Chatterbox
Who: Open to someone who wants to visit. She doesn't get out much...
Where: Ginger's apartment.
When: Early Evening
Mr. Anderson had been at Ginger's for twenty minutes, cornered and not capable of escaping her word onslaught. He stood quietly because he was too polite to run out on the nice woman…and Ginger had always starched his collars without charging him extra…and she folded his shirts just the way his mother used to…and the way she balled his socks so they fit neatly in his drawer was a kindness that he felt he could repay by listening to her chatter on like a monkey for a few more minutes.
She only paused to catch her breath but the noise didn’t stop when she did.
Her kids were drumming on pots and pans in the background and Ginger didn’t even notice. She was so accustomed to constant noise (having two kids) that when she had enough breath back in her lungs her story continued. You see, she was so relieved that Mr. Anderson was able to stop by her apartment and therefore she had someone else, an adult, to talk to that she couldn’t stop her mouth from going a hundred miles a minute.
“So anyways…I haven’t been to the circus in a few years but Sally up the street gave me the tickets and I am absolutely thrilled even if I do wish she could actually make it. It’s too bad about her Aunt Ida isn’t it? Breaking her knee like she did? You always see people slipping on banana peels in the comics but you never hear of anyone actually doing it. Can you imagine such a thing? Who knew they were really that slippery!”
Every one of Ginger’s rambling speeches had questions sprinkled throughout but unless you were really forceful of opinion the most you could relinquish in response was a nod here or a shake there. It was seldom that anyone got a word in unless the conversation excitement had finally ebbed and flowed and settled into an honest to goodness real, normal conversation. Of course, often after her word rampage it was too late for the faint of heart. Most would beg their pardons when a pause was made and make their departure.
Mr. Anderson was nodding emphatically now…practically hypnotized with how fast the girl could prattle on. “So, Frankie is really looking forward to it. I hope I can find a sitter because there are only two tickets and it would be nice if I could get out and do something special with him without Maria pulling at his eyelids the whole time. I always feel so bad for the elephants though. Don’t you? Such pretty creatures...”
A look of terror had moved onto Mr. Anderson’s face and Ginger caught on immediately. She touched his arm lightly, “Oh no! No. I don’t mean to imply that you should offer. I’ll get someone that actually enjoys watching children. Not that you aren’t a dear to them but I know you like your peace and quiet….” It came to her suddenly that she had cornered him into one of her ramble-athons. “Oh dear me! Mr. Anderson…you sweet man.” She stood on her tippy toes and pecked a kiss on his cheek. “I’ve kept you long enough. That will be two dollars please. For the laundry...not for me talking at you for ten minutes.” She laughed.
The old man was now blushing. He did like kids but he was an old bachelor and they overwhelmed him. His crinkled features offered her a flattered smile and he withdrew his wallet to pay her. “You’re a sweet girl Ginger. Here’s two and an extra fifty cents.”
“I couldn’t take that…” she shook her head, feeling as if it was charity. “The price is two.” She spoke, her mind set.
“I do like children.” He told her, “and wouldn’t mind you getting yours some cotton candy or a candy apple. Whatever it is they sell at the circus now-a-days.”
She looked back at her children. Maria had fallen over one of the pots sound asleep, even though the pounding metallic twang of Frankie’s wooden spoon on the back of the Dutch oven still beat on relentlessly, as if he was a Tiki war god. “That’s very sweet of you Mr. Anderson. How about I press your trousers next week for no charge?”
“Deal.” He said, realizing her capacity to see through his offering as pity. Ginger felt receiving money was not the same as receiving a gift. Easy come…easy go. She took the two fifty and stuffed it in the breast pocket of her apron. Later she would place it in the old cigar box she’d had since she was a child.
Ginger nodded at the kind man and he tipped his hat before reaching for his bag of laundry and taking his leave. When the door shut behind him she went to the kitchen and picked Maria up from off the bed. She cradled the girl in her arms and humming softly brought her to the tiny bedroom where they slept, to lay her down.
Brett had spent the majority
Brett had spent the majority of the early hours of this morning sitting in the waiting room of the city hospital, following through with the decision to get his hand looked at after he'd punched a solid brick wall in pure frustration last night. They'd finally, sometime just after dawn, pronounced it badly bruised but not broken and let him go with some strong painkillers that he had no intention of taking - they would fuzz his hand up too much and he always preferred to have a clear head.
He was really clocking up the injuries at the moment, and it seemed that all of them had to do with her. Course, the bite bruise and the scratch marks on his neck had been specifically put there by her. Hopefully in the future she'd stick to his say-so of not doing that kind of thing where it was visible. It raised far too many questions that he didn't want to answer right now.
The hospital emergency room had been a madness he could hardly comprehend. It had been busy, but sane when he'd got there, but as he was leaving, emerging into the cold light of dawn, it was like all hell had broken loose, shouts and people running, the vans that passed for ambulances arriving seemingly all the time. But what did he know? That could be normal - or so he'd thought as he'd walked away.
A couple of hours later, he'd found out just how 'not normal' it was. Once he'd seen the paper, once he'd been called up to act as bodyguard for one of the higher up O'Malley's for the day. They really hadn't been impressed to see that he was injured though, and he was told to go home, his injury meaning they didn't want to rely on him for the evening meeting the Micks were having tonight, to figure out what the Holy hell was going on.
They were definitely rattled, and they were beginning to turn on each other, trying to find the mole in their midst. It didn't help at all that the City wasn't pleased with them either. Several prominent citizens were being called to task right now. That never went down well.
Brett felt a certain sense of satisfaction about the whole thing - though he'd not even cracked a smile all day. that was the other useful thing about pain - it kept you surly. Not that Brett generally had a problem with that. They were all running about like headless chickens and he'd felt like he was calmly walking through the centre of it. They didn't have any clue. And this was just the beginning. Today he'd felt like maybe they had a chance.
Maybe. He'd headed home, because he'd been told to go there, and because he didn't want to be putting a foot wrong with the twitchy bastards at the moment. They said home, he'd take that as an order. He'd prefer to deal with Jackson, rather than the o'Malleys. Jackson wouldn't shoot him for breathing wrong. But there was the issue of Ginger, what he'd told Jackson, and so he stopped at her apartment on his way up, knocking at the door - it was rare that he voluntarily did that.
As soon as the toddler had
As soon as the toddler had been put down and a blanket laid over her right up to her chin, Ginger heard a knock on the door. She automatically thought that Mr.Anderson must have left something or forgot to ask her a question. Ginger moved out of her tiny bedroom and rushed for the front door. She didn’t even bother to look through the peep hole. She just flung the door open expecting to see the old gentleman who’d just left minutes before.
“Oh!’ She said with surprise. It wasn’t Mr. Anderson at all. It was Brett from upstairs, “Brett!…Hello. How are you?” Ginger asked him with a big, tooth filled smile. She then glanced back at Frankie who was still going gung ho on the metal pots. “Is Frankie bothering you? He loves making noise….”
Brett stayed where he was -
Brett stayed where he was - he knew from experience that stepping into Ginger's apartment was a hell of a lot easier than stepping back out again. "Frankie's not bothering me, and I'm fine. Just getting in," he told her, half hiding his injured hand against his right thigh. "Just wanted to tell you - I'm not gonna be around as much, but there's a guy, might wanna leave me a note of three. So, i told him to put them in your box, not mine. Could you just... pass them on when you see me, maybe."
When she was told that
When she was told that Frankie wasn't a bother, Ginger stepped out into the hall with Brett. It was hard to talk over the constant drumming going on inside her tiny place and Brett wasn't necessarily a loud man. "You're not going to be around?" She said and the curosity in her eyes was impossible to ignore. "Of course...That isn't a problem at all." Ginger didn't even bother asking what the reason was. It wasn't much of a favor to ask and she was glad that she could help out.
It was then that things became awkward. Even a little embarassing. She's gotten to know Eris and thought of her as a friend but it wasn't until she asked, "So how is...is?" that she finally realized she'd never learned his woman friends name. Eris has never told her and Ginger had never asked. The surprise she felt was written all over her face, "You know...she never told me her name. I am sure I would have remembered." She bit her lower lip. "I hope she's alright. I miss having her around..." She glanced down, averting her eyes and feeling ashamed that she could not know such a simple thing about someone she considered a friend. That's when she saw his hand.
"Oh no! Your hand. Are you alright Brett?" It was the catalyst for her to finally asked, "What's going on?"
"Work," Brett supplied,
"Work," Brett supplied, though he'd never actually told her what he did. Any explanations which had been necessary had been very much along the 'a little bit of this and that' lines, and Ginger had always seemed to accept that. It wasn't like Brett was the type of guy who encouraged questions, or intimacy. "And she's doing okay. We're... yeah." He made vague gestures and hoped that Ginger would fill in the gaps for him. that would be really great if she would. She'd actually probably do it better than he ever could himself, plus - maybe she'd forget about his hand that he wasn't answering her on.
There were many thoughts
There were many thoughts that formed in her mind but in the end she was happy just to help, "Well I am happy to give you a hand since apparently you've hurt yours..." she looked at him sympathetically."You should come in for dinner. You can tell me all about your romance. She must be thrilled." He didn't look too keen on this, even through his straight lipped expression and so she corrected. "Or at least what her name is and how I can reach her. Frankie wrote her the most adorable letter. It's mostly finger prints and backwards N's but I think she'll adore it. Frankie had a crush on her just like you did." She laughed, not knowing she could be saying something upsetting. Ginger wasn't sure how it could be. "Of course he was more vocal about it."
She paused then, taking a step back and peeking through the door to check up on her son. He had stopped pounding the pots and was now coloring with a few broken crayons. She turned back to Brett, "You really should tell me her name before I die of embarrassment when she finds out I never asked her what it was. I mean. It's terrible I don't know. Are you coming in for dinner? I made a casserole."
"I'll pass on dinner," Brett
"I'll pass on dinner," Brett told her - he didn't accept things from people, and he had no wish, at all, to talk about his 'romance'. he noted though that she'd assumed that they were back on. He'd half wondered if she would think the opposite, what with Eris moving out and all. But, Ginger could and would think whatever she wanted. "But if you wanted to give me the note, I can see that she gets it," he suggested, again not actually giving her a name. Brett doubted that eris would be impressed with him passing on 'Julia' and there was no way he was giving out 'Eris' - not with Jackson prowling around the place. he really didn't trust the guy to do as Brett told him and make no contact with Ginger.
Ginger was an optimist and
Ginger was an optimist and the fact that he knew she was fine was enough of a clue to give her the assentive to think the best was happening. "I"ll make you a plate then. You can take it upstairs with you. You probably wantto rest that hand. Do you want to come in while I find the letter? Frankie won't bite." She was already going into the apartment and she did expect him to follow. She noted that he ignored giving her the name and although this was a little strange she figured he had his reasons. "Or I could come up and give you everything when they're asleep. It's up to you."
.
"Really, it's okay - i ate earlier," Brett told her, firmly, but not rudely. Not yet. He tried to avoid being out and out rude to Ginger. She was a mother by nature and anyway, whilst he'd easily make women cry when the mood took him, he didn't particularly want to make a girl cry when she'd be crying in front of her kids. That really would be him being a bastard. But, turning down the meal made it harder to turn down the invitation in, though he tried to avoid that where possible. He'd prefer that than her feeding him, though, so he reluctantly stepped inside. "Sure, I can do that," he agreed, looking round for the little rug rat.
Ginger just nodded but she
Ginger just nodded but she really didn’t think it was ok. Regardless of him being with her nameless friend, he was still a bachelor and bachelors didn’t eat well. They usually ate hotdogs or fried meats. Maybe sometimes they had potatoes. The best of them could fry an egg and make some toast but usually that was asking a lot. So, as many mothers have in the past she ignored his pleas not to be coddled or looked after and distracted him with other topics. She was still expecting him to follow her in. It wasn’t like she saw her apartment as a quicksand trap or anything like that. She went right to the kitchen once they were inside and began fixing him a plate anyways, along with some cookies for later. When it was wrapped with tin foil she ignored it for the moment to search for the letter Frankie had colored for his utterly adorable and innocent 5 year old boy crush.
Frankie was adorable when he wanted to be but he’d had a tough few years when he was a baby and was unfortunately stuck with a perpetual cold. This resulted in him having sneezing fits, or coughing fits, or bubbling snot fits, or fever fits….His doctor said he would grow out of it. Personally Ginger thought it was because he was inside so much. She wished she could take him out for some fresh air more or that there was a fenced in area for him to play in. Alas, that just wasn’t how it could be right now. Some day perhaps. Right now their living room was his park and the basement was his playground.
“Hi.” Frankie stood up from his tinker toys and walked over so he could pull on Brett’s pant leg. “You’re tall.” He said, as if that was something no one had ever noticed before. “Do you want to play trucks with me? You can be the bulldozer…..We can bulldoze the building I made” he pointed to where he has been sitting a moment before, his child sized finger pointing over at the make shift building he had pieced together with Lincoln logs and blocks. Then he sneezed. Luckily no residue was tossed Brett’s way.
“Cover your mouth and nose when you sneeze sweet heart.” Ginger corrected as she came into the living room with the tin foil wrapped plate and the letter for their mutual friend. She handed it all to Brett and then pointed at the picture her son had drawn with crayons on construction paper, “That’s her, ….I think it looks just like her if she was made from a circle and a stick and a shade of blue. Don’t you think so? She’s so pretty…even in crayon. ” Her finger slid over and pointed at another circle and a stick, with strands of yellow on the circle indicating long blond hair. This figure was holding dots, “That’s me. These are the cookies we made one day.” Her finger wasn’t done sliding. Oh No! It slid over to another character. This character was taller than the others and had a bold upside down V for eyebrows. It was a pretty decent representation, “That’s you! Aren’t you handsome? I also thought so anyways.”
The letter said, "I miz u." at the top.
Brett eyed the food, then
Brett eyed the food, then hoked the paper up and folded it loosely in half. "I'll make sure she gets it," Brett told her. He didn't make any commentary on the content of it, though he'd clearly noticed. "But, really - i've eaten," he added, before deflecting down to the kid, squatting down and looking at him on the level. "Why bulldoze it?" he asked, seriously on the side of gruffness. he didn't know how to deal with kids. they didn't really factor in in his 'this is the way the world is' point of view, and Ginger's kids were generally the only exposure he had these days. Unless you factored in the O'Malley runners, but generally they were older kids who'd found their mouth and the best thing for them was a thump on the ear to teach them their place. Frankie, though, was a little kid, still with his innocent. "Spent a lot fo time building it, didn't you? Why you wanna knock it down?"
"You can eat it later. Just
"You can eat it later. Just heat it up in the oven for 15 minutes." Ginger replied. "It's really good, home cooking. If you haven't been home then you can't be eating any honest to goodness home made meals. Look," She said, indicating the tin foil with a rat a tat of her finger against it,"...I wrapped it up for you and everything. It would mean so much to me if you took it." She twisted a piece of hair around her finger but Brett was elsewhere, bending down to address her son.
Frankie, or Frankels as Ginger sometimes called him for no reason at all, was emphatically resolute as he answered Brett's question, "It's fun, silly!" Frankie knew that the structure was only temporary. In an hour he'd be taking it all down and putting it all away in his toy chest before bed. So it was totally FUN to knock it down.
brett looked up at her with
brett looked up at her with a face that was very much bordering on a glare, though he was trying to hold it back. "Fine," he said, grumpily and with no actual gratitude. "I'll take the da... the dinner." He amended his words not to swear in front of the kid. Turning back to Frankie, he eyed the boy. "What, more fun because then you get to build it back up again?" he asked.
Ginger didn’t acknowledge
Ginger didn’t acknowledge his gristle. As a mother she knew that boys often didn’t want to do what was best. This included; bathing, eating and resting. Ginger didn’t do anything but smile at him although he probably didn’t see it because he had crouched down. While he had a conversation with her son, she started to pick up the pots and pans and put them back in the cabinets where they belonged.
Frankie was looking at Brett with the enthusiasm a child has when asked about a favorite past time. “Yep! “ he agreed, “I only have so many blocks and all. Who wants to take the blocks down neatly when you can do this!!” and with that he gave a HIYA! And karate chopped the uppity most blocks of his towers. They came down with a crash, taking down other smaller structures he'd put up below. “Tomorrow I get to do it all over! see? Now You try, Brett!! Kick it over! ”