“Elaine Kagan’s ‘Hot Pants’ features a young woman caring for a father sliding into dementia (Is there anything darker than that?), while fending off harassment at work. The panic and hopelessness of her circumstances are as disquieting as it gets.”
~From Wes Lukowsky’s rave in Booklist. Here’s a taste of Elaine’s story:
HOT PANTS by Elaine Kagan
“Dad?” Lucinda said.
Her father was snoring, relaxed and long in a faded chintz wing chair, legs out in front of him, ankles crossed, size 13 feet in thick white socks on a matching faded chintz ottoman. The chair was permanently placed in front of a large TV screen that was permanently tuned to Turner Classic Movies. The movie playing that morning was something in black-and-white with Jimmy Cagney or maybe it was Mickey Rooney, she wasn’t sure which, tapping around a giant movie set that was supposed to look like a street in downtown Manhattan. The guy could really dance.
People shuffled in and out of the long living room. The sound was turned way down on the TV and most of the people pushing their walkers across the ratty rug were silent and smiling. Some sat motionless, like kids playing dead – jaws dropped, heads thrown back, eyes closed – like zombies, Lucinda thought. Twelve white zombies being herded around a big rambling two-story house by two brown women, one brown man, one black woman and two black men rotating hours and days in blue scrubs in Newark, New Jersey.
Mrs. Ventimillia sat at the piano, her hands folded and quiet in her lap. She never played and it wasn’t clear if she was looking at the sheet music on the piano table or out the window. Her daughter said she’d been a really terrific jazz pianist – very Bill Evans, her daughter said. Lucinda had to look up Bill Evans. Mrs. Ventimillia had also been a reporter for the New York Post and it was ironic that Mr. Santangelo, who spent most of his time on the cracked leather sofa across from the fireplace that had no logs, was reading a yellowed copy of the New York Post that he carried around in his pocket. It didn’t seem to matter that 
the news wasn’t current. Lucinda didn’t know if Mrs. Ventimillia and Mr. Santangelo had ever even spoken. Mr. Santangelo was in pretty good shape except for every now and then when he had a screaming fit and threw things. No one so far had figured out what set him off. “He’s nuts,” her father said.
Lucinda leaned forward, her face closer to her father’s. “Daddy?”
His feet jumped a little and the snoring stopped with an abrupt intake of breath as if he’d stopped breathing altogether for maybe twenty seconds, and then started up again. Like a car engine. Not as loud, but still strong. He was still strong, her father. His mind was full of smoke, as he frequently pointed out with a wry laugh when he was “in”, as he put it, but his body betrayed his 68 years. He looked maybe 58 tops. He had a character actor face with dark red wavy hair and a solid muscular build. No gut above his belt. He had a splatter of freckles across ruddy cheeks, a thick neck and thick hands. He could probably still jump on and off a fire engine, pull a hose, climb a ladder, chainsaw through a roof, or run into flames looking like the picture poster of how a fire captain should look. Although he just might not be able to remember what a fire engine did – or a hose or a ladder or a chain saw. Or how to brush his teeth or cut his meat or recognize Chief Lang when he came to visit. “I know this guy, right?” he said to Lucinda, tilting his head towards the Fire Chief. Chief Archie Lang and her father had gone through the Academy together, had been best men at each other’s weddings and were godfather’s to each other’s kids. “I’m losing me,” her father said in a gruff whisper to Archie Lang, leaning in close and secret. “Don’t tell the kid. Okay?” “Okay,” Chief Lang said, giving a brave nod to Lucinda and an affectionate punch to her dad’s upper arm. Lucinda made a concerted effort to not die right there or throw up. He was “in and out” now, this stalwart father of hers, slipping down the ladder of dementia….
Hot Pants by Elaine Kagan is one of 17 stellar stories in At Home in the Dark. NB: Ebook and paperback editions are on sale now for immediate delivery. DON’T try to order the hardcover, as it’s sold out at the publisher, and while Amazon is still taking orders they’ll be unable to deliver.
