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out.
"Do you want to?" he says.
"Not really. What's to change?" I. say. I raise my bare sweaty leg from
the chair and am pleased at the fwap sound it makes as it tears itself away from
the naugahyde. I create a little fwap beat, alternating legs. I think it's interest­
ing back up to our conversation.
with it."
"Well. Your life for starters. You don't seem to be doing a whole lot
Fwap fwap. Fwap fwap.
He crosses and uncrosses his legs at the knees. Sissy. He's still dressed
ridiculously; and I feel absurd having this conversation with someone who
looks the way he does. His tone is light but carries a phony, infomercialized
edge of concern. I resist the temptation to tell him to fuck himself. He has, after
all, worked miracles for my sister.
"Don't you have enough on your plate," I say between fwaps. I try to
make him uncomfortable by staring at the bulge pressed very tightly against his
striped short shorts. I wonder, momentarily, if he's wearing a jock, for how can
he bear to have his balls so neatly compressed? He reads my mind.
"You're trying to make me feel uncomfortable, Benny. So that I will go
away," he says, and opens his legs wide.
I think about chewing gum.
Tucker gnaws on the lip of the melmac cup he holds awkwardly. The
warmish orange Lipton tea is half gone. The tea, combined with a poor previ­
ous washing of the cup, has left a thin foam grime near the rim. Tucker's large
teeth edge precariously close to the residue.
"What's your story anyway, Tucker. What's in it for you? You really
getting paid? Or are you a true manifestation of my sister's lame-ass prayers?"
I gesture wildly indicating heaven and hell with one swoop of my skinny-white
arms. I wish I had a smoke. I can smell the bullshit before he even opens his
mouth.
"We all have our challenges, Benny. Your sister has her weight issues."
I laugh.
He chomps on the cup a couple more times. "And your mother. Well
you know your mother." He shakes his head and smiles wearily. "She has
issues as well, but they're both working so hard. I think it's your turn, Benny."
Tucker sets the cup down and stretches his hairy arms out to me.
"Really, Tucker, I'm fine. My job around here is to make sure that every­
one's miserable. Myself included. It's satisfying, really. And, in case you
haven't noticed. I'm quite good at it. I'll admit, I was much better at it before
you got here. You have made it somewhat easier to be the younger brother of a
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