3:Cujo Rises Again

July 4

“I can’t tell you how glad I am that the whole thing is done and over with,” Jon vehemently declared as the sun began to sink behind the trees in his youngest brother Matt’s back yard. 

It had been quite some time since he’d shared the Independence Day holiday with his brothers and their families, and it surprised him how much he was enjoying himself.  Maybe it was because his own kids were all around him for the first time in a month.  Maybe it was just knowing that he was still part of somebody’s family, even though his marriage was over. 

Whatever the case, it was comforting to watch his college-age children, Jesse and Stephanie, help their brothers and cousins get a head start on fireworks by lighting sparklers for them. 

Matt’s school-age children, Isabella and Rocco, were sword fighting with theirs.  Their middle brother Tony’s toddlers, Micah Jane and Lucas, were timid with the crackling sticks and held them as far away as their little arms would allow.  Jon’s younger two boys, Jake and Romeo, were participating by writing what they considered “invisible” dirty words in the air with the trail of glowing chemicals.

The only thing that could have made it perfect in his mind was his parents’ presence.  They had blown off their children and grandchildren this year in favor of an Alaskan cruise, stating that an escape from mid-summer heat was exactly what people their age needed.  He didn’t begrudge them the trip, but still… 

It was more proof that life wasn’t perfect.

“Jesus, I didn’t realize things had gotten that bad between you and Dottie,” his middle brother Tony commented with surprise, leaning one hip against the wooden deck railing where his beer was parked.  “What happened that I don’t know about?”

Shaking his head as the last swallow of wine went down, Jon pushed out of his lounge chair and took the two steps he needed to reach the bar and snag the Pinot Grigio from its surface.  Dropping onto his chair, he tipped the bottle and assured,  “Dottie and I are fine, but her goddamn lawyer made my life miserable for two fucking months, and my bank account is gonna suffer longer than that.  The only thing I can thank that bitch for is my latest song, ‘Knockout’, because that’s what I want to do to her.”

Matt visibly flinched in the big, cushioned patio chair that took up the opposite corner of the deck.  “Jeez, man, you’re not usually into violence against women.  What the fuck did she do?”

“My God, you wouldn’t believe the petty bullshit.” 

Jon went on to colorfully illustrate his trials and tribulations at the hands of one of Satan’s minions and her settlement terms from Hell.  His sisters-in-law emerged from the house and joined the group somewhere in the middle of his tale, and they listened along until he had exhaustively extolled all of the lawyer’s evil virtues.

“Well…  Not that it’s any of my business,” came the soft Kentucky drawl of Tony’s wife, Lilah, who had jumped up on the railing to perch beside her husband’s beer.  “But was the lawyer right?  Did you try and lowball Dorothea on all that stuff?”

Glaring at the woman who was closer to his ex than she was Jon, he flatly declared, “No I did not.  The lawyer is just a bitch with some secret agenda.  Friend of yours, Lilah?”

“Hey, hey,” Tony interceded, taking on the role of peacemaker.  Wrapping one hand around his wife’s extended middle finger, he determinedly guided her hand down into her lap to say, “Lilah isn't like that nor does she have friends like that, and if you don’t lighten up, you aren’t going to have any friends period.  In a not-so-subtle change of topic, are we still on for the Hamptons?  Or did that get screwed over in the divorce?”

His brother might have subdued Lilah’s hand gesture, but he couldn’t stifle her grumbling, “You’re just cranky because I forgot your cookies.”

“Damn right.  I only play nice when you bring suckerpoodles.” 

Jon was perfectly aware that her baking specialty was snickerdoodles, but he derived a perverse pleasure from rattling her cage with the deliberate mispronunciation.  She probably thought he was idiot enough to believe she used ground dogs in her cookie recipe, and he found that unaccountably entertaining, too.  The quasi-relationship he had with Lilah was slightly twisted and not always congenial, but it was theirs.

“Your pretended dislike for one another is getting old, so can it,” Desiree piped up from what looked to be a comfortable seat on her behemoth husband’s lap.  It was ironic that, as the little brother of the group, Matt was also the biggest.  “Yes or no on the Hamptons?”

“Yes.”  

Jon didn’t even have to think before making the adamant declaration.  Come hell or high water, he would spend the month of August with his family in that house, even if it turned out to be a last hurrah.  He still hadn’t decided whether to sell the place or buy out Dorothea’s half but, either way, he had until the end of September to write her a check. 

Everything else – including Charlie Del Vecchio’s blood money – would be finalized on Monday.  If he was more of an asshole, he’d have the accountant put a stop payment on that particular check, but he wasn’t and it was one of the few times he regretted having a strong moral fiber.  He’d really, really like to do what felt good this time around instead of what was right.

“Good,” Matt approved, and the others also murmured their satisfaction with that answer.  “Now it’s time to talk about the fan club trip.”

Fan club trips.  The events that Jon loved to hate. 

He couldn’t complain too much because they were normally set up around another out of town appointment on his calendar.  He didn’t complain at all because the people who attended those trips were part of the larger population who allowed him to continue working.  Without their support, he wouldn’t be where he was, nor could he stay where he was, and Jon appreciated it enough to give them something special every time Matt cooked up one of these things.  Most times, he even legitimately enjoyed it.

“You’ve got these things down to a science, and I just did one in May.  What’s to talk about?”

“We’re at capacity for this one, but I’ve got a fucking pit bull who doesn’t want to take no for an answer, no matter how many times I tell it to her.”

Jon still had no idea why this was a topic of conversation.  “That has nothing to do with me; it’s your problem.”

“I agree,” his brother assured him with an apologetic shrug.  “But the pit bull says you know her, so I’m extending her the courtesy of mentioning it.”

“Yeah, right,” he snorted, crossing his ankles on the lounger and tipping up a newly filled glass of wine.  Nobody that he knew would want into a damn fan club event.  “What’s her name?”

“Charlie Del Vecchio.”

Jon instinctively sucked in an angry breath and it wasn’t the best possible reaction, given that his mouth was full of Pinot Grigio at the time.  Coughing and choking on the few drops that went down the wrong pipe, he uncrossed his ankles to put one foot down on either side of the lounger and plant his wine glass on the wooden deck.

“Oh, hell no!” he spluttered with a fierce scowl, wiping at the front of his white t-shirt while four sets of eyes regarded him with interest.  “That’s Dorothea’s piece of fuck lawyer.  She can kiss my ass in the middle of goddamn Broadway and the answer would still be no!  I don’t want her setting foot in that venue.”

Sweet Jesus.  The woman not only collected balls for a living, she evidently saved them all for her personal use.  After the merry-go-round of petty-minded bullshit she’d put him on, how else could she have enough nerve to drop his name for a favor?  Her mental imbalances went beyond her hatred of men.

“Okay, okay,” Matt placated from behind Desiree and held up a hand.  “Calm the fuck down.  I’ll take care of it.”

He’d better.  If Jon encountered that woman in a setting that required him to maintain his public persona, you might as well sign him up for an aneurysm.

Tony was thinking in the same vein but, unlike their brother, he had no interest in placating Jon.  He preferred to mock him with condescending laughter from the edge of the deck.

“You better make sure that you do, Matty.  Word of advice though.  If you don’t get it taken care of, be sure and keep TMZ on speed dial because big brother is gonna lose his shit in a room full of smartphones.  That video will go for top dollar.”

Jon treated him to much the same glare he’d given Lilah.  “Your wife is rubbing off on you.  See if you can get a shot for that shit before we all catch it.”

“Oh, lighten up, buttercup.”  Rather than being insulted, she laughed right along with her husband.  “Or I’ll parade her in there myself while Tony does the video.  We could always use an extra paycheck.”

Tipping up his glass – again – he decided that another bottle of wine was going to be vital to enduring the rest of this family get together.  “Do it, and he’ll never see another paycheck from me,” he promised in all seriousness .  “You have no idea how malicious this woman is.  She would probably sabotage the whole damn event for kicks.  The further she stays away from me, the happier I’m going to be.”

“Oh, for pity’s sake,” his sister-in law scoffed.  “She can’t be nearly as bad as you’re makin’ her out to be.  The way you’re carryin’ on, people would think she’s the Antichrist.”

She might very well be.  It wouldn’t surprise him.  For all he knew, she had a sacrificial altar to the devil set up in her living room – undoubtedly stocked with voodoo dolls and special potions made of ground testicles.  Hell, she probably lived in a crypt.

Motherfucking Cujo bitch.