Mother Insists

A Sensorama Smart Home Drama (E01) – Flash Fiction [#10]

Candle Light Dinner | Photo by Alexander Ipfelkofer

Reginald Helfinger was a quiet man, average in every way except for his enormous caterpillar eyebrows, much to his dismay as it gave rise to ample ridicule ever since childhood. Naturally, he grew up to become a statistician.

Reginald, or Reggie, as Mother would call him, was 42 years old, with thinning hair and forever trapped in a perpetual Mother’s Baby state and thus acts of affection had continued well into adulthood, including a peck on the cheek or mouth, and affectionate late night tummy rubs, although the latter may have been specific to this particular specimen, who at present attended the end of quarter sales meeting, counting the number of dress code violations in his head.

The company did nothing. No one cared. It was an absolute farce, a circus. Wrinkled shirts, mismatched ties, no ties, sneakers—who on God’s green earth wore sneakers with a suit—also, the state of grooming told you everything you needed to know about the discipline—or lack thereof—of the majority of people in the room. Were he in charge, he would run out of warning slips faster than rats out of an aqueduct. The comparison gave him pause. Statistically, he was unsure whether that was accurate. He never had the chance to measure the speed at which rats performed such an act.

“Helfinger?” A voice interrupted his calculations.

Reginald raised his brow.

Arthur Culling, head of the department, was standing at the front of the conference table, hands high. “The numbers?”

“Yes. Sorry. The numbers. We managed to increase sales of our latest Sensorama Smart Home units by three per cent, totalling a net—”

“Three per cent? Three—What the fuck have we been doing? Wanking off all day? Unacceptable. My neighbour’s snot-nosed five-year-old could sell more units than you, losers.” He stared at his hapless team, the vein at his temple bulging. “I don’t care what it takes. You don’t sleep, you don’t eat, you don’t shit until you meet the target–not three, not four, it’s fifteen. Or so help me, I’ll fire every single one of you, starting with you, Helfinger.”

Submissive heads hung low, eyes cast to the floor, the room reeked of fear, squeaking chairs and the rustling of desperate hands.

If there was one thing Reginald Helfinger could not abide, it was foul language. It would not do, no. In moments like these, he fought hard to keep his impulses at bay, impulses that terrified him, impulses that Mother would punish him for. He never knew his father, and Mother would not mention him ever. He was her miracle, her immaculate conception, her salvation.

“We—we could offer a special discount?” suggested Reginald.

“Special discount? Brilliant! Why didn’t I think of that? What’s next? We give them away for free? Are you out of your fucking mind?”

Cut out that awful, wicked tongue. No more vile words out of that dirty mouth. What would Mother say? Reggie, don’t let him talk to you like that. You’re not afraid, are you?

“I’m not.”

The room looked at him.

“Say what?” demanded Culling.

“Sorry, Sir. I’m not sure, Sir.” Reginald could not help but grin at the morbid thoughts running wild in his head.

Culling stepped up to him, staring with fuming eyes. “What’s so funny?” He hissed.

The breath of nicotine made Reginald wince. He stared at the yellow-stained teeth and blinked. Of all the viable responses and the few he considered, he chose the one that mortified him.

Back home, he took off his shoes and put them in the corner at the entrance, one by one, aligned perfectly, not a spot on them, took a hanger from the wardrobe, slid on the jacket, flattened the fabric, gently put it back in and closed the door with a soft thud.

“Reggie? Is that you?”

“Yes, Mother,” Reginald shook his head and sighed. The evening ritual had begun. Maybe he would tell her he got fired. No, tonight wasn’t a good time. Tomorrow. Always tomorrow, never today.

“What’s for dinner, Reggie?”

“I brought Chinese, Mother. The noodles you like.” He went past the dining table into the kitchen and put the cups in the microwave to reheat them.

“How was your day, Reggie?”

“Fine, Mother.” He paused, staring at the faded picture pinned to the fridge, showing him as a kid, blowing out candles. “Someone brought a cake for Mandy from the third floor.” He liked Mandy, and she liked him. “It was her birthday,” he added.

“Mandy? Is she your girlfriend?”

“No, Mother. She’s a colleague.”

“Why don’t you invite her for dinner?”

The microwave chimed. He took the steaming food, put some on each plate and set the bowl down in the middle, then poured two tall glasses of water, sat down, took his chopsticks and started to eat in silence.

“How do you know this Mandy is good for you? I ought to take a look at her. Tomorrow. Dinner. I insist.”

“Yes, Mother.”

Mandy arrived with a bottle of wine, flushed cheeks, eyes wide, and a shy smile. An aborted handshake, an embrace, a dance of romance, and he ushered her into the dining room, candlelight flickering on the table set for two in perfect symmetry. Beethoven trickled softly into her ears.

“Is that her?”

“Not now, Mother,” Reginald whispered, struggling to open the bottle, breaking the cork.

“Who are you talking to?” Mandy’s eyes darted across the empty room.

“Oh, my clumsy baby. You’ve corked the wine.”

“Quiet, Mother.” Reginald pushed the cork into the bottle, spilling red all over him.

“Reg? Are you OK?” Mandy stood up.

“Everything is fine. Broken cork, sorry about the mess. I’ll get another bottle.” He turned towards the wine rack on the wall in the kitchen.

“Poor Reggie, look what she made you do. She’s no good. I can tell. A Mother always knows.”

“Please, no, not her, Mother,” Reginald pleaded.

“I think I better go.” Mandy edged towards the door.

“Stay. Mother insists.”

Author’s Note

This one poured out fast. I had a lot more after that last line… saved for another time. Halloween is coming.

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