Shakespeare in the Limelight

Scream of the Butterfly

Father Sky and I met in his office. He was now wearing a red suit with a bolo tie and reminded me of a television show I watched as a kid called Captain Kangaroo. The titular host of that kiddie show wasn't played by an Aussie, which, thinking about it now, would have made much more sense.

"How are you acclimating to the vestment?"

"Hmm?"

"The frock?"

"Oh—I feel like a Ziploc baloney sandwich."

"Jessica told me you spent the night here."

"My apartment building burned down."

"I'm sorry to hear that about your domicile."

"Oh, don't worry. It smelled weird, and I think it was making me sick. I'll try to find someplace else to stay. It was just the one night."

"Pish posh. You're welcome to stay here at the estate as long as you like. We've got nothing but space."

"I really couldn't impose."

"No imposition. In fact, after our discussion yesterday, I had a little bit of a revelation. Rather than just conducting a few landscaping tutorials for myself and the staff here, how would you like the permanent caretaker position for the entire estate?"

"Oh, I don't know. I really like working for Little Darling Landscapers. Jim really gave me a break back when I was down and out."

"You're not under any contract with him, are you?"

"No, it's not even about that."

"Company loyalty is a hard habit to break, believe me. I respect that. Why, if it weren't for the surprising offer from a venture capitalist firm, I'd still be stuck at IBM. I felt I was worth more than they were willing to pay for me or my ideas. So, when I chose to follow my dreams and my own sense of self-worth, let's say it paid off in dividends.

"The money with Jim is fine."

"How much are you getting? If you don't mind me asking?"

"$3.25 an hour."

Father Sky looked a bit surprised. "Three twenty-five an hour? I'm pretty sure that's below minimum wage."

"It's twelve dollars below California State's minimum wage standard."

"And you're able to live on that?"

"With the help of my trust fund."

"I see. Well, what if I were to offer you a starting salary of, say— three thousand two hundred and fifty dollars a week as chief caretaker of this estate? What would you say to that, Scooter?"

"Am I sitting down?"

"Yes."

I stood up just so I could sit down again.

I moved into a room down the hall from Jessica. Most everyone else at the estate had more than a few roommates, but like Jessica, I had my own room and a bed far better than what I was used to, a Serta Perfect Sleeper. A few weeks later, I still had not heard from Jim. I decided to swing by the office. The landlord had a threat of eviction notice on the front door. I immediately called our receptionist.

She answered, and she didn't sound happy. "Yeah, I got a letter from that deadbeat piece of shit a couple days ago. I meant to call you, Scoots."

"What did the letter say?"

"He had a claim on some property up in Alaska and had to either move on it or lose it. So, he shut us down and let everyone go. Like I said, I should have told you a couple of days ago so you could have at least applied for unemployment."