Family Fruitcake Frenzy

by Margaret Lashley

  “Laverne, I’ve got Tom’s party to go to tonight. Could I ask a favor? I need to borrow some hairspray.”

  “Sure!” Laverne beamed a horsey smile my way. “I’ll go get it, honey. If you want, I can fix your hair, too, like I did last time.”

  “Thanks. That’d be great.”

  Laverne disappeared down the hallway. I closed my eyes, held my breath and patted down the outside of the garbage bag. I felt a paw and retched.

  Arrggh!

  I opened my eyes, steeled myself, and tried to hoist the bag. It barely cleared the floor. It had to have weighed over forty pounds. Laverne came back in the kitchen holding up a silver spray can. “You want iron hold or platinum shine?”

  “Which one is that?”

  “Platinum shine.”

  “I’ll take the other one.”

  “Coming right up!”

  Laverne turned back toward the hallway. I snatched the bag by the tie handles and drug it as fast as I could toward the garage door. As I shoved it over the threshold with my foot, the bag tumbled down the step the way a dead body does in the movies. A creepy feeling squirmed along my spine. I shuddered as I dragged the bag across the garage floor to the freezer chest.

  I braced myself, opened the freezer door, and took a sideways peek inside. Half covered by a considerable collection of blue-and-white Skinny Dipper cartons, I made out the shape of a frozen turkey in a dark-grey grocery bag. I pulled it out and set it on Laverne’s washing machine. Then I squatted, took hold of the garbage bag with both hands, grunted, and heaved the carcass up the side of the freezer and in. I slammed the lid just as Laverne appeared at the garage door.

  “What ‘cha doing, honey?”

  “Huh? Oh. I...I uh...that big old turkey would have never thawed in time, Laverne. I got a smaller one.” I picked up the turkey from the washing machine. “See?”

  Laverne beamed a horsey smile at me. “Oh, Val. You’re always coming to my rescue. Thank you!”

  “You’re welcome. Happy to do it.”

  I carried the frozen turkey to the kitchen, relieved we wouldn’t be eating Buster for dinner tomorrow night. I was also thankful I wouldn’t have to explain where the smaller, “second” turkey had come from. Laverne’s faulty-wired brain would never make the connection. But that wasn’t giving Laverne enough credit. Unlike my mother, sweet Laverne had no head for devious plots or schemes.

  I dropped the turkey in the metal sink with a thud. “There you go, Laverne. And I wanted you to know, I’m off work tomorrow. I should be home all day. If you need help with anything, just holler.”

  Laverne smiled and held a spray can toward me at arm’s length. “Thanks, honey. Here’s your spray.”

  “Huh? Oh! Yes, thanks!” I took the can and turned to leave. Laverne grabbed my arm.

  “Honey, I don’t know how to mention this, but you might want to change your clothes.”

  “What? Why?”

  “I think you had a little ‘accident’.”

  I looked down and almost fainted with embarrassment. Heaving Buster into the freezer had proven too much for my compromised colon. I’d seriously crapped my pants.

  I TRIED TO TAKE A LONG, hot shower, but my mind wouldn’t let me. It plagued me with the irresistible itch to make an urgent call. I dried off, wrapped a towel around my head and dialed Goober. He answered in a polite, business tone.

  “Three X-migos. We make sure your holidays are well hung.”

  “Goober! You need to get your butt over to Laverne’s, right now!”

  “Val? What’s flown up your skirt?”

  “Are you kidding me? You need to get that dog out of her freezer immediately!”

  “Huh. How’d you find out?”

  “She...what does it matter? We almost had roasted bulldog on tomorrow night’s menu, okay?”

  “Well, given the quality of the offerings so far....”

  “Goober!”

  “All right, already. I’ll take care of it on the way back from the mayor’s place tonight.”

  I clicked off the phone and went to collect my crappy clothes from the bathroom floor. I threw them in the washing machine, set it to the industrial clean cycle, and lay down on the couch. Lightheaded from dysentery, lack of sleep and my run-in with Goober, I was in desperate need of a nap.

  I’d just nodded off when the doorbell rang. I groaned and hauled my tired, (but clean) butt to the door and peeked out the peep hole. It was Laverne. I cracked open the door.

  “Hey. What’s up?”

  “I’m here to help you get ready for tonight. It’s the least I can do. I know you’re not feeling too good.”

  “That’s okay. I don’t –”

  Laverne pushed past me and made her way inside. “Val, when are you gonna learn, honey? You don’t have to take on the world alone. You’ve got friends who want to help.”

  “But I don’t want to put you out, Laverne.”

  Laverne smiled at me like a mother donkey. “The only way you can put me out is to say ‘no’ when I offer to help. Don’t you realize, sugar? Helping you brings me joy. Don’t take that away from me.”

  Hot tears brimmed my eyes. “All right. I’ve washed my hair. Do your worst.”

  I poured us a drink and sat on a kitchen stool while Laverne fussed over my hair and fooled around with my makeup. After what seemed like two hours, she announced she was done.

  “Take a look,” she said, and handed me a mirror.

  She bit her lip in anticipation of my reaction. I braced for Bride of Frankenstein, but I got Here Comes the Bride. Laverne had worked a miracle on my pallid face and frizzy hair. Even I was impressed.

  “Wow. Thanks, Laverne!”

  Laverne grinned. “My pleasure, honey.”

  As she zipped up the back of my little black dress, I heard a car pull up in the drive. “That must be Tom.”

  “I best get going, then.” Laverne picked up her hairspray and gave my head one last blast. “That ought to hold you through a hurricane.”

  I hugged Laverne. “Let’s hope it doesn’t have to. Now don’t forget to take the bag of giblets out of the turkey before you put it in the oven.”

  “What’s a giblet?” she asked.

  “The guts. They should be in a paper bag. In the turkey’s cavity.”

  Laverne stared at me, confused. “Turkeys can get cavities?”

  If I hadn’t been so tired, I’d have laughed out loud. “Tell you what, Laverne. I’ll come by tomorrow morning and show you. How’s that?”

  Laverne sighed with relief. “Whew! That’d be great, sugar.” She reached for the doorknob just as Tom rang the bell. She grinned at me, then yanked opened the door and curtseyed. “Good evening, Prince Tom. Let me present to you, your Princess, Val.”

  A long, low wolf whistle sounded from Tom’s lips.

  I shook my head and grinned. “And you already know my fairy godmother.”

  Tom nodded at Laverne. “May I say, ladies, both of you look ravishing.”

  Laverne laughed. “I look like the dog’s dinner.”

  “Not a chance,” Tom said. “And speaking of dinner, I’m looking forward to tomorrow.”

  Laverne beamed. “Me too. Now you two go have a good time tonight! Fairy godmother’s orders!” Laverne hugged me, then Tom, then headed out the door.

  Tom closed the door behind her and gave me an admiring once-over. “You look amazing, Val.”

  “Thanks. You, too.”

  “You ready?”

  “Yes.”

  As we headed out the front door, Tom grabbed my hand and pulled me close to him. He whispered softly, his lips nearly touching mine. “There’s something I want to ask you.”

  My heart skipped a beat. I wasn’t ready for this.... “Oh? Well, I want to ask you something, too.”

  Tom smiled dreamily. “What’s that, sweetheart?”

  “Tom, is there a law against cremating animals in your backyard?”

  Tom drew back sharply, like a needle scratc
hing over a record. “What? I...I don’t know. Why do you ask?”

  I shrugged and stepped out the door. “Just curious.”

  AS TOM AND I STROLLED into the party at the police precinct, heads didn’t turn like they did when I’d worn my painted-on, red sequined dress last year. But my little black dress did catch the attention of a few wandering cop eyes. Tom puffed up like a peacock as he led me toward a group of men gathered around the buffet table. He was about to introduce me to some of his buddies when the inevitable happened. We had a run-in with Tom’s nemesis, Lt. Hans Jergen.

  “Lieutenant Foreman.”

  “Lieutenant Jergen.”

  Having exchanged dirty looks and the briefest possible greetings, Jergen turned his attention to me. He looked me up and down in a way that made me want to take a bath in bleach.

  “Well, if it isn’t Ms. Fremden. Nice to see you again,” he said with the charm and sincerity of a door-to-door toilet-brush salesman.

  After all the hell Jergen had put Tom through earlier in the year, it was all I could do to remain civil in the public sphere. So I kept my answer short. “You, too.”

  As I studied Lt. Jergen, I realized he looked different. He had pimped his ride. He wore an expensive tailored suit and Italian loafers. Since I’d seen him last, he’d bleached his teeth and found a much, much better barber. If I hadn’t known how ugly he was on the inside, I’d have considered him an eligible bachelor worth mentioning to friends. But, like I said, he was rotten inside.

  “I hope you two have a pleasant holiday planned,” Jergen said with a brilliant-white, fake smile.

  “We do,” Tom said, and tugged at my hand.

  For the brief time necessary, we’d all managed to find a way to tolerate each other’s existence, the way political opponents are forced to do. I was glad to see the détente Jergen and I had reached in June appeared to be holding. I’d kept my mouth shut about his secret business, and he’d kept off Tom’s butt. When Jergen said “Good evening,” and walked away, relief washed over me like a downy blanket. I was too exhausted for a battle tonight.

  Once the inescapable head-on collision was over, the party seemed to resume around us, as if time had stood still around us. A plump, happy-looking guy came up to Tom and me.

  “Let’s get a photo of you two!” said the cop. I recognized him from Davie’s Donuts.

  “Officer Muller! Nice to see you!”

  “You two look like movie stars,” Muller said. “Better than that, you two look happy together. Say cheese!”

  I felt my face flush with pride as Officer Muller snapped a shot of me standing next to Tom. I handed him my cellphone. “Please, would you mind taking a couple with my phone?”

  “Happy to oblige.” Muller snapped off a quick succession of photos.

  “Thanks Muller,” I said.

  “I’m starving,” Tom said. “Come on, Muller. Let’s hit the buffet.”

  Tom tugged me along to the buffet table. Thanks to Laverne’s miracle-weight-loss casserole, I looked great in my dress. But I still had no appetite. I looked over the buffet spread. In the center of the table was a whole, roasted pig. I nudged Tom on the elbow.

  “That’s rather ironic, don’t you think?”

  Confusion crossed Tom’s handsome face for a second. Then his jaw went slack and he shook his head.

  “Well, at least it’s not in uniform.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  I LAY IN BED AND STRETCHED my arms and legs like a lazy cat.

  Ahhh.

  Compared to yesterday, this morning I felt like a million bucks. Then, like an annoying mosquito, my mind buzzed on and stuck me with a thought. I’ll be at mom’s place tomorrow.

  My stomach flopped. I reached over for Tom, my warm security blanket. All I got was a handful of cold, wadded sheet. I hitched myself up on one elbow as he came stumbling in, his blond hair a charming bird’s nest tangle.

  “Morning, princess,” he joked.

  “Don’t start.”

  “Feeling better?”

  The sight of two cappuccinos in Tom’s hands made my stomach rumble. For the first time since ingesting Laverne’s sabotage soufflé, I felt hungry. Starved, even. I sat up in bed and reached out for a cup.

  “I’m so hungry I could eat a horse.”

  Tom laughed and handed me a cappuccino. “Go easy. I’m saving my appetite for Laverne’s. I’m looking forward to a good, home-cooked meal for a change.”

  “Well, you won’t be getting one at Laverne’s. Unless, of course, you really are hungry enough to eat an actual horse.”

  Tom sighed and crawled into bed beside me. “Better horse meat than nothing. That’s about all that gets cooked around here.”

  I frowned. “What are you insinuating? I can cook.”

  “You keep saying that, but so far, you haven’t delivered any proof.” Tom took a sip of cappuccino. “For all I know, your ‘great culinary skills’ are just a figment of your imagination.”

  I elbowed him and sloshed a foamy blob of cappuccino onto the sheet. “You’ve got two hands, Tom. I don’t see you cooking anything.”

  “That’s because you won’t set foot in my place.”

  I pouted in an unreasonable fashion. “Why should I, when there’s a perfectly good kitchen here? Go ahead, knock yourself out. I could go for a cheese omelet.”

  Tom stared at me, incredulous. “Are you kidding? You don’t have any eggs in that empty fridge of yours.”

  “Humph,” I sneered.

  “So, what are you going to bring to Laverne’s tonight, anyway?”

  “A fruitcake. You?”

  “I don’t know yet. Got any suggestions?”

  I eyed him with mock suspicion. “What can you cook that won’t kill us all?”

  Tom twisted his lip sideways. “I’ve been told I make a mean batch of mashed potatoes.”

  I smiled and closed my eyes as my empty stomach savored the thought. “Mmmm. Mashed potatoes. Sound yummy.” I opened my eyes again. “For the record, I like mine lumpy.”

  “That figures.” Tom set his cup on the nightstand and snuggled next to me. He and ran a warm hand under my nightgown and along my grumbling tummy. “You never have been one to like things too smooth and easy.”

  AS TOM DROVE AWAY, I waved from the front door and breathed a heavy sigh of relief. I’d made it through another morning without the dreaded “Christmas present discussion.” I still had no idea what Tom was getting me, or what I was going to get him. In desperation, I padded over to the computer and googled “gifts for him.” I sifted through a couple hundred of the eighty-million search results. I was about to order a crate full of man-bacon when I realized I’d waited too late. Tom and I were shipping out for my mother’s place at eight o’clock tomorrow morning. The crate would never arrive at my house on time, and I didn’t dare ship it to Greenville. The whole town would be gossiping about it before the mailman set foot on my mother’s doorstep.

  A nauseating thought struck me. I googled “home pet cremation.” To my utter amazement, there were zero results. I didn’t think that was even possible! I turned off the computer and went to the kitchen to douse more rum on the fruitcakes. At least I had tonight’s dessert under control.

  Under control...under control.... Oh, crap! I forgot to check in with Laverne this morning!

  As I grabbed the knob on my front door, the doorbell rang at precisely the same moment. The unexpected buzz startled me like an electric shock. I yanked open the door. Laverne was standing there looking as if she’d run over my dog. Luckily, I didn’t have one.

  “I think something’s wrong with the turkey,” she said, her eyes on the verge of panic.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I went to check on it but it won’t let me.”

  “Huh?”

  Laverne grabbed my hand. “Come on. I’ll show you.”

  I slipped on some flip-flops and followed Laverne’s skinny, jean-covered butt to her back door, dread growing with every ste
p. I imagined a blackened turkey carcass smoldering on the counter...a raw turkey caught in the garbage disposal...a bag of giblets boiling away in the paper bag they came in. But nothing could have prepared me for what she’d actually done.

  Laverne opened the front door and the delicious smell of roasting turkey was overpowering. I followed her into the kitchen and up to the stove. Laverne turned and looked at me with wide, puzzled donkey eyes. “It won’t let me in.”

  “What?”

  Laverne tried to open the oven door. It wouldn’t budge. “See? The stove says the door’s locked. How could the turkey lock the door, Val?”

  I took a slow breath to calm myself before I spoke. “Laverne, I think you put the oven on clean.”

  Laverne nodded her head. “Yes! Yes! I’m sure of it, Val. That oven was clean when I turned it on. I’ve never even used it before.”

  I bit my lip. “No. I mean, Laverne, you set the oven’s self-cleaning program.”

  “Self-cleaning program?” Laverne smiled and shook her head with admiration. “Wow! What will they think of next?”

  “That’s not good news, Laverne. We need to stop it.”

  Laverne’s worried donkey face returned. “Oh. So, how do you do that?”

  “I dunno. Do you have the manual?”

  Laverne pursed her lips, patted her pockets and looked up and to her left. “Manual?”

  I blew out a breath. “Never mind. Let’s call Winky. He’s the mechanical genius in the family.”

  Laverne smiled at me, a glimmer of hope in her eyes. “That’s a great idea.”

  “I’m going to need to use your phone, Laverne.”

  “Oh. Sure.” Laverne handed me a cellphone. “Hit #23.”

  I did as instructed, but curiosity got the better of me while I waited for Winky to pick up. “Why #23, Laverne?”

  “For W,” Laverne said, as if she were explaining the obvious. “It’s the 23rd letter of the alphabet.”

  I heard someone pick up. “Winky?”

  “The Three X-Migos. We make sure –”

  “Winky! It’s me. Val.!”