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A few tests, x-rays, and chastisements from the doctor on call and he was sent home with many painkillers, his chest taped up from two broken ribs. I sent him straight to bed and went right along. I couldn’t bear the thought of being alone--and for the first time, I didn’t want Bill to be alone. The thought scared the shit out of me.
It was best not to let him know this. He’d chew me a new asshole. Nevertheless, I helped him get undressed in the glow of one lamp. I was wincing at the beginnings of numerous cuts and bruises more than he was. But his movements were slower and deliberate, and I knew he’d be stiff as hell for days.
Bill: Punk. Hand me the phone. Deb: Here. I handed him two painkillers and a glass of water. Bill: Phone. I don’t need any of that shit. Deb: You will. Soon, I’d gather. The doctor said bed rest, and that includes no phone. I know what happens when you answer it. He gave me a hard look, but it was devoid of anger. Bill Number One, or Ryback, or who knows who else was usually on the other end, and within hours of those calls, Bill would take off. No detailed explanation, no phone number to reach him at, and no guarantee that I’d ever see him walk through the door again. The frequency of these ‘departures’ had lessened since I'd met him, but I still agonized when he was gone.The United States of America could live without him for a couple of weeks. Bill: Punk... Give. Me. The. Phone. He was starting to drift. I rested my hand on his brow, a gesture he may or may not have tolerated had he been awake. Deb: Nope. He closed his eyes, his voice fading. Bill: Damnit, girl... I leaned over, mere millimeters from his face, so close I could smell him, whispered. Deb: Go to sleep, big boy. I felt him relax against me, heard him snoring softly. I drew myself up around him as close as I dared, as far away as I could stand, and fell into a fitful sleep.
Until the phone rang.
I recognized the voice, someone Bill ordinarily took immediately, behind closed doors. Voice: Strannix, please. Deb: I'm sorry. You can't have him right now. Bill, stretched out, was doing interesting things with his hands and managing to look like a demented flagman. He wanted the phone. I put my back to him. Voice: Pardon me? Deb: I said he's not available, not for the next several days. A vicious hiss. Bill: Punk! There was much to be learned from my youngest son. I was deaf as a post. Voice: Miss, it's important that I speak to him immediately. Deb: Why, thank you. I've been ma'amed pretty consistently for about ten years now. I'm very sorry. Bill needs to rest undisturbed for at least a week. Okay...would it be 'he's got something I need' or 'it concerns grave matters of national security?' Either would be a hideous stereotype, but it would tell me instantly which side of the fence my caller was on. Voice: Ma'am, this concerns grave matters of national security. Ma'am? Oh well, you lost brownie points for that.
Vile temper behind me. Bill: Punk! Gimme the phone! Just call me Helen Keller. Deb: I’m sure it does, but I'm concerned with Bill's health. He's had a rough week or so. He needs some downtime. Voice: Ma'am, I have it on the highest authority that Strannix' presence here is vital. Deb: And you have it on my authority that any such thing is utterly impossible. Oooh! Eruption imminent. Bill: Punk! Gimmie the goddamn phone! I made vague shushing gestures at him. He lunged across the room at me and slapped the little cordless out of my hand, crashing weakly against the wall as he did so. Bill: Strannix. As he began to speak, he was shoving me through the door and slamming it behind me.
Luckily, Bill knew his limits, for when he handed me the phone two hours later, instead of leaving, he went back to bed. Keeping him there, unfortunately, was going to be the job...
I wanted to keep Bill down. The man was worse than a child when it came to trying to keep him amused and still and the moment he became even vaguely bored he tried to get up. I knew it hurt him to do it and I knew he would never admit to the pain. So I needed to find a way for him to save face.
Number One and I, with Elmore in tow, wandered down to Best Buy one day. My former employer had its usual sale going and I had vague ideas of seeing if there would be something amusing. Migod, who was I kidding? I turned my back, lost Elmore and One in the time it took to say it, and only found them staring raptly at DVD machines. Elmore: This'd be a kick, Ma. One: Yeah, ya think the old man'd spring for one? The eager-hog expression on the boy's face was amusing Elmore to no end. Deb: The old man…? Don't kid yourself, your father wouldn't... One: Not him. Bill. Elmore grinned and slapped the boy on the back. Deb: Good Lord, sir, don't let him hear you call him that. I expect so… he pretty much lets me do whatever. Elmore: Pick me one up an' I'll pay ya, Ma. I ain't got the cash on me. Deb: I'll just take it out of your pay...miscellaneous deductions. How's that? I can do the same for Ryan, the goofy fuck. Elmore seemed to like that idea, so we loaded up a flatbed with all of their stock... a total of six machines. I got one for Sam, in the end, knowing he would pay for it. Having a few movies and a new toy might ease his loneliness, I told myself.
We picked a few movies out before we left, "Volcano" for general amusement, and "Blown Away" which would make Ryan roar, "The Fugitive" which Sam would like, and "U.S. Marshals" which he definitely wouldn't. I grabbed a copy of "Under Siege" without even thinking, and we headed out.
Number Two son was busier than a one-legged man in an ass kicking contest, following Ryan around setting the machines up. Bill was asleep, thankfully, when they crept in to attach one to the bedroom television. It was a sign of his exhaustion that they did not wake him when they did.
He spent an hour or so in the hot-tub, soaking up the warmth and reading paperwork that I was under orders not to look at, so I went upstairs, had a quick shower and settled down. Ryan and Elmore, with Jade in the office, were going to hold the Corner for the evening, and I was going to stay at home with Bill. I reached for a movie, any movie, to plug into the new plaything... Bill: What'n hell ya wanna watch that trash for? Toldja it was all shit. Bill yanked a dry pair of boxers on and eased into bed beside me. He scowled at the screen before perching his little round reading glasses on the end of his nose and returning to his papers. Deb: Tom looks great. Inarticulate growl. He had asked specifically for Tom, knowing TLJ would never play him the way he had been disguised by the writer. Tommy Lee had met Bill once and brought the character right back where it belonged. Bill: An' I don't? Deb: Frankly, right now you looked like warmed over shit. Try to rest, Bill. Muttering, paper rattling, fidgeting. There would be no studying of briefs, never mind his attempt.
Commander Krill, played by everyone's favorite cocaine snortin', motorcycle ridin' fool. I started to paraphrase a Barenaked Ladies song... no reason, except that I knew how. Deb: If I had a million dollars...I'd buy you Gary Busey's teeth... Bill: What?! I thought I was pretty damn funny--if nobody would amuse me I would always amuse myself. I was chuckling at my own wit, or lack of wit as the case might be. Bill: Goddamn, girl...settle the hell down… Deb: Oh, there he is... I was gesturing violently at the screen. Whether the real Casey Ryback was a good guy or not, this was a bullshit version and I hated him. Bill: Segal's a fuck. He removed his glasses and sat up, arms folded across his bare, taped chest, ready to be annoyed. Deb: What's with the train maneuver there? Bill: Boy was improvisin'. He knows 'bout musicians 'bout as much as I do 'bout actin'. Deb: It embarrasses you? Bill: Looks like a damn fool. Coulda been worse. Coulda been the way it was written. Privately, I thought that he knew a hell of a lot about acting if he was fooling people as consistently as it appeared he already had been. Deb: Aaaw, crap, look at that cow! Bill: Looks okay t'me. Deb: You would say so. Heifer. Bill: Whatsa matter with 'er? Deb: Gimme a break, Strannix. What's she got goin' for her except she has a huge rack and she can scream. Bill considered me deliberately. Bill: Why ain't you in the movies? Deb: Oh, you can just bite me... Bill: I have. Many times. Deb: Shut up, asshole, I know where you sleep! Bill reached under the covers, clamped a large hand on my hip. I slapped it away, knew that he was playing because I was able to. Deb: Never been caught. Meep-meep. Bill: Shut the goddamn hell up. We watched in silence for a while...well, near silence. Bill grumbled through a critique of Segal's performance. He was still at it when the camera returned to Tom.,/i> Deb: Quiet you. The Man is in the House. I found myself on my back, blazing black eyes centimeters from my own. I bit back a laugh. Bill was anything but angry. Bill: I. Am The Man. Deb: You. Are blocking my view of The Man. Bill was close. He took advantage of this and did some things. Tommy Lee who? I had to back the film up. Deb: The safest place on this ship is right behind him! Oh, get outa my face! Bill: Was when I kicked 'is ass off it. God, I hate that bastard! Deb: What bastard? Bill: Segal. Man...Ryback's a stand up guy and this shitbird... He made a disgusted face, clenched a huge fist and brought it down on a sore muscle. He didn't react, but I did. Deb: Careful, Bill...you'll mess yourself up all over again. Bill: Yeah, yeah, little mother, I forget. He rubbed my head briefly. Deb: I'm sorry, Bill. I wasn't even thinking. I won't watch it when you're around anymore...but it's so bad it's funny. Bill: Maybe it is...but it coulda ruined my ability to operate safely...that's why it ends the way it does, so anybody who thinks they need ta know where I am thinks I'm dead. Would it be so damn funny if that'd happened? Deb: No...I guess not. I hung my head briefly. The hand rubbed the back of my neck, the best possible combination of my body and that hand. Bill: Like that, do ya? Deb: Yes. Can't you tell? Bill: Think he'd do that for ya? Bill gestured at the screen, where Tom paced and ranted. Deb: Never stopped to consider it, but I don't expect so. Why would he bother? Bill: Well, you're slobberin' all over the damn bed when ya got the real thing right here! Deb: The real thing is rubbing my neck and I like it! Who the hell gives a damn for that goof, I'd like to know. For a moment, things were left at this point and then Bill let out a yell. Bill: Oh, for chrissakes, if everybody fell down every time a damn five inch gun went off we'd still be fightin' the Japanese!! Deb: But I thought... Bill: Men hadda be on deck during an action, girl, goddamn! That pisses me off every time I see it! Deb: You hafta admit, that nose dive was inspired. Bill: Hell! Bill's fists were clenching and unclenching restlessly as we approached the breathless conclusion to this cinematic masterpiece. Bill: You gonna make me watch that goddamn knife fight? I swallowed a laugh. Deb: I thought you agreed with the way it ended. Bill: I agreed with what they had t'do, not with makin' me look like a second string cheerleader at some cow college...look at 'em wavin' them damn things around... It was getting harder and harder to swallow the laugh and keep it down. Deb: It's the movies, Billy. Bill: Shit, I'da had that pissant leakin' like a sieve six times by now. Thing was, I knew he was right. I vaguely recalled the carnage he had wrought when my companion and I were sprung from our South American getaway. I'd been told later that much of that had been done with knives. In the semi-dark, Bill knew his business only too well, on both sides of the solitary line he walked. As I pushed the bloody memories firmly aside and focused my attention on watching Tom attain an additional orifice, I was reminded that this ridiculous film pretended to tell the story of events leading up to the beginning of his journey. Bill: Don't get sloppy on me, for Chrissakes! Deb: Oh, go to hell. My face was squished in a big paw. Bill: I. Am. Fine. Happier'n stink on shit. Got it? He encouraged, as in forced, a vigorous nod from me. Bill: That's better. Now...oh, I can't fuckin' stand this anymore! Bill seized the remote and slammed the power button, leaving me with a final view of Bill's ersatz (but very nice) ass sticking out of a radar screen. It was a fitting... er ...end...to my day, and I rolled over contentedly to sleep. TO BE CONTINUED...
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