Damnit, Dale!

“Goddamnit, Dale! Everyone will be here soon.” Debbie flipped the light switch up and down, and nothing happened. The room had that queer dark-in-daylight quality that somehow made the heat more oppressive. “How the fuck did you not pay the power bill?”

Dale shrugged. “Chill out, Debbie. I’ll pay it now.” He picked up his phone. “Shit, there’s no wi-fi.”

“Duh, dumbass. The fucking modem runs on electricity. Turn your wi-fi off if you want to get anywhere.”

“Um . . .,” Dale said, his face reddening from embarrassment. “I may have missed the phone bill, too.”

“What the fuck, Dale? I told you we couldn’t afford to throw a party this summer.”

Debbie looked around in the half-light. “You need to fix this. I can’t even text anyone to call this off.”

Debbie pulled her shorty pajama shirt off and shucked off the bottoms before skinning into a mismatched bikini.

“Those don’t match.” Dale observed.

“I don’t give a flying fuck if they match or not. This isn’t Paris fucking fashion week, and I’m not trying to impress anyone.”

“I’m gonna run to the corner store for ice.”

“Maybe pay the fucking power bill first, Dale. Priorities, motherfucker.”

“I might not have enough in my account to cover it.”

Debbie whirled around, screaming like a banshee.

Just then, they heard the crunch of tires on the gravel driveway. Debbie pulled the curtain back to see who it was, then screamed again. “It’s your fucking sister. Can this day get any worse?”

Dale groaned. Melinda and Debbie hated each other with a fury he couldn’t understand.

“Don’t you dare let her in. I’m already mortified. The last thing I need is that uppity bitch judging me for your irresponsible bullshit.”

Melinda slid from behind the wheel of her Volvo. How the fuck was that linen sheath not wrinkled? Debbie watched from the window while Dale trudged out front to send his sister away. Whatever he said was the wrong thing, Debbie could tell by the way Melinda waved her arms, wearing defiance on her face like it was her exclusive property. Debbie hoped she was mad enough to get back in her bitchmobile and hightail it back to the fucking Hill.

What the fuck. Dale appeared to attempt to appease her. Fuck this shit—Debbie stormed out the front door in her red top and pink bottom, feeling ridiculous and furious.

Melinda became still midspeech, like a kid losing at freeze tag, mouth hanging open yet somehow managing to retain her superior demeanor. Her eyes were the only thing that moved, traveling up and down Debbie’s bikinied body, stopping when their eyes met, the corners of her mouth tilting into a snarky smirk. “Nice outfit.”

“Fuck you, too, Melinda,” Debbie retorted.

“Ladies—“ Dale attempted to step in.

“I only see one lady here, little brother.” Melinda’s smirk became a snort of laughter.

“What brings you out here, Melinda? Did the Frigid Bitch Society cancel their weekly seminar? Or are you here to try to sell me a Junior League cookbook again?”

An aging Mustang convertible in desperate need of a paint job pulled in behind the Volvo, loud hip hop blaring from the open vehicle. Debbie’s friend Lisa hopped out in a halter top and 501 cutoffs.

“Hey, Lisa.” Dale greeted her. “Do you mind moving your car? My sister was just leaving.”

Lisa took in Debbie’s stance and said, “No problem,” then got back in her car and turned the key. The engine didn’t turn over.

“No worries, Lisa,” Debbie said. “Melinda has room to get around you if she cuts it hard.” Then she turned to Melinda. “I know you don’t like anything hard, but this is just turning the wheel. No chance of anything getting between your legs.” Debbie said, adding, “like it wouldn’t die of frostbite,” under her breath.

“Damnit, Debbie,” Dale began, but Debbie cut him off.

“Don’t you ‘damnit Debbie’ me, asshole.” She crossed her arms over her chest and turned her eyes on him like lasers. “Maybe you should move Melinda’s car for her. And maybe spend the day at the fucking club with her.”

Melinda’s poisonous smile took over her face. “You could, Dale. Joe has a tee time later this afternoon.”

“Who the fuck plays golf in this heat?” Lisa asked, shaking her head. “Gonna run around on the goddamn tennis court afterwards?”

“My guess is that Melinda rides along on the cart and spreads her legs. Voila! Instant air conditioning.” Debbie responded.

Melinda’s eyes narrowed as she turned on Debbie. “My understanding is that your vagina is essentially a public park—everybody’s welcome to use it whenever they want. All they need to do is be in the vicinity looking for fun.”

“Joe liked it,” Debbie fired back, watching Melinda’s face like a hawk, searching for a crack in her composure. “Oh, did he not tell you about us in high school? I’ve probably fucked your husband more than you have.”

There it was, for a fleeting second. Debbie twisted the knife that found the nerve. “I thought you were such a fierce women’s rights advocate. How does slut shaming figure into that?”

Melinda tossed her hair over her shoulder and put her nose in the air. “Dale, my car isn’t going to move itself, and I believe I’d rather be anywhere but here. I tried to call, but it seems like someone,” her eyes landed on Debbie, “didn’t pay the bill.”

The cicadas began their muffled screaming, and a few tree frogs responded. Dale said nothing and climbed into the Volvo, moving the seat back to accommodate his long legs. He pulled the car forward, then backed up.

“Careful, Dale. Don’t hit my fucking car.” Lisa watched the Volvo’s bumper nearly kiss the Mustang’s.

“How would you tell?” Melinda mused, wrinkling her nose.

Dale successfully completed the maneuver, climbed out, and handed Melinda the keys.

“Come back when you can’t stay so long,” Debbie called as Melinda slid back into her leather interior. “And say hello to Joe for me.” She threw a Bronx salute and stomped back into the house.

“Holy fuck, it’s hot in here.” Lisa followed Debbie inside.

“Yeah. Somebody didn’t pay the power bill.” Debbie threw over her shoulder. “So don’t open the fridge. I have to hold the beer hostage until we have enough ice to put it in the cooler.”

When Dale returned with ice, they loaded the beers and burgers into the cooler.

“What about this watermelon?” Lisa asked, sweat trickling down the side of her face. “It looks like you didn’t spike it yet.” She pulled it out and carried it to the kitchen table.

“Shit! Dale! Get your ass in here!” Debbie hollered.

Dale’s mutt, Bandit, took off from the spot where he’d been whining, begging for some raw ground chuck.

Dale ambled back into the kitchen. “What now?” He noticed the melon on the table and smacked his forehead. “Shit, Debbie. I forgot to spike the melon last night.”

“I can see that. The question now is whether or not we have anything to spike it with.”

“We’ve got some Everclear in the cabinet.”

“Then get it down. You know I can’t reach that cabinet, and my step-stool is MIA.”

Dale reached up to the cabinet over the fridge and pulled out a plastic fifth of Everclear with about three fingers of liquid at the bottom.

Lisa broke into laughter. “You couldn’t spike a cantaloupe with that!”

“We could—“ Dale began.

“NO!” Debbie moved in front of the fridge to block Dale’s access to the freezer. “You are NOT spiking that melon with the last of my Granddaddy’s shine!”

“We gotta drink it sometime, Debbie!” Dale squared up in front of her.

“Try me on this one. ‘We’ don’t gotta nothing! So help me God, if that jar is half a fucking finger lower than it was, I don’t know what I’ll do to you.”

“Y’all stop. It’s too fucking hot for all this drama.” Lisa sat down at the table and pulled her bag and a pack of 1.25s out of her purse, then got to work rolling a joint. “Here, spark this and you’ll feel better.”

Dale took the joint, pulled a Bic lighter out of his pocket, and sparked the flint, but there wasn’t enough fluid to catch.

“Just light it on the stove. Fuck!” Lisa exclaimed.

Debbie hopped up on the formica counter beside the fridge. “Yeah, Dale. Just light it on the stove.”

A string of curses flew out of Dale’s mouth.

“I’m not the one who didn’t pay the cocksucking bill. Maybe the mirror would be a better place to say all that.” Then she turned to Lisa. “I know you have a lighter.”

Lisa grimaced. “I did, but I can’t find one in my bag. I’ve just used my car lighter today.”

“Oh, shit! That’s right! Your car is so old that it has ashtrays and a lighter! Let’s do that.” Debbie jumped down from the counter onto the floor with a thud.

“One—lay the fuck off about my car. Two—the car won’t start, so that lighter is out of commission.” Lisa pulled a beer out of the cooler and opened it.

“Hang on.” Dale rummaged through the junk drawer and came up with a worn matchbook with two matches left in it. “Problem solved.”

He tore the penultimate match from the book and struck it on the abrasive strip, the sulfur tip of the match crumbling off without producing a spark.

“Give me that.” Lisa held out her hand. “Lighter, too.” When Dale handed them over, she held the lighter to the remaining match and flicked it. The spark from the flint caught, and the tip of the match ignited but promptly went out when Lisa held it to the joint.

“Jesus fucking Christ. Fuck the dumb shit, let’s fill the pool and get in it to cool off until everyone gets here.” Debbie opened the back door and stepped out onto the deck. “Shit fire!” She jumped back into the kitchen with scorched soles. “I need my flip flops to cross the damn deck. It’s hotter than a whore’s mouth in a dick sucking contest.”

The hose was soft from baking in the sun, the, brass tip hot enough to solder silver. Dale turned the handle to open the valve, and near-boiling water gushed out into the inflatable pool before slowing to a trickle and stopping.

“Damnit, Dale!! The fucking water bill, too?” Debbie screamed. “This is going to be the worst fucking party in planetary history!”

“Party?” Lisa knit her brows at Debbie. “Your party isn’t til next week, according to the e-vite. Here, look.” She held up her phone, open to the calendar and showed Debbie the details pasted to the following Saturday. “Grab that cooler and we’ll head to the river and cool off there.”