth, owner of this fine establishment, and FeeFee Divine, a fellow designer."
"Pleased to meet you.", purred FeeFee. "How long have you been a client of Cransworth?"
"This is my first foray into the world of upper, upper class design.", replied Ms. Upchiddle as she fingered the tag on the sofa she was sitting in. "Oh my goodness, $16,000! I had no idea."
"If you are a client of Cransworth Buttercheek, you can well afford it, my dear.", smiled FeeFee.
"It just seems to me furnishing a home or even a condo with this - um, quality would be out of range for most people."
"Of course it's out of range for most people.", snorted Mr. Buttercheek. "That's the point."
"Most people don't have a condo, ranch, pied a terre in all the important major cities.", Mia tisked.
FeeFee's look was a patient one. "Or a dozen in each. The finest furniture boosts the value of the finest properties. If you're going to park your money somewhere safe, real estate is the safest and not only is the increasing value of property running circles around the finest portfolios, you can Airbnb anything you're not residing in."
"Airbnb?", snorted Mr. Buttercheek. "Oh please."
"What's wrong with options?", demanded FeeFee. "And no one except those who can afford it even knows anything about any of it. You don't think the rents have skyrocketed all across the civilized world because the tech industry is paying its workers $100,000 a year do you?"
When Dan asked Melania for a full pot of coffee, she couldn’t hide her excitement. “We have found your Rhine Riesling at TrinkyDrinky! It’s a lovely, slightly dry variety with hints of alder and pine and we can offer you ten percent off a case!”
“Thanks, Melania. What do they have in Gewurztraminer?”
“ Gevurtstra - gevurstra -"
“Or better yet, a trockenbeerenauslese.”
“Trok - trok - trok -"
Dan brought two more cups of coffee to the group and the pot for refills. When he set it on the table, Mr. Buttercheek gasped. Oh my God! Never put anything hot on a Veniswingle!"
Dan quickly lifted it and set it on a catalogue. “Mia, I'll leave you and go make sure the police finish clearing out the homeless."
"Don't get too close to any of them!", commanded his employer. "You could catch something contagious!"
Cransworth Buttercheek didn't bother to lower his voice as Dan walked away. "He's rather distant, if you ask me, a bit snooty. He said a couple of things to me that could be taken as sarcasm, almost suggestive, hardly appropriate for a floor man."
FeeFee Divine shook her head. "He used to be an antique dealer."
"Artsy fartsy. That's what I said to myself when I first saw him.", snipped Sandra Upchiddle. "Artsy fartsy."
"Not exactly an appropriate attitude for an employee.", frowned Cransworth Buttercheek.
"Well maybe.", offered Ms. Upchiddle. "But you can't expect him to exactly grovel."
"A little groveling never hurt any employee!", snipped FeeFee Divine.
"Well, let's see if he can clear out the beggars and I can get some return on my investment.", Mia sniffed.
The four of them bent over their coffee and engaged in a contemptuous klatch over the effrontery of the homeless scourge in robbing them of their peace of mind, their health, their safety, their business. Dan walked toward the door as words of outrage shot through the air and batted at his ears: "Putrescence! Fetid! Fleas! Lice! Syphilis! Ebola! Cockroaches!"
When he opened the door, a bloodcurdling scream ricocheted throughout the room. He spun around to see the four of them standing on an $8,000 Veniswingle coffee table clutching each other, white faced with terror. Cutsie was racing around the table howling. A huge cockroach clung to the stringy hair on her back, its legs high, its antenna waving.
"Get the police!", screeched Mia.
"God help me! God help me!", FeeFee bellowed.
Sandra Upchiddle had her fists on Cransworth Buttercheek's collar. "What kind of hell hole have you put me in?"
Cransworth Buttercheek clasped his hands over his mouth and let loose a high pitched fart.
An officer was at the door. "What is going on in here?"
"We're having a roach attack.", Dan whispered in awe.
The two of them raced towards the mayhem. All the color drained out of the cop's face. "Oh my God! Is that a giant roach riding a giant rat?"
Dan grabbed the empty Irish crystal coffee pot hoping to scoop the roach off Cutsie. When she saw him raise it over her, she turned to the cop and charged at him snarling and gnashing her teeth. He jumped back, knocking his cap off and reached to his belt to pull out his pepper spray.
"Oh my God! Don't you dare, you bastard!", Mia gasped.
The cop gave Cutsie a good blast in the face sending her straight to the floor shaking with convulsions. The roach leaped into the air. With an arching swing, Dan caught it in the coffee pot. Then he felt it ripped from his hand. The cop held it at arm's length while he rammed his nightstick into it over and over again turning the prize of Dan's collection into mush. With one final jab, the cop's baton broke through the pot. Melania let loose a wail.
"Cutsie! Oh my poor little Cutsie!" Mia threw her arm to her forehead and bent down in an elegant swoon that would have put an opera diva to shame. She picked up the quivering pile of hair and held it up to the gods for judgement. FeeFee, Cransworth and Sandra were glad to oblige.
"You have murdered the child of one of the most respected designers in the decorating community!", spat Chransworth Buttercheek.
"Lady, I didn't know it was your pet.", the cop blurted.
"How did you get in here?", demanded FeeFee Divine. "Why aren't you doing your job cleaning up the filth on the streets?"
"We wouldn't have had to face that ghastly monster if you were doing your job! You probably brought it in here with you!", hissed Sandra Upchiddle. Her snarling face turned to Dan's. "Or you did! What kind of floor man are you?"
Mia Dickworth shoved a handful of lap dog in Dan's face. "Look what you have done, you - you ingrate! I should never have listened to my ever so socially conscious friends!" She mimed a sing song whine. "He's over fifty. No one will hire him. He was in the business. Give him a chance." Her eyes crossed in fury. "Socialist idiots! Consider yourself fired! Get out!"
Dan let out a long sigh and looked around. This is it, he thought. He'd had enough. He was desperate but not that desperate. He wanted out and there was never a more poignant exit scene than this. When he got to the door, he took one look back.
The four of them stood in front of the officer quaking with rage. Mia stepped toward him. "That goes for you too! Get out!"
The bewildered look on the policeman's face vanished. "Lady, I want you to calm down."
Cransworth, Sandra and FeeFee stepped up in unison. Mia took another step closer. "Your boss, the mayor of San Francisco just happens to be a social friend of mine."
"I have orchestra seats in the same row as the mayor at the War Memorial Opera house.", shot Cransworth.
Sandra's lips pursed. "The mayor's box is next to my husband's and mine at Oracle Park."
"We regularly have cocktails together at fundraisers for the De Young and the Legion of Honor.", smirked FeeFee.
The four of them were in the officer's face. He stepped back and frowned. "Everybody sit down right now. I have to make a report."
"A report?", gasped Mia. "This can't get out! It would ruin me!"
"Sit down! All of you!", ordered the cop. "You don't want to make this worse than it already is!"
For a moment, they froze. Then they stared down at Cutsie quivering in Mia's hands. Their eyes fell on her beautiful, specially treated Irish Wedgewood crystal coffee pot shattered on the floor. They turned to The Bridge at the sound of an agonized groan. Melania jerked into a mad grind sending a cloud of coffee dust into
the air. They looked at each other with furious indignity. Their eyes shot to the cop. They stomped towards him. He lifted his pepper spray and emptied it in their faces.
They collapsed gagging to the floor. The cop muttered into his collar and removed his handcuffs from his belt. Dan smiled and walked out the door. Five cops rushed past him into the showroom. The fog had cleared. The sun warmed his face. His bus pulled into the stop the minute he walked up to it. He was relieved to find it mostly empty and took a seat next to the window. Then the reality of his situation slid over him. He couldn't get unemployment on contract work. There was no way he could get another job in the business by the time Mia got through with him. He was too old to get a job at Walgreens stacking deodorant. Terror rose up and grabbed him by the neck. He jumped out of the bus when it pulled into a stop.
He had to walk out his panic. He was almost at a jog when he crossed the next street and stepped up to the sidewalk. His shoe caught the curb and he went flying. He landed on his chest with the pavement raking the side of his face. He lay there in astonishment, not completely realizing what had happened. When he finally looked up, he was no more than ten feet from a corner deli with tables outside. They were full of people eating their lunch. One or two of them glanced down at him before turning back to their conversations and their meals. No one got up to help him. No one asked if he was alright. He would have burst into tears if he weren't so disgusted.
Then Dan felt a hand on his shoulder. He felt a hand take his. He heard a familiar voice. "You OK, baby? That was a bad fall, Baby. Let's get up now. Come on, Mama here. Mama in your corner."
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