Phoebe had gotten through her 12-hour shift at the nightclub without a bump. Just before closing time, a man named Fred occupied the last two hours of her work. He was an ordinary Joe - no business suit, no tie, no fancy job (unless someone thought working as a data encoder for Pittsburgh’s water department was a fancy job).
He did, however, have lots of spare money and used it to keep the attention of a girl he knew as Posrsche (like the car for customers, but a private joke between Tracie and Phoebe, making fun of the little sister). Fred bought Phoebe a parade of $30 drinks. Her drink of choice, of course, was vodka and orange juice. Bartenders usually watered down the girls’ drinks. Tonight, however, Tracie was bartending and she always went heavy on the liquor. By the time 4am rolled around, Phoebe was in near-blackout.
“Hey Porsche,” Fred whispered into Phoebe’s ear, “Let’s get a motel room.”
“It’s not allowed. If the boss found out, I’d get fired.”
“Nobody has to know.”
“I’d know.”
“What would it take to make it worth your while?”
“What are you willing to pay for a night with me?”
The old man looked in his wallet. There were two crisp one hundred dollar bills and two twenties.
“240?”
“I was thinking closer to $600.”
“What?”
Phoebe smoothed up against the businessman. Her lips touched his ear.
“I don’t even know your name,” she whispered.
“Fred Walker,” he stammered.
Her fingernails flicked over the seam of his slacks as her hand rested on the inside of his thigh.
“Fred,” she whispered, “I was thinking $600. If you do that little thing for me, I’ll do a couple of little things to you.”
Fred gently moved her hand to the top of her thigh. They were the thighs of a young co-ed, shaved smooth and lathered in baby oil. Fred was more than twice the young girl’s age and that was more temptation than he could handle. He walked to the ATM and withdrew $400. Before he could pocket it, Phoebe plucked it out of his hands.
She fingered the wallet clenched in his hands. He gave her the contents of that, too, even the extra forty dollars.
“Let me get my gym bag.”
Phoebe rode with Fred to the motel. It sat in a row of cheap motels right behind the strip club. Although it was still dark, the airport was beginning to roar to life. The runway beacons were lit and a tanker truck was taxiing down the empty runway, its flashers blinking.
“I could use that last $40 I gave you so I can pay for the room.”
“There’s another ATM right by the cashier’s window,” said Phoebe.
Her long slender finger pointed towards the motel lobby. Fred wrinkled his mouth.
“I promise, this will be worth every penny.”
Fred sighed as he headed towards the ATM machine and made yet another withdraw. He got the room and they parked around the back.
Phoebe delivered the goods, just as promised. The build-up was too much for the old man and he lasted five, maybe ten minutes. Phoebe swept her hands across the floor to pick up her thong and dress as she headed to the bathroom. She cleaned up as she changed back into her club clothes. She sat on the end of the bed as she pulled on her heels.
“You’re leaving? I thought I paid for the night.”
“You ready to go again?”
“No…but I…”
“Come on, Freddie, that was more than enough. I don’t want to give you a heart attack.” She leaned over and kissed him on the nose. The same finger that pointed out the ATM trailed over Freddie’s fat, bloated chest.
“Come back and see me sometime and I’ll let you punch my card again if we get a private booth at the club.”
Fred Wagner lay in the bed, like a spent dollar bill resting on an empty dance stage, crumpled and tired. His hands stretched backwards and his fingers interlocked behind his head. Phoebe reached down and flipped his limp, wasted member. It barely sprang to life.
“Ta-ta,” she said as she went out the door. She fetched her gym bag from the back seat of Fred’s convertible and trotted around the motel and across the parking lot. Faint gray light greeted her as she drove home, her body smelling like a sour mixture of cheap vanilla perfume, cigarette smoke, and dirty old men.
A loud banging sound stirred Phoebe from sleep late the next morning. It was her Portia knocking on her driver’s side window.
“What are you doing out here? Are you okay”
“Of course I’m okay. I was just really tired.”
Phoebe looked around. She had managed to end up right in front of her parent’s house, although she had no idea how she got there and barely remembered what transpired just a few hours earlier.
Portia took Penny inside and left her with her mother before heading to work. She knew Alex would be too sore to care for Penny and she couldn’t skip work again.
Phoebe managed to drag herself to her bedroom and went to sleep…again. Mrs. Gatteau care for Penny, feeding her and watching her while she drank beer and watched television. Late in the afternoon, Mrs. Gatteau had an unwelcome visitor. It was Ramona.
“Hey, Mrs. Gatteau.”
“What do you want?”
“I was hoping to see my daughter.”
“Why on earth would you want to see your daughter?”
“Because I wanted to babysit her this week.”
“Let me guess,” said Mrs. Gatteau, “a social worker is coming over to the house and you need a baby, right?”
“Penny’s my daughter.”
“Am I right?”
“It doesn’t matter, she’s mine.”
Mr. Gatteau stood up and joined his wife at the door.
“Hello, Ramona, what brings you here?”
“She wants to show Penny to the social worker.”
“Now, come on, Victoria. Let Ramona have Penny.”
Mrs. Gatteau heaved a sigh and folded her arms. She took a step back and presented Penny’s crib with one long sweep of the arm.
“Go ahead and take your beloved daughter.”
Ramona marched over to the crib and plucked Penny out. She wrapped the baby in her blanket and went to her car while Mr. and Mrs. Gatteau watched.
“I don’t know which is worse, that woman marching over here or you letting her take my sweet Penny.”
”Victoria…”
Mrs. Gatteau went to her spot on the couch and sat. Mr. Gatteau reluctantly joined her. By the time Phoebe finally got out of bed, it was late n the evening. The smell of oven-roasted meat stirred Phoebe from bed. Mrs. Gatteau was fixing meatloaf.
“Good to see you could join us for part of Sunday, at least.”
“I didn’t sleep well at all,” said Phoebe.
“Maybe dinner will help.”
Phoebe filled her plate with meatloaf, mashed potatoes, and gravy before joining her parents in the living room. She looked around for a moment. Something was missing.
“Isn’t this Sunday? Where’s Penny?”
“She’s with Ramona. Probably some Welfare thing.”
Phoebe didn’t respond. She knew it was futile. Her mother never liked Phoebe while her father merely tolerated her. On the other hand, Phoebe and Ramona had always hung out together. After Phoebe ate her meatloaf for breakfast, she headed over to Ramona’s.
“Hey, what’s up?”
“Nothing much, just relaxing.”
Penny cried when she overheard Phoebe’s familiar voice.
“She in back?”
Ramona nodded, “Don’t worry about her. She’s fine.”
Phoebe did just that as she went to the kitchen. She dumped some of the orange juice from its carton and replaced it with vodka. She shook the carton in both hands as she returned to the living room. Ramona was already lighting up. Phoebe nodded affirmatively.
“Now that’s what I’m talking about.”
Phoebe took a long, slow hit from Ramona's joiint before returnign it to Ramona.
“No cure like the snake that bit you,” said Ramona as she took a slug from Phoebe’s homemade screwdriver mix and passed it back to Phoebe. Phoebe looked over Ramona. Her hair was ratty and unkempt. Her eyes were dark and swollen. Phoebe thought it could be a lack of sleep, but it was more likely to be constant drug use.
"When is the Social Worker visiting tomorrow?"
"Ten o’clock."
"Aren't you worried about the visit?" asked Phoebe, pointing to the joint."
"I'm not worried at all. Tomorrow is a regular visit. I go to a hospital to give hair and urine samples. They always send me a letter in the mail."
Phoebe and Ramona continued drinking and smoking for most of the night. It all became a blur until Phoebe woke to a knock at the door. She rolled over as the second knock came at the door. A few moments later, the phone rang. Phoebe answered it.
"Miss Matthews?"
"No, this is her sister-in-law."
"This is Aldene James, her case worker. I'm at the front door."
"Oh shit," said Phoebe. She immediately hung up the phone and ran to Ramona's bedroom.
"Get up! Your case worker's at the front door!"
"What time is it?"
"9:15."
"Damn, why is she so fucking early?"
The girls rushed about, washing and getting ready as the doorbell rang repeatedly. There were knocks at the door, too. The girls made the Case Worker wait as they cleaned themselves and hastily tossed the empty alcohol bottles into the trash.
Ramona grabbed Penny and cradled her in her arms as she opened the door. The indignant look on Mrs. James face said it all. As soon as she saw the condition of Ramona and her apartment, her mood changed.
She barged in without so much as an introduction. She urged Ramona to take a seat on the couch. Phoebe sat beside her.
"Are you Phoebe?" asked Mrs. James.
Phoebe nodded.
"And you're her sister-in-law?"
Phoebe stared blankly.
"That's what you told me over the phone."
"I'm not married to anyone," spat Ramona.
"Then what am I to make of this?"
"She's just a good friend."
"And this place smells like marijuana. Do you honestly think I'm that dumb? This was supposed to be a routine visit, but I'm going to have to call the police. You're an unfit mother."
"You cannot do that!"
"Just watch me," said Mrs. James as she touched the trigger on her bluetooth and quietly said 'police'. Into the receiver
“Hello, this is Aldene James with Allegheny County Social Services. I need police assistance in Homewood South right away."
She continued to give the particulars to the police operator as Ramona and Phoebe watched. The police arrived in no time at all. The officer plucked Penny from Ramona's hands and took her to the cruiser.
Meanwhile, Mrs. James grabbed a car seat from her car and gave it to the other police officer. Afterwards, shewent to her car and began filling out reports.
"You scandalous bitch!" Ramona yelled at her, "How dare you take my daughter without no good reason!"
A second police cruiser pulled up. Two officers got out of the car. One shielded the social worker while the other went for Ramona.
"Ma'am," Mrs. James said to Phoebe, "I need to talk to you for a few moments. Can you come sit in my car for a moment?"
Phoebe nodded, politely following the social workers orders.
"You don't have to say a word!" shouted Ramona.
"Phoebe? I need your full name."
"Phoebe Smith."
Mrs. James tilted her head.
"This is no joke, Phoebe. This is now a criminal investigation. I could have the police take you to jail for giving a false report."
"Phoebe Gatteau."
"How do you spell that?"
"G-A-T-T-E-A-U."
"What is your brother's name?"
"David Alexander Gatteau."
"Is David the father of Penny?"
Phoebe nodded, “but we call him Alex.”
"Do you know where Alex lives?"
Phoebe nodded.
By the end of her conversation with Mrs. James, Portia divulged everything Mrs. James requested and several things she didn't.
"Is my brother going to get into trouble."
“The judge has to decide that. Usually, any undocumented fathers have to deal with the Child Support Enforcement Agency as well as Family Services. They may just put him on some repayment schedule or they might put him in jail. Who knows, really? Every judge deals with these things on a case-by-case basis. These are complicated matters."
Mrs. James excused Phoebe and then spoke with one of the police officers. Before they left with Penny, they arrested Ramona.
She leaned against the police cruiser as the officer read her rights. He flicked her legs apart with the tip of his foot before putting her in handcuffs. As he guided her to the cruiser, Mrs. James got into her car. The cruiser holding Ramona followed Penny's cruiser to the end of the street. Mrs. James followed them. All three cars turned at the end of the street and disappeared from sight.
"As shit, aw shit, what am I gonna do?" said Phoebe as she paced back and forth. Her mind raced as she thought about her family's reactions. Certainly, her mother would blame her. She knew she'd get grief from Portia, too. Frankly, she had no idea how Alex would react. He could blow up, he could be easy breezy cool about it. Regardless, she didn't want to face any one of them.
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