When she comes to, she finds herself face to kneecaps with the creature. The she-male looks concerned and is hovering at an uncomfortably close distance. Beside her wheelchair is a bucket of washcloths. Laser notices the multiple damp wash cloths littered over her own body. So many wash cloths. It’s weird, but she is grateful. The apartment is not air conditioned.
Her mind is foggy, but she begins to see. She overheated and fainted. The she-male brought out her store of wash cloths to revive her. Kind. She considers putting this defrauding business behind her and calling it a day. She makes a move to sit up, but her body has turned to lead and doesn’t comply. Fine then. She can take a hint. As soon as she regains control of her limbs, she will put into motion this dreaded confrontation. No running away. Anyway, her therapist will be disappointed if she doesn’t act out what they have been practicing for the last three sessions.
Her eyes scan the section of the living room she can see without having to move her head. She lands on a large whiteboard with the words, THE RULES OF GOLDBERG, printed perfectly in capital letters. Laser also notes the music playing—Frank Sinatra’s, My Way. It appears to be on repeat. Goldberg’s theme song? Curious. More curious, Laser suddenly realizes, is how she made it over to the couch in the first place. She decides to speak. The creature seems unwilling to break the ice and the silence is, frankly, freaking Laser out.
“Are you Goldberg Fields?” The words burst out of Laser’s mouth. She has never been good with gentle lead-ins in conversation.
“I sure am,” the creature replies just as directly. Nothing seems to faze this Goldberg. Perhaps this isn’t the first time one of her fraud victims has come calling. “My parents were hippies,” she says.
“Oh.” Laser is confused by the hippie comment. She still feels a little off-kilter and extraneous bits of information are distracting. “Um…thanks for the wash cloths. It’s really hot out today.”
“Yes, you fainted at the front door. And I must say, I almost fainted myself trying to get you over to the couch. Fortunately, I can get in and out of this thing.” Goldberg strokes the arm of her wheelchair and then gives it a quick buzz frontward and backward. Is she showing off?
“That’s handy,” Laser mutters. This Goldberg is a master manipulator. That much is clear. “Not much into air conditioning?” she can’t help but ask. The coolness of the washcloths has dissipated and they’re starting to feel like blankets.
“No, I’m not. This heat suits me just fine. It’s you young folk that don’t hold up. Would you like something to eat or a glass of juice? Perk you up for sure.” She has already whizzed into what Laser can only presume to be the kitchen, leaving her no time to protest. Though Laser has already made up her mind to not ingest any concoction coming out of this apartment.
Her eyes are heavy. She closes them for a second. When she opens them, Goldberg is standing over her with a tall glass of green liquid.
“Juice?” Goldberg offers almost eerily.
Laser is suddenly frightened. She faints. Again. The last thing she sees is the white board, THE RULES OF GOLDBERG starting to spin…
3 Comments
Such suspense. I was just wishing–after your “Something really boring” that you would give us another installment. Exciting! Scary! Keep it coming. (Reminds me of the Cohen Brothers!. . .but with your own inimitable twist.
I wish I were writing something like this instead of a thesis!
Frank Sinatra is a hoot–as bad as he always was. Are you aware there was a ‘christian’ version of the song: “I did it His way!” Isn’t that awful?
Oh my frick, you’ve got me edgy and a little irritated with the suspense! I come on expecting a little info and I leave feeling tense…must mean you’re doing your writerly job seeing as you’re eliciting a real response from me – mean woman.
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