1 – Home
It was Thursday, July 1st, 1976. The bicentennial–the celebration of 200 years of independence–was just days away. By the looks of the quaint suburban Connecticut house, with its white picket fence, Cape Cod façade, and street side mailbox proclaiming it to be the home of Joe and Ann Dee, you would think all was right in the world.
But you would be wrong.
Joe Dee was moving about the kitchen, preparing a breakfast of omelets, bacon, and fresh-squeezed orange juice. He opened a cupboard and, as he lifted a glass, a silverfish scampered toward the dark recesses of the cupboard. Joe jerked his hand back quickly, letting loose his grip on the glass, which fell to the floor and shattered at his feet.
“Damn.” Joe surveyed the wreckage and shook his head in anger and disgust–anger at the broken glass, and disgust with the vile little bug that caused the accident.
Joe retrieved a broom and dustpan from the mudroom off the back of the kitchen. He was able to sweep most of the shards into a tidy pile. He stooped to dislodge a large sliver of glass that was wedged under the baseboard of the kitchen cabinet. As he reached for the shard, a large roach darted along the baseboard and across his hand. He instinctively retracted his hand, cutting the tip of his index finger on the broken glass.
“Double-damn!”
Putting his finger to his mouth, he went to the half-bath off the mudroom, where he ran cold water over his finger. He dried it carefully, swung open the medicine cabinet door, and reached for a can of bandages. He was just about to flip open the lid when he noticed a daddy longlegs crawling over the face of the can. Horrified, he smashed the can onto the sink counter. He timidly peeked under the can to make sure the spider was dead but it was nowhere to be seen.
Joe became aware of a strange buzzing sound. He sniffed the air–something was burning! He rushed to the kitchen. The toaster was jammed again. Joe grabbed a fork from the table and pried the top of a slice of bread that had jammed the toaster. Once freed, the toast slices popped up with such force that they flew from the toaster. Joe deftly caught one in mid-air, but the other landed on the floor.
A very frazzled Joe Dee bent over to pick up the toast and saw the dustpan of broken glass still lying on the floor. The shard, tipped with his blood, had become dislodged. So he used the toast to push the last piece of glass onto the dustpan and then he took the dustpan and broom back to the mudroom.
As he emptied the dustpan, his eyes focused on a small red ant crawling up the side of the wastebasket. Then he noticed a second ant on the way down–indeed, a whole caravan of tiny red ants were strung out in a ragged line leading to a small opening between the back door and the sill. Joe started to stomp on them with his feet.
“Damn. Damn. Damn!”
He swung the back door open, grabbed the broom, and began to sweep the ants out. A cat was crouched at the foot of the back stairs.
“Sissy! What is it?”
Sissy glanced up at Joe, then back at the foot of the door.
“What’s wrong, girl?
Sissy sprang to the back stairs landing. Joe recoiled when he saw the target of Sissy’s assault–a small gray mouse, which scurried through the open door and raced into the kitchen with Sissy in hot pursuit.
“Oh, my God, my God, my God!”
Joe chased the intruders with the broom.
“Sissy, you rat! I’ll kill you, unless you kill that mouse!”
The mouse, Sissy, and Joe did a lap around the breakfast table–Joe thrashing with the broom. An errant blow of the broom jarred the kitchen counter, causing the eggs to roll. They fell to the floor as the trio made a second lap. The eggs exploded like small bombs in front of the mouse, causing it to cut under the table and head toward parts unknown. Sissy and Joe dashed off toward the front of the house, close on its heels.
As the trio exited the kitchen, Ann Dee entered from the side hall. She was dressed in a smart business suit and carried a stylish leather briefcase in one hand. She glanced at her watch and the expression on her face told the usual story–she was running late.
“Joe. Joe, dear. I’m late.”
She surveyed the disaster area, then carefully waded through the pools of yolk and whites to the counter where she delicately picked up a piece of burnt toast with her forefinger and thumb. She looked at it with disgust and tossed it into the garbage disposal.
“Joe? I need to go.” Ann found the pitcher of fresh juice, reached into the cupboard, grabbed a glass and poured herself some.
Joe entered through the same door by which he had left. He was alone, a look of defeat etched on his face. He stopped just inside the doorway, one hand on his hip, the other gripping the broom, which dragged on the floor. “My God!” he gasped.
“C’mon Joe,” said Ann, taking no notice. “I’m running late. Do you need the car, or should I drive myself to the station?”
“And what about breakfast?”
Ann downed the last of her juice. “It was delicious, dear. Are you driving or not?” She smiled politely.
“Tch!” Joe clicked his tongue in disgust. He looked like he might cry. His eyelids fluttered as he talked, choking with emotion. “Well, isn’t that just like you. I may have just had the worst morning of my life, and all you think about is yourself.”
“I’m sorry, Joe, but I’ve got an important appointment this morn...”
“You, you, you! What about me, Ann? Huh? What about me? I work my fingers to the bone around here, for you, and what do you do for me? Huh, Ann? What do you do for me?”
“I’m sorry, Joe. I...”
“You’re sorry? I’m the one that’s sorry. I slave for you day and night! I don’t get weekends or holidays off, either! And what do I get in return? What, Ann? What? We hardly ever get out anymore. God knows how I’d like to get out once in awhile–a show or dinner, or something... anything.”
Ann crossed to Joe and offered him her hand. Joe looked down at his shoes, pouting.
“I know how hard you work around here. Maybe I should force myself to take a little more time from the office. Tell you what, next week I’ll have you meet me in the city. I’ll take an afternoon off, we’ll go for a nice dinner, and I’ll get a couple of tickets for A Chorus Line, okay?”
Joe lifted his eyes to meet Ann’s. She was still offering her hand.
“You would like that,” she continued. “Wouldn’t you? That is the show you wanted to see, isn’t it?”
Joe took her hand and nodded.
“Then turn that frown upside down and drive me to the station. Huh, darling?”
A half-smile widened across Joe’s face.
– End Chapter One –
