Family Issues Ch. 05

"Okay, but no ice-cream. Just looking at ice-cream makes my butt bigger- Hey, don't be a creep," she said as Kevin checked her butt, but she was sure glad that he did.

-----

Helen licked her ice cream, closed her eye and tilted her head back. "Worth every calorie," she said.

"Plus, it's good for you," Kevin said. "I've read an article that researchers in NYU proved that an ice-cream a day makes a man healthy, wealthy and wise."

"That and smoking cigars."

"You read it too?" He tried to steal a lick off her cone, but she raised it out of reach.

"Mine, all mine."

Kevin's mobile hummed. "Hey, it's my former landlord."

"Mrs. Lewinski? Hi. Long time. How are you doing?

"Thanks. I miss you too.

"That old thing? I told you a thousand times-"

"Yeah, I'll come over. You just need the pipes cleaned. I'll drop by first thing tomorrow morning, before my first lecture."

"Tonight? I can't. I'm hanging out with a friend. Helen Brion. Yeah, that Helen Brion."

"I'll tell her."

"Oh, come on, Mrs. Lewinski. I'm sure that-"

"I'll... Okay, I'm actually not far from your place. Yeah. See you soon." He ended the call. "You got a 'Best Wishes' from Mrs. Lewinski, and we need to make a little detour," he said.

"To Mrs. Lewinski's house? I can take a cab from here back home."

"She'll be happy to see you."

"Are you sure?" Helen blushed.

"Why are you so weird about it?"

"Well, you said..."

"What?" Kevin said.

"That she needs her pipes cleaned."

Kevin smacked his palm against his forehead. "Jesus, you're still thinking that my seventy-year-old former landlord and I are dancing the horizontal mambo. You actually believe that she was my sugar momma, don't you? Her washing machine is broken, Helen."

"Oh."

"And stop thinking all those nasty thoughts about me. That's hardly fair, and you shouldn't treat someone who cares about you like that, okay?"

"Sorry. Really."

"Hmph..."

"Why do you need to fix her washing machine?"

Kevin shrugged. "I don't need to; I want to. She's a friend."

Mrs. Lewinski's home was an old house in an avenue of ancient houses facing the park. It had the charm of the country, but apparently, the insides had all the benefits of a modern penthouse. A gray stone wall confined a rose garden, and a rusty looking greenhouse, from which the sounds of singing came out.

"Who's singing?" Helen said.

"There's a band who call themselves 'the Anarchist Dream', and Mrs. Lewinski let them use her greenhouse for rehearsals."

"Never heard of them."

"They're very big in... I wanted to say, in the computer science faculty, but that would be a lie. They do protest songs mainly. Billy Bragg, Bob Dylan, that sort of thing. But I've never heard this girl. She must be new. She rocks."

Helen had to agree. The invisible singer had a clear contralto, and she gave a perfect acapella performance of Hozier's 'Take me to church.

Kevin banged on the house's door. "She's half deaf, and the other half can't hear shit," he said.

"I think she sometimes pretends she can't hear when she doesn't want people to argue with her," Helen said.

Mrs. Lewinski, Kevin's former landlord, gave Kevin a warm hug when she saw him and a light peck on the cheek for Helen. A tiny Futanari, she was shorter than Kevin, was in her seventies, grey-haired and dark-eyed. Mrs. Lewinski had a gentle expression and misleading frailness behind a mesh of wrinkles. Deceptive, because when Helen negotiated the contract to buy her apartments, she met a sharp mind with the stubbornness of a wild boar.

Kevin entered the house to see what could be done with the misbehaving washing machine, while Mrs. Lewinski served coffee and cakes on the porch for Helen and herself.

"He is just the sweetest soul," Mrs. Lewinski said.

"Who? Kevin?" Helen took a sip of the coffee. It was too strong to her taste. "Yeah, he's something else."

"You two...?" The old futanari smiled.

"Oh, no," Helen blushed. "We're just friends, hanging out together."

"He's a real gem. I should have charged you double for the apartment just because it came along with him."

"Yeah, he's great. A little late on the rent, but still, he's amazing."

"His stupid dad's fault, not the kid's fault."

"His father's fault?"

"The old man got into some debt, and he thinks his son should pay it every month." Mrs. Lewinski grunted as she dragged two chairs for her and Helen to sit on. She nodded her thanks when Helen took them from her hands. "Don't tell Kevin, but I called his father once, and asked how come he thinks it's fine to drop such a heavy burden on the shoulders of his twenty-year-old kid."

"What did his father say to you?"

"Not to butt my nose in where it doesn't belong."

"Kevin never said anything," Helen said.

"He's probably not too proud of it. Don't be hard on him, Helen, concerning the rent. I know it's not my business to ask you to be generous with your money, but he's a really good kid. The minute he can, he'll pay you back whatever he owes."

"Yeah." Helen blushed. Forcing Kevin to be with her sister was as hard on him as it gets.

"The drive belt fell off the splutch pulley," Kevin came out of the house, wiping his hands on a towel, "It's all worn out. I've put it back on, and it should be fine for some time. I'll drop by in a couple of days and replace it."

"How much does a belt cost?" Mrs. Lewinski said.

"Ten, twenty dollars tops. What I don't get is why you keep that rusty dinosaur?"

"So, if something is old and rusty," Mrs. Lewinski pointed at herself, "then you just dump it and buy a new shinier model?"

"Definitely!" Kevin said, and Mrs. Lewinski laughed.

"I told you he's a gem, Helen. You two should consider being more than just good friends."

"Rachel?" Kevin said.

"What? Helen is a real catch, kid. She won't let it show, but she has a good heart, not to mention a dynamite body."

"Rachel, please behave," Kevin said.

"Bubeleh, I had a lifetime of behaving. I've reached a point in life when I can say whatever the fuck I want. Hey Mike," she hollered at a heavyset young man coming out of the greenhouse. "What the fuck did I tell you about trampling my garden like a hog?"

"Sorry, Mrs. L., won't happen again!" The guy jumped clumsily back to the paved trail. Mike had the pale complexion of someone who spent too much time indoors, he had black, not so clean looking dreadlocks reaching almost to his ass, and he carried an acoustic guitar. "Kevin, bro, what's good?"

"Nothing much. Who's your new singer?"

"Her? She's the bomb!" Mike said.

The rest of the band came out of the greenhouse. A tall guy with a keyboard, a drummer, a girl with a trumpet, and a bassist. They all appeared to be around Kevin's age.

"Helen, Anarchist Dream, Anarchist Dream, Helen." Kevin smiled. "Helen, this is Brandon on the bass, Noah on the keyboard, Jack, the drummer, and Grace plays a mean horn. The one with the dreads, Mike, is the self-appointed bandleader, and the most reliable source of weed in the entire university."

"Is this the girlfriend we've been hearing about?" Grace, a brunette with a crooked smile and puffy cheeks, said.

"No way," Mike said. "Not in a bazillion years."

"What if she is?" Kevin said.

"Swank, dude! She's way prettier than you. You could do a lot worse."

"Fuck off."

"Fuck off next Wednesday, Kev, and I mean that with love."

"I'm not his girlfriend. I'm single." Helen got a kick off Mike calling her pretty, enough to like him for the moment. "Did you hear that, Kevin? He thinks I'm pretty."

"Who doesn't?" Mike said. "I totally dig the sexy pirate vibe, by the way."

"It's not a fashion statement, you dipwad," Kevin said. "She served with the marines, and she was injured in Iraq. Got a Bronze Star to show for it."

"Wicked," Mike went for a fist bump, and Helen complied because he called her pretty. "That's exactly what this band is all about. We aim to expose the lies of the bosses who send the working man to die in their wars."

"Slow down, Trotsky, she's way out of your league," Mrs. Lewinski smirked. "Little working man my ass."

"Yeah, Mike, for someone who never worked a day in his life, what do you know-?" Kevin stopped in mid-sentence because at that moment the band's new singer came out of the greenhouse and he had a panic attack. She was a tall girl with her blonde hair in a pixie cut, her extra-long legs barely covered by a mini skirt.

"Hey, Kev." Ginger smiled, but her smile was visibly strained.

"Hi," Kevin choked.

"Why is Kevin getting a facial erection?" Mike looked at Kevin and then at Ginger, back and forth. "What is happening? Someone please tell me. How come I'm always the last to know any gossip?"

"I...I need to talk to Ginger in private," Kevin stuttered.

"Ooooh," Mike and Mrs. Lewinski said together, and everyone laughed except for the two who were the butt of the joke.

Ginger nodded and motioned him to follow her into the greenhouse.

"Hey," he said when they were out of earshot. "I didn't know you were part of Mike's band, or that you have such an amazing voice."

She scanned his face before answering. Her eyes weren't exactly cold, but there was a wall between them that wasn't there before. "Are you sure you wanna talk to me, Kevin?"

"What do you mean?"

"Because the last message from you said that someone will slice my dick off and use it as a rope to hang me if I ever go near you again."

He gave a bitter laugh. "Diana saw your happy birthday message and freaked out."

"I figured it wasn't you."

"I'm sorry. I wanted to call and apologize, but Diana wiped out every trace of you from the mobile. I didn't even know what faculty you're in to search you up today. Are you mad?"

"Shaken. I'm not used to getting death threats."

"Diana is all bark." He looked around for a place to sit, noting sadly that the little fish-pool Mrs. Lewinski paid him to assemble in the greenhouse was dry. Mrs. Lewinski probably forgot to take care of it. "Diana's not a gangster like she would make you believe. But I understand if you'd like me to keep my distance."

"I think you're in a bad relationship, Kevin."

"Tell me about it."

"Maybe you should consider keeping your distance from her?"

"Like I said, it's complicated."

"Sometimes we think things are when they're not," she leaned and kissed him tenderly. Her lips were warm and soft on his, and the kiss ended far quicker than he wished. "I'll add my number to one of your co-worker's profiles, and I won't send any more messages. But the offer still stands."

They went back to the porch. Mrs. Lewinski made the band carry chairs and a small table for everyone to sit around. She also brought out cold lemonade and homemade cookies. Kevin noted that Helen felt comfortable enough not to take the backseat. She joked with Mike and answered Grace's inquiries about her service in Iraq. It felt great to see her crawling out of her shell. Somewhere, wherever she was, he knew his mother was looking down at him and smiling.

"Roll me a J, Mike." Mrs. Lewinski suddenly said.

"A what?"

"Grass, what's it called nowadays? Tea, a roach, a J? Hotboxing?"

"I don't follow." Mike totally did, but Mrs. Lewinski was seventy-something, and Mike wasn't used to fuddy-duddy grannies asking him to roll them one, even if she was a loudmouth granny like Mrs. Lewinski. "What's hotboxing?"

"Don't play cute with me, Mikey. I've been around the block, and I know what you have in that guitar case."

Mike ruffled his dreadlocks, a perplexed look on his face. "It's hardcore stuff, Mrs. L."

"Bubeleh, I was doing psychedelics in the sixties; back when dreadlocks were a black people thing, kapisch?"

Mike gave Kevin a desperate 'help me' look, but Kevin shrugged. "Okay," he rolled one joint and gave the old lady. "Go slow."

"Yay, freebies." Ginger clapped.

"Fuck no," Mike said.

"What's going on, Trotsky?" Mrs. Lewinski took a deep hit like she was born with a joint. "How come when it's your money, you're going capitalist all of a sudden?"

"It's a mystery. Like the female orgasm or why bedwetters go into politics. No one knows." Mike rolled a joint for Ginger.

"I want one too," Helen said and immediately blushed.

Mike gave her a deep bow. He took care to roll her a perfect joint, and he lit it up for her.

Helen gave a gracious smile, then took a hit and coughed.

"Slow down, tiger," Kevin patted her back a couple of times.

"Just a little out of practice." She took a slower hit, filling her lungs, waiting for a few seconds before exhaling. "Better?"

"Like a pro."

"That's what I call living." Mrs. Lewinski sat down and lifted her legs on the small table. "Old school vibes and sexual harmony. What I'm missing now is good jamming like we used to do when that son-of-a-bitch Nixon was in the Whitehouse. Kevin, play something nice."

"Sure." Kevin pulled out Mike's guitar. "I'm a little rusty, so don't judge." He gave the strings an experimental caress, then rose, bowed, and sat himself on the porch's rail. "My next song is by an awesome dude called Colin Hay from Down Under, and it's dedicated to a very special girl."

"Let me guess," Mike lit a joint for himself, took a hit and passed it around. "Her name is Ginger."

"Her name is Valkyrie, actually," Kevin said. "She's one of them beautiful souls the universe chucks your way from time to time. And if you're just smart enough, you might notice how beautiful they are, even if they work hard at hiding it."

"Huh?" Mike said.

Helen took a slow hit and smiled at him. Kevin started playing. Like his cooking, his guitar playing skills were superb. Kevin didn't like doing things halfway.

"And you say, be still my love; Open up your heart, Let the light shine in.

But don't you understand, I already have a plan, I'm waiting for my real life to begin."

Helen looked around. Hers was a world of million-dollar contracts, fast instincts, and hard competition. You were expected to walk on corpses from time to time. Kevin's world was the kind that when a friend called because their washing machine was broken, you dropped by and fixed it. She wanted a world relocation.

"When I awoke today, suddenly nothing happened; But in my dreams, I slew the dragon.

And down this beaten path, up this cobbled lane, I'm walking in my old footsteps, once again."

The song wasn't just for her, it was about her, and even though the words were sad they filled her with wonder. She tried to remember the last time she felt like this and couldn't. Excited, maybe even a little, reckless, and there was something else; happiness. A warm buzz that begins in the stomach and envelopes everything. Feeling content at nothing in particular, just about being.

"And you say, just be here now, forget about the past; your mask is wearing thin.

Just let me throw one more dice, I know that I can win; I'm waiting for my real life to begin."

Helen's mask was wearing thinner with every passing minute. Maybe it was the weed, perhaps it was the easy company, and a lot of it was probably the young man that used to live downstairs, who now lived in her house and was fast taking a permanent residence in her heart. She gave a solemn oath to stop walking in her old footsteps, and to never again wait for her real life to begin.

----

"Fuck, no! Did they just kill Eddard Stark?" Kevin stared at the screen, mouth agape. "Fuck no! Wow... I didn't see that coming."

Helen wore that smug little smile, that people who read the Game of Thrones books have when they watch people who haven't, tumble with one of the show's first great upsets.

"He was my favorite coolest dude. Who are they gonna kill next, Khaleesi?"

"Her name is not Khaleesi, it's Daenerys."

"I don't wanna watch your stupid show no more," Kevin said.

"Okay. Should I play the next episode?"

"...Sure."

"Mwahaha!" She rubbed her palms. "The power of Game of Thrones."

They were taking it easy on the living room couch, the end of a hard day for both, and munching on a Bananas Foster. Kevin did the cooking and Helen did the complaining that she'd added five pounds since Kevin came to live in their house. She managed to convince Kevin that watching good TV shows was sometimes as good as going to the movies, especially if it was in the Brion Penthouse, with its 75-inch flat TV and a sound system that could put any modern theatre to shame. She also introduced him to HBO, particularly Games of Thrones, with its court intrigues, dragons, ten boobs an hour, and ice zombies. Watching TV with a friend was a new experience for her, and Kevin's Game of Thrones virginity added a refreshing perspective to the experience.

"Actually, don't play another episode. I've got to study." Kevin fired up his ancient laptop. "I have an assignment due next week."

"There's a whole seven days until next week. Plus, the next episode is even more extreme."

"Helen, you're dragging my grades down. My mom used to warn me about girls like you."

"Mrs. Lewinski says I'm a catch."

"You're a slippery slope, that's what you are. First, it's another episode of Game of Thrones, next you're selling your body to the other hobos sharing your cardboard box to support your meth addiction. No episode. Study."

"Total bum sauce, Kev."

"Yeah, and stop quoting Mike. He's not cool, he's just childish."

"Sure thing, mom." Helen fired up her own laptop. "If you're studying, I'm guessing I'm working. Let's see. 'Cushman & Wakefield 2017 first quarter review of east side survey by the numbers.' Fun. Fun. Fun." She gave a dramatic sigh.

"Emotional blackmail doesn't work here no more, Helen. It moved to Nevada."

"Say what?"

"Sigh a little louder."

"Oh, you saw through that? Damn you, you're so perceptive. Foiled again." She sighed deeply.

"Grrrr! Compensatory Café au lait Louisiana style?"

"Yes, please." Helen gave him an innocent smile, stretched her tall body on the couch and kicked him off the couch. "Just remember it's scalded milk not boiling milk. And maybe a little ice-cream on the side. But just a pinch, okay?"

"Just a pinch, okay?" He imitated her voice and Helen laughed.

Even working when Kevin was in the room was a different experience than she was used to. It was so good that she almost completely stopped burning the candle at both ends. She started coming home early in hope of finding him there. If Kevin noticed her change of pattern he didn't say anything, for which she was grateful. Tonight, Diana worked unexpectedly late, and that had its own merit. There was always a tension when she was around, even if she never said anything about Helen and Kevin's movie date nights. Plus, if she wasn't at home, she couldn't drag Kevin away to the bedroom.

Kevin was in the kitchen, warming the milk, when his phone rang.

"Hello?" he said.

"Hi, angel," the voice had the slight accent that reminded him of a faraway land where women wore Burkas and Hijabs. It also made his heart beat much faster.

"Hey, Nadine. How you been?"

"Missing you. A lot."

"That's nice," he said.

"Asshole. Can you be less enthusiastic? A girl says she misses you. The least you can do is say that you miss her right back."

"I do, Nadine. I... I miss you a lot."

"Hmmm... Try harder."

"That night, I can't stop thinking about it. I never had anything like it before."

"Or after."

He laughed. "How did you get my number?"

"I have my mysterious ways."

"Like God?"

"I took it off Diana's phone when she was busy doing...you know... So if you want me that much, then why don't you come over again? I'll make you feel even better. We'll make it last longer. I want to spend the night with you, Kevin, and wake up with you in my arms."