Frank by Mercedes Helnwein / Fiction / Untitled Books

I’m allergic to Frank and I’ve never made a big secret out of it. My wife says it’s embarrassing, but as far as I’m concerned it’s my right as an American to hate my neighbour.

Frank by Mercedes Helnwein

And then I began singing Good Vibrations, which I admit was sort of irrelevant. I can have a very powerful voice when I set my mind to it.

PART I: FRANK

That damn asshole who lived on the other side of the fence with his reindeer sweaters and the coffee mug finally met his maker the other day.
To begin with, that fence is mine and everything on my side of it is likewise mine. I painted it white on a sweltering Sunday afternoon when I could have been doing any number of pleasurable things. But no, I stuck to my pride. I said to myself, 'Chad, you're gonna have the best damn yard in town, and quite frankly, that fence has got to be white. And you're gonna paint it white, because you've got morals.' And it's true - I do. I've got more morals than the pope. So I went to Harold's Hardware down the street, picked out a bucket of white paint and painted that thing all Sunday long.
'Watcha doin, Chad?'
That was Frank, with his fancy, yellow Sunday drink. He came strolling over to the fence with one hand in his pocket, smiling. He doesn't drink coffee on Sundays - just his special 'Sunday Drink'.
'I'm painting the fence white,' I muttered.
'Looks great.'
Great my ass! How could he tell? I hadn't even finished my first stroke. I mean, of course it was great, but how could he tell? Yeah, but what are you going to do? He's a dentist - hungry and out to hunt new clients.
'What color are you using?'
'White.'
'I meant the brand,' he laughed and patted me on the back.
'Dutch Boy.'
I shook his hand off my shoulder and ducked out of sight to paint the lower part of the fence. I'm allergic to Frank and I've never made a big secret out of it. My wife says it's embarrassing, but as far as I'm concerned it's my right as an American to hate my neighbour.
'Anyway, it looks great buddy,' he said. 'Are you getting ready for the yard contest?'
I got to my feet and stared long and hard at him. That man was up to something.
'I hadn't really thought of it actually, why?'
I was as a matter of fact - I was getting ready for the Annual Silverstream Yard Contest. Of course I was - like every year. Everyone knew that I was a yard fanatic. I had subscribed to Yard & You for eight years now, I was vice president of the Hedge Society and I obviously had the best damn yard in town. Last year I finally made it to second place and this time my yard was so flawless it was down-right scary. I woke up at nights in a cold sweat, wondering how it was even humanly possible to have such a perfect hedge - such a deep, juicy, emerald sausage running alongside the fence. My hands had created that hedge, and I trembled when I looked at it. I knew I was a genius.
'I heard you won second place last year,' he said.
'Yeah.'
'Going for the big one this time?'
'Yeah, yeah. I'm going for the big one,' I said just to shut him up.
Frank, however, was on a roll.
'That's great, Chad!'
'Sure.'
'And with that hedge you just can't lose.'
'I know.'
'Of course, you know that this hedge here is technically on my property.'
I stopped painting.
'What?'
'Didn't you know? It's on my property. Legally. It's your hedge, of course, but legally it's on my property. Don't worry, they're just silly rules - they don't mean much.'
Why are people like Frank born? Well, I'll tell you why - to make life miserable for the handful of decent men who live in this cesspool. That's all they're there for . . . for coming over to your goddamn yard and telling you that your hedge is on their property. Let me tell you, there's only one answer you can give these people: 'You're talking out of your ass.'
'Now, Chad - '
'This is my hedge. See that fence? The hedge is on my side of it.'
'Yes, but technically it's mine, because that fence is three yards into my property.'
I let out a snort that I hoped sounded derisive.
He laughed. 'You know, I can show you the map of the property some day.'
'Look, I'm trying to work here,' I said. 'Can you just go and play Monopoly with your dentist pals or something?'
Frank held up his drink in a farewell gesture. 'Well, I'll be seeing you. Don't work too hard, Chad. It's Sunday.'
Fuck him. How was I supposed to concentrate on anything now? My whole insides felt like they were crawling up my throat. I couldn't breathe. I wanted to jump over the hedge and charge at him with my shovel . . . but instead, I turned away and stared blankly at a little stone next to my shoe. That was my hedge. If anything was ever mine, it was that hedge, and suddenly here was Frank, telling me it was on his property. I brushed the little stone away and drove my hand gently over the green belly of the hedge.

'Honey, what's wrong?' my wife asked at dinner. 'You're not touching your food.'
'I'm not hungry.'
She looked concerned. 'What? My little grizzly isn't hungry? What's wrong?'
'Excuse me,' I said getting up, 'I've got some business to attend to.'
'Where are you going?'
I'm a calm, clear thinking man, but when I get drunk I tend to become sentimental, and if someone doesn't like to see me drunk, then they can always look the other way. My wife wants me to see a shrink. She thinks this yard thing is getting out of hand, but it's always been my staunch belief that no shrink can do half as much for you as two cases of beer. They're cheaper and they don't fall asleep when you're recounting how you were traumatized as a kid when your aunt got changed in front of you one time.
'Chad,' I said to myself, sitting up in the attic, where my wife wouldn't interrupt, 'that hedge is your pride and joy. Are you going to sit here and let some asshole dentist say it's on his property? Are you goin' to sit here and cry over that hedge, Chad? Come on! What're you going to do about it?'
I tend to become patriotic when I'm drunk. Why isn't it ever the Fourth of July when you want it to be the Fourth of July? It seems to me we're always buying fire crackers and getting ready for the Fourth of July - but when you're really in the mood for it, it's mid October. I wanted to swear allegiance to the flag and sing the national anthem, but we didn't have a flag around and I can't ever remember more than two lines of any song. It was sort of pointless, and so instead, I made my way downstairs, through the living room where my wife was watching TV.
'Honey, have you been drinking?'
'Just a coupla beers.'
'Where are you going? It's past eleven.'
'You just watch your little show. There's something I need to talk to Frank about.'
Apparently I embarrassed myself again that night, but I didn't care. I felt darn proud of myself, lying in bed and remembering what I had said to him:
'Frank! Get the hell down here, you bastard! Get down here and we'll see who this hedge belongs to!'
I stood in his yard calling up to his bedroom window.
'Chad?' His head poked out of the window. 'Is that you?'
'You bet your sweet ass it is. Get the hell down here, I need to talk to you!'
'Can this wait until tomorrow?'
'Screw you!'
'All right, Chad. Can we just -'
'I'm never going to be your client! I'd rather have a cab driver give me oral surgery, so you can stop being a fucking stewardess. I don't need your charm, Frank!'
And then I began singing Good Vibrations, which I admit was sort of irrelevant. I can have a very powerful voice when I set my mind to it. I woke up the whole goddamn neighborhood that night, my wife wouldn't talk to me for four days, and only then when I promised to cut back on the beers.
'I wouldn't mind so much,' she said, 'but you just embarrass the bejesus out of me every time.'
'I know, honey. I'm sorry.'
'I just don't know what to do when you're out making a fool of yourself.' she continued, 'I mean, they all stare at me the next day.'
'I know. I'm sorry, honey.'
I love her. Next to that hedge there's nothing I like better than my wife - but God, I wasn't in the mood for this now. All I could think about was Frank and my hedge out there - together.
'You understand, don't you, my little grizzly?' she said.
'Sure.'

PART II: HIGH NOON

I never felt like a father, but lord knows I felt like one on that Saturday morning. My yard was number 16. I had a little flag stuck in the lawn, and I watched fondly as it fluttered in the wind. The winning number. I'd have my picture in the paper and they'd ask me intricate gardening questions, and I'd say, 'Well, you see, Derek, that's an interesting question . . . .'
I put my arm around my wife and felt complete. She smiled and we stood together in the sun, watching the little crowd of judges make their way down the street, taking notes. My yard was ready to be seen. Adam and Eve would have had a ball here. It was immaculate - sublime. I had mowed the lawn, raked up the leaves, trimmed the bushes - I even put up two little plaster dogs by the entrance for more of an effect.
'I didn't know Frank joined these sort of things,' my wife suddenly said, looking over the fence.
I turned and sure enough, there was a little flag stuck in Frank's lawn. Number 17.
I shook my head. 'What at jerk!'
'Now honey, don't start anything.'
'I'm not going to "start" anything.'
'I'm just saying. We all know how you get.'
But I was already walking over to the fence.
'Frank!' I called, waving over to him.
'Oh!' he said looking up. 'Chad, how are you? Is this about that night when you came over and sang Beach Boys songs? Because it's all right. I know what the old bottle can do to a man. You really don't have to be embarrassed.'
'Hell, I had a great time. How's the dental business goin'?'
He looked at me kind of strange. 'Oh, great. Great.'
'Good. And what's that little flag doing in your lawn?'
He laughed. 'Oh, I thought I'd give it a shot.'
He thought he'd give it a shot. Cute.
'That's interesting, Frank,' I said. 'That's really interesting, seeing that you don't have a yard.'
He looked around himself. 'Well, this is all my property here, Chad. I'm sure that counts as a yard. It's not much to brag about, but it's a yard.'
'You don't have a yard. Believe me. You have a swimming-pool.'
He did. He had a swimming pool the size of Texas.
'I have a bit of wholesome green over there in that corner.'
'I hate to break it to you, but I have more wholesome green in my shit than this yard.'
'Well, it seemed like a fun thing to do on a Saturday.'
I turned and walked away. I couldn't take it. Besides, I'd done my duty - I tried to save him from humiliation, but if he was so gung-ho about being an idiot I certainly wasn't going to interfere. Christ, he was actually going to let his little flag sit there next to a swimming pool and stand beside it!
Eleven o'clock. The judges strolled into my yard and I was so nervous I didn't know whether to breathe through my mouth or my ass.
'Hi! Hello, there. Come right in!'
Each of them had a little clipboard and pen and began to look around, ticking things off on their papers and scribbling as they went. They hardly looked at the yard, but one of them was the mayor and he knows what he's talking about. We knew each other pretty well from the Hedge Society - he was a fanatic, like myself.
'A magnificent hedge,' he said first thing - I knew I could count on him. He's a decent man.
'Oh, look at those dogs!' cried his wife, pointing at my plaster dogs. 'Aren't they adorable, Larry?'
'Yes, they are,' I said, smiling and leading her away from them, 'however, this hedge is indeed the center attraction of the yard, as your husband already noticed. So if you would just care to take a closer look . . .'
'Oh, it is lovely,' she said.
Everyone gathered around my hedge and began to admire it.
'Wonderful,' the mayor said, leaning very close to examine one of the small leaves. 'Fascinating.'
His wife nodded. 'Yes. And look how long it is. Such a long line!'
She complimented all the wrong things of course, but I didn't expect anything from her - it's a known fact that she has more brain cells in her liver than in her brain. But she was the mayor's wife.
'It's a beauty, Chad,' said the mayor. 'That hedge really is something.'
My eyes suddenly shot up for some reason, as though the devil himself had tapped me on the shoulder. And what do you know? There was Frank and his coffee, standing on the other side of the fence, just smiling and blinking away in the strong sunlight. Watching. I became nervous, but I told myself, 'It's a free country.' I continued answering hedge questions, but every time I looked up, there was Frank and it threw me off.
'Well, Chad,' said the mayor. 'You've got a fine property here.'
I was about to look honored, and smile and say something about there being plenty of other fine yards around town, but before I even had a chance to open my mouth there came a voice from the other side of the fence.
'You know, technically . . .'
I couldn't believe it. .
'. . . technically, that hedge is on my property.'
The mayor looked confused. 'This is your hedge?'
'Oh no!' said Frank, laughing. 'It's his, it just happens to be on my property.'

That afternoon I was a lonely man, deprived of everything God had given me. The little flag was still lying on the lawn. Frank had won. Frank McDermon had won the Silverstream Yard Contest, the most prestigious yard contest in the country, and I had nothing to show for except two goddamn plaster dogs. Life no longer held any meaning. Frank was crowned Yard King and rode through town on the big float with a brass band. He was interviewed and asked intricate gardening questions while I lay on the couch, surrounded by empty beer bottles and watching the weather report.
The thing is, God had given me that hedge. He had placed it in my hands and curled my fingers around it - and then suddenly he ripped it away, passed it to Frank and curled his fingers around it.
Yeah, well if life was unfair, Frank was going to see just how unfair. I stood up and got my gun, a shiny Smith and Wesson I kept hidden under the bed to protect my property. I wrapped yesterday's newspaper around it, put on my brother's cowboy hat and staggered over to Frank's house. The festivities were over and he was sure to be home. I was right.
'Howdy!' he said, appearing in the doorway and pointing to my hat with a wink. 'What can I do for you?'
'Nothing much.'
He cleared his throat and began looking solemn. 'Hey, about the contest - I had no idea they were so particular about property divisions. I really -'
'No, no, I understand, Frank. It's perfectly all right. You deserve it.'
A surprised look flashed across his face.
'Really? Are you hiding a gun under that newspaper?' he asked, grinning.
My heart jumped straight up my throat and I had to swallow it back down again.
'No,' I said. 'It's just a newspaper - all bunched up together - into a big - thing.'
Frank laughed. 'Well, listen, we're having a weenie roast tomorrow. You guys are coming, aren't you? It just wouldn't be the same without you.'
I felt for the trigger. 'Sure. Sure. What time?'
'Well, officially it starts -'
And then it happened. The good Lord reached down and did his business. Frank's shiny shoes slipped on the steps as he was coming down them towards me, and before I knew it he was lying on the ground like a fish, staring up at the sky, his mug rolling away and everything covered in coffee. I waited patiently for something to happen. 'Frank?'

Well, my trusty pal in the newspaper wasn't needed after all. Frank had managed it all by himself. Instant death by marble steps. Marble. You see, that's the kind of asshole he was - putting marble steps in front of his door. And look where it got him.

Mercedes Helnwein's debut novel The Potential Hazards of Hester Day is currently published in the US by Simon & Schuster.

Friday, 4 July, 2008

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Issue 40 / January 2012

I’m allergic to Frank and I’ve never made a big secret out of it. My wife says it’s embarrassing, but as far as I’m concerned it’s my right as an American to hate my neighbour.