Secondhand Stiff (2 page)

My mother loved those shows where they auctioned off storage units. Since she'd been in town, she'd been glued to our TV watching reruns. Some episodes she'd seen a few times. She'd even asked if we could visit the store owned by one of the buyers featured on the show. Like a rocket, Ina went from disrespectful slob to rock star in my mother's eyes. By the time we'd started dinner, Mom had wrangled the invitation from Ina and I was questioning Mom's travel schedule.

“What does Mom mean, Clark?” I turned in my chair to face my brother, my body language challenging him to ignore me. “I thought her flight left Monday.”

When Clark didn't stop eating, I reached my left hand over and placed it on his right arm, stopping the progression of his fork. The table fell as silent as a box of cotton. Across the table from me, Greg's fork was suspended halfway to his mouth. From it dripped homemade cranberry sauce seasoned with orange peel.

Clark put down his fork and turned to me. “I was going to talk to you and Greg about that after we got home tonight.” He glanced over at Greg, who had lowered his fork and was listening—waiting, no doubt, to see if I would start slinging yams. “I got a call earlier today from work,” Clark continued. “I have to fly out first thing in the morning directly to a job and won't be back in time to escort Mom home on Monday.” His head swung between me and Greg as if on a loose hinge. “I was hoping you two would let her stay until I come back. I don't think it's a good idea for her to travel alone. Do you?”

There it was: the real choice. We could let Mom stay until Clark finished his job or I could fly back with Mom, get her settled in her retirement home, and then fly home myself. Hmm, fly the unfriendly skies after Thanksgiving, the busiest time to hit the air, or have Mom stay a few days longer. For most, it would be an easy choice; for me, it was a tough call.

I looked to my husband, trying to pick up on his vibes. Mom and Clark had already been here for two days, and while Clark was great to have around, Mom's constant presence and negativity had been trying, even for Greg. Even our animals stayed out of her way most of the time. But what could we say?
No! Heave her
interfering
, selfish ass out on the tarmac and let her take her chances.
I'd be tempted to say that if we'd been alone, but around a Thanksgiving table with my delightful in-laws, I was compelled to behave.

In silence, I counted my blessings. I had Greg and his family. I'd found my mother and my brother. We were all healthy and relatively happy. What would a few more days matter? I would have preferred not to have been blind-sided over a holiday meal.

“Maybe Clark will be back before the auction,” I said, trying to keep hope out of my voice. I looked to Ina. “When is it again?”

Ina seemed oblivious to the tension her invitation had caused. “Monday morning in Long Beach.”

I turned back to Clark. “Will you be back before then? I'd hate to have Mom all excited for the trip, then you come in and swoop her away.”

Clark wiped his mouth with a creamy linen napkin edged with lace. They were Renee's special linens, used for all holidays except Christmas. For that meal the tablecloth and napkins would be embroidered with poinsettias. “Tell you what, sis. Even if my job is done, why don't we plan on Mom staying with you and Greg through next week. That way you can plan other outings without worrying about all that
swooping
.” His face and voice were blank, but his eyes looked at me with mischief. I was tempted to stomp on his foot under the table.

“Maybe Mom doesn't want to be away from home that long. Did you ask her?”

Clark turned to Mom. “What about it, Mom? Instead of a few days, would you like to stay a little longer here in
sunny
California with Odelia and Greg?”

Without hesitation, Mom responded, “According to the news, it was twenty-seven degrees in New Hampshire this morning. What do you think?”

Everyone at the table turned to me. I caught my father-in-law trying to suppress a grin. Not wanting to display the panic bubbling up in side of me, I shrugged instead. “It's okay by me,” I said with a forced smile. “Although I'm not sure how much time I can get off work next week.”

“I'll be fine on my own at your house,” Mom assured me. “I can walk down to the beach. Can't do that in November back home, not that I'm even near the beach.”

“Renee and I can take her out sightseeing a day or two,” Ron added. “So don't you worry a bit about Grace.”

I looked to Greg, hoping he'd find some excuse and take the pressure off me. “What about you, honey?”

“Why not?” Greg answered with his own smile, although I trusted his to be more genuine than mine. “Glad to have you aboard, Grace.”

“Wonderful,” said Mom, clasping her hands together with joy. “It will be fun, and I can't wait to see one of those auctions in person.”

“Can I come, too?” We all turned toward the end of the table. The question had come from Renee, who'd been quiet since placing the green bean casserole on the table and sitting down. “I'd like to see one of those,” she added with enthusiasm. “We can make it a fun girls' day out.”

It was the first time all day my mother-in-law had appeared chipper, though I did not share her optimism at spending a day with her and Mom together. It's not that they didn't get along. They'd met the day Mom and Clark arrived, and, while they were cordial enough with each other, it was clear Renee had immediately tagged Grace Littlejohn as a blight on motherhood—something that was sacred to Greg's mother. As for my mother, I think she would have liked Renee better if she were the sort of meddling, overbearing mother-in-law I might bitch about. As it was, I got along famously with Renee, and Mom had picked up on that immediately. In Renee's presence, Mom tended to bristle like a displaced hedgehog. She might have abandoned me over thirty years ago, but now she was claiming ownership rights.

I picked up my wine glass and drained it, wishing I could follow-up with a face-first plunge into Renee's amazing pecan pie. If I was lucky, it would rain on Monday and I'd be slammed next week at work. I was only working part-time these days and knew the office would be fairly quiet through the end of the year. Getting extra time off would not be a problem, even though Steele would give me grief just for show.

I looked at Mom. She seemed thrilled. I glanced at Renee. She also looked pleased and excited. Ina was oblivious, but the men all appeared amused by the turn of events and entertained by my obvious attempts to wiggle out of them.

Bottom line: Mom was staying with us an extra week. I'd just have to pull on my big-girl panties and deal with it.

two

While Ina and the
bleached blond continued to hiss and throw colorful insults at each other, a crowd gathered, circling them as if watching a cockfight. Slung over one of Ina's shoulders was a backpack. I half expected her to slough it off and turn it into a weapon.

“Do something, Odelia,” Renee whispered, still standing behind me. I moved over a few inches, putting myself squarely in front of both mothers, using my bulk as a shield should the conflict expand.

I eyed the people watching the spectacle. There were about a dozen, with the group swelling quickly as more cars, vans, and trucks parked and people spilled out into the November sunshine. The crowd was diverse in ethnicity, with both men and women favoring jeans or cargo pants worn with tee shirts or work shirts. Some wore muscle shirts and shorts. A few middle-aged women in nubby polyester and loud prints were sprinkled in the crowd like wildflowers. The group also contained a few couples—possibly husbands and wives running a family business like Ina and Tom. Ages covered every decade from twenty-something to Medicare-eligible. Almost everyone wore sunglasses, except for one short, squat black woman who wore a visor sporting an Indian casino logo. Ina and the blond were the only two young women present.

“What do you expect me to do?” I whispered back to Renee. “Turn a fire hose on them?”

For the first time, I noticed our own appearances. Renee was dressed in an aqua twin sweater set and pressed khakis, her golden hair meticulously coiffed. My mother wore a prim blue belted shirt dress with a sweater draped over her shoulders. I did have on jeans, but they were loose “mom” jeans paired with a sunny yellow sweater, both clean and without blemish. With our handbags, comfortable walking shoes, and discreet and tasteful jewelry, the three of us looked like we had gotten lost on our way to a ladies' lunch or a day of shopping at an upscale mall and had stopped to ask for directions in the wrong part of town. Out-of-town tourists, ripe for a scam, might have blended in better. If the crowd hadn't been so entertained by Ina and her angry little friend, we would have garnered a lot of unwanted curiosity. Ina, in her basic uniform of jeans and snug long-sleeved tee, didn't look like she knew us, let alone was with us.

“Okay, break it up,” ordered a bald, portly man of mixed race. He lumbered out of the office of Elite Storage with authority and purpose and approached the crowd. With him was a young woman holding a clipboard. At first blush she could have been taken for an adolescent boy, but it was a woman, slight and wiry, with short-cropped hair and glasses that gave her a Harry Potterish appearance.

“Ina. Linda,” the man said, addressing the combatants. “You know I don't tolerate scuffles at my auctions.”

“Aw, come on, Red,” said one of bystanders, “let 'em go at it. A good cat fight might bring in more business.” Everyone in the crowd laughed but us.

The man named Red scowled at the crowd and began his pitch. “I'm Redmond Stokes, the auctioneer,” he announced without further ado. He jerked a thumb at his androgynous assistant. “This is Kim Pawlak. When the auction is over, you'll be paying her.” Red gave us a rundown of the rules. We could not go into any of the storage units up for sale and only had minutes to view it from the opening before the bidding began. Sales were final and cash only.

“Just like on TV,” gushed my mother. She was tittering like a excited bird seeing its first worm.

“The first unit up today is number fourteen,” continued Red after a glance at Kim's clipboard. “A 5
x
10.” He turned and started walking through the open gate and down the main road through the compound.

I glanced at Renee, but she seemed more interested in what was going on with Ina. The crowd started after Red like a slow-moving herd, going around the two angry women like a patch of nasty cactus in its way. Ina broke away from her fight and rejoined us to follow the crowd to the first auction, but not before launching one last verbal attack: “Stay away from me or you'll regret you were ever born.”

Linda took two aggressive steps forward and gestured like Rocky Balboa urging on his opponent. “Bring it on, you skinny, stupid bitch.”

With fire in her eyes and clenched fists, Ina studied her adversary, then turned away. I sighed with relief, knowing she was capable of pulverizing the other woman.

“Who is that?” Renee asked, indicating the blond.

“Her name is Linda McIntyre, Aunt Renee,” Ina replied through tight lips. “She's the ho sleeping with my husband.” She got in step behind the crowd, not looking back to see if we were following.

I don't think my mother heard Ina because she was moving with the crowd on Red's heels, anxious not to miss a moment of the auction activity. Renee and I were rooted to the concrete, staring at the woman named Linda. As she passed by us, she gifted us with a snarl.

“Did you know Tom and Ina were having problems?” I asked Renee.

She slowly shook her head. “She did say at Thanksgiving that they'd had a fight, but I didn't know it was this serious.”

“Did you see the bruises on her arms that day?”

“No, but Ron told me about them after you all left. He said Ina claimed they were from an accident at the store, but we're quite concerned.”

I took my mother-in-law's arm and guided her after the group. “Maybe when this is over, we can talk to her about it.”

“Ina's not the sharing type,” Renee reminded me. “But it might do the girl good to know her family is here for her.”

The Elite Storage compound was clean and orderly, with rows of storage lockers lined up like a battalion of garages without attached houses. As we left the parking and office area, I noted several small roads leading off in different directions like streets in a planned community. The buildings were stucco, with the doors to each locker made of sturdy metal secured by padlocks.

The group walked down the main road and turned left, then took another left. Red came to a halt in front of a unit. A man with
Elite Storage
printed across the back of his work shirt materialized with a small power saw. With a short, high-pitched buzz, he easily cut the padlock from the unit and rolled the door up. The crowd surged forward for a better look. Renee and I joined Ina and Mom up near the front.

To my untrained eye, the large storage locker appeared to be stuffed with household junk, including a well-worn box spring and mattress set. Some of it was neatly stacked and wedged into the space in an orderly fashion, while much of the small stuff looked heaved in at the last moment. Several individuals in the crowd moved forward, flashlights in hand. Standing at the doorway, they shined their limited lights on various items in the locker, poking their beams here and there, over and under the furniture and boxes, going where their hands could not pry. All were hoping to spot some treasure no one else would see. Satisfied, they moved back, and several others moved forward. Ina followed suit. There was general low-key chat among the buyers as to individual items and worth. Next to me, the two Latinos in baseball caps held a hushed conference in Spanish. Across from us, two separate pairs of couples had their heads together, plotting strategy. Everyone eyed their competition with jumpy peripheral vision.

“You going to bid on this one?” my mother asked Ina.

“Maybe,” she whispered just loud enough for the three of us to hear. “It looks like the contents of a small house. See,” she said, pointing the large flashlight she'd produced from her backpack to a spot beyond the mattress. It hit upon a corner of some white enamel. “Behind there might be a washer and dryer or a refrigerator.” She moved her light. “And there's a table and chairs in the back. You can just make out the legs, and next to it is possibly a sofa. And those plastic bins off to the side are marked
kitchen
.” She turned off her light. “There might be some good stuff here for the shop if the bidding isn't too high.”

I bent closer. “If you win, how are you going to move it all?”

“We have a couple of guys who work for us part-time,” Ina explained. “If I win any of these lockers, I'll call them and they'll come with a truck and move it to the shop for sorting. If I find anything small of value right off, I'll take it back with me.”

“What about Tom?” I asked, being the first to verbalize his absence. “Why isn't he here to help?”

Ina turned and looked from me to Renee, ready to identify the elephant in the room and dispatch it quickly with a high-powered hunting rifle. “I have no idea where Tom is.” She glanced over at Linda McIntyre, then raised her eyebrows at us, challenging us to press further. Neither of us did. Mom, thankfully, had inched closer to the auctioneer and missed the exchange. I didn't need her nosing about in Ina's touchy business.

The auctioneer asked for an opening bid, and the auction was off and running. I don't know how Red kept everything and everyone straight. Words flew out of his mouth like sparrows spooked from a tree. Around us people offered grunts and yips—some loud, others quiet—signaling bids. Other bidders merely moved a hand or a few fingers. Ina's bids were indicated by a sharp nod of her head. Across from us stood Linda McIntyre. Her bids were noted with a guttural “yeah” reminiscent of a dry smoker's cough. She bid higher every time Ina was in the lead. Redmond Stokes saw and heard it all and kept the bids climbing.

“That locker ain't gonna be yours,” Linda sneered across the few yards that divided her from Ina. “Any more than Tom is yours.”

Next to me I felt Ina tense, ready to spring forward and pummel her adversary. Instead, she volleyed, “Who says I want the loser back?” Around us people laughed, enjoying the free entertainment.

Even with the sideshow, the bidding was over in a fast-paced two minutes, with the two chatty Latinos winning the locker. Ina had pulled out of the race just several bids before, and Linda had pulled out shortly after.

“Wow,” Mom said, fanning herself, “that was exciting.” She turned to Ina. “Why'd you stop?”

“Because the bidding passed my limit,” she explained to us. “Auctions are a lot like gambling. You have to set a limit and stop when it's reached, otherwise you overspend and lose your shirt. Some people,” she said, shooting her chin in Linda McIntyre's direction, “even drive the bidding up on purpose, just to stick an overly competitive bidder or someone they don't like with a higher price. She had no intention of buying that locker.”

I was beginning to have a whole new appreciation for Ina and her business sense. Even cloaked in anger, she was displaying an impressive level head.

The crowd moved on to another unit about the same size. Once the lock was cut and the door raised, we could see it was a room containing office furniture and equipment. It was full but not jammed to the roof like the locker before it, and the contents were better packed. I noted several basic desks and swivel chairs, along with what appeared to be computer equipment, fax machines, and bookshelves. Off to the side, banker's boxes were neatly stacked and labeled to indicate they contained receipts and invoices from specific years. While my mother and Ina stepped forward to take their turn viewing the contents, I noted that Renee was having a difficult time keeping her eyes off Linda.

“You okay?” I asked her.

Renee gave me a weak nod. “I'm wondering what Tom sees in that tramp.”

Besides huge boobs and loose morals?
But I kept that to myself and instead replied, “Who knows? He's always been kind of a jerk, hasn't he?”

“True, but I still hate to see Ina hurt like this. She's had a rough life and deserves better.”

“You going to bid on this one?” Mom asked Ina like a coconspirator as the two of them rejoined us in the crowd.

“Yes,” Ina said quietly. “Office furniture and equipment have good resale value if they're in decent condition.”

A few minutes later, Red was off and running with the auction. A lot of other bidders felt the same as Ina, and the bids were flying around like angry bees. Once again Linda dogged Ina's bids, outbidding her at every turn. I lifted my arm to readjust a falling bra strap and was shocked to find the auctioneer pointing in my direction.

“Is that a bid, princess?” Red asked me.

“Huh?”

Everyone stared at me. Some were giggling. Most were annoyed by the stop in the action.

“Um, no, it wasn't,” I clarified. “Sorry.”

Next to me, a grizzled old guy groused, “Amateurs.”

“This ain't no fancy reality show,” Red admonished. “People are working here. Next time, the bid sticks.”

“Sorry,” I said again, putting my arm down straight. I left it there, afraid to move a muscle.

The bidding resumed, ending with everyone being outbid by a burly guy in a blue wife-beater shirt.

Once again we moved
en masse
through the storage complex on our way to the next auction. According to Red, there were five lockers up for auction today. The third one was a bit larger than the last two and located almost at the far end of the property. I was glad I'd worn sturdy shoes. Both Mom and Renee were holding up great, though I'm sure Mom's energy was fueled by the excitement and the stories she planned to tell back at her retirement home.

When we were all gathered around the third unit, Linda snarled at Ina, “Don't even bother.” Ina ignored her.

Like kids at Christmas, we anxiously awaited for the padlock to be cut and door number three to be flung open to show us its secrets.