Cleopatra and Frankenstein(58)
“Crazy beautiful,” said Eleanor. “It’s like a cross between a flying squirrel and chinchilla.”
“You would think that was beautiful,” he said.
“Look, they make great pets,” said Eleanor. “I’ve gotta run. Think about it.”
“Going on a date?” asked Frank before he could stop himself.
“No, I thought I’d spare myself that indignity tonight.” She smiled sadly. “My dad isn’t doing so well. He took a, um, turn, so I want to go see him before visiting hours end.”
“Of course,” said Frank. “I’m so sorry. If you need to take some time off to be with him, just let Jacky know. You can have as much as you need. Paid, of course.”
This was not even remotely company policy for freelancers.
“Good luck with the pet,” Eleanor said. “I’m sure Cleo will love whatever you get her.”
After she left, Frank read about sugar gliders. Self-cleaning, affectionate, and inexpensive to feed, they did indeed appear to make excellent pets. He looked up to see if any were for sale nearby. The first link that came up was an ad on Craigslist. !!!!**BABY SUGAR GLIDERS 4 SALE THEY R 2 CUTE 2 BELIEVE**!!!! Frank clicked on the link and read the brief description requesting interested buyers to call for more information. Frank got up and closed his office door, then dialed the number listed. The voice that answered was surprisingly sultry and kittenish.
“You want a sugar glider? Sure, I got gliders. I can do one for one seventy-five, two for three hundred, or three for four twenty-five. How many you need?”
“Um, just the one, I think,” said Frank. “How many is normal?”
“You want to get it a friend?” she purred. “It’s a good deal for two.”
Frank looked at the wide-eyed creature on his screen and laughed.
“Okay, two it is,” he said.
Frank took the subway to an address in the Bronx. It was early evening and the train was full of the usual commuter types with their headphones and paperbacks and air of mild hostility. He got off at 149th Street and walked the few blocks to the address he’d been given with his head lowered against the wind. The dark residential streets were close to empty. A car passed by blaring a reggaeton song that had been popular on the radio that summer; it felt as out of place on the barren street as a palm tree sprouting from one of the derelict front yards. He reached the house number he’d been given and looked at the unlit brownstone. Nobody appeared to be home. Frank blew into his hands and called the number from the website.
“Hey, I’m outside. You sure you gave me the right address?”
“You’re late,” the voice chided lightly. “My mom will be home soon.” He saw the blinds of the bottom-floor window move. “I see you. Come to the door.”
Jesus, thought Frank, walking heavily up the steps. How the hell did he end up buying a flying rodent from what now appeared to be an underage girl in the Bronx? What was so wrong with a fucking fish, anyway? He shook his head as he rang the bell. He was the only person he knew who could get himself into a situation like this. Except, perhaps, Eleanor. He smiled to himself at the thought of her. She, he was sure, was capable of anything.
The woman who opened the door was large, at least three times the width of Frank, and, if he had to estimate, in her late forties. She wore a lilac sweatshirt with a faded logo of Mickey Mouse on the front and a pair of thinned, bleach-stained leggings. Her skin was dark and smooth and poreless. Frank searched her face for signs that this was the voice who had spoken to him on the phone. Her eyes were mahogany brown, lined by short, tightly curled lashes, and focused just past Frank with disconcerting intensity. Her full cheeks and heavy chin had a mournful quality, but her glossy lips were faintly upturned. There was not a straight line anywhere on her face or body.
“Are you Frank?”
There it was, that silky voice. Frank nodded, temporarily dumbfounded.
“Come in.” She beckoned for him to pass her. “We gotta be quick. My mom finishes work soon, and she doesn’t like it when I let people come to the house.”
The smell of sawdust, damp, and an unnamable sour odor Frank instinctively knew to be human greeted him as he walked through the door. Piles of clothes littered the living area she led him to. A large plasma screen covered one of the walls.
“You don’t have cats, right?” she asked.
Frank shook his head.
“Good, because cats kill the babies. I’ll go get you one.”
The woman disappeared up the unlit stairs. He looked around the room, which was illuminated by a single buzzing overhead light. Among the mounds of clothes were plastic shopping bags, all ostensibly filled with more clothes. Frank perched on the arm of the large sofa next to him, then stood up again. He rubbed his hands on his thighs. The woman returned with her hands cupped in front of her. He kept trying to decipher her age. She certainly couldn’t have been younger than forty. Her thinning black hair was streaked with white. But she lived with her mother? The whole thing unnerved him.
“Okay, you ready?” she purred. “This one’s a boy. I just woke him up. Let’s hope he likes you.”
She motioned for him to put out his hands and Frank did so. Very gently, she tipped the contents of hers into his. He felt the light, warm pressure of a living body and the tickle of fur against his skin. She pulled her hands away, and Frank saw for a moment a small gray creature crouched on his palm. Before Frank could look closer, it sprung into the air, pinged off the window blinds behind him, bounced off the sofa, and dove into a heap of clothes a few feet away.