Relative Merits

Her friends, Uncle Eddie, and even Don and Leslie knew better than to call her at work. Uh oh, she thought, checking her caller ID. But it wasn’t the New Ithaca number. It was a call from Central City, which these suburbs orbited. Mystified, she decided to answer.

“Julie, Lucien here. I need you to do me a favor,” the deep, authoritative voice on the other end of the phone started without even saying hello. “You simply must use your influence with that crazy woman and her toady of a husband! Here’s what you have to do.”

Julia disconnected, grabbed the Third Rail from her bag, and searched frantically for some new relatives to replace Greta and Lucien. There were several candidates.

“Jimmy John. 38-year-old gun collector, smoker’s-rights activist and survivalist inhabits caves in rural area south of Central City; has tenuous relationship with three teen children and two ex-wives.” Julia decided to pass on relatives with ex-spouses.

“Petra. College biology instructor, age 57, lives in studio apartment with twelve Siamese cats and collection of 1587 Ukrainian Easter eggs.” Petra seemed a little obsessive.

“Faith, 62-year old retired entertainment industry executive, married to Jack, 68-year-old retired career marine. Solidly middle-class couple lives in comfortable suburban home welcoming frequent visits by two of Faith’s four grown children.”

Hm, thought Julia, Faith and Jack sound nice, absently tapping her pencil on the word Jack.

The front door of Dastardly Deeds banged open and a large bald-headed man steered a petite redhead in and back toward Julia’s desk, booming “Julia, honey, it’s been too long.” Julia stared, their identities dawning on her. She took a surreptitious peek at the Third Rail ad, then smiled.

“Jack, Faith, what a pleasant surprise,” she managed to choke out, while making mental notes that Jack could stand to lose some weight and Faith’s taste in clothes was a little on the ostentatious side, and her perfume a little strong. Her dye job was good, though, and her long nails professionally done. They couldn’t stay long, which Julia felt was a good thing, as there were a number of customers in the store and Julia was not yet sure whether she wanted to be associated with these somewhat loud people. But before leaving, Jack and Faith reminded Julia that their annual barbecue would be held the following weekend. She assured them that she wouldn’t miss it for the world.

The next Saturday found Julia driving south toward the semi-rural Royalton area south of Central City. Unsure exactly what to expect, she had dressed in dark slacks with a light shirt and colorful vest, thinking that would fit in any kind of crowd. She’d also picked up a cake from Cutter’s Bakery, known for producing some of the finest pastries in the state. She listened to a David Sanborn CD as she sped along in her eight-year-old blue VW Passat, humming along to the music and trying to stave off nervous thoughts about what it would be like to meet all these other new relatives who, she had been assured, were looking forward to seeing her again.

Julia’s day started to sour when she suddenly hit the brakes to avoid colliding with a squirrel that scampered across the road. She managed to miss the squirrel but the cake box slid to the edge of the seat, teetered, and dropped onto its side, then top. “Shizzle,” muttered Julia as she pictured in her mind’s eye what had become of the cake.

About 10 miles from Jack and Faith’s place, Julia pulled into a Kroger’s parking lot and checked the cake. Sure enough, it was in no condition to be presented to her hosts. So she pitched it into a trashcan and went inside the store. Unable to find a replacement that met her standards, she ended up with a couple of boxes of Entenmann’s donuts and a foul mood. Her mood did not improve when she nearly collided with a white minivan when pulling out of her parking place.

Nevertheless, Julia determinedly put on a smile when she parked and walked up to the door at Jack and Faith’s place, a purse slung over one shoulder and donut boxes resting under the other. Faith came around the side of the house and Yoo-hooed Julia over to a side gate. “Let me look at you.” Faith beamed, grabbing both of Julia’s hands as the donut boxes tumbled to the ground.

“Oh, silly me,” Faith exclaimed, picking up the boxes and handing them to two adolescents who had both boxes open and donuts in their grubby hands by the time Julia got through the gate.

“Be nice,” Julia warned herself, smiling and waving at several people who seemed to know her. A petite blond who had to be Faith’s daughter Amy came over and hugged Julia, introducing her to “my beau Sam.” Sam had a beer in the hand that wasn’t caressing Amy’s buttocks, and looked as though he had at least a couple of others under his belt. A surly young man with glassy eyes, smelling faintly of weed, was trying to challenge Sam to a game of darts. He finally took Sam’s advice to get lost and stumbled back toward the house. Julia later learned that this was Faith’s younger son, Nicky. His older brother Ken was currently a guest of the state correctional system and was thus unable to attend.

Jack was presiding over a huge gas-fired barbecue grill, reminiscing with a group of older men who turned out to be his buddies from the local American Legion post. Several women sat in a circle on lawn furniture, gossiping and smoking as they sipped frothy concoctions though long straws from plastic ware shaped like flamingos. Julia tended to gag on cigarette smoke but found it preferable to the cigar smoke being emitted by some of Jack’s buddies. She kept on smiling, though she felt as the afternoon wore on that her grin was becoming more of a grimace.

The food was actually quite good, and Julia enjoyed it along with a glass of wine and then another. She decided to stop at two, since she had to drive back to New Windsor, and switched to ginger ale. A number of the other guests, all of whose names she never learned, didn’t stop at anywhere near two, and Julia wondered vaguely how they were going to manage to make it home. But she decided that wasn’t any of her business.

Toward the end of the afternoon, when several guests’ words were beginning to slur, and their feet to stumble, the weather became colder and it started to rain. The party started to break up but Faith encouraged Julia to stay a while longer so they could catch up with each other. Since Julia really knew nothing about these people she thought that a good idea.

Jack and one of his buddies, called Buddy, repaired to the den to watch ESPN, puffing away on their cigars. Julia didn’t know how Faith could tolerate that in the house, until she saw the ashtray next to Faith’s chair, overflowing with lipstick-smudged butts. Faith was, in fact, literally chain smoking, lighting each new cigarette from the last ember of the previous one. Another smoke scent drifted Julia’s way, followed by Nicky, who had been ejected from the den, followed by growls of “you hophead” drifting in from the den.

Julia began to wave her hand back and forth in front of her face, in a vain effort to diffuse the mingling smoke of Macanudos, Marlboros and Mary Jane.

“Mom, can we open a window, please?” asked Amy, who was apparently the only non-smoker in this family.

“Yeah, it really smells disgusting in here,” remarked Sam, who seemed draped around Amy. Julia agreed but thought it rude to speak that way to one’s hostess. Amy and Sam circled the room in tandem, opening each window just a crack so the rain couldn’t get in.

“Your parole officer better not catch you smoking that,” Amy said to Nicky.

“He won’t,” giggled Nicky, who was beginning to get a little silly, and in Julia’s opinion, obnoxious.

“Hey, wacha hear from Ariel and that schwartzer of hers, whatziz name? Luther?” asked Nicky.

Julia stiffened. She had a second cousin named Luther, who was black, and who was married a woman named…was it Ariel? One of those A names, anyway. She hadn’t seen Luther in dogs’ years but didn’t like the disrespectful way Nicky was referring to him. The horrible thought that she might actually be related to these people, Third Rail or no, occurred to Julia. Maybe she should just try to get Don and Leslie back.

She thought about this on the slow drive home through pounding rain, barely able to see the markings on the road. Finally back in New Windsor, Julia changed into a fluffy terrycloth robe and started searching for the Third Rail. Where did I last see it, she asked herself. And realized that she must have left the paper at Dastardly Deeds.

As soon as Julia arrived at work the next Monday she grabbed the Third Rail and searched frantically through the Relative Exchange. There they were: She grabbed a pencil and tapped on the names Don and Leslie a few times, this time very consciously. Then she took one last look at the Third Rail and propelled it into the trashcan with a shudder, as though it had suddenly become repulsive.

When she arrived home that evening, there were no fewer than three emails from Don urging her to look at the new additions to the family tree that he had posted on his genealogy website. “I know they’re not on your side of the family,” he had written in his inimitable way, “but I know you’ll agree that they’re really more interesting than the relatives we have in common, of a better class, as it were.”

Don should be able to tell her whether the people in Royalton were actually related to them. But no, Julia thought, her memories of the weekend already beginning to recede. Best to leave it alone.

There were also a couple of text messages and a voice mail from Leslie: “You’ll never guess what I figured out is going on in that house across the fence. Call me so I can clue you in.” Julia didn’t particularly want to be clued in and did not intend to call. But she knew that sooner or later she would be clued in, as would everyone else in town.