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Job’s Evil Dreams by William Blake. Image from Wikimedia Commons.

The Defenestrations
Chapter 3BB
by Angus Miranda

Part 1

“Mom, hurry!”

Teepee fumbled through her Evelyne bag excavating phone, house keys, an assortment of coins, a shriveled stick of chewing gum, a hair comb with missing teeth, bottled water caps, and ketchup packets. She dug through with a ferocious archeological concentration that prevented her from noticing the security guard approaching her.

“Excuse me, ma’am, but why don’t you sit down.” He produced a Monobloc chair and put it in front of Teepee. She glared at him for what seemed like a minute. Flustered, the guard dragged the chair back and placed it behind her instead.

Teepee’s face softened with wonder. She knew she had met this guard before. She continued staring at his face while slowly sitting on the chair offered to her. Her mind was busily figuring out the face staring back at her. Slowly, she smiled with the triumph of identification.

“You sweet little bastard! Why haven’t you called me, mijo Claudio? How was your flight back home?”

The security guard grimaced but immediately tried to compose himself. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”

“Come now. Let’s just go home. I know you are tired. I want to fix dinner for you.”

“But…”

“I couldn’t find the car keys, Claudio. I’m sure they’re inside my bag. Can you please look for them?” Teepee offered her bag to the security guard. Confused, he took it with both hands. He tried to explain something to her but as soon as he opened his mouth, she made a lunge at him. They both toppled over like MMA fighters scrambling out of a lock.

Glenn Close in Fatal Attraction, the movie for which she should’ve won an Oscar three decades ago.

Part 2

My feet are pulsating with the pain of walking around temples and jostling against tourists, mostly Caucasian backpackers and groups of elderly Chinese led by their tour guides. All I could think of was foot spa. So after dinner, I asked them if they wanted to scour the nearby night market. I know they won’t come with me, they’re all glued to their phones posting pictures of temples and elephants and pad thai. Kids these days! They won’t even add me on Facebook.

It’s 200 baht for a foot massage, 300 baht for a full body massage. Is there an available masseuse? The lady at the counter cocks her head to the side and says something in a flat, nasal tone. Maybe she didn’t hear me? So I ask, Is there a female massage therapist? The lady shakes her head, No no, only male, sorry Madam. I turn around and right in front of me is…Inigo? No, he looks so much like Inigo. He smiles at me and did I just imagine the slyest wink I’ve seen since my youth? How dare this hijo de puta! But my knees are melting. He’s almost my son, por Dios! But. Heat builds up in my cheeks. Embarrassed, I break away from his gaze and focus on the price list at the counter top. 200 baht for a foot massage, 300 baht for a full body massage.

Apparition by Odilon Redon from Wikimedia Commons

Part 3

One summer afternoon, my appointment with my dentist was cancelled. I was just about to start the car when he sent me a text message. Damn him. I sat for a couple of minutes thinking of what I should be doing instead. Probably shop for bags? Oh, I recalled a recommendation from my amiga, about this woman selling slightly used LVs. I should probably check on her. I got out of the car to change into clothes that were more casual. On the front porch, I saw Inigo. He seemed to be scratching his crotch. I was going to ask why he hadn’t gone out like his siblings but was taken aback when he whipped out his fourteen-year-old dick swathed in soft pubic hair. I watched him stroke it in varying motions. I should have looked away but I didn’t. Keep quiet, keep quiet. Just keep watching.

200 baht for a foot massage, 300 baht for a full body massage. We offer condo and hotel service.

***

Melissa was cleaning Teepee’s arms with tissues. She was out of the office for her cigarette break when she noticed a security guard and a woman rolling about on the pavement in what seemed like a violent version of Twister. No one was around so she felt it her duty to pry the woman off the guard as she sat on his stomach landing feeble punches on his chest and face.

Corridor in the Asylum by Vincent Van Gogh, from Wikimedia Commons

Part 4

“Are you okay?” Melissa realized the stupidity of this question as the woman stared blankly at her while combing her hair. The security guard shook his head as he walked away from them. When he caught Melissa’s eye, he drew backward circles in the air while mouthing “luka-luka”. She nodded to the guard and waited for the woman to finish smoothing her clothes, which remained crumpled even after she’d ironed them repeatedly with her palms.

“Is there anything that I can do for you?” Melissa asked again.” Do you need help?”

“Yes, I am Teofista Bautista. You can call me Teepee. I’m looking for Melissa Aviles. I want to talk to her in person about Inigo.”

“Ma’am Teepee! What a coincidence. I’m Melissa.” She was about to offer her cheek for un beso but decided to reach out her hand instead. “I’m really sorry about your son,” she said.

Teepee waved her hands about as if Melissa were handing her a rotten fish. “No, no, you don’t understand. You’re confused. Inigo is not my son.”

“I’m sorry, but in the documents that he submitted to our office before his Euro trip, it is stated there that you, his emergency contact person, are his mother.”

“Mierda! What’s this? Let me get this straight. Claudio is my son and Inigo is my masseur.”

What happens next?

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