A very inebriated Max Boros rode to his house in the backseat of a patrol car with Cody Slonaker. The last round of drinks had nearly done him in. He wasn't feeling queasy, but the world did occasionally turn into two and spin a little at odd moments. The drink had logical consequences on his mood in the sense that it rapidly fluctuated from one extreme to another. At times he was angry, belligerent, morose, or depressed.
During the first half of the ride, he learned a few more details about Cody's daughter. She was described as being far less mature for her age than Cody felt appropriate. Although she was in her early twenties, he described her as acting more like a fourteen year old than an adult. Cody painted a picture of her through episodes of her life as a teenager and the arguments that he had with his wife concerning how she was being raised.
The man's description of the girl sounded eerily familiar with how he would describe his own daughter. She was a little princess who was too good to do the kinds of things her mother had done. She started many projects, but finished none of them. Everything was plans, but when it came time to do the work nothing happened. Mother and daughter worked together to keep the daughter as childlike as possible for the longest time possible.
Cody described a pattern of rapid mood swings, temper tantrums, and expensive changes in fashion. There were times when she was dressed like a punk that alternated with times dressed in Goth. She listened to weird music about how the whole world sucked. According to Cody, there was only one person in the world that mattered to his daughter and that was his daughter. She was totally self-involved and had no empathy for anyone else.
Max listened with a rising sense of horror.
As the effects of the alcohol caught up with them, both men became lost in thoughts about their own problems. Max felt betrayed by the company that he had spent the last nineteen years. As a salesman, he wasn't the best or the worst. He was a good consistent producer of sales. In many ways, he felt that he was more valuable than the flash in the pans who burst into the company with huge sales and then fled for greener pastures later. He remained behind making sales while others scrambled to deal with unrepresented territories. Often times, replacements were credited with sales that represented little more than catching up on a backlog of orders.
He had followed the company line. He had attended all of the little sales meetings, applauded all of the speeches made by upper management of the company, and given lip service to all of the memos that crossed his desk. In short, he was a good loyal company man.
What good had it done him? The company had rewarded him by laying him off despite having made the sale of his life. It wasn't right. It wasn't fair. Max was a firm believer in fairness and the company's actions were particularly grating to his sensibilities.
Max's thoughts turned to his home life. He dearly loved his wife and children, but the fact of the matter was that there were things about his family that bothered him. Cody's description of his daughter disturbed him. He could see a possible future in which his own daughter became the star of some porn site. He despaired that his son would ever get his act together and start taking on responsibilities.
Thus it was that when the police car stopped outside his house, a somber, but not sober, Max stepped out. He leaned in the car and said, "Cody. If you decide you need a place to stay ... well ... you're welcome to stay here."
"I'll keep that in mind," Cody replied.
Max turned and headed towards the front door of his house. He paused and waved at the police car expecting it to drive off. Instead, the officer waited to make sure that Max reached the front door of his house.
His wife, having seen the police car pull up in front of the house, opened the door and watched Max stagger towards her. She waited for him to come in the house. It only took a single whiff of him when he staggered past her towards the living room to realize that he had been drinking.
Marylou said, "You're drunk."
"As a skunk," Max replied proudly.
She was worried by his appearance. In the entire time that she had known him, she had never seen him drunk. She couldn't recall ever seeing him have more than a single drink in an entire evening. He often bad mouthed salesmen who drank too much. He claimed that drinking too much was not an occupational hazard, but that sales was an occupation that attracted individuals who drank too much. Alcoholics saw sales as a perfect cover for their alcoholism.
"Why were you in a police car?" Marylou asked.
"They brought me home," Max answered. He mumbled, "I thought that would be obvious."
"Did they pick you up for drunk driving?" Marylou asked.
Max shook his head. "No. They would have taken me to jail for drunk driving."
"So why did they bring you home?" Marylou asked.
Max held up a hand with a finger pointed upwards. "They wanted to reward me for having done my civic duties as a proud citizen of this fine city."
"What did you do?"
By this time, his son and daughter had arrived in the living room to discover why a police car was parked in front of their home. Both stopped and stared at their father who was weaving from side to side. They stared at him not believing what they were seeing.
"I beat up some fucking robbers. I kicked the shit out of them," Max answered proudly.
He mimed taking a kick at something on the floor and nearly fell over in the process. Marylou was shocked by his language, particularly that he had talked like that in front of the kids. Being drunk did not excuse that kind of language.
"Max!"
"What?" Max asked in that belligerent manner that only the truly drunk can achieve.
"Don't talk like that in front of the children," Marylou said sternly.
Marylou was a plain looking woman of small stature. Despite her size, she could turn viscous as a badger when her family was threatened. Max watched her transform from worried wife to angry woman. In his inebriated state, he didn't care and the words that proceeded to flow from his mouth would never have been uttered under any other circumstance.
Turning to his son, he said, "Ah! They lazy bum managed to break away from his games."
"Dad, I'm not..."
Max shouted, "Listen up, little fucker. Your days as a freeloader in this family are over. You're going to start earning your god-damned allowance. You're going to mow the lawn, take out the trash, and ... I don't know ... paint the fucking house."
His son, Robert, stared at his father in shock. "What? Paint the house?"
"You heard me, you little shit. You're going to paint the whole house, inside and out," Max said pleased to have come up with a job that would keep his son busy.
"I don't..."
"Your days of sitting around this house complaining that the crap that I buy for you isn't good enough have come to an end. You want it, you buy it with money you earned with good honest labor. Fuck this shit of me buying you a computer and hearing a week later that it isn't good enough. Fuck that!"
Robert took two steps backwards. He couldn't believe the language his father was using. Unfortunately, that put his sister in front of him.
"Max! Shut up!"
Ignoring his wife, he turned to his daughter. She stood there with red, purple, and green hair. Her outfit made her look like some kind of refugee from an internment camp. She looked like hell. All of the little comments about Cody's daughter rushed back to him.
Max said, "Wash that shit out of your hair and put on some real clothes. You look like a tramp. Next thing you know, you'll start acting like one."
"Daddy!"
Max said, "If you ever turn into a whore, I'll kill you. Do you hear me, missy? I'll fucking kill you."
"Mom!" Barbie said turning to her mother.
Max shouted, "I'm not going to have my daughter turn into a whore. No sir-ee."
Barbie was beginning to cry. No one had ever talked to her like that before. She couldn't believe that her father was calling her a whore.
"Max! I'm warning you!"
"Your days as a prima dona and spoiled little bitch are coming to end. You want piano lessons, well ... you better be a fuckin' virtuoso by the time I'm done paying for them. I'll stand behind you and whip you until you practice. This start something and then dropping it after I've spent a fortune on you is coming to an end," Max shouted while waving an arm around in the air.
"Maxwell, get to your room!"
"On second thought, I'm not paying for shit. You're going to get a job at a burger place and pay for your own lessons," Max said.
"You know she's too good to work in a burger place," Marylou screamed.
By this time, her face had turned red. Her fists had turned white. She was shaking with rage. There was no way that she wasn't going to tolerate that kind of language or behavior in front of the kids.
"Bullshit! You worked at a fucking taco stand when you were her age. If it was good enough for you, then it is good enough for her," Max declared.
He turned to face her. Actually, he turned to face both of her. His vision was going double again.
"That's different," Marylou said suddenly on the defensive.
They had this argument many times in the past. She couldn't convince him that times were different and that kids needed to stay kids for as long as possible. There would come a time when they couldn't avoid responsibilities. It was better for them to relax and take it easy until life forced them to grow up.
"Bull-fucking-shit!"
For the first time in her life, Marylou was prompted to violence. She hauled off and slapped Max as hard as she could.
Max stumbled back feeling his cheek. Drunkenly, he said, "Two hours ago, I kicked the shit out of a man who was pointing a shotgun at me. He's in the fucking hospital. So I'm going to tell you nicely, don't slap me! I'm a bad-assed mother fucker!"
"Get to bed!"
"Not until I'm finished laying down the law..."
"Now!"
"Fuck that. Speaking of fucking... ," Max said distracted by a sudden thought. "Why don't you swallow after giving me a blowjob?"
"Oh my God!" Marylou said horrified by what he had said. Pale faced, she turned to the kids and calmly said, "Go to your rooms."
"No. Let them hear this. It's time they grew up," Max said getting angry that his wife was undermining his authority one more time.
The kids decided that their mother was right and that it was time for them to make themselves scarce. They left the room as if it were on fire. Robert was scared. Although he knew his father was drunk, he had a feeling that the man meant every word that came out of his mouth.
On the other hand, Barbie was devastated. She fled to her room in order to cry. Her father had never talked to her in that manner. She wondered if he loved her. On reaching her room, she threw herself on her bed and started bawling her eyes out.
As soon as the kids had left the room, Marylou shouted, "How dare you?"
"Easily. You drink enough and you'll spit in the eye of Satan," Max answered. He burst out laughing and then added, "I think I just called my wife the devil."
"I know you're drunk, but that doesn't excuse you," Marylou said.
Max replied, "I'm not looking to be excused. I'm not going to have my kids grow up to be bums or whores. Coddling them ain't gonna make them responsible adults. They need to work and learn the value of a dollar. They need to accept a little responsibility for once."
"Who says they're going to grow up to be bums or whores?" Marylou said.
"Cody. His daughter is a whore. Those are his words, not mine. The girl he described could have been Barbie's twin sister. He kept saying that he wished he had stood up to his wife once and paddled his daughter's ass when she started going off the deep end," Max said.
Marylou said, "Barbie is not going to be a whore."
"Did you see her? She looked like a reject from the freak show at the circus," Max said.
"It's just a phase she's going through," Marylou said.
"Bullshit! She's an undisciplined spoiled little brat and you're helping her to be one," Max said.
"Don't talk about your daughter that way," Marylou said.
Max burped. There was the sudden sour taste of vomit in his mouth. He said, "I think I"m going to be sick."
"Oh God! Not here," Marylou said.
Max turned towards the hallway and headed for the bedroom hoping that he could reach the toilet in the master bath before vomiting. He just made it.
Furious, Marylou said, "You're going to be so sorry in the morning mister. I'm going to make sure of that."
While Max knelt in front of the porcelain god, Marylou was in Barbie's room trying to restore peace to the household. The young girl was sobbing. Marylou sat on the bed and stroked Barbie's hair.
Marylou said, "I'm so sorry, honey."
"How could he say those things about me?" Barbie asked.
"I don't know what got into him. I've never seen him like that," Marylou answered.
"He said I was going to be a whore," Barbie said.
"He's drunk and didn't know what he was saying," Marylou said.
Barbie said, "He doesn't love me."
"Yes he does," Marylou said. "I'm going to talk to him in the morning when he sobers up. He'll be in here apologizing to you. Just you wait and see."
"Thanks, Mom," Barbie said.
Marylou left Barbie and headed to Robert's bedroom. He was seated in front of his computer staring at the screen. He was staring at it, but not seeing a thing. He was replaying his father's words. As much as he hated it, there had been an element of truth to what he had said.
Standing at the door, she said, "I'm sorry about that."
"He was serious," Robert said.
"He was drunk," Marylou said. "People say all kinds of stupid things when they're drunk."
"No. He was serious," Robert said.
Marylou said, "I'll talk to him in the morning. He'll be sober then."
"I don't know how to mow the lawn," Robert said.
"You won't have to mow the lawn," Marylou said.
Robert turned his chair so that he was facing his mother. In a calm quiet voice, he said, "Mom. He was serious. He's right about me being a lazy bum and Barbie being a spoiled brat."
"You're not lazy and she's not spoiled," Marylou said.
"Denial ain't just a river in Egypt," Robert said before spinning his chair so that he was facing his computer. "I read that somewhere. I thought it was funny at the time."
"It isn't funny," Marylou said.
"Right," Robert said.
Marylou went to see what Max was doing. The bathroom door was locked. There were sounds of retching audible through the closed door. Shaking her head, she asked, "What in the hell got into you Max?"
It was late in the evening when Marylou got around to watching the news. There on the television, in scratchy black and white, was her husband kicking a man lying on the floor. She listened in shock at the reporters comments about the event. Shaking her head, she asked, "What in the hell got into you, Max?"
Max wasn't there to answer the question. He was passed out cold on the bathroom floor behind a locked door.