Neon Girl

Scene 4 - Chili Con Captain

Papa is gumming the last triangle of his sandwich when Loki and I arrive. Loki flops onto the couch and assumes his gamer slouch.

"Hey, Mr. Grecco. Mel told me about your arm. Can you move it?"

"I can move it, but I prefer not to." Papa eyes Loki like he's never seen a guy wearing eyeliner before. "Do you have a gig tonight, or are you dressed for Mel's London Fog party?"

"It's London punk, Papa." I drop my hoard on the counter and stick the rest of my Slurpee in the fridge.

"The gig was cancelled at the last minute," Loki explains. "I'm not sure if I'm going to the party with Mel. It sounds like something my aunt would be leery of."

Papa mutes the TV and shakes the remote at the electric piano. "Speaking of music. Mel, have you played your little arrangement of Fool on the Hill for Loki?"

"Loki doesn't want to hear me play. He came up to hear your stories. Tell him how you and Grandma met at the Dunes Hotel and how, thirty years later to the day, you watched them implode it."

Loki scoots to the edge of the couch, looking like a groupie waiting for a concert to start. "Really? Did you cry when it happened?"

I shuffle up to the electric piano because I have a hard time ignoring it, especially when Papa points it out. I'm grateful that Loki's interest in Vegas history trumps his need to hear me play. Papa is my biggest fan, and he expects everyone else to be. I sing under my breath as I plunk out the tune Papa put in my head.

His window is open, which he does whenever the heat isn't too unbearable. It makes him feel like he's getting fresh air. I notice Harry is back behind his dumpster. He's faked-out the cops again and is rummaging under his tent of Salvation Army blankets, probably getting ready for a big night of panhandling. My phone quacks. It's a text from Dad.

(Looking forward to bowling. I have a surprise for you.)

(Cool. Is it a car?)

(Patience on the car. The surprise is from Jenna.)

Terrific. It's probably an invite to a model home opening. She wants me to hand out business cards for her again and talk about the updated features of the chef's kitchen. The woman isn't bad for a stepmom, but she doesn't get teenagers at all. Well, she doesn't get me.

(Can't wait. See you soon)

I check the time on my cell. Four-thirty already. Mom is on her way home, and I haven't prepared my speech about the rave. I pop open the bag of Funyuns, in this case, dinner, and drop onto the couch to listen to Wiki Papa. Half an hour later, the front door opens and Mom walks in, interrupting the story of how Papa accidentally insulted Milton Berle during a show. One of my favs.

"Happy Friday, everyone." She tosses her purse, keys, and a pile of mail onto the dining room table. "Sorry, Dad. I didn't mean to interrupt you and Milton."

She heads straight for the kitchen, pulls a twelve-ounce Coke from the fridge, a sixteen-ounce glass from the cupboard, and a handle of Captain Morgan from the liquor cabinet. Another reason to like Fridays. Mom's mood improves significantly. If she doesn't go overboard with her best friend, the Captain, the Jungle Club is a done deal. I've been eighteen for a while, but in Vegas, twenty-one is the golden number.

"I could use something to whet my whistle." Papa waves his empty milk glass in Mom's direction.

"Do you want some milk?" Mom knows he doesn't want milk. And Papa knows she isn't going to mix him a drink.

"You heading to Fire in the Hole later, Amanda?" he asks. "I was thinking I might join you."

Oh, great. If they both go to the bar, I'll be stuck here with Ripley for sure. All Papa wants is a little snort, and he'll be content to fall asleep in front of Ten-Minute Meals.