Lass Small - A Nuisance

Tit for tat.

That only set his mind off again.

He went through his sparsely furnished house and up the stairs into his bedroom. Upstairs, his bedroom was the only furnished room. Stefan went to the shower and used the liquid soap to get rid of the remainder of the grease. Then he put on clean pajama pants and faced the fact that there wasn’t much else to do but go to bed.

So he did.

And the next thing he knew, he awoke to the alarm. His bed was a torn-up mess, and he was not rested.

So what was the problem? He sure as hell didn’t need more exercise.

He lay in his silent room in the silent house and went over his potential conversation with Mac, who was eighty-two, a childless widower and lonely. Stefan’s dad’s solution was to just go ahead and give Mac a new Jeep.

At that time, Stefan had replied, “Hell, Dad, if I did that, every yahoo in the county would come a-running, declaring their Jeep was one of mine, defective and needed to be replaced.”

So his dad had said, “For Mac’s Jeep, make it seem like a competition. It might cost you a Jeep or two, but it would salve that old man’s heart. He’s lonely. Why don’t you hire him as a salesman?”

“I thought I was supposed to hire Carrie.”

His dad had agreed. “Her, too. She’d draw men in like they’re flies after honey.”

“I can’t submit her to that sort of harassment.”

His dad had slid his eyes over to his youngest son and inquired, “Jealous?”

“I gave up on her over three months ago.”

“When was that?”

“Dad, you’re pushing it.”

His dad had shrugged. “We like her.”

“Which ‘we’? Are you implying Momma likes her?”

“You and me.”

Stefan had reminded his gene contributor, “Momma called her a tart.”

His dad had soberly nodded agreement. “It was the dress. It was like a second skin.”

“So you did notice. I thought you told Momma you hadn’t seen it.”

His dad had gestured openly. “There are just times when a man’s better off temporarily blind.”

“Now you tell me.”

“Hell, Stef, I’ve told you that ‘til I’m blue in the face! Just look!”

Stefan looked his dad over quite critically, because he was feeling critical. He said, “Your face’s pretty pink. There’s a blood vessel there that looks busted.”

“That was from the night you first took out the car, alone, with that youngest Sorrus girl.”

Stefan had sighed and shaken his head in empathy for a lousy time. “I remember that.”

“I should hope you would!”

Stefan had to remind his father, “It’s stuck in my head because I had to go and get her daddy to get his mules to haul us out of the sand.”

“That did take guts.”

“It was the car,” Stefan again vowed. “I couldn’t allow my first car to sink in quicksand.”

“But you left her inside the car,” his father had retorted in a censorious manner. “I’ve never understood that.”

“I told you. She had on high heels, and I didn’t want to wait around for her to make the trek. She was fifteen. She wobbled in high heels on a smooth surface. What if somebody else had come along, pulled the car out and took it off. I figured if she stayed in it, the car was still mine.”

“And if it sunk?”

“Dad.” Stefan had been very adult. “All this happened fourteen years ago.”

“You asked about my burst blood vessel.”

“No.” Stefan had then managed to be excruciatingly patient. “I just barely mentioned it. You asked if your face was blue from giving me sage advice.”

“Sage? You a horticulturist?”

That had done it. In order to avoid a burst blood vessel of his own then, Stefan had said, “Tell Momma I was here.”

“Probably.”

That one word had caused Stefan to hesitate on his way to the door. “Why...probably?”

“I’ll have to test how she’s feeling about you, before I admit you was here.”

“Do you realize there are people that have real, normal parents? How’d I end up with you two?” Then, hopefully, he’d asked rapidly, “Was I adopted?”

“No. You’re ours.”

“That’s scary.” And Stefan had left.

* * *

Stefan had four brothers. They were a year apart in age. Stefan was youngest. His mother had told Stefan that when he was born, and she was exhausted and groggy, his father had told her—at that time, mind you—that he’d finally figured out how to have daughters. Even Stefan’s father admitted that he could have chosen a better time for his pronouncement. His wife didn’t speak kindly to him for two years.

So why did Stefan think Carrie would be any different? She was also a touchy female, just like his mother. Well. Why was he interested in Carrie who was a rejected woman? It was that hair. And disgruntled, he thought about the fact that everybody has hair. Well, someplace on them. There aren’t very many people who are bald all over. But Carrie had all that mop of shimmery blond-strawberry hair. It was alluring. A man wanted to be wrapped in it.

He decided he’d casually mention to her that some of the men at his place had talked about the fact that she’d look better with her hair cut short. If she cut it, he figured, it ought to solve his lured-attention problem.

Then, more than likely, she’d mention something he should cut. Like his own throat.

* * *

When he came back into his house the next time, the phone was ringing, and it was that woman, Carrie, who said, “You get home okay?”

He didn’t sit down that time, he just said, “Yeah.”

“Who all did you accost?”

So he eased down and heard himself saying, “Some guys out at the lot were talking about you.”

“Naturally.”

She was snippy and just asking for some man to take charge of her and straighten her out. He went on, “And they think you’d look cute with your hair real short. I told them they were crazy.”

She hung up.

* * *

Several days passed and just about everyone in Blink heard of the scam Stefan’s dad had contrived. Stefan was going to give away a new Jeep in exchange for one from the time of World War II. Ownership had to’ve been continuous.

The idea was attention-getting. Stefan would actually trade a new Jeep for an antique. But it was worth doing because of the publicity.

Mac did win. The two runners-up each got a hundred dollars.

Kirt said thoughtfully, “Mac’s old Jeep up on a pole out front of the car lot would be a plus. Up in the air, thataway, it would be seen from the highway.”

It is odd what happenstance does. While Stefan was just trying to get Mac off his neck, the newspapers from around the area clear to San Antonio, up to Austin and over to Fredricksburg came for interviews with Stefan...and pictures!

Those combatants left from World War II were getting precious. World War II had been a “good” war. It wasn’t like the newer wars, so nasty and appalling.

Memory is selective.

Stefan had never had such publicity. It was good for business. He gave a second Jeep to his father.

Was his father delighted? No. He said furiously, “What the hell you trying to do? You want me to look like a moocher?” And he refused the Jeep.

Stefan begged God to prove he was switched at birth. Or at least adopted!

As he drove around the area for television interviews, he dreamed his real parents would recognize him and claim him. He hadn’t dreamed that since he was fourteen, just over half his life ago.

Then he heard by chance that Carrie had all his TV interviews taped! The very thought of her watching him on tape wobbled him. Why would she tape the interviews?

But he overheard his father say, “Our VCR went crazy and chewed up tapes, but Carrie volunteered to tape the TV bits on Stefan for us. She has a double VCR that can hold twelve hours of—”