The Big Easy & Other Lies - Melanie Jacobson Page 0,1

Rags lay on the kitchen threshold, forcing me to step over him and squeeze past a wall of Coca-Cola cartons full of more empty cans. This “collection” gave way to a pile of pizza boxes and potato chip bags blocking the entrance to the laundry room.

In Delphine Riveau’s house there were no options for fresh or healthy dinner choices other than the salad I crammed into the crisper drawer every week; if it didn’t come out of a box or from the freezer, she wouldn’t eat it. The fridge was for soda, beer, and now yogurt. Lots and lots of yogurt. Delphine had gotten a deal at a grocery case lot sale two days ago and had double coupons, besides. So we had a fridge full of yogurt and one lonely bag of lettuce.

After fishing out a raspberry yogurt for myself, I snagged some pretzels from the huge box of mixed snacks Delphine had bought at one of those grocery warehouses. They were an off-brand and tasted stale the first day she brought them home, but I knew not to complain. Otherwise, I’d have to hear about the gall of me wanting the fancy name brand stuff when I cost Delphine her whole social security check every month.

Complete BS, by the way. Her compulsive shopping ate up her monthly check.

With Delphine’s nuked fish stick dinner in hand, I weaved back through the junk lining the path to the den. I had to fumble with her TV table by myself since she couldn’t be bothered to interrupt The Wheel, especially since she wouldn’t see her boyfriend Pat Sajak for two whole days over the weekend. I deposited the steaming dinner and turned to leave.

“Where you going?” Delphine demanded.

“To get you a fork. I forgot one.”

She fixed me with a bleary eye. “You forgot to bring a fork? You’re a waitress. It’s a wonder Dumb Annie doesn’t fire you.”

“I’m sorry. I’ll go get it.”

“Forget it,” she said before I could escape. “I got one left from my lunch.” She rooted around near the arm of the recliner and eventually produced a plastic fork with a hardened crust of pasta on it. It had been a high point in Delphine’s life when Pizza Hut had started delivering chicken Alfredo and cinnamon twists straight to our door. She waved the fork at the TV. “Sit down. I want to watch Attic Cash.”

I stifled a groan but didn’t bother to argue. At least Attic Cash was sometimes interesting. I cleared off the ottoman next to her, scooping the junk mail into a neat pile and setting it on the floor. Delphine wouldn’t let me throw it away until she’d scoured it for coupons. Even then, I’d have to toss it when she wasn’t looking.

“Hurry up,” Delphine said, the wrinkles around her mouth deepening from ditches to canyons like they did every time she frowned at me. I wondered what had aged her more: the cigarettes or me. It was probably a tie.

“Sorry,” I said.

“I saw on the commercials yesterday that some lady finds a pottery rooster worth eight hundred dollars,” she said. I didn’t comment. Delphine was more about monologues. “I have some good pieces in my collections. Better than some clay chicken.”

I held my tongue with more effort this time. She often made this claim. Instead of mouthing off, I daydreamed that Delphine was on one of her other favorite shows with Dr. Phil, and he gave her some straight talk about how she could call her junk “collections” all she wanted but it was still hoarding.

The sharp pain of Delphine’s bright red fingernails digging into my arm snapped me back to reality. It wasn’t Delphine’s style to touch me for any reason, but now she gripped my wrist, her mouth working like she was talking, but no words came out as she stared at the TV.

“Look at that,” she ordered. A painting sat on the antique appraiser’s table. “I have one like that. Maybe it’s worth something.”

It was large, maybe two feet tall and three feet wide. It showed two ducks quacking at a retreating third duck. Nice colors, but nature paintings weren’t my thing. These looked like a hundred other bird pictures I’d seen hanging in the houses I catered in. Pretty, but kind of boring.

“Turn it up,” Delphine demanded.

The appraiser pointed to the cloudy glass. “Even in this sub-par frame, the colors really shine.” He pointed to the bottom and the camera zoomed in to show the tiny print in the