Part 2 (1/2)
”Yes, yesterday was the funeral.”
”Yesterday was the funeral, and you managed to slime your way into our apartment the same night. How very resourceful of you.” This was a creepy guy, smart and wily and drunk and way too f.u.c.king good-looking. He was the kind of guy who knew he could get away with complete s.h.i.+t, and say and do completely s.h.i.+tty things because he was both great-looking and smart. I wanted to get away from this guy as fast as I could, but I couldn't give any more ground. If I did, there was no question I'd be kicked out of there, and where was I supposed to go?
”Okay, you got my name, how about you give up yours?” I said. ”Somebody Drinan, yeah? Pete, that's your first name? So that makes you Pete Drinan. Bill was your dad?”
”Give the little lady a prize,” he said with a smirk.
”Well, listen, Pete Drinan,” I said. ”I'm not going anywhere tonight. Now that you know who I am? Maybe you should just p.i.s.s off.”
”Maybe you should stop thinking you have any rights here.”
”Maybe you should stop thinking I don't.”
”And what gives you rights again? Your mother conned my father into marrying her, which gave her rights for a while, I guess, but you, I'm guessing not so much.”
”He left her this place, so that does give me rights,” I said.
”Really,” he said back, like what I had said meant nothing. He took another hit of beer.
”Yeah, really. He left it to her, and she left it to us.”
None of this seemed surprising to Pete Drinan, but it didn't seem totally familiar with the story either. He made that little come on, let's go wave with his hand again.
”I'm not leaving,” I said. ”I don't have to leave.”
”Well, that's debatable, but I'm not asking you to leave. Hey, Doug!” he yelled, going toward the back of the apartment. ”Listen to this!” Then he yelled at me, without even turning around, ”Come on, Tina Finn, I think you should explain this situation to my big brother. Come on.”
What a jerk, I thought, and boy does he know how to order people around. I followed him back to television land to see what fresh h.e.l.l this great-looking a.s.shole was about to cook up for me.
His older brother was sitting on the sad little couch in front of the TV set, sort of slumped over, looking at the empty bowl of noodles and the half-empty gla.s.s of vodka and grapefruit juice. When he glanced up, I got a better look at him; he had the same tired, smart brown eyes as his brother, but they didn't scare me as much for some reason. It might have been the rest of his face; his mouth was thinner and kind of kept in one line, like it was so used to being disappointed it didn't even bother to find another shape anymore. His hair was thinning too; I could see the beginnings of a bald spot dead center on the top of his head, and his hairline had crept so far up the dude looked startled all the time. So Doug Drinan managed to look shrewd, old, startled, and disappointed.
”There's hardly any furniture left,” he observed to no one in particular. ”I wonder what he did with it all? You think he sold it? He must've sold it, but why?” It sounded like what it was: a very good question.
Pete was on his own track, though. He turned to me and tipped his head, like I was some kind of circus animal he could order around with these little gestures.
”Tell my brother your name,” he said, all arrogant and smug.
”Why don't you do it for me, you seem to think it's so funny,” I countered. He really was the kind of guy who instead of doing the simplest thing he asked, you'd really rather just irritate the s.h.i.+t out of him.
Pete grinned. ”Oh, no, I don't think it's funny at all. Tina Finn. Her name is Tina Finn, and she has just shared with me a few truly remarkable facts,” he said. Then, before he could get around to narrating these fascinating facts, he glanced into the next room, which was just as I had left it: an unmade bed, piles of clothes on the floor, underwear and books and empty boxes everywhere. The place looked absolutely ransacked, because in fact I had ransacked it. ”What the f.u.c.k?” He looked back at me, all angry again. ”What the f.u.c.k. You went through his stuff. You went through my father's s.h.i.+t?”
I blushed like a teenager. ”I didn't, I was just-um ...”
”You were just what?” he asked, tossing underwear at me. ”You were just casually going through my father's underwear drawer?”
”I'm sorry, I was looking-my mom had this old bottle of perfume, and I was-”
”You were looking for a bottle of perfume in my father's underwear drawer, and what you found was-his wallet.” He unearthed it, looked through it swiftly. ”And, oh look, there's nothing in there now, is there?” He closed the wallet and tossed it to Doug, on the couch.
”I didn't take anything from your dad's wallet,” I said.
”That's a lie,” he noted correctly.
”It's NOT a lie,” I said, continuing to lie. ”Yeah, I found it in there, but I mean there was nothing in it.” It was clear that this guy was one h.e.l.l of a bully, but I was pretty sure he wouldn't actually frisk me, so he had no way to prove I had the cash, which by the way I was not about to give up. ”I was looking-”
”You were looking and looking and you also found-the vodka!” he exclaimed, picking up the bottle off the coffee table, where I had left it.
”Knock it off, Pete.” The other Drinan stood, shaking his head, like he was used to this nonsense from crazy Pete but wasn't in the mood. ”I'm sorry for your loss,” he said to me. ”You must still be in shock.”
”Oh,” I said, surprised. Doug Drinan expressing sorrow for my loss was strangely touching, under the circ.u.mstances. ”Thanks. I mean, thanks.”
”It was sudden, yes? I mean, she wasn't sick,” he said.
”No, they, they said it was a heart attack. I don't know.”
”That makes it hard.”
”Don't make friends with her; she's not staying,” Pete advised his sad big brother. He had pulled the cork out of the vodka bottle and started pouring it into a dusty gla.s.s, which he seemed to have located in one of those cabinets.
”You're going to regret that in the morning,” said Doug.
”I'm going to regret everything in the morning; I regret everything now,” Pete informed him. ”But since you're so interested in making friends with our little intruder, maybe you should hear what she has to say about the apartment and why she's here.” He took a hit of straight vodka. I was hardly listening. I was suddenly desperate for a drink myself and wondering if I could make one without losing any more ground with these guys. Doug looked at me with a kind of puzzled weariness, like he was sincerely curious about what I'd say in response to Pete's nasty prodding, but also like he didn't believe that anything really horrible was going to come out of my mouth. Seriously, he was such a tired and sad person, sort of like he'd already been through so much bad luck that he didn't think anything could get any worse.
”I ...”
”According to Tina Finn, who claims she is not a thief, evidence on hand notwithstanding, Dad left the apartment to her mother, you remember the oh so lovely Olivia-”
”Jesus, Pete.” Doug looked away, disgusted and embarra.s.sed. ”Knock it off, would you?” He stood and grabbed the bottle of vodka, then went over to the little freezer full of ice cubes. The drinking was apparently going to continue with both these fellows.
”I'm just getting to the good part. Dad left the apartment to Olivia-”
Doug turned at this, confused and concerned and about to interrupt, but Pete had more up his sleeve.
”And Olivia left it to her daughters.”
This stopped Doug in his tracks. He turned and looked back at me, skeptical but wary. The whole idea was clearly so ridiculous that he couldn't take it in.
”She didn't actually leave it to us,” I said, embarra.s.sed as h.e.l.l. ”I mean, she did leave it to us. She didn't make a will, and there's this, you know, she died intestate. And that means-”
”I know what 'intestate' means,” said Doug, going for the ice. ”This would explain what you're doing here.”
”Yeah,” I said.
”Is your mother even in the ground yet?” he asked in a sort of edgy tone. No more friendly expressions, so sorry for your loss-now I had to tough it out with both of them. To h.e.l.l with it. If they were both drinking, then so would I.
”The funeral was yesterday morning,” I said, grabbing my half-empty gla.s.s of vodka and grapefruit juice and following him into the kitchen, defiant. ”So we went from the cemetery to the lawyers and then we came here.”