That’ll Teach You—Elaine Bonow

That’ll Teach You

            Jordy. How can you trust a person named Jordy? I don’t understand why my sister was even attracted to him much less think of marrying Jordy AKA Jordan Sparks. The thing I hated the most about him wasn’t just his stupid nickname, Jordy, it was his pathetic abuse of my sisters innocence and gullibility.

She met him at her BFF’s bachelorette party in Vegas last summer.

“Albert darling, can you believe it. I met the man I’m going to marry.”

“Hold on sis.” I said, “You just met this joker and he wants to marry you already? Are you nuts?” I was almost screaming into the phone. Judy started sobbing on the other end.

“Jesus, I’m sorry sis, I didn’t mean to make you cry. It’s just not a good sign when someone you hardly know wants to get married right away. That’s a typical move for a stone cold narcissist. I thought you took psychology 101 in college.”

The thing is this, Judy, being my only sister has always been a lonely girl and very shy. I feel that I have to protect her especially since our mother’s death. Mom was so careful with the both of us. We were just kids when our dad died. We became her responsibility. When she died she left us very well off, a legacy of her father and his father before him.

Sure, you could say I was over-protective of Judy but I loved my little sister. We’ve always been close, barely a year apart. All of my pleading had no effect. I couldn’t stop her.

“Al, just wait until you meet Jordy. You two are so much alike. I just know you two will be best friends. I just know it.”

But when I met Jordy I hated him at first sight. You’ve heard about love at first sight, well this was the total opposite. There was something pedestrian in his manner. The way he walked towards me his thick blunt hand extended.

Everything about him was blunt; those thick khaki clad legs, short thick feet in hiking boots for Christ’s sake, a blue denim shirt topped off by a ridiculous outback type of hat. He shook my hand pumping away effusively and after a god-awful “Bro” chest bump, he swept off those tinted aviator glasses and prattled, “So glad to meet you, Albert, I’ve heard so much about you.”

Judy looked happy. In fact, it was the first time I’d seen her laughing and smiling since, well, since way before Mom died. Judy spent years taking care of mom. She’d drive her to doctor’s appointments, to physical therapy, wheeling her up the avenue to do shopping or have tea with her old lady friends. She did this without too much complaint at least not to me. She hardly went out even with friends, keeping house doing the cooking, laundry and cleaning.

Together, they indulged movies from the video store and wearing out Redbox rentals but by the time of the phenomenon known as Netflix came along our mom had died. That was how they lived for years. I felt guilty having a lived life of my own and I was thankful that Judy sacrificed her life to take care of mom. And now there was this Jordy.

He moved right into her apartment. They had his life shipped in from California. It was not a light load. He was here to stay. Cars, a huge pick-up truck, a couple of motorcycles, cheap furniture and what must have been a month’s worth of matching khaki pants and blue denim shirts. What I didn’t see moving in was a very substantial booze and drug habit.

At first he just seemed to drink—a lot. I know I drink but I didn’t drink like he did. Judy tried to keep up with him but my once sheltered angel of mercy was in danger of sliding into a cheap floozy, right before my eyes.

They had a favorite bar that they frequented just a couple of blocks away from the apartment.

“Al, we aren’t hurting anyone. We never drive and drink. It’s just so much fun.” Judy explained this new life story to me when I happened to drop by one afternoon. I couldn’t deny her having fun after so much she had given to mom.

“Oh, and Jordy says you should call first before you come over. You know, we might be cuddling and not want to be disturbed, OK.” And she kissed me away.

I tried calling a couple of times but no one would answer the phone-ever. The voice message was turned off and there was no way to reach Judy by email. That is until one night I got a call from Judy.

“Al, Al, I don’t know what’s happening. Jordy left this afternoon and he hasn’t been back. This has never happened before and I don’t know what to do.”

“Shhh, don’t cry now. Tell me what happened.”

“Well, we, I mean I was asleep and heard the front door slam. No first the phone rang. He got up, went out of the room and then he was gone. I waited and waited. I got so freaked out so I took a couple more Zanax…”

“When did you start taking those?”

“Oh for a while now. Jordy thought I could use some and Dr. Adams gave me a prescription for my nerves. And also some Percocet’s for the pain I have in my back.”

“I didn’t know you had a pain condition. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Oh wait, hold on, I hear the door. I’d better hang up. Jordy, Jordy is that you?”

I heard him in the distance. “Judy what the fuck, Get up. Let’s go get some cash. Who are you talki…”?

He called me right back “Listen Al, You goddamn faggot. Don’t call here again ya hear me.”

I was about to say. “Hell Jordy I didn’t call Judy called me.” I was pissed. Who the hell did he think he was calling me names? This was a wake up call and my first indication that something was terribly wrong.

I was able to convince our bank to show me Judy’s withdrawals. I was stunned. In the six months since Jordy’s arrival sixty thousand dollars had been taken out in cash. I had to do something and do something quick. I didn’t want to hurt Judy but this predator had to be stopped.

And I knew just how to do it. My plan took a couple of weeks to set up. He never knew what hit him. I was able to capture him after setting him up with an old dope dealer friend of mine who easily found out what kind of drugs Jordy was spending the money on. I realize that it sounds very melodramatic but when you have money like I do you can afford the drama.

One of my newly formed gang, well paid by me, had buddied up to him in the bar. “We” slipped a couple of roofies in his beer and hustled him outside on the pretense of selling him some really good Peruvian cocaine. He fell hook, line and sinker. It was brilliant. The cocaine was heroin. He went out like a light, not enough to kill him, mind you, just put him into a druggie coma.

We put him in the back seat of the SUV. I drove all night stopping after eight hours for a couple of hours sleep. The last few hours would be off road. I knew the way although it had been a few years since I’d been to the old cabin.

He was still asleep when I arrived. It was a beautiful place high in the North Idaho Mountains. I left him with a couple of week’s supply of water and food. There was plenty of firewood, blankets and warm clothing.

By the time he sobers up and figures that if he wants to leave he’ll have to walk out he’ll learn that playing dirty with my little family can be dangerous to assholes like him. I did leave him a note. “Jordy, when you do decide to walk out, be sure to watch out for Bears.”

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About bbcstudiowrites

This blog is me archiving the BBC Studio Writers Workshop.

Posted on November 4, 2013, in Fiction, Seattle, Short Stories and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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