Bakelite IV

At this point Carol was pretty much completely out of words and energy. She walked away from her son to her room for a little cry, which didn’t happen, so she picked up the phone to call Dan. Her ex was no moral compass, but she needed to talk to a semi-sane adult, to just get this thing out. Dan was with a client when she called, but said he could excuse himself for a couple of minutes. He listened to his ex-wife recount what she saw when she walked in the door: Della and Roy on the couch together in some kind of abnormal position. Della’s shirt half off. Roy’s hand in the shirt. Della wearing one of her Bakelites. “There’s really no limit to who Della will pull her tits out for,” said Dan, trying to reassure her. “She’s a freak and a fuck-up. A country bumpkin, really. She probably needed material for her trashy little blog which she imagines to be some kind of get-rich scheme. Forget about it, Care.” Carol whispered loudly into the phone, “But that’s our boy…He’s only 16. And a young 16-year old at that. Just a kid, a little gamer, a computer nerd, really.” Finally, Dan sighed and said, “Whoa whoa whao, Care…So what? Our kid got to see what a set of saggy old 50-year old tits looks like…Just let it go, hon.” Carol corrected him, “Della’s 45”, and then suddenly they were both laughing at they weren’t sure what. He had to go, he told her. She invited him for supper. “I got something going on,” he said, which was code for out with a woman. They said their goodbyes. He asked if she was ok. Yes, she was ok. Really? Yes. Really. He said he would have a talk to Roy next time. Good idea. She hung up, located her handbag, dug out her puffer and sucked on it deeply.