“What are some of your common categories?” Teddy asks, like he is not dealing with a strange person. “Maybe I can tell you which one I fit into.”
Renata begins ticking off on her fingers. “Country Bumpkin. Little Boy Lost. Too Dumb to Live. Fake Grandson— they’re the ones hoping to inherit.”
Aggie adds, “Environmental Man— no deodorant.”
“I wear deodorant.”
“Another point to Teddy. I think sometimes I still get a whiff of Matthew,” Aggie says. “And it’s been years.”
I try to join in. “Tortured Artist?” If these are his designs, he’s talented.
“I’m feeling mildly tortured right about now,” Teddy agrees.
Renata looks out the window like she’s remembering someone special. “My favorites have been Insomniac Potheads. Ones who can get me a good supply, and we sit up all night talking about which celebrity is going to die next.”
“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that.” I must be getting mellow. It’s the late-afternoon sun shining through onto my back.
“When you’re this old, weed and takeout is all you have left to live for. And love, of course,” Renata says, patting her sister’s hand. “Ah, je suis très romantique … Quick. Give me a compliment.” That’s a test lobbed at Teddy.
Teddy replies, “Your house is nice.” The view from this room is lovely: Manicured lawns roll up to an English box hedge. Beyond that, there is a birdbath and a stooped wisteria.
Renata scoffs. “Boring attempt, minus a point. If I wasn’t a million years old, I’d be back in my old loft in Tribeca.” Not this song again. Her eyes narrow dangerously. “I meant a compliment for me.”
Teddy steps up to the plate. He squints his eyes against the sunlight. He lifts his bat. “You are,” Teddy says with emphasis and absolute sincerity, “the best-dressed person I have ever met.”
The crowd leaps to their feet. We shade our eyes. He knocks it clean out of the park. That compliment is denting the windshield of a bus two suburbs over.
“Oh,” Renata says, looking down at herself. “You mean this outfit?” A smile is on her mouth and she strokes a hand down her rail-thin thigh as if it were a treasured pet. “This old pair of Dior cruise collection 2016 palazzo pants? This vintage Balenciaga blouse? He’s pretty good, that’s ten points,” she says offhand to Aggie, who is starting to doze in the warm room.
He doesn’t gloat. “What’s the job involve?”
Renata asks, “Can you drive? That’s all I care about. One time, a boy told us he didn’t drive because of the carbon footprint. I put a footprint on his ass.”
Teddy grins, and it’s a lovely thing. “I ride a motorbike. But I’d love to take your Rolls-Royce out for a spin.”
Aggie rouses herself from her sleepy sunlit dozing. “Tell us more about yourself.” At the exact moment, Renata says, “How tall are you?” Why are elderly women obsessed with knowing how tall young men are?
“I’m twenty-seven. I’m six four. Like I said, I’m a tattoo artist, but I’ve also been a delivery driver.”
Aggie considers this. “Why are you not working in your chosen field?”
“I might try to get some freelance work. At night, so it won’t interfere.”
“We are very demanding,” Renata interrupts. “I want you always available to pick things up or drive us around. There’s a lot of dry-cleaning. It’s an easy job, I don’t know why young men have such a hard time with it. Get us flowers. Pizza. Restaurant reservations. Hmmm, what else?” Renata looks to me.
“Maintenance, cleaning, laundry, spontaneous compliments.” It’s an expansive role, based around swallowing one’s rage and pride. “Lots of running out for snacks and helping them order things online.”
“I can cook a bit too,” Teddy says. He keeps looking to me. Is he expecting me to ask something? Am I his safety blanket? I shield my page from him on the side of the table and write down:
•Tattoo artist/Delivery driver
•27 yo, 6'4", That Hair
•Can cook; sincerely rendered compliment
I’ve also been keeping track of the points allocated and subtracted. Melanie can’t be faulted for thinking I expected meeting notes to be taken. Add Kind of uptight to my dating profile.
I put my hand into my hair, checking for unwinding strands. I bite back a yawn. I smush my lips around to redistribute my lip balm. Why is everything silent? I look up. Teddy is still looking at me. The sisters are looking at Teddy looking at me.
Aggie is smiling. “Doesn’t she look so pretty sitting in that sunbeam?” Teddy jerks his eyes from me in surprise. So that’s what it feels like to be visible for a few long moments. Like touching a live wire.
Renata adds, “There is an expression. Still waters run deep. Do you know what that means?”
“I do now,” he replies, again with that sincerity. “I really think I do.”
Just as I begin to get hot with embarrassment, Aggie says, “I take it that this job will be a stepping-stone, back to tattoos.” She is the Patron Saint of Merciful Subject Changes. I will light a candle for her tonight.
“One of my friends is setting up a second tattoo studio in Fairchild and I want to buy in. I’d manage that location. But I need the money by Christmas or he’ll sell the share to someone else.” His eyes come back to me like a reflex, and his next words are humble. “At least, that’s the plan.”
I know his father seemed to doubt his sincerity in pursuing this, but let’s get real. This is a person who could sell ice in a snowstorm. If he focused his charm and effort, he could have anything he wanted. Before Renata can shoot him down, because she does like taking potshots at simple goals and dreams, I reply: “Well, of course you’ll do it, Teddy.”
He’s surprised by how certain I sound.
“I’ve never been to Fairchild,” Aggie says. “How far away is that?” We are all already trying to calculate if he’ll be gone-forever gone.
He confirms that he pretty much will. “Five hours away. It’s a really nice town. Kind of like here, actually. But best of all, there’s no studios there. I researched it for my business case. There’s a community college campus and a military training base there, and they have to drive hours to get work done on their tattoos.” Sounds like he’s got a bigger stake in this than he first let on. My perception of him shifts a little.
“Why don’t you just ask Daddy to stump up the cash?” Renata asks with saccharine sweetness. It’s actually the question I wish I could ask. “Get an advance on that inheritance. Cash in, sonny boy.”
“I’m fairly sure there’s no inheritance.”
Renata asks, “Are you the only son?” Teddy nods, but he’s very uncomfortable. I’m just about to interject when Renata keeps going. “You’re probably hitting the jackpot eventually.”
“I have four sisters ahead in the queue. Anyway, I don’t take money from him. And he doesn’t give money to me. It’s an arrangement involving no money.”