Whackadoodle Times Three: Whackadoodle Times, #3

By Kim Antieau

Disasters both natural and unnatural plague Brooke during the week she must deliver the script for the latest installment of her zombie movie franchise. Epic lightning storms strike the landscape, her intimate life is made public, her daughter may be trying to ruin her, she discovers she has no place to call home, and she finds solace in an old friend: the bottle. As her life melts down, with no prospects for relief, Brooke turns to the one thing that has any possibility of saving her: her epically dysfunctional disaster of a family.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Green Snake Publishing
• Release date: Sep 26, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393756248

Kim Antieau

Kim Antieau is the author of Mercy, Unbound. She lives with her husband in the Pacific Northwest.

Book preview

Chapter One

I know precisely when things went whackadoodle again. Eartha did not show up on my doorstep offering perfect margaritas. No fake robbers burst into the restaurant where I was breakfasting with my blackmailing daughter. Nope. It was a perfect February day in the canyon at my old house. They were all sitting outside enjoying the sun, and I was cleaning up after the dinner party. I picked up a wine glass on the counter that had a splash or two of white wine sloshing in the bottom of it. Instead of tossing the wine into the sink and putting the glass in the dishwasher, I brought the glass up to my lips, breathed deeply the scent of fermenting grapes, leaned my head back, then drained the wine into my mouth.

I didn’t swallow right away. I waited a beat. A nanosecond. An eon.

Then I swallowed.

It tasted like Nirvana.

If Nirvana was a place where addicts went to drink warm white wine that tasted vaguely of someone else’s lipstick.

Addicts always have an excuse for relapsing. My excuses could have been that the biosphere was crashing and burning, I believed Mark and I were finished once and for all again, my first son David would turn 17 soon and his anxiety was still full-blown, and my second son Alberto would be a teen now if he had lived.

Or my excuse could have been that my ex-husband Hayword had arranged this dinner party so we could all meet his new girlfriend Patricia who was now listening with rapt attention to my son talk about climate change like she was his new momma come calling. David kept talking about some strange lightning storm coming this week that they were predicting could kill us all. And p.s. Hayword isn’t really my ex-husband. We have not officially divorced. Still.

Or maybe my excuse could have been that I was late delivering the screenplay for Beauty and the Zombie Part Three: Whackadoodle Times. Sally St. James kept telling me that the fate of our entire studio rested on my shoulders. Again.

But I ain’t gonna make any excuses. Even though any one of those would have been good ones. The truth is I swallowed that wine because that’s what a drunk does. Even one who has been sober for five years.

Give me some credit though. I didn’t pick up another half-ass half-filled glass of wine or start desperately rummaging through the cupboards looking for liquor. I stood in the kitchen breathing, leaning against the white cupboards, my hands on the wooden countertops, my fingers holding on to the edge for dear life.

I could hear them outside laughing and talking: David, Hayword, dearest wanna-be-momma Patricia, and my best friend Joanie. My daughter Fern was off somewhere. She had stopped by the bungalow a couple days ago when I wasn’t home. She left me a note on the kitchen countertop, next to a bottle of Martinelli’s sparkling apple cider (already opened) and a piece of cherry pie from Nellie’s. Two of my favorite things to consume. She had sounded fine in the note.

In fact, my whole family seemed fine without me. I breathed. What a relief. What a relief. What a fucking relief. They were fine without me.

What we had all feared had come to pass: I had taken another drink.

And the world had not ended.

What are you doing in here? Joanie asked, suddenly in the kitchen, suddenly beside me, opening up the refrigerator with the hand that wasn’t holding a drink.

I’m cleaning up, I said. I let go of the countertop and began putting dishes in the dishwasher once again.

Joanie closed the fridge and picked up one half-empty wine glass after another and gulped down the contents before handing me each glass. See, she said, grinning. I’m helping, too.

I didn’t say anything. I could hear my heart beating in my ears. Or was that the alcohol pulsing through my veins, singing, More, more, more?

Joanie stood too close to me. She was always too close. She had no sense of personal space. Never had. Sometimes that made me love her all the more. Now, I could smell the alcohol on her. Not on her breath. Was she sweating it?

Are you doing anything to prepare for this lightning storm? Joanie asked. They say we should all stay indoors once it starts and stay until it ends. Will it burn down our houses? Will our phones die?

Why are you asking me? Do I look like a weather vane?

They say that just before, during, and after a lightning storm, all things can change. For the better and for the worse. They say magic can happen and wishes can come true.

Who is they? I asked.

You know, Joanie said. They who know everything.

"Oh, they."

Joanie gave me a look. What do you think of the new bride to be? she asked, in an almost-whisper.

I nearly dropped the empty glass in my hand. Instead I dropped it into the dishwasher and looked at my friend. What are you talking about? They’re not getting married. I bet they haven’t even slept together yet.

Why not? Can Hayword still get it up?

I rolled my eyes. How would I know? I haven’t had sex with him in years.

Joanie looked out the window over the sink. He is still a good-looking man.

Quit lusting after my husband, I said.

Ex-husband, she said. No one knew we weren’t divorced yet. It was no one’s fucking business.

Joanie looked at me. What’s wrong with you? You’ve been nasty all day.

Why did he invite us all here? I asked. To meet his fucking girlfriend? I don’t want to meet his new fuck buddy.

I thought you said—

I put my hands up. There’s too much going on. Can’t he keep it in his pants until we get this film finished?

Hey, you brought Mark around all the time, and Hayword never said anything.

That’s because Harwood is a fucking saint, I said. And I am not.

Brooke.

I took a drink, I said. I wasn’t thinking, and I took a gulp of wine.

Joanie put her glass down and put her arms around me. Oh, baby, she said.

I wondered if this was what it was like to be caught in the Iron Maiden.

Get off me, I said, a little harsher than I meant.

Joanie let me go.

Do you want to go to a meeting? Joanie asked.

I was sorry I had told her, but then she had helped me dress a naked dead man, and I had pulled her toe out of a bathtub faucet, so we didn’t have many secrets between us.

No, I said. I took the one sip. Ahhh, now it had gone from a gulp to a sip. I want to forget about it. It’ll be OK.

It’s Mark, isn’t it? she said. He was so good for you. Have you broken up again? Now that the restaurant is closed it must be weird living there.

I sighed. It was never right after the earthquake, I said. I was in the bungalow more than I was at our place. I shrugged. We are so different. It was bound to happen.

Wait, Joanie said. Does Mark know you are broken up?

I snorted.

Come on, she said. You don’t like goodbyes or endings or any of that. I could see you sneaking out and—

Shut up, I said. I ignored her question. Because I didn’t know if Mark knew. Once the restaurant closed, he went back to being a plumber, and his clients were closer to his old home. So he often stayed at his old house. I often stayed at the bungalow. We texted. But we hadn’t actually spoken in days.

Hollywood sucks the life out of you, I said.

Joanie laughed. Give me a break. You are enjoying the fame and the game.

No, I am not. For one thing, I don’t have the fame. And I’ve never been game.

Truth was life had been more fun when I was drunk. Hadn’t it? I squinted. That couldn’t be true.

Where’s Marv anyway? I asked. Are you still married? I haven’t seen him in ages. Maybe years. Did you kill him and bury him in your backyard?

Joanie laughed. A screechy nervous laugh. She picked up her glass and emptied it into her mouth. And swallowed.

If this was a horror movie, I said, you would now be a suspect in a murder plot.

I didn’t murder him, Joanie said. But I haven’t heard from him for a while. I think he might want a divorce. We had a big fight before he want on a trip. He left three weeks ago, and I haven’t heard from him. You know he goes to visit his brother in Mali every few years. He doesn’t communicate much when he’s there. I think he and Marty go out and pick up women.

In Mali? I asked. That’s a long way to go to commit adultery.

Adultery? she said. No, he just has a few fucks. He’s careful. I’m sure.

About as careful as you are, I said.

Hey! she said.

I shrugged. Truth to power, sistah. Well, truth to slut. From slut.

Joanie laughed. Anyway, I finally called his phone, and he doesn’t answer. I left a message with his brother and didn’t hear back. Finally got his brother’s house, and they said he was out on safari, or whatever they call it. I asked about Marv, but the houseboy, or whatever he was, didn’t seem to know what I was talking about. So I’m a little concerned.

I stared at her. A little concerned? Jesus. Your husband has been missing for three weeks!

Hey, you know we live very separate lives, she said. We like it like that. I was giving him space, and I thought he was giving me space.

Did you check his credit cards, I asked, to see if he was using them and where?

Check his credit cards? she asked. How would I do that?

Jesus, woman. Aren’t they your credit cards, too? You’d look it up online.

You are harshing my mellow. He’s been gone for this long before. I’m sure he’s fine.

How are you going to explain it to the police if he’s not? I asked.

What do you mean? She suddenly looked alarmed.

If someone has hurt him and you never filed a missing person report, won’t they suspect you of foul play?

You’ve been watching too many crime shows, Mac, she said. Let’s forget about it. Are you staying at the bungalow tonight? Come up to the house tomorrow, and we can go through Marv’s papers. You’re better at this sort of thing. I bet you’ll figure it out.

Better at what sort of thing? I asked.

Sneakiness, she said.

She left the kitchen. I felt a tinge of dizziness, like the beginning of an altered state of consciousness. I glanced around the kitchen. Were all the glasses emptied? Yes. Fuck. But that bottle of wine didn’t look quite empty. I hurried across the room, picked up the dark bottle, put it up to my lips and opened my throat. Liquid red gold flowed into my body. I gulped and gulped.

When I stopped, I let out a long sigh, wiped my mouth, and poured the rest of the wine down the drain.

Hey, that’s good wine, Hayword said, as he came into the kitchen. I would have put a cork in it so I could have it tomorrow.

Too late, I said. It’s all gone.

The monster was now coursing through my whole body. I felt free and devastated all at the same time.

I leaned against the counter again and smiled at Hayword.

Soooo, I said. Must be love.

He looked at me, frowned a bit, and then shrugged. You mean Patricia? She’s fun.

Unlike me, I said.

Hayword went to the sink and began putting dishes in the dishwasher, taking over my unfinished job.

What’s going on, Brooke? he asked. You don’t like Patricia?

I shrugged. I had my hand up, as if it now contained a glass of wine. What was going on? I wanted to scream, Please, help me, Hayword. It’s happening all over again. But I didn’t.

No one is funnier or more fun than you, Hayword said.

Joanie was right. Hayword was still good-looking. That had never been the problem. The problem was that he had always been insecure, was always looking for adulation or—approval. At least that was what he was like when we were married. Now that he was a successful producer, he wasn’t quite so needy. Maybe he would be better in bed now. Not that he had ever been bad.

I walked up to him and put my hand on his back. We shocked each other and both jumped. He turned partway around and looked at me. What was that?

I dunno. I guess we have electricity. I smiled. I felt more dizzy. I blinked hard. It was almost as if someone else had control over my body.

Almost.

Hayword laughed. Like the kind of electricity in an electric chair, the kind that kills? I would agree with that.

Hey, we weren’t bad together, I said. Don’t rewrite history. Except for the part when you fucked some blonde bimbo after our son died.

And you fucked every hair color under the sun, he said. We’re lucky we don’t have an SDS.

An SDS? Wasn’t that a terrorist group in the sixties?

He frowned and looked up as he tried to remember. Oh yeah. STD.

I laughed, and he grinned.

I’m feeling a little dizzy, I said. Do you think you could drive me home?

Hayword glanced outside.

You’d be in and out before anyone knew you were gone, I said.

He looked at me, his expression saying the same thing I was thinking. What was I doing?

Please, I said. I don’t want to worry about going around those curves and ending up careening off the mountain.

Let me go tell Patricia I’m leaving, he said.

No need, I said. You’ll be right back. I promise.

He hesitated, and then he nodded. We went out the front door together and got into Hayword’s little sports car. I thought it was ridiculous for a man his age—or any age—to be tooling around in something like this. I didn’t know the model. I didn’t care. I drove a sedan. Just like any sensible person would.

I texted David. Dad’s taking me home. Don’t worry if he doesn’t get back right away.

Crap. I was feeling cranky again.

I needed another drink.

Hayword drove quickly down our canyon road—but not too quickly. He didn’t look at me, but he kept asking me questions.

How is Mark doing?

Fine. I wasn’t gonna tell him nuthin’.

I haven’t seen Fern lately, he said. She doing well?

You don’t know? She is your daughter.

She’s your daughter, too, he said. So how is she?

How would I know? I said. She did stop by my house on Friday when I wasn’t there. Left me a little present. I think she’s trying to be nice. You should see her sometimes. You’re at the studio more than I am.

Yeah, how is the script coming along?

Just fine. My buzz was starting to wear off. Maybe that was a good thing. Maybe that would stop what was about to happen.

We were almost at my bungalow.

You love this Patty woman? I asked.

Patricia. And no.

He drove up my drive and stopped the car. He didn’t turn off the engine.

You’re not gonna walk a girl to the door? I asked.

You’re not a girl, he said, and usually you don’t want me anywhere near this place.

Well, I fucked a lot of people here, I said. I didn’t want you to have any bad memories.

We got out of the car, walked up the steps together, and went into the bungalow together. It smelled like cinnamon inside.

Why would I have bad memories? Hayword said. You never fucked me here.

We can change that tonight, I said as I walked back to the bedroom. I switched on the light and began stripping off my clothes.

Um, wait, what? Mac, why are you taking off your clothes? Stop it.

I smiled. Come on, I said. For old times’ sake. You can go back to Patricia, and she’ll never know.

I’ll know, he said.

Have you fucked her yet?

That’s none of your business.

I pulled my pants off—and now I was standing in front of Hayword naked.

I walked to him and put my arms around his neck. He didn’t move. He looked down at me.

What’s going on? he asked gently.

I leaned against him. I could feel his erection.

What about Mark? he asked.

What about Mark? I said. "It’s only us here, Hayword. Like it used to be when we were kids writing Love and Other Insanities."

Is this love or insanity? he asked.

Does it matter?

He put his arms around me, and we kissed. It felt so familiar. A few moments later, he was naked. We were on the bed together. As soon as his penis was inside me, I felt the same way I had when I took the drink: wonderful and devastated all at the same time. What was I doing? What was I thinking? How on Earth had this all happened?

"It’s always only been you,