Angel Colón: No Happy Endings

“There are far worse things than getting arrested, devushka .” Aleksei motioned for the twins to stand and the three walked out together.

Fantine stayed seated. She watched the room. Eyed the young men milling around nervously. They edged towards the nurses’ station as if they were going to ask someone to dance. There were a few veterans in the place as well. Those chosen few who knew their way around a sperm bank—deposits were old hat for them. The idea of it; that someone would pay so much for the genetic material of any of these people felt ludicrous. She understood the purpose—even if she never wanted kids—but it was the price tag that really got to her. She never met a man worth a quarter what he thought. Even her father—and she loved him.

Fantine stood up and walked over to the nurses’ station. Cut off a particularly heavyset kid who seemed to have a case of leg stutters—he couldn’t make it to that desk. She smiled to the man sitting behind the desk and writing on a ledger. He wore purple scrubs and was fit. Looked as if he’d been a model in a former life, but the thin, red scar running from his left temple and down his face to the base of his jaw seemed to ruin that idea.

“Excuse me?” Fantine turned on the charm.

He looked up and nodded. “Yes?” There was a hint of accent to the voice. His eyes were grey—cold as stone.

Fantine cleared her throat and fidgeted. She could tell if the charm was on, it wasn’t working. “I know you probably don’t do the procedure here, but do you have any information on in-vitro? My partner and I are beginning to look into starting a family and…”

The nurse lifted a broad hand for her to stop talking. Turned in his chair for a moment and spun back around. He produced a stack of leaflets and pamphlets. “This is all we have.” He slapped them on the counter and went back to his ledger.

“Great.” Fantine scooped up the papers. She leaned in to get a glimpse of the nurse’s nametag. J. Placido . “Thanks Mister Placido.” She turned to walk away.

“I apologize, but how do you know my name?” His tone was pleasant, but there was something underneath. Was it anger?

Fantine arched an eyebrow and turned around. “Your name tag.” She pointed to his chest.

Nurse Placido looked down at his chest as if he’d discovered a dark secret. “Oh, my mistake.” He forced a smile. “I always forget I have it on.” A forced chuckle. “I probably put it on my T-shirts when I have the day off.”

“Sure.” Fantine nodded. “Have a good one.” This time she rushed out the door. Placido skeeved her out, hell, everything about this place felt off. She didn’t want to linger any more than she needed.

Outside, the streets were a little more active. Nobody seemed to pay the building any mind, and really, why would they? Fantine couldn’t remember ever seeing or knowing where a sperm bank was. Sure, she knew about them—probably made the off-color joke or two in her time—but she never outright had confirmation they existed. That sperm would be so valuable was a fact she’d never imagined. Now she wondered about the logistics. Her specialty was breaking and entering. Hazardous medical materials—not so much. What if something spilled? Worse; what if it spilled on her? She fought the dry heaves the thoughts invoked and rushed off towards the closest subway station.

There was still the matter of getting extra information at her job. If Aleksei was right and this place used her company’s locks, she needed to make sure there wouldn’t be any surprises.

Pete stood outside the entrance of the subway. He was blocking Fantine’s way. His hands dug into his pocket. He looked about as grey as the clouds wrapped around the tops of the glass buildings flanking them. “Hey…” He rocked back and forth like a scolded child.

Fantine reared back and shoved him as hard as she could. A part of her hoping he’d take a tumble down the stairs behind him.

Pete stumbled back down the first few steps. Grabbed the railing to keep from cracking his head open. His eyes went wide. After he found his footing, he looked back to her. Kept his distance. “Dude, I get it.”

Fantine wanted to leap on him, to punch his stupid, pudgy, lying face until it changed shape. “You set this whole thing up. Did you need money? What was it, asshole?” She made a move towards him, her fist cocked back.

Pete held a hand up. “Dude, just hold up, hold up.”

“Stop calling me dude .” Fantine kicked at him and missed. She turned to see Aleksei and the Twins watching in silence. “You really shit on this friendship, man.”

Pete nodded. “Fan, I’m so sorry.”

“Oh, suck my dick.”

“Ma cut me off. We’re already behind on rent. I can’t get a job; I have no fucking qualifications. All I ever did was odd jobs for my dad.” He gestured to his father weakly. “If I didn’t reach out to him, we’d be in a bigger hole than we already are.”

“We?” Fantine turned back to Pete. “That’s the royal we, right? Because I hand you my share every month on time. Always on time,” her voice was rising. People were watching, slowing down to listen in. Whatever. Fantine didn’t care. A part of her hoped this would cause the job to go belly up. “What the hell were you doing with our money?” She ran a hand over her face. “And seriously, how can you be such a typical goddamned loser?”

“Look, what matters is we talk,” Pete said.

“Talk? You could have told me you needed money. Dude, I have enough from the dispatch gig to take a hit. I’m no Scrooge McDuck, but it’s there.” The anger took over and she swung her bag against Pete’s head. “What the hell else do I spend my extra money on? My dad and the locks I fuck with—food, that’s all.”

Pete looked to the ground in shame. “I’ve tried everything except getting a gig at Wendy’s or fucking Mickey D’s. I’m a fuck up, Fan. I’ll own that, but come on. This,” he lowered his voice and leaned in, “this is a good opportunity for all of us and you said it. Your money needs to go to your dad. How could I ask you to get me out of the hole?”

Fantine tried composing herself, though she really wanted to hit Pete again—and again. She took a breath. “Out of the hole? Are you in debt to anyone? Is that a part of this mess?” No, those weren’t questions Pete was entitled to. This was long past any phase of providing sympathy and a shoulder to lean on. He’d pulled her back into a life she’d never wanted to have to fall back into. Fantine threw her hands up and shook her head. “No, I don’t want to know. Whatever it is, you can bury yourself.” Fantine slung her bag over her shoulder. “Fuck off, Pete. Seriously, I’m not saying this out of anger.” She walked past him. “Take every excuse, every single ridiculous reason, and shove it straight up your ass. Then die in a fire.”

Fantine stomped away from them—an intense feeling of déjà vu increasing her anger. Pete didn’t pursue her. He knew better. Neither did Aleksei or the twins.

As she climbed down the steps of the nearest subway station, she felt happy. Not happy in the sense that things were okay. Things were absolutely not okay. Still, she eased herself of a burden. Pete had issues bigger than hers—even with her momentary falling off of the wagon. It left her incensed that Pete would place her father in this position—threatened. She could have dealt with him approaching her and begging. There was no guarantee she’d have helped, but it would have been a better scenario than sending his dad in to strong arm her into this.

And through it all, there was a part of Fantine that wanted to blame her mother. To lay it all on a dead woman’s shoulders. That was bullshit, though. She’d taught Fantine the trade, but she wasn’t the one who pushed her into the life.