Page 35 of Tito

“Sweet fire, though,” Mel noted.

“Yeah, it’s pretty cool.”

I didn’t make threats I didn’t intent on keeping. I meant what I said when I asked Jared to remove whatever he wanted to keep from my home. Nonetheless, seeing his remaining belongings burning beneath the midnight sky was troubling.

I didn’t regret forcing him to leave. Regardless of who I was in a relationship with, sex with a stripper who doubled as a friend was a hard limit. Sad that he wasn’t the man I expected him to be, I stared at the flames with a bitter taste in my mouth.

“What’s wrong?” Mel asked.

“Just sad.”

“About what? The biker?”

“No.” I picked up a pair of wool slacks and tossed them into the flames. “About this. Just that he wasn’t who I thought he was.”

“Jesus, Reg,” Mel complained. “Please tell me that—”

“Oh, I don’t regret it,” I said. “It’s not that. I’m just pissed that I wasted four years of my life with him. I mean, shit. I’m thirty-two. I guess I’m glad he did it now, compared to ten years down the road, or something like that.”

“Yeah, I guess that’s one way to look at it.”

“It’s the only way I can look at it.”

She took a drink of the wine, slopping it down the front of her shirt in the process. She looked at the bottle like something was wrong with it and then wiped her mouth with her forearm. “I can’t believe he fucked a nasty-ass stripper.”

“Me, neither.”

“I’m glad he did, though.”

“Why?”

“Because. Now, he’s gone. For good.” Still clutching the steak knife in one hand, and the bottle of wine in the other, she began to dance a drunken version of the Mashed Potato, singing her version of Jared’s farewell song.

“Jared fucked a stripper and now he’s gone. Jared fucked a stripper and now he’s gone,” she sang, twisting her feet and wagging her knees in the process.

Drunk, and without a real reason not to, I joined in the fun. “Jared fucked a stripper and now he’s—”

“Suspect’s got a knife!” A deep voice shouted from the distant darkness. “Drop the fucking knife, lady!”

After nearly pissing myself, I stopped in my tracks. I peered beyond the flames, toward the voice.

“SDPD,” the shadowy figure shouted. “Lady. Drop. The. Fucking. Knife.”

I glanced at Mel. Frozen in place, she was standing beside the burning couch with a bottle of wine in one hand and a steak knife in the other.

“Drop the fucking knife, Mel!” I shouted.

She dropped the wine and the knife at the same time.

“Ohmygodwhatsgoingon?” she blurted.

“You! On the other side! Show me your hands!” the officer bellowed.

I raised my hands and cleared my throat. “My name’s Regina Gottschalk,” I shouted. “I’m the daughter of Ted Gottschalk.”

“I don’t give a fuck who you are,” he said. “Keep your hands where I can see them.”

“Your Tank’s daughter?” a voice asked from the other side of the house. “Tank Gottschalk?”