Nudge

Coming home had been a bad idea. Cheyenne was still in an alcohol and marijuana fueled rage. And she had reinforcement; her mother and her mother's current boyfriend, Uncle Bootsy were also there. For whatever reason, Uncle Bootsy decided he needed to educate Anthony on the rights that Cheyenne, as his wife, had in regards to their finances. Anthony did start recording the confrontation on his cell phone.

"Sir, you need to move out of my way," Anthony said. "This is my home; I will not put up with you coming in my home and getting in my face."

"No, no, sonny, see," Uncle Bootsy poked a bony finger into Anthony's chest.

"Sir, do not touch me again," Anthony warned.

The grizzled old man did not listen and did thrust his finger into Anthony's chest again. The man smiled when Anthony threw a punch.

"Was in the Army, boy," Uncle Bootsy chortled, easily blocking Anthony's clumsy punch.

Anthony's foot shot up and kicked Uncle Bootsy squarely in the crotch. He brought his knee up and crushed Uncle Bootsy's nose.

"Ms. Fricke, you and your boyfriend need to leave my house. Now," Anthony ordered the now screaming woman and suddenly silent Cheyenne.

Anthony locked himself in his home office and began looking for the letter from Ferguson, Benoit, Fowler, Jones. He did notice that his desk drawers had been rifled through and looked over at the safe. The heavy safe had been moved, but without a key, Cheyenne would have very little chance of getting into the box.

"Carter Fullilove," Anthony said, finding the letter.

Carter's email address was included in the letter and Anthony logged onto the computer. Then there was hammering on his office door.

"Cops are here, dumb ass," Cheyenne screamed through the door. "Want talk to you."

"Uh huh, that was pretty quick," Anthony muttered. "And, uh, no sirens?"

"Rabbit kicked me there, sonny," Uncle Bootsy slurred, face still bloody.

The old man's eyes opened wide and his mouth opened in a gasp when Anthony slammed a fist into his solar plexus. With a grunt, Uncle Bootsy again sprawled onto the heavily stained carpet.

"Nice try, Cheyenne," Anthony smirked. "Again, Ms. Fricke, you and loser of the month here need to get out of my house."

"My house too," Cheyenne shrilled.

"He's got a pace maker!" Cheyenne's mother screamed, trying to resuscitate Uncle Bootsy.

"Then call an ambulance. He's not going get any better lying there on the floor," Anthony said calmly and again closed and locked his office door.

When Anthony did hear the sirens, he unlocked his door. He smirked as Cheyenne realized that there were also two police cars with the St. Elizabeth Trauma Center's ambulance. Obviously, when she'd told the 911 operator that her husband had beat up her mother's boyfriend, the 911 operator thought it prudent to send the police along.

Cheyenne frantically tried to hide all evidence of marijuana and other paraphernalia from the living room. The kitchen, being the closest room was her destination as she scurried back and forth.

"Right in here," Anthony said, pointing. "And officer? Might want look in the refrigerator there."

"You God damned ass hole!" Cheyenne screamed, charging Anthony.

Anthony allowed himself to be handcuffed and placed into one cruiser. The police officer was apologetic, but since the 911 call had stated that Anthony had instigated the original confrontation, he had no choice but to bring Anthony in.

Cheyenne, however, did put up quite a fight. The ambulance loaded the gurney and Donna Fricke left in the ambulance with John 'Bootsy' Bordelon.

"Here's your keys sir," the officer's partner said. "House is locked up; hit that button on the fob and alarm gave off three dings."

"Then its set," Anthony agreed. "Thank you."

"Yes sir," the officer said, stuffing the keys into Anthony's shirt pocket.

Anthony looked around at the throng of neighbors that had gathered across the street. He smiled and nodded to the neighbors. Anthony reflected, he and Cheyenne had lived in the house for a few years now, but he could not name a single one of the curious faces.

"Uh, do me a favor, huh?" Anthony said as they watched Cheyenne being wrestled into the second cruiser.

"Yes sir?" the first officer said.

"Uh, don't put us in the same cell, huh?" Anthony smiled.

"See what we can do," the first officer smiled broadly.

"Ain't making no promises," the second officer chuckled.

"Usually it's the guys give us the most shit, huh?" the first officer said to his partner as he put the cruiser into gear.

"Ferguson, Benoit, Fowler, Jones; if you know the extension of the party you are trying to reach, please enter it now, followed by the pound sign," the cheerful voice intoned.

Anthony punched in 419 and the # key. A moment later, Carter Fullilove's voice prompted Anthony to leave a message.

"Sir? Your wife wants to know who her attorney is?" a female police officer asked Anthony.

"I have no idea. I didn't know she had an attorney," Anthony smiled.

"Enjoying this a little too much, sir," the first arresting officer said.

Carter Fullilove was a handsome African-American man with a fish handshake. His face showed no emotion as Anthony told him what had happened. He only nodded when Anthony stated he'd also be using Carter for his divorce.

"First things first, the attorney finally said. "First? Let's get you arraigned. Then? We'll worry about all that other stuff."

"God damned ass hole! Anthony! Mother fucker, no, fuck you, tell me shut up! Anthony! I need a lawyer, bitch get your fucking dyke hands off me," Cheyenne screamed at Anthony and at the bailiff as he and Carter entered the St. Ann Parish Courtroom.

"Contestant number two?" Carter asked, displaying a sense of humor that had not been evident earlier.

"Yes. Let me guess; we have lovely parting gifts for her?" Anthony quipped.

"Zelda, tell her what she's won," Carter said, pointing to a seat. "Let me talk to Hightower, see what he's got."

Carter and David Hightower, the Assistant District Attorney of St. Ann Parish bent their heads together, whispered to one another, then stepped back. David looked at the paperwork, looked at Anthony, nodded to the civil engineer.

"Didn't tell me you worked for St. Ann," Carter accused as he walked back to Anthony.

"I am sorry; could have sworn I had," Anthony said.

"Anyway, says since he knows where you work, doesn't figure you're a flight risk," Carter said. "Will allow you to give your plea; I assume we're going for 'not guilty' and then you're out of here."

"Depends. I don't even know what I'm being charged with," Anthony admitted.

"Domestic violence, assault and battery," Carter said.

"Then, yes, not guilty," Anthony agreed.

"God damn it, Anthony Marcus Whitehead, you God damned ass hole, get me out of here," Cheyenne screamed as Judge Linda Newenberg slammed her gavel down, releasing Anthony after David Hightower did not request any bail.

"Keep screaming, dumb bitch, keep screaming," Anthony chuckled as Judge Newenberg demanded that the bailiff remove the female prisoner from the courtroom.

Anthony went home, shaved and showered, and found a comfortable pair of slacks and a decent shirt. He then called Carter's office.

"Okay, I've been arraigned, let's get the other stuff out of the way," Anthony said.

"Don't let grass grow under your feet, huh?" Carter asked.

"My father passed away yester, no, two days ago, Mr. Fullilove," Anthony said.

"I am truly sorry for your loss," Carter said; it almost sounded sincere.

"And I have no idea what, if anything, I'll be inheriting," Anthony continued. "Knowing my father? It might be a box of dirty diapers and a note telling me to kiss his shitty ass."

"Hmm?" Carter asked.

"Not the best of relationships," Anthony admitted. "But if it is one dollar? I want to make good and God damned sure Cheyenne Allison Fricke Whitehead does not get one dime of it. So, we file before the will is read? She'll have no claim."

"And...got the pre-nup right here," Carter said.

"And, thanks to her behavior in court this morning, we know where to have her served," Anthony chuckled.

The visitation for Marcus Whitehead was a somber one. Anthony tried to wedge his body into his black suit and found that he could not. Abdul's sold him a new suit and a crisp white shirt to go with it.

Cindy and Barbara, the twins of the Whitehead clan did put in an appearance at the visitation. Anthony had pointed out to both of them that they would not be going for their father. Rather, their appearance was to appease their mother.

Anthony's eulogy spoke mostly of the empire his father had built and his few philanthropic endeavors. He did share a slightly amusing anecdote with the business acquaintances and few friends and family members present.

"I don't even remember what bone headed thing I'd done. I mean, really, out of the thousands and thousands of bone headed things I've done? Try to remember one individual incident, huh? Anyway, I'd done something stupid and my dad just sighed and said to me, 'You know? There's no trick to loving a good kid. But God damn, it sure takes every trick in the book to love a bad one.' Gee, I wonder who he was talking about, huh? Well, Dad, I'm sure God's using every trick in the book to love you right now," Anthony concluded.

"Golly gosh, big brother," Lisa whispered. "That was so nice, I almost believed you meant it."

"Bite me," Anthony chuckled and put his arm around his sister.

Somehow, Cheyenne managed to parlay her incarceration in the St. Ann Lockup into Drug Rehabilitation at the DeGarde Chemical Dependency Unit in DeGarde, Louisiana. The only reason Anthony knew about this was because Cheyenne was on his insurance through St. Ann Parish.

Carter shrugged his shoulders helplessly, but he could not have Cheyenne served. The CDU was prohibited from releasing the names of any of their patients and they would not, or could not tell Carter Fullilove if Cheyenne Allison Fricke Whitehead was, or was not a patient in their facility. Even though he knew she was because of his client's health insurance.

Whether Carter Fullilove was an attorney or not held no weight with the facility since the pending divorce action was considered a civil matter. Carter shrugged again and contacted Anthony Whitehead.

"She's either incredibly smart, or incredibly lucky," Carter somberly told Anthony.

"Incredibly manipulative, incredibly sneaky, unbelievably self-serving," Anthony sighed. "Reading of the will is scheduled for tomorrow. Oh well."

The reading of the will was a bit of a surprise to the Whitehead clan. Even as Marcus had turned his back on them to woo the already married Natasha Iechenbach, even marrying the young woman when her divorce from Dwight Doucet became final, he had not turned his back on his former wife or his children and grandchildren in his will.

"Well, I call for an immediate board meeting," Susan said somberly as they sat in the conference room of the attorney's office.

Susan's appointment of herself as Chief Executive Officer of Whitehead Generators was approved readily enough. Anthony's appointment as Chief Operating Officer only had the one 'Ney' and that was from Anthony himself.

"Uh, in case you've forgotten? I am currently employed? Gainfully employed with St. Ann Parish?" Anthony said.

"Hmm, forty two thousand a year? Or uh five hundred thousand a year. Hmm, even if you DID go to U.L.D, you should be able to figure that one out," Jimmy said.

"Anthony, you'd be protecting my money, and Gracie's money as well as your own," Lisa cajoled.

"Shit. Fine, fine, I'll put in my notice on Monday," Anthony sighed to the room. "And that's blackmail, using Gracie against me."

Then Anthony reached over and slapped his younger brother in the back of the head. Lisa giggled; Susan shook her head.

"The University of Louisiana at DeGarde is a fine school, bitch," Anthony said.

"Yeah, see how well they taught you," Jimmy said, rubbing the back of his head.

On Monday morning, Anthony's insurance contacted him just after he left his supervisor's office. Anthony shook his head and contacted Carter.

"Cheyenne checked herself out, AMA," Anthony informed the man.

Carter contacted Cass Jackson and gave the process server the address of Ms. Donna Fricke and the address of Anthony and Cheyenne Whitehead. The man smiled and assured Carter he was on it.

"Yo, yo, yo!" the man said when Donna answered the door of her trailer. "Cass Jackson, at yo service! Hey Momma, Lynelle said I should holler at Cheyenne, know what I'm saying?"

"Lynelle?" Cheyenne said from behind Donna. "Shit! That was quick; just called him what? Five minutes ago?"

"Know how it is; was right there and your boy calls me," Cass smiled widely.

"Okay, here, here's the two C's," Cheyenne said, holding out two crisp one hundred dollar bills.

"Uh, no, hang on to that, going need it," Cass said, losing both his smile and his ghetto inflection. "Mrs. Whitehead? You have been served."

"I what?" Cheyenne asked, shocked when Cass thrust the manila envelope into her hand.

"You mother fucker!" Cheyenne screamed when Cass took a quick photograph of her holding the envelope.

"Uh huh, you know it," Cass chuckled. "Y'all have a blessed day, y'all hear?"

Anthony did not need to wonder if Cheyenne had been served. She called his cell phone, sent him several threatening text messages, then called his office phone and screamed at him when he picked up the phone.

"Cheyenne, I am at work," Anthony said calmly.

Inside, Anthony did not feel calm. He did not like confrontations.

This stemmed from Anthony's childhood, from his relationship with his father. Marcus never struck Anthony, or Anthony's siblings. But there was always an anger in Anthony's father; the anger was palpable, threatening.

"You know, work? What other people do while you sit on your fat ass?" Antony taunted. "So, while you're sitting on your fat ass, why don't you read through the petition? I'm being very generous with you."

"Fuck you, mother fucker, I'm going take you for everything," Cheyenne screamed. "Hear me? Every God damned fucking thing."

"We're a 'No Fault' state, Cheyenne," Anthony reminded her. "No matter what, most you can get is fifty percent. And anyway, we have that pre-nup. Remember?"

"Fuck that pre-nup," Cheyenne hissed.

Anthony did not have to worry about any physical confrontation with Cheyenne though. When Carter Fullilove alerted David Hightower that Cheyenne Whitehead had left the DeGarde CDU without successfully completing the twenty eight day program, David Hightower had two St. Ann Parish deputies pick her up at her mother's trailer.

After work, Anthony went to his house. Just entering the building, Anthony felt a weariness descend on him. Looking around at the filthy condition, the weariness descended even further, threatening to suffocate him.

"There is no way; I am not staying here," Anthony muttered to himself.

He made a mental note of what he wanted to take with him. His engineer's mind deduced how many boxes he'd need as he catalogued each item.

Pinoak Motel had a nice clean room, a room that did not reek of spilled wine and marijuana smoke. The sheets did not have small holes where burning seeds had popped out of the bong and burned through the sheets. The comforter actually had a clean smell, not one of sweat.

"No one to blame but yourself," Anthony said somberly as he reflected on the disaster his house had become, the disaster his life had become.

The clerk, a flat chested pimple faced girl had smirked when she told him about the movies that were available with each room. Anthony turned on the television, hit the number 2 and scrolled.

"Amateur, Anal, Asian...gee. Where's the latest Avengers movie?" Anthony quipped and selected Anal.

The grunts and groans, the pulsing synthesizer music provided the backdrop for Anthony's thoughts. Fourteen years ago, he'd been a handsome young man, with a master's degree in mechanical engineering. He had a job, not with his father, not at his father's company, but as a Civil engineer with St. Ann Parish. It was an easy job; very little was actually required of him. Look over specs, make sure they were up to code. From time to time actually drive out to a job site, make sure they were up to code. His degree in Mechanical Engineering had parlayed well into his nearly mindless government job with the parish.

The same had been true of his courtship, his marriage to Cheyenne. Buy her whatever she wanted. Make sure there was enough alcohol, enough marijuana to keep her happy. Indulge her fleeting interests. Every now and then have drunken, stoned sex with her. His degree in mechanical engineering had prepared him well for the mechanics of numbly going through the motions.

"Oh yeah, oh yeah, you're killing me, yeah, your cock is huge," the girl on the screen moaned.

At first, Cheyenne's tattoos had been a turn-on. The dark roots had been a turn-on. The fact that the carpet didn't match the drapes was a turn-on.

Watching the porn actress's flabby ass jostle and jiggle as she was being violently sodomized did not excite Anthony. The glassy eyed look on the girl's face reminded Anthony of the last time he and Cheyenne had actually had sex.

The paunch that Cheyenne had developed from years of inactivity jostled and giggled as Anthony thrust his weak erection into her nearly dry pussy. Her once attractive face looked almost bored at Anthony labored to maintain his erection.

Cheyenne's eyes were glassy from the weed they'd smoked. Her breath stunk horribly; Anthony wondered when she'd last brushed her teeth. He wondered when he'd last brushed his teeth.

"Stop, all right, just fucking stop," Anthony spat at the television, clicking off the movie just as the porn actor was liberally coating the actress's face with an impossibly large amount of semen.

Looking into Cheyenne's stoned, bored face, Anthony had lost his erection. With a sigh, he'd rolled off of his wife.

"You, you come?" Cheyenne asked, reviving slightly.

"Yeah, shit, you can't tell?" Anthony lied.

If he had admitted he had not, Cheyenne would have either belittle him, question his manhood, question his sexuality. Or, if she was stoned enough, would have redoubled her efforts to make him climax. So, he lied, he said he'd ejaculated.

"Where's the, never mind, I got it," Cheyenne said, finding the bong.

Tonight, Anthony lay awake in the cheap, clean motel room, just staring at the ceiling. That last sexual interplay had been the night before his mother had let him know his father had passed away.

The silence became intolerable so Anthony turned the television on again. He found Channel 12, an independent station out of St. Elizabeth Parish.

"Hi-yee, this is Summer Broussard, Performance Twelve News at A and A Soaps building. As you can see, the flames are at least forty feet high. Captain Richards! Captain Richards, what can you tell me about the fire?" an attractive blonde reporter was speaking.

Anthony leaned against the headboard of the motel bed, watching as a fire completely destroyed a building. There was an attractive blonde woman with curly hair, sobbing while an attractive Latin woman hugged her, tried to comfort her.

"Here, we have Antoinette Delacroix, owner of A and A Soaps," Summer was saying. Hi-yee "Ms. Delacroix, what can you tell me..."

"Go away, you God damned vulture!" Anita Lopez screamed at the reporter. "Can't you see my wife is in no mood for your...?"

That was how Cheyenne should have reacted when they found out Anthony's father had passed away. Not with demands that Anthony hang up; she had a hangover. Cheyenne should have been trying to comfort him, even though, truthfully, Anthony had not been that upset.