Strangely Normal

chapter 3


“Are you shitting me? Nicky King. Nicky f*cking King,” Dad said for the thousandth time as he paced around our small front room.

Mom and I watched in total amusement as he walked into the bedroom and returned with his small CD player and a Black Thunder CD in his hand.

“Not too loud, Jack. The girls are sleeping.” Mom reached across the table and took hold of my hand. “But you’ll be living with strangers all summer.” While Dad was ready to ship me off tomorrow, Mom had not yet come to grips with the idea.

“Nicky King is not a stranger.” Dad pushed play and his favorite song fired up. He turned down the volume and joined us at the table. “He’s Nicky King, one of the greatest rock singers of all time.”

“Do you know him personally?” Mom asked.

Dad pressed his hand to his chest dramatically. “Yes, Woman, I do. Right here in my heart and soul.”

“I’m surprised you don’t have his name tattooed on your ass,” I said.

“How do you know I don’t? Have you ever seen my ass?”

“Yes, unfortunately there was the dropped towel incident four years ago that I still haven’t recuperated from.”

“Oh yeah, sorry about that.” He leaned back in the chair and dragged his fingers through his hair. “Nicky King,” he muttered again.

Mom looked at him disgustedly. “You don’t even say my name with that much admiration.”

Dad leaned forward, took hold of her chin, and kissed her. “Rebecca.” He pronounced her name with deliberate slowness.

“Please, Dad, we eat on this table. And I haven’t actually decided to do it yet. I mean, Mom’s right. I’d be in a strange house with people I don’t know.”

“Where exactly do they live?” Mom asked.

“Beverly Hills, of course,” Dad said. “I’ve driven by his estate. It’s outrageous.”

Mom and I looked at him with raised brows.

“What?” he said. “So I’ve driven by a few times. I was just curious.”

I sat forward with wide eyes. “Oh my God, you’ve been stalking Nicky King.”

“Driving by is not stalking.”

“Yes, Jack, it sort of is.”

“I remember the time when he settled down to marry . . . a few times. And I know he had kids.” Dad rubbed the stubble on his chin in thought. “I think there was a tragedy too. One of his kids died really young. Can’t remember the details.” Dad bounced back to the present. “So what do you think, Edie? Are you going to take the job?”

“I guess Beverly Hills isn’t too far. I could take the bus home on the weekends. I think I’ll call Mrs. Vickers tomorrow and find out a few more details.”

Dad slammed his hand on the table enthusiastically. “Good idea.”

***

“Hello, Mrs. Vickers, it’s Eden Saxon.”

Dad pulled up a chair at the table to listen in on the conversation but I waved him away.

“Eden, I’m so glad you called. I was hoping you would.” Silent pause. “How are you feeling?” she asked sympathetically as if I’d left the school in an ambulance rather than on suspension.

“I’m fine. I was wondering about that job working for your cousin.”

“Yes, of course. I think it would be a great situation for both you and my niece. A month ago, my cousin, Nicky, asked if I knew of a girl who might be a fitting summer companion for his daughter, Finley. I drew up a list of names, and I must say, you were on the top of that list. The job pays three thousand a month plus all expenses for room and board.”

“Three thousand a month?” The words nearly stuck in my throat. Mom and Dad both pulled up chairs to listen.

“I figured that would be a nice start for a college fund. I feel I really let you down, Eden, by building up your hopes for scholarships. I truly believe you deserved them.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Vickers. Well, I’ve given it some thought and I think I would like to take the job. If Finley likes me, that is.”

“Of course, she will, but there will be a one week trial, which you’ll be paid for, and then if things work out you can stay the summer. I’ll call my cousin today. He’s leaving to London tonight, but he’ll be glad I’ve found someone. I’ll call Finley and let her know you’ll be there— Saturday?”

“Saturday is fine, but I’m not sure how I’ll get there.”

“I’ll drive you,” Dad said quickly.

I covered the mouth piece. “Nicky won’t be there.”

“What’s that?” Mrs. Vickers asked.

“Oh, nothing. Just let me know the address and time and I’ll be there.”

“Great. I’d drive you myself,” Mrs. Vickers said, “but my kids have soccer. I could have them send a car around to pick you up.”

“No, don’t send them here,” I blurted louder than necessary. “I’ll get a ride from my dad.”

“Terrific. And Eden—” She paused. “I’m glad I was able to help. I’ve been feeling really badly about the whole incident, but I simply had no choice but to tell the principal.”

“I know, and thanks for considering me for this job.”

***

Our family had exactly one duffle bag, and the zipper was broken so I had to fasten it together with ducky safety pins leftover from Janie’s diaper days. But what was worse than the broken duffle was the stark realization that I had very little to put in it. I had my three pairs of favorite jeans, each more faded and tattered than the next. I had two pairs of shorts and some t-shirts and tank tops, purchased mostly at yard sales. Mom had splurged on a new pair of pajamas, and I tucked those in last because they were the newest and nicest thing in the bag.

Janie and Sophie watched with round eyes as I finished packing. “Will you be back tonight, Edie?” Sophie asked looking extra cute and pouty.

“Only if things don’t work out.”

Her eyes teared up, and I reached over and threw my arms around both of them. “But I’ll take the bus home on weekends and I’ll bring you toys when I come.”

“I want a doll,” Janie mumbled around the thumb in her mouth.

“A doll it is. And what do you want, Sophie?”

She spun around on her bottom and crossed her arm. “I don’t want any toy. I just want you to stay.”

“Ahh, Sophie Bear, you’ll have Mommy and Daddy and Janie to keep you company. And you have my permission to pull out my bed and jump on it whenever you want.”

Mom leaned against the door frame. “Thanks. Now she’ll be doing that all day.” Her face softened, and she bit her lip which meant she was about to cry. No one wore sadness more beautifully, or more obviously, than my mom.

I walked over and hugged her. “Mom, are you and Dad going to be all right without me?” I sounded like the parent leaving her kids, which, in a funny way, was sort of true.

“We’ll be fine. Bored and lonely, but fine.” She took hold of my arms and looked at me. “You have fun but if anything seems strange or you get even a tiny notion that this isn’t for you, you call right away, and I’ll fire up the rust boat and come get you.” She wiped hastily at a tear that had escaped. “Speaking of the rust boat, your dad is waiting for you outside.”

Sophie and Janie each clamped onto one of my legs, and I walked stiff-legged to the door. Mom pried them off, kissed me on the cheek, and handed me the duffle. “Remember to call.”

Dad honked from the parking lot.

Mom rolled her eyes. “He’s like a kid waiting to see Santa.”

“I’ve told him that Nicky King is not going to be home. And he promised that he would just drop me off.”

“He knows all that. He’s just excited for you.”

“Bye, Mom. Love you.” I kissed my sisters and headed to the van.

I tossed my duffle into the back seat and climbed in to the front. “Is that a new noise? I’ve never heard it before.”

“Nah, she’s just cold.” Dad patted the dashboard that was split open in four places and hardly resembled a dash anymore. “She’ll be fine.” He looked at me. “Are you ready?”

“As ever.”

Early June in California meant a morning of fog that would eventually dissolve into hazy sunshine. The mist was just beginning to lift, and the blue sky was breaking through. Even though it was Saturday, the freeway was packed tightly like a can of car sardines.

“Ahh, L.A., the traffic capital of the world,” Dad sighed. The van chugged along the freeway as if we were dragging a load of bricks behind us. The CD player hadn’t worked when we’d first bought the van from the weasley-faced car salesman, but Dad had managed to get it working with the help of a paper clip. Naturally, we listened to Black Thunder. They were a bit too heavy metal and rock and roll for me but then Black Thunder was before my time.

As usual, Dad drummed his fingers on the steering wheel keeping beat with the song. Occasionally, he used his knee to steer so that he could use both hands on his imaginary drum set. After a few minutes of his drum solo, he reached forward and turned down the volume. “You know, Edie, if you get any bad feeling about this once you get there—”

“I know, Dad. Mom already gave me the call right away talk.”

“Good. Just remember.”

“Dad, I plan to send the money home for you—”

“Oh no you don’t, kiddo. That is your money. You can deposit it right into that savings account Grandma left you.” As desperate as my parents always were for money, they’d never touched the two hundred dollars my grandmother had left me before she died.

“I want you to use it for Sophie and Janie. You can’t say no when it’s for them.”

“Janie and Sophie will be fine. Save it for college. Besides, I’ve got a few good prospects coming my way.” My dad always had a few good prospects but a dismal few good offers.

He grew silent. The only sound was the occasional cough from the engine and Nicky King belting out the words to his hit song, Angel Tears.

“You know, Edie, I haven’t been the world’s best dad.”

“That’s your opinion.”

“No, seriously. I know I’ve made some mistakes, and I haven’t provided very well for you.”

“Dad, remember that time we found that old bike in the dumpster and you spent the whole afternoon teaching me to ride two wheels? And I took off but I didn’t know how to break.”

“How could I forget it? I got my first gray hairs that day. And I was only twenty- three.”

“After I crashed into the side of the parked car, I was stunned and sore, but I didn’t cry until I saw your face. You looked so freaked out when you picked me up that it scared the hell out of me.”

“Nearly dropped dead from a heart attack right then and there.”

“Exactly. That’s because you are a good dad. A good dad would be scared shitless watching his kid ride full speed into the side of a car. It didn’t matter that we’d pulled the bike out of the trash, what mattered was that you were worried that I’d hurt myself.”

Silence surrounded us again and then he spoke. “You know I’m damn proud of you, don’t you, Eden?”

“Yeah, I do. And that’s another reason you’re a great dad.”

The freeway opened up eventually and our crummy van rolled into Beverly Hills looking ridiculously out of place amongst the Corvettes and Porsches. The houses, or more appropriately, the mansions, looked like small cities with dark green lawns and manicured shrubs and trees.

Dad smiled over at me. “We’re almost there. Are you nervous?”

“I would be lying if I said I wasn’t. I just hope they like me.”

Dad held the piece of paper with directions in one hand as he steered the van down a long, shady street. He turned right up another long street lined with purple jacaranda trees.

I took hold of the directions. “What street is this?”

“This is the driveway.”

“Oh.” My mouth went dry and my stomach fluttered as if butterflies were doing an Irish river dance inside of it. We pulled up to massive black gates. In the distance, I could see an imposing mansion that looked more like a series of well-matched buildings rather than a home. The fountain out front looked larger than our entire apartment. “It looks like an English Castle.”

“King is from England originally. A lot of the big names came from Britain.” Dad cranked down the window, leaned out, and pushed the button on the intercom.

“Security,” a deep voice said through the speaker.

“Hey there,” Dad said lamely, “Uh, Eden Saxon is here for an appointment with Miss King.”

There was no further discourse, and the ornate iron gates swung open. Dad drove slowly as if we were driving through a field of land mines. His fingers were white as they gripped the steering wheel. I giggled at the irony.

“What’s so funny?” he asked.

“On the insanely crowded freeway, you used the top of your knee to drive, and here, on a deserted driveway, you’re gripping the wheel like you’re driving through a blizzard in the Alps.”

He loosened his grip and smiled. “Don’t know why. I guess I just didn’t want to make a mistake.” He leaned forward and glanced up through the windshield. “There are probably cameras all over the place.”

“I think that as long as you’re not doing donuts on the lawn, you’re safe.”

The front doors were made of highly polished dark wood cut in the shape of an arch. I stared at the doors a second and took a deep breath. “Well, here goes nothing.”

Dad leaned across the seats and hugged me. “Remember, call if things don’t work out. I can be back out here in an hour.” He leaned down to get a better view of the house. “Man, is this place something.” His gaze was riveted to the shiny front doors.

“Dad, he’s not home, remember.”

“I know.” He kissed me again.

I reached back and yanked forward my duffle bag. “Love you, Dad.”