Part 1 of 3
Read the full text, as well as the show notes, at http://flashpulp.com
Tonight, Mulligan finds himself with an unpleasant appointment.
The Skinner Co. Network
FP246 - Mulligan Smith and The Endangered Granny
[Music] Welcome to FlashPulp, episode 246. This evening, we present Mulligan Smith and the Endangered Grandmother, Part 1 of 3. This week's episodes are brought to you by the Round Table Podcast. Hi, I'm Dave Robison from the Round Table Podcast. Each week on the Round Table Podcast, I and my co-host Brian Humphrey invite writers to come on the show and present a story idea they've been working on. Then we have a no holds bar discussion about it, trying to turn the raw idea into literary gold. And by we, I don't mean just me and Brian. We're privileged to share the mic with some of the most remarkable and gifted storytellers of new media. People like Nathan Lowell, Jay Daniel Sawyer, Chuck Wendig, and other gifted scribes will be lending their insight and inspiration to the discussion. The podcast launches Tuesday, March 6, and is available through iTunes and the Round Table Podcast website. Visit www.roundtablepodcast.com for more information. The Round Table Podcast, Literary Alchemy, One Podcast at a Time. Flash pulp is an experiment in broadcasting fresh pulp stories in the modern age. Three to ten minutes of fiction brought to you Monday, Wednesday, and Friday evenings. Tonight, Mulligan finds himself with an unpleasant appointment. Mulligan Smith and the Endangered Grandmother, Part 1 of 3. Written by J.R.D. Skinner, Art and Narration by Opopadex, and Audio Produced by Jessica May. [music] On a quiet Wednesday morning, Mulligan was warming a chair in a strip mall dentist office's waiting area. He'd arrived 15 minutes earlier and had been immediately assaulted by the channel flipping habits of the nine-year-old who'd been left in control of the communal remote. As the boy punched between a mash episode, a Mexican soap opera, and a show about animal attack survivors, his father sat beside him, rubbing at his phone's screen. Just as the price's rights showcase value could be revealed, the red dress model beside the boat was replaced by a salofaced TV cop. "This is no accident," said the officer. "Put it together, the penguin, the machete, the clown makeup. It's obvious that the screen was filled with a hushed golf-green." Behind the reception desk, the bespectacled woman tasked with making appointments and glad-handing patients gridded her teeth and made a third attempt at intervention. "Richard," she said, "perhaps if you left it on one of the shows a while, you'd enjoy it more. And are you sure you'd turn that down? It sounds pretty loud." "Yeah, Ricky," nodded the boy's father without ceasing his rubbing. "Sure," replied the boy, also without slowing his thumb's momentum. Smith sighed and went back to attempting to locate laughter as the best medicine in Reader's Digest he'd plucked from the table. Backed by the sounds of anxiety-inducing equipment, Sasha Burnett, DDS, stepped to the head of the short hallway, which led deeper into the practice. Mulligan thought she seemed prematurely gray. Her smile appeared stout, but genuine. "Mr. Smith?" she asked, as she adjusted the sleeve of her long white coat. "Hi," replied Mulligan. As he stood, the television touched on a local news broadcast about a convenience store-fire, then jumped to a backwater channel, feeling its afternoon programming with a showing gone with the wind. "Oh, hey! Was that the even-treats on fifth? Can I see that a sec?" asked Smith, as he paused in front of the lad in motion for the black slab of electronics. The child eyed the waiting woman, then handed it over with a...fine. Mulligan flipped back to the Mexican soap, then pulled open the battery compartment and dumped the cylindrical occupants. Finally, he replaced the duracelles, reassembled the device, and dropped it back in the boy's lap. He wondered if the father might raise his head at the intervention, but paid no notice. With a shrug, Mulligan pushed past his knees and followed the summoning dentist down the hallway. Passing an assemblage of painted landscapes that the detective guest was purchased at Sears, they walked beyond the half-dozen occupied reclining chairs and into a supply closet. The space, which was packed with gloves, masks, floss, and various nibs that Smith couldn't identify, was large enough to stand comfortably apart, but little more. "What was all that about back there?" asked the woman, as she extended a hand. Smith found her shake papery, but warm. "I probably lost your flat screen's original remote in some patient's purse," said Mulligan. "Use universal jobs, always need to be reprogrammed, let's the batteries die," or whatever. Likely the sort of thing the lady at the front desk keeps track of. Kid had it coming. I'm not too surprised. He's kind of a squirmer. "Anyhow, I'm sorry you had to wait. It's like there's a candy convention in town since last Friday. Not that I'm complaining." "I understand," replied the private investigator. "It shouldn't take too long, hopefully." "You were saying in your email that you were dating Horton Cobb for a few months?" "Six. He was a nice guy, old fashioned. I know there's an obvious age gap between me and Horton, but he's what my hippie aunt would call an old soul, I guess. And I couldn't help but be charmed. We met at a downtown bar. He was wearing a suit, and he stood out like a sore thumb amongst the college freshman. I was only there because it was a friend's birthday. I guess we both must have stood out, actually. He said he had an alien grandmother at home, who he spent most of his hours caring for, and that he was enjoying his rare chance to get away. He seemed so like he was trying so hard. And we exchanged phone numbers before I left. For a while we played cleverly worded phone tag, and we got coffee. I found his company irresistible, but it was like attempting to find a sexy opening with a Victorian gentleman. It wasn't that he was constantly formal, or even reserved. He was just always almost overwhelmingly polite and attentive. On a rainy morning a couple weeks later, they came in with some hot phone to share with me. He'd noticed that I often forgot to bring something in for lunch, and we'd had to call off plans to go to a soup shop the weekend before. We ate in one of the examination rooms. He sat on the edge of the agony chair, and I hovered on my rolling stool. We kissed when I was done, and it tasted like cinnamon and ginger. I felt fourteen again, but damn it he had my heart. Mulligan busied himself reading the notes on the side of a box of dental dams, as Burnett wiped at a rogue tear. After she cleared her throat and apologized, she continued. Her voice was steady. It's funny for such an incredibly reserved guy. Things moved so fast. A month later we were daydreaming about sharing a place. It was like a sign when Granny Cobb's medical bills spiked, and Hart had no choice but to admit that they were headed for the street. He'd made it clear that she would be gone shortly, that she simply wished to die in her own bed. He cried. I figured I could support him, support them, a while. Then, when she passed, I'd be there to shelter him from the storm. Besides, I have a three room bungalow, and most of the spaces used to store hobbies. I never had a chance to partake him. She appeared pretty spry when she actually moved in, however. I mean, she didn't do much, but she couldn't resist her bingo nights, and was off with her dober every Sunday. It was really the only time I had alone with Horrid. I couldn't ask him when his grand might drop dead, but I have to admit, dealing with her was tiring. Still, even if Granny was more mobile than I thought, she didn't deserve, well, there were few nights when I would get back late. I wasn't joking about being busy. I'm here 12 hours a day, most days. Sometimes, I'd crack the front door, and encounter, well, shouting. It was the loudest I'd ever heard him. He'd certainly never raised his voice to me. There was also, uh, duds. I never saw any visible bruises on Miss Cobb, but she was always overdressed, even when it was warm. Listen, I understand that it must be frustrating to be 25 and taking care of your grandmother, but... well, I looked at myself, and I looked at him. There was already a 15-year gap. What if we did have a future together? What would happen to me when I was 60? 60 doesn't feel nearly as impossibly distant as it did when I was his age. Whenever I raised the topic, he became flustered and pouty. We'd talk around how difficult she'd be, but he'd never admit to anything, and in the end, we'd wander away from the subject. Well, until three weeks ago, when I got the flu and realized at noon, that I was breathing germs down my patients' throats. I arrived home to crawl into bed, but it wasn't a bit of suspicious banging anymore. It sounded like he was throwing things. I waited until he came upstairs, then confronted him in the kitchen. At that point, he actually owed me a decent bit of money, and really, I probably kept it going past when I should have, out of guilt, that I was likely the only reason Granny continued to be able to see a doctor. I just couldn't shake it off anymore. There was a screaming match. I accused him of beating her, and he stormed from the house. Twenty minutes later, the old lady came upstairs as well, carrying a pair of well-packed suitcases. I asked her to stay, offered her the room free of rent for as long as she needed. I'd regretted it, probably, but I was feeling so bad for her in that moment. She turned me down, anyhow, and followed him through the door. I gave her my number. Maybe I shouldn't have let her leave. The dentist was now dry-eyed, but her thumb and forefinger continued to fret the hem of her ivory smock. "There's something you need to know," said Mulligan, with his hands deep in his hoodies' pockets. Ten feet away on the far side of the wall, Ricky opened wide for the drill. FlashPulp is presented by FlashPulp.com and is released under the Canadian Creative Commons' attribution non-commercial 2.5 license. Text and audio commentaries can be sent to skitter@skitter.fm or the voicemail line at 206-338-2792. But be aware that they may appear in a future flashcast. We'd also like to thank the free sound project, found at freesound.org. For a full listing of effects used during the show, as well as credits for the users who provided them, please check this episode's notes at flashpulp.com. And thanks to you for listening. If you enjoyed the show, please tell your friends. ♪ ♪ Sunday is gloomy, my hours are stumbled ♪ ♪ Here is the shadows I live with are stumbled ♪ [MUSIC PLAYING] (upbeat music)