Garden by the Front Door

"How about my minivan?" she asked.

"One Joe paid for? One Joe has the title to?" David cheerfully asked.

"Shit," Gretchen said again. "Guess there's no way you'd come and get me, huh?"

"Sure," David chuckled. "Soon as them Saints win the Super bowl." [1]

She checked her wallet again. Again, there was only nine dollars in cash, eleven dollars and fourteen cents if she counted her change. She stood up and rang Keith's doorbell. There was no answer. Then she took the house key out and unlocked his door.

He was in the shower. Through the open door, Gretchen could see Keith masturbating in the shower.

His wallet was on his dresser, so Gretchen helped herself to a few hundred dollar bills. Then she walked downstairs and left again.

"Should have taken the key back, shit for brains," she thought as she punched in the number for Rapid's Cabs.

Rapid Cabs sent out a surly driver and she gave him David's address.

"That trailer park off Tarragona?" he asked. "Used date this girl lived there. Marjory, Marjory, oh damn, what was her name?"

David wasn't thrilled to see his ex-wife, but Glenda and Gertrude were there so he was civil to her. He did remind her, being civil was a lot more than she'd ever done for him.

Glenda and Gertrude were thrilled to see their mother. They'd missed her; they'd missed the comfort of Mr. Joe's home, of Mr. Keith's home. Some of the children on Bus #114 actually mocked them for being dropped off in front of a trailer park.

"And Daddy's too rough when he brushes my hair," Rudy complained.

"Well, maybe if you didn't have so much of it," David said easily as he playfully tugged the girl's long red hair.

"Daddy, quit!" Rudy demanded.

Gretchen complained about David's dinner of fried chicken and mashed potatoes.

"Know how many carbs are in that?" she shrilled.

"Know how many of us give a shit?" he shrilled back.

He pointed to the stove.

"Anytime you feel like bouncing off of that fat ass of yours and doing it? You cook dinner," he offered. "I'm sure your skills in the kitchen have improved vastly since you last lived here, right?"

"My ass is not fat; look in a mirror lately?" she hissed.

"Mom, we like his fried chicken," Glenda offered.

"Whatever, it's not good for you," Gretchen complained.

"And neither is starving to death," David said.

"Boy, would that just mess up your whole day, huh?" David asked Glenda and she giggled.

Dinner out of the way, Gretchen sat and waited. David sat and stared at her. Finally he waved his arm, indicating the kitchen table.

"Uh, girls need the table do their homework," he said.

"Okay," Gretchen said, uncomprehending.

"Tables don't clean themselves, Gretchen," he said.

Gretchen did clean the table. She did so with much jostling, slapping, smacking of things. David's plates and cups were durable plastic, though, so she just managed to make noise.

"The girls don't have their own rooms?" Glenda snapped at the girls sat at the table.

"Course they do, but they're in their rooms, how I'm going help them?" David asked as he and Glenda looked at her Arithmetic textbook.

"Fine, I'm tired," Gretchen said.

"Okay, good night," David said

"Uh so what room's mine?" Gretchen asked.

"Living room's right there," David said.

After (noisily) helping the girls with their homework, David (loudly) wished them a good night and retired to his own room.

In the morning, David (noisily) roused the girls and (loudly) prepared their breakfast.

"Good God!" Gretchen complained, head pounding, body stiff.

Then she saw their breakfast.

"Biscuits? Hash browns, bacon, Jesus David, they're going be dropping dead of heart attacks before they're twenty," Gretchen complained.

"But they'll be happy," David shrugged.

After the girls left, after Gretchen had brushed Rudy's long red hair, and Glenda had brushed her own long blonde hair, David told Gretchen she had three days find herself a place to live.

"We're divorced, you up and walked out on me, told me 'see you, loser' and dragged my girls with you," David snarled, obviously still quite angry over the bitter divorce. "Not a court out there make me help you and I'm not about to start now."

"What about Glenda and Rudy?" Gretchen snarled.

"Oh no, they're fine, they're just fine right here," David laughed a bitter laugh. "They're taken care of. It's your fat ass you need be worrying about."

David readied for another day at the Baggett Mattress factory and left the trailer. On his lunch break, David did call Joe Gaudet.

"Joe I don't know how long it'll take me, but I will pay you back," he promised. "Glenda and Rudy really love St. Richard and Glenda's fixing go to St. Thomas next year."

"Okay," Joe said.

"That's it?" David laughed, relief flooding over him. "You not going make me beg?"

"I'll drop off the check, hell, I'm not doing anything right now," Joe said. "I'll go do it now."

"Thank you, and I promise you, I promise you, I will pay you back," David declared.

"When you can," Joe said.

David repeated his assertion to Gretchen when he came home. She had three days, two days now, to find herself a new couch to sleep on. Then he busied himself making another carbohydrate and grease laden meal.

On the morning of the last day, Gretchen said she'd be moving in with her sister and her sister's life partner. Because Stacy and Gina lived in Elgee, Louisiana, outside of St. Richard's district, and because Aunt Stacy and Gina did not want them, Glenda and Rudy would not be coming with her.

"That's fine; already took care of next year's tuition anyway," David shrugged.

"You, you have enough money," Gretchen sputtered, outraged. "And I only been getting five hundred a month child support?"

"Life's a bitch, huh?" David smirked. "Oh, and since they living here now? You ain't getting that five hundred a month neither."

The Republican and Democratic conventions were televised, promises made, accusations made. As far as Joe Gaudet was concerned, neither candidate had the necessary skills to be Commander In Chief. But he didn't care for any of the third party candidates either. By mid-August he just wanted the election to be over. And he just wanted his divorce to be over.

Paul Robichaux had done a beautiful job of restoring Joe's grandfather's desk. Because Joe knew the damaged and replaced areas, he could see the repairs. But the casual observer would never be able to tell what ninety three year old wood was and what brand new wood was.

The gun safe had been returned to Joe's closet, and was now securely bolted to the floor. Paul Robichaux had assured Joe, it would take a backhoe to get that safe out of the house.

But every time Joe walked past the flower box in front of the house, he wanted to take a backhoe and empty the cheerful garden. He contented himself with spitting on Gretchen's flowers.

His insurance company had declared his Harley Fat Boy a complete loss and had paid it off. Joe replaced it with a low rider Fat Boy. He actually preferred the newer sled to his old one, but Joe would never admit that to Gretchen.

By The end of August, DeGarde National Bank saw why First Union, more specifically, Joe Gaudet had declined approval of Keith's proposed condominium complex.

St. Elizabeth Parish's president, Chad Mintz, had appointed Scott Collins as Engineering City Inspector. Scott Collins took his job very seriously. The foundation, nearly six acres worth of concrete, had to be torn up and formed and poured again to meet both parish and state specifications.

Rather than simply pour a slab that would meet specs, Keith, or Kevin, had decided to 'shave' two inches off of the depth of the foundation. Scott Collins actually used a standard school issue plastic ruler, noticed the discrepancy and made them tear out the second foundation.

The plumbing was also less than adequate and the City Inspector refused to approve the plumbing until the pipes were changed. Since the new pipes put them several thousand dollars over budget, Keith, or Kevin decided to shave a few dollars off of the electrical wiring.

Once again, the diligent City Inspector caught the substitution and several hundred dollars' worth of wiring wound up on the scrap heap.

By the time, already two months behind schedule the first piece of sheet rock was hung, Blanchard Construction stood to lose nearly one hundred thousand dollars, even if every unit built was purchased at full market price.

DeGarde National Bank stood to lose nearly that much.

Then banks began to collapse nationwide. Corporations began to fail. Mortgage holders began to try to call in monies owed, tried to stay solvent, tried to stay afloat.

DeGarde National Bank, in a severe financial pinch, halted construction of Stone crest Condominiums.

In the midst of the upheaval, Joe and Gretchen Gaudet appeared before Judge Harold Monroe in Gaudet V Gaudet.

Kenneth had coached Gretchen well. She was dressed in ill-fitting clothing of low quality, she cried, she sniffled, she made sure to thrust her substantial chest toward Judge Monroe often as she answered Kenneth's questions.

"Good morning, Mrs. Gaudet, or have you resumed using Longlinais, or Hebert, or Simon as your last name?" Jesse asked politely.

"I've returned to my maiden name of Lampkin," she icily answered.

Jesse smirked; Kenneth obviously had not known of Gretchen's previous marriages.

He then questioned Gretchen about her claims that Joe Gaudet had been having an affair with Ebony Hinton.

"Keith told me," Gretchen snapped.

Jesse whispered to one of his junior associates. The young man nodded and scampered out of the courtroom.

"And exactly who is this Ebony Hinton?" Jesse asked.

"Keith said she's a stripper down at that nasty oh, damn it, what's the name of that place? Mickey's? Out in Kimble," Gretchen said.

"But you've never actually seen this woman?" Jesse asked.

"No, like I need to see some whore?" Gretchen spat.

"And you've never seen Joe Gaudet with this woman?" Jesse asked.

"No," Gretchen snapped.

"So you've never seen this supposed affair?" Jesse pressed.

"Objection, asked and answered," Kenneth said.

"Mr. Prejean, this is a civil case, not a criminal case," Judge Monroe chided the man. "But since it is your client that is making the allegations of adultery? I'll allow the line of questioning. Mr. Johnson, proceed."

"But I'm finished with that line of questioning, your honor," Jesse smiled.

"Recess for lunch?" Kenneth suggested.

"Very well," Harold agreed, banging his gavel.

"You even know this Ebony Hinton?" Jesse asked his client.

"I don't even know Mickey," Joe denied.

When they returned from lunch, Jesse had six African-American women sitting directly behind Joe's table. All six looked bored, perturbed, inconvenienced.

Gretchen was again called to the stand and Jesse questioned her about the destruction of Joe's property, the siphoning off of his bank account, the maxing out of their jointly held credit cards.

"Nothing further," your Honor," Jesse said. "But we'd like to call Keith Blanchard to the stand."

Keith glared raw hatred at Joe Gaudet. His glare toward Gretchen wasn't much friendlier.

Jesse greeted the man, asked him his occupation, asked him his relation to either party in the divorce.

Then he asked Keith to point out which one of the six women was Ebony Hinton.

"You don't know," Gretchen screamed as Keith looked stricken. "You mother fucker! You don't know!"

She collapsed at the table, finally realizing that she'd been tricked by a man that hated her husband, had done the one thing he could to hurt her husband.

"Joe, oh Joe, I am so sorry," she sobbed.

"Me too," Joe said.

"So, want me sue Keith Blanchard?" Jesse whispered to Joe.

"What a typical lawyer," Joe laughed. "Yeah, go ahead."

When Judge Harold Monroe banged his gavel down on the final action of Gaudet V Gaudet, both parties would split, fifty-fifty all marital assets accrued during the three years of the union, minus the twelve thousand six hundred and fifty eight dollars in furniture ruined by Gretchen, the balance owed on her minivan, and the deductible of Joe's insurance on the motorcycle.

"Bought the house for seventy nine five," Joe said to a pale Kenneth, ignoring Gretchen's sobs. "Well? Appraised yesterday for fifty four nine. You do the math."

Then he turned to the three African-American women that remained.

"So, which one of y'all is Ebony?" he asked.

"That's me, Sugar," an attractive young woman smiled, standing up.

"Damn, well no wonder I had an affair with you, huh?" he smiled. "You're flipping gorgeous!"

"In your dreams, Sugar," the dancer laughed. "My girlfriend's twice the man you'll ever be!"

"Know that's right," Joe laughed.

Despite Jesse's displeasure, Joe told the attorney he would not be seeking the money from Gretchen. He knew she had returned to working at Young Insurance as an agent, and was making very little money.

"Hell, can't even afford her own place, Jesse," Joe said. "I know you lawyers can get blood from a turnip, but let this one go, huh?"

"Fine, fine, but you do still want to proceed against Blanchard, huh?" Jesse grumbled.

"Oh, damn straight," Joe said. "Son of a bitch needs to pay through the nose for this shit."

"Joe! I'm sorry," Gretchen called out as they stepped into the afternoon sun.

"Yeah, yeah, sorry don't really do much, now does it?" Joe muttered to himself as he strapped his helmet on.

On a whim, Joe decided to ride out to Mickey's. It was just before four o'clock, there was no point in going to work this late in the day.

Joe recognized Kevin Blanchard's 2002 Mustang in the parking lot.

"Bet he's one gave Keith Ebony's name," Joe thought as he decided he did not want to stop.

He continued down Highway 19 until he crossed over Highway 54. There was a po-boy shop in Jack's Creek that had the best catfish po-boys he'd ever sank his teeth into and he had a hankering for some comfort food.

The fish was piping hot, the tomato crisp, and the beer ice cold. A few dashes of hot sauce and it was as close to Heaven as Joe could hope for.

"Ninety days," Joe thought to himself. "Hell, took us longer find us the perfect house."

Ninety days for the divorce to become final. In ninety days, he would become a thrice divorce man, a three time loser at age thirty nine.

Joe decided to concentrate on the smoking hot sandwich, the cold long neck and the slightly soggy French fries.

Ninety days. It had taken longer than that for Gretchen to find the perfect little patch of dirt in Baylor Lake for them to wed. It had taken her nearly ninety days to find the perfect pale pink dress.

She'd laughed so happily when she'd managed to find a pale pink tie that matched her dress exactly. He'd worn it with his solid black suit and a crisply starched white shirt.

Glenda and Gertrude had looked beautiful, sweet and beautiful in their pale blue dresses. Both girls had stood, straight and solemn as their mother recited the words.

"Y'all come back, hear?" the old woman called out when Joe pushed away nearly half of his meal.

"Ninety days," Joe muttered.

"Sugar, going make yourself wait that long?" the woman teased.

Joe looked at her and gave her a sad smile before strapping his helmet on.

Returning home, Joe parked the Harley in his garage. He closed the garage door and entered the house through the kitchen door, rather than walk by the flowers. Some were beginning to droop, others showed definite signs of death.

The message light on his answering machine blinked and Joe punched the button.

"Joe, oh Joe, I can't believe, oh God," Gretchen wailed.

Joe pressed the pause button and looked. The digital display said the message was five minutes long, the maximum amount of time the digital recorder allotted. He deleted the message.

"Joe, I know saying I'm sorry, well, I guess it's too late for that," Gretchen's voice sobbed and sniffled.

Joe saw that this message was also five minutes long and deleted it.

The third message was twenty one seconds long. It was from Mitzi, his personal assistant, reminding him of the board meeting scheduled for the following morning.

"Good girl," Joe smiled softly. "Why I pay you the little bucks."

Gretchen's third message was only four minutes and nine seconds long, but Joe deleted it as well.

"What the fuck is it about me?" Joe asked himself as he wearily sat down on his new couch.

Gretchen would have absolutely hated the new couch. It was a deep blue, a velour material. But Joe liked the way it looked with the sand colored shag carpet. His tan and blue recliner matched the couch as well as the carpet. He kicked his shoes off and stretched out on the new couch, clicked the remote on and the lcd screen flickered to life.

"What the fuck is it about me, huh?" he asked himself again.

Vickie had started an affair with Ricky Ricardo, as Joe called her Columbian lover. Bad enough she'd fucked around behind his back, but then she stole his money, and worse yet, his only child, and flew away.

Angela Huvall had been a sweet faced pixie that had lived next door to them; she'd babysat J.J. when he and Vickie went on dates. When Vickie had run off, Angela came over and comforted Joe.

She confessed, she'd always had a bit of a crush on him. Fifteen months after Vickie's flight, Angela and Joe were married.

"At least she didn't drain the bank account," Joe muttered, not seeing the news on the television.

Her old high school sweetheart had come back into town. Joe later found out, the reason Duane had been out of town was his four year stint as a guest of the Arkansas penal system.

Duane wanted to fight; Joe shrugged and told Duane there was nothing to fight over.

"She's stupid enough run off with you?" Joe had said. "I'm smart enough let her."

Angela would not let it go and goaded Duane into fighting Joe. Joe did wonder at his own foolishness in falling in love with a girl barely out of high school.

Duane threw the first punch. Joe stepped under the punch and beat the hulking brute until the young man pissed himself.

Last Joe heard, Duane was doing twelve to twenty at Mumphrey and Angela had three kids and was living with her parents again.

Gretchen, he was sure, would be forever. They would grow old together, playing with their grandchildren. She was no child at the age of thirty one, and as an insurance agent, seemed to have some smarts.

With a sigh, he turned off the television and went to bed. The new curtains in his bedroom did block out the sunlight; it wasn't even seven o'clock yet.

At five thirty the next morning, he woke up and wearily thought of his day ahead. If it had not been for the board meeting that morning, Joe would have called in sick.

Instead, he made a pot of coffee, then fried a couple of slices of thick slab bacon. In the bacon grease, he fried three eggs.

Joe smiled; he could actually hear Gretchen's voice complaining about fat and cholesterol. Sitting to enjoy his breakfast, he saw that the message light was blinking again.

"Hi Mr. Joe, um, this is Glenda," Glenda's voice said. "Um, I just got my first test in Algebra and I made a one hundred. Daddy said you'd want to know."

"Yeah, yeah I do," Joe smiled sadly.

"Hi Mr. Joe, sixth grade is hard!" Rudy's voice chirped. "Believe this? My first day there they gave us homework! First day! But I'm doing okay in my classes, Daddy, I got to tell him anything else?"

"Thanks again, Joe," David's voice said.

"Welcome; you're paying me back, remember?" Joe said as he chewed the thick cut bacon.

"Um, hey, hope you're doing all right," David went on. "You ever need anything, just let us know, okay?"

Ninety four days later, Joe pulled a thick envelope out of the mailbox, along with a sales flyer from Abdul's Department Store and a few other pieces of mail. Gretchen had been an infrequent customer of the exclusive department store, so they sent sales announcements to the house.