Out Of Commission - A Short Story

"What would you do if you didn't have me to take care of you?" She was already on him, extending a plate of chocolate-chip cookies.

Stomping the slush off his boots, Earl thought of the possibilities. 

For one he wouldn't have to rent this over-heated cracker-box of a house. He wouldn't have to crawl under her dilapidated Nissan to replace the mounting brackets, radiator, or starters it continually chewed up.   He could live cheap, maybe share an apartment with a couple of guys from the shop.  Maybe keep his out-of-pocket expenses to $300 a month and save some real cash.  

For another he could work from open to close at the Subway shop he managed without having Vera wander in to occupy a table and guilt him into leaving.  He could do a lot of things. 

Earl had plans, big plans and ambitions but he also had the dead weight of Vera.  What he needed was $47,000, not a fawning girlfriend.

For the millionth time he told her. "Ver, you do this, what, twice a week?  I come home after a double shift of selling subs, cookies and chips and you shove a plate of cookies in my face.  Why would I want cookies?"

For the millionth time, she pouts. "Because these are FRESH and I made them for YOU".

You can't chose who you wind up with.  Earl knew this. 

Sure some guys could have anyone they wanted.  And some girls could have any guy.  But then there were the people like Earl and Vera.  They always seemed to be drawn to each other by the magnetism at the bottom of the barrel. 

Sure Earl could dump Vera, but who would replace her?  Another Vera?

He had two other girl friends in the decade since high school.  Both were Vera's.  They had the same boney shape.  The same nasal twang.  The same stringy blonde-brown hair that never grew beyond the nape of the neck.  The same hang-dog attitude.  And they both hung on him the same way.  Vera's always needed an Earl and Earl was just Earl.  Vera's were all he was ever going to get.

"Ver, get it through your skull, I don't want no freak'n cookies."

She began to tear up.

"Oh shit, here she goes."  Then it took hold, the thing he hated most about himself; the weakness.

"Okay, okay, I'll take one if that makes you happy."

She beamed. "They are all for you.  Who else would stay up late to bake you cookies?"

"Only you, Vera, only you."

She was happy because she had an Earl.  She, however, is not what Earl wanted or needed.  In an age when women were free to be what ever they wanted to be, Vera wanted nothing more than to make a man happy.   Trouble is she had her own ideas what made men happy.

Earl would be overjoyed if she were an equal partner in the relationship.  He would be ecstatic if she were a ball-busting business bitch who made six times what he pulled in managing for a Subway chain.

A woman like that would be the wind at his back, not a headwind.

Earl pulled long hours for years.  He learned the sandwich business inside and out.  He pinched pennies, made contacts, kept tuned-in to opportunities.  Last August while attending a corporate pep-fest he took the wild leap and bought franchise rights.  He floated their credit cards to do it, but it had to be done.  Now he was paying 24% interest to MBNA and needed another $47,000 as a down-payment on a vacant store-front. 

He had to give Vera credit for one thing.  She wasn't completely useless.  She found the location. 

Some guy at her church, an old ghost of a real-estate agent who haunted the pews where she banged a tambourine in the choir, tipped her off to a nice storefront in a soon to be rehabbed commercial block.  The city was dumping gobs of federal rehab money into the neighborhood to pump up local business.  With the franchise fee already paid for, and a lock on the building, the city would provide a grant to do all the renovations.  The guy was even willing to give them a contract for deed.  It was a sure bet. 

Now all Earl needed was $47,000 for the down-payment and a girl-friend with a job to ease him through the first few tough years.

He had a plan for the money.  He knew the numbers and Vera didn't add into them.  What he lacked was the courage to shake her loose.  He just didn't know how or when, but he knew he had to do it soon.

***

"Could you do something for me, Ver?"

"Anything!"

"Would you do it without asking questions?"

"Sure"

Earl held out the paper pattern of a logo and a green khaki shirt. 

"Can you embroider this onto the shirt pocket?"

"Why?"

"Jeez Ver, you just told me that you wouldn't ask questions."

Her lip began to quiver.

"Ver, c'mon, it's bad enough that I have to work another job just to reduce the interest on the cards; do I have to suffer your crying too."

"No" Drying dry tears.

"Ver, it would be a big help to me if you can do this.  Can you try?"

Now she really perked up.

"Sure, I can try."

"That's my girl."

***

Friday night brought warm winter weather. The dry pavement was streaked white with salt as cars and vans queued up in front of the night deposit box at the First Citizen's Bank.

Something was causing a delay.

A white car with the familiar blue "BRINKS" logo floated in a black puddle of melt-water next to a gleaming mound of snow. The guard stood a safe distance from the night box holding out a canvas bag for deposits.

"It's all low-tech and manual tonight, folks" he joked pointing to the deposit box. "If you are not comfortable with dropping off the receipts, stop by tomorrow when the bank is open."

There was no doubt why the deposit box was unavailable; the stench of rotted fish permeated the parking lot and yellow caution tape crisscrossed the stainless steel door.

Everyone seemed to get a kick out of the situation and the guard put customers at ease while the proceeds of pizza parlors, bars, laundry mats, convenience stores and fast-food joints piled up in his faded grey bag.

Night wore on.  The traffic tapered off, so the guard drifted back to the security car to run the heater and listen to tunes. Though the night was warm, it was only Minnesota warm and in the high humidity, it carried a penetrating chill.

As he sat killing time, a pair of headlight bounced up the driveway. He groaned, instantly recognizing Vera's old blue Nissan.  She arced across the lot, pulled parallel to the security car and rolled down her window.

"I brought you cookies."

"What the hell!  How did you know I was here?  Get out of here, Ver"...

Her eyes stained red with tears. 

He felt the weakness creeping up.

"NO!!"

"What?"

"Not any more Vera.  No more cookies, no more dead-weight, no more you.  We're done, I am moving out."

"Earl?"

"No Vera.  And don't think that you have a hold on me.  You were just as much a part of this scam as I was when you sewed the ‘BRINKS' logo on the shirt."

"I wouldn't do anything to hurt you, Earl, I only want to make you happy."

"Well then... breaking up is what it will take to make me happy."

And that was the last time he heard her blubber.

***

Everything went according to plan.

He took only the cash, placing the checks and deposit receipts into the night box.  It would stink, but it would still smell like money. No real people would get hurt, only some faceless insurance fund. 

The car was a rental from Chicago, cleaned and untraceable.

He scored almost $56,000 in cash.  Enough to pay off his credit card and Vera's too.  Why not pay off her card? After all he wasn't a thief.

***

A week later, Earl, wearing a new Men's Warehouse suit sat across from John Arbor, a bank officer, and two closers in  Arbor's run-down office.  Earl couldn't stand the real-estate investor; a deacon at Vera church.  Arbor reminded him of the male version of Vera; gray, lumpy, not an ounce of spark.

Arbor made his living by hanging onto the coat tails of one of the city's premier real-estate developers.  A real-go-getter.  He made out by doing the guy bidding and took what crumbs fell from his table.  This building was one of those crumbs.

The deal took no time to complete but after the closers left Arbor kept hanging on, trying to drag out the conversation.  Maybe he realized that Earl was a go-getter too.  Someone whose coattails he could grab onto.

Walking down the long flight of stairs from Arbors office, the pudgy middle-aged guy stopped halfway down to catch his breath.  He couldn't even afford an office in a building with an elevator and he got winded - going down stairs.

"Earl?"

No, he did not want to catch lunch or split a pitcher of beer.  He had an appointment at the city to start working on his grant.  "Got to run, John."

"It is about Vera."

"Huh?"

"She is living with me now.  You don't know what you gave up Earl.  She greets me with home-made cookies every day."

"That is Vera, alright."

"Not many girls like that anymore."

"I'll say."

"I am not an attractive man, Earl.  I am not the kind of guy who can get any girl he wants.  Not like you.  Vera is a godsend."

"I wish you and Vera all the happiness in the world.  I truly mean that John."

"Thanks Earl, and I wish you good luck too.  In a year, after the city finishes rebuilding the street, you are going to have a thriving business in that location."

"Street, what the hell you talking about?  John, talk to me!!"

"It was right there in the disclosure.  The city will be completely blocking off Grand Avenue between 23rd and 27th for six months starting on June 9th for sewer, utility and road-bed reconstruction."

"Oh shit!"

"Earl, it is all in the documents.  Didn't you read them?"

"I..."

"It is all there to prevent anyone from being scammed."

© Greg Schiller, 2007

Author: Greg Schiller