A Serpent's Tooth

All I wanted was for her to tell me the truth.

That’s it; nothing more.

Rapunzel, Rapunzel, tell your father he’s not crazy.

That, and a third of it all would be hers. My darling, Cathay. Cathy named after mother. Cathy named after her grandmother. Cathy and not Katherine, because my wife--may she rest in peace--hated the named Katherine for some reason. Maybe because her entire life people had said--

“Cathy like Katherine,” and she’d have to correct them, and she always did. My Cathy never tired of correcting people.

Is that why her youngest daughter won’t let this go?

I called them all to the restaurant one afternoon. Rhonda, Gwen, and Cathy. The Three Musketeers. People ask me if I ever wanted sons. I say “No.” Sons see you as a challenger. Mort Schlessinger had his laundromat taken from him by one of his sons. I knew that wouldn’t happen to me. My girls would wait patiently until I was ready to pass the torch. Girls have patience. Girls don’t challenge. I knew they wanted my parlors. The best pizza in Southern Connecticut for over fifty years, and I knew they thought they could do better. But they’d wait. That’s what girls do.

They had no idea what was coming. Not from their father who never wanted to retire. Who wouldn’t even say the word. Who never spent a day in the hospital or stayed home sick one day in his life. If I asked to see them, it was probably to tell them that I was getting married again. They were going to have to meet Wife #8. They thought I was a foolish old man for always introducing them to some girl who was young enough to be their sister. But didn’t I always have those very same girls sign a prenup? Have I lost a single thing that was mine because of some endless divorce?

No, I haven’t.

Not a single thing slips through my fingers. Not one thing.

I called the girls to the restaurant and I said, “The day has finally arrived. Your old man is stepping down.”

The looks on their faces. Three heart attacks in a row. Bing, bang, boom. Right in front of me. Then, the shock wore off, and they were hugging me. Kissing my temples. Three voices falling all over each other. A Greek chorus or relief and condescension. 

Thank you, Daddy. We’ve been wanting you to do this Daddy. Not for us, for you. You deserve it. You work so hard. You can finally rest. You can move to Florida. You can sit on the beach. We’ll take such good care of what you’ve built, Daddy. We’ll make it ten times better. We’ll never let anybody forget you. The parlors are going to be in good hands.

It was going to be all cut and dry. Twenty-one parlors. Seven to each girl. But first, I wanted them to tell me the truth. I wanted them to admit that what they’d been saying about me behind my back was a lie. I wanted them to atone.

“You’ve been telling people I’m losing it,” I said, not even bothering to register their pathetic attempt to feign shock, “But that’s all right. I can forgive you. Provided you admit that you made it up. That you were trying to push me out before I was ready to go. Tell me your old man still makes the best pizza in Southern Connecticut. Speak the truth, and what I’ve got is yours.”

Rhonda was always the quickest. First to grab a penny off the ground. First to rat out one of her sisters when they broke something or tracked mud into the house. It didn’t matter if everybody was going to get a turn, Rhonda wanted her turn first.

“I’m sorry, Daddy,” she said, almost summoning up fake tears, “I just said it, because I wanted you to take a break. Not a long  break. Not a permanent one. Just enough for you to refuel. Of course I don’t think you’re losing it. I should never have said that. I’m so sorry.”

For that, I gave Rhonda the newest parlors. The ones with the best ovens. The ones all the young people like to go to. It pays to be first. It pays to want it more.

Gwen was ticked at getting bested by Rhonda again. But whatever she lacked in speed, Gwen more than made up for with words. She was the speaker of the trio. The one who captained the debate team in school. The one I always said should have been a lawyer. Instead, she got knocked up by the boy down the street when she was seventeen, and she’s been changing diapers and loading dishwashers ever since. She’s been waiting for this moment more than any of them.

“Dad,” she said, “I am ashamed of myself. I don’t deserve anything from you. Money’s been so tight at home--what with Paulie being out of work and Marcie needing braces. I panicked. I didn’t know what to do. I just thought if I could get you to give me one of the parlors, I could turn it all around. Because you always taught us to grab the bull by the horns. It’s just that, this time, the bull was you. I’m mortified that I embarrassed my father. The man who’s done so much for me and my sisters. The man who gave us a good life. Please, Dad, keep the parlors. I don’t want them. I haven’t earned them. You should keep running them. You’re as savvy today as you were the day you flipped your very first pie.”

For this, I gave her the parlors in the metro areas. The busiest ones. Not as nice as the ones I built over the past ten years, but the ones that turn the biggest profit. I know those are the ones Rhonda wanted, but sometimes it’s good to leave a little resentment on the table. Keeps everybody from getting all Kumbaya and reminds them there’s a business to be run.

Cathy was the last to speak. She never pushed or shoved like her sisters. Never raised her voice. When my wife was sick, Cathy was the one who took care of her. She was my Rachel’s favorite. My favorite too, if I’m being honest. And the one I worried the most about. The one with a pure heart. You know what the world does to a pure heart? It throws it in an oven.

“Pop,” she said, looking like she’d rather be crawling into the ocean, “I won’t lie to you. I’ll tell you the truth, because I always do. You’re not well. You’re sick, and you’ve been sick for a long time. You think because the business is doing well, that means you’re doing well. The business is a machine. You’re a man. You built the machine, and you built it the right way. It’ll be doing well even after all of us are in our graves. That doesn’t mean you’re okay, Pop. You’re not. I won’t tell you otherwise.”

Never in my life have I hit my children.

Not once have I raised my hand to my girls.

Maybe if I had sons, I would have hit them.

I’m not saying I’m better than that.

My father made sure his belt was my best friend growing up.

But not once would I ever think to strike my daughters.

In that moment, though, all I wanted was to put my hands around Cathy’s neck and squeeze until the life I helped bring into this world was no more. Lucky for her, I don’t let myself get angry like that. When I get angry, I get quiet-angry. I get lion-angry. The roar is for when you’re pissed off, but when you’re angry-angry, you don’t need it.

“Get the hell out of here,” I said to her.

Rhonda and Gwen piped up with protests. Not because they wanted to protect their sister. They’d feed her to a lion and think nothing of it. At my wife’s funeral, I overheard Rhonda tell Gwen that Cathy only took care of Rachel “so she could get all that jewelry.” That’s what they said about their own sister. I was disgusted, but a little proud. It’s good not to let sentiment flatten you out. You should always keep a little bit of that cruelty around for when you need to feel strong.

I silenced the other girls with a wave of my hand. Cathy didn’t even look at me on the way out. I gave Rhonda and Gwen three more parlors a piece. I told them to fight over the last one. I knew they’d destroy themselves over that one lousy parlor on Beacon Street. The one that should be condemned. They’d fight just because they love a fight. They’d probably never speak to their little sister again. They might not even speak to me now that they got what they wanted. Rhonda started telling Gwen how she should get the Beacon Street location, because it was closest to her house. Gwen started talking about her kids and their college tuitions.

“Hey,” I said, cutting through their squabble, “Don’t you have anything else to say?”

They looked at each other. It took them a second to figure it out.

“Thank you, Daddy,” they said, forcing a smile upon those ungrateful faces.

I don’t even think I was Daddy anymore.

Just some old fool who used to be a King.

Just an old man who used to have three daughters--

And now had none.