by Cathy Lamb
“Tildy, please,” Tracy begged, “I like our waitress. She’s fun. Can I stay? Do you have peach pie tonight?”
Anna went to the police to file charges. Thirty minutes later, I was yet again talking with police officers Justin Nguyen, Sergeant Sara Bergstrom, and Lieutenant Mark Lilton.
Tildy told them, the bat safely behind the bar, that she felt threatened by the woman’s rage. “I was frightened. I was worried that she would hurt me. Cause harm.”
“Yes, harm,” I chimed in. “I believed my physical and emotional health was at risk.”
I could tell that Lieutenant Lilton, Officer Nguyen, and Sergeant Bergstrom were having a hard time not laughing out loud. Officer Nguyen stared at the ceiling, but the dimples showed in his smile. Sergeant Bergstrom’s mouth twitched. Lieutenant Lilton’s jaw locked and he fiddled with his glasses.
“She was unpredictable, irrational,” Tildy said. “She moved her hand, and I knew she was thinking of stabbing my face with her table knife. My pretty face.”
“You do have a pretty face, Tildy,” Lieutenant Lilton said.
“No one wants anything to happen to your face,” Sergeant Bergstrom said.
“And the worst part,” I said, “was that Anna called this a disgusting, red-necked, white trash swampland.”
Officer Nguyen actually gasped. “It is not!”
“No way. Especially not with the pies,” Lieutenant Lilton said.
“Dang right, it isn’t!” Tildy said.
“Do you have any blackberry pie, by the way?” Officer Nguyen asked. “I mean, I would like it when I’m off work tonight, after we finish a complete and thorough investigation here.”
The officers asked people at the bar and in the restaurant if they saw anything “suspicious.”
Grizz, his gray and white hair rebelling, as normal, said that Anna was like Jekyll and Hyde, only she was always Hyde.
“I’m reading Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde right now,” Lieutenant Lilton said. “I like it.”
Grizz said it was excellent reading material and he did not see me or Tildy swinging a bat. “I did not see Grenady smash a bat flat on Anna’s hamburger. That’s a flat-out lie. Outrageous! There are no bats in this fine establishment.”
Chilton, my snake man friend, said, “Gren was sweetness itself, like a cupcake, and brought Anna her burger perfectly cooked. No, there was no smoke and no fire. Anna’s all smoke and fire. Who told you that doggone fictional story? Well, that’s Anna for you. Making stuff up like a rattler. Squeezing the life out of everyone like a python.”
Another woman said, “Anna’s the threat. She’s a threat to this town with her gossip. She spread a rumor that I had vaginitis. I do not have vaginitis. I have had it, but I don’t now. I was treated. I hate Anna.”
A man in his thirties with full sleeve tattoos who had been sitting at a table across from Anna said, “I was in the army for fifteen years. I see three hundred and sixty degrees at all times. I can see a mouse hiding behind a chair leg. If someone had a bat up in the air, I’d be up and defending the victim. There was no bat. All I saw was that high-maintenance woman giving Grenady hell. She called Grenady a bitch, which was untoward and impolite.”
“I thought I made her a delicious hamburger,” I said. “I made it to her specifications. No pink. Not even a smidgen.”
“You cooked it well-done,” Tildy said. “As requested.”
“I’ll take a well-done burger when I’m off shift in an hour,” Sergeant Bergstrom said. “That sounds delicious.” She turned to me. “But not flaming well-done. Well-done. Regular. No fire. No smoke.”
“What other pies do you have?” Officer Nguyen asked. “My mother texted me. She heard I was here dealing with Anna. She wants to know if you have chocolate cream?”
There were no charges filed.
“Eudora, can I borrow the camera?” Hendricks’ Furniture has a high-quality company camera. The furniture—in particular the most impressive, personal pieces—was photographed and the images uploaded to the website.
“Yes, you may.” She handed it to me. “There are better cameras, slim as a pen. Cameras in books, cameras in brooches . . .”
“Do you have a brooch camera?”
She winked. “Used to.”
“A lipstick camera?”
“Yep. Some people said those were fictional. They were not. I know.”
“Tell me more about your cameras and where you used them.”
“Can’t. I can simply say that my father was an expert, too.” It was Friday afternoon, so it was quieter than usual, and I went around and took photos of the furniture and, sometimes, the people working on it. It was a nice way to chat with people and get to know them better. Except for Marilyn.
Marilyn said, “And what are you doing with a camera?”
“Smile, Marilyn, as if you’re a friendly person.”
“I’m sorry, Grenady. I’m not comfortable with you taking my photo.”
“Okay.” I could tell that twisted her panties up. I took Eudora’s photo with her lying on her side on her desk, her beaded necklace suggestively in her mouth, like a “royal courtesan from the nineteenth century who has recently bedded a sheik.” I laughed so hard, I had to put the camera down.
Rozlyn opened her shirt, flashed me her chest, crossed her eyes, and stuck out her tongue. We just about died laughing.
When I was done, I knocked on Kade’s office door. “Hi. Do you have a minute?”
He looked busy. He had tons of folders and papers spread out over his desk. He stood up and said, “Sure. Come on in.”
“I’m going to take your photo.” He was wearing a short-sleeved black T-shirt.
“Must you?”
“Yes, I must.” I smiled.
He smiled back. “Why?”
“Because you told me I could decorate the lobby and I need your photo.”
“No one needs my mug in the lobby.”
“I do. Smile pretty for me.”
“I don’t know how to smile pretty.”
“Pretend then, stud man.”
He laughed. “Stud man?”
“Yep. Smile.”
I told him to pretend he was modeling a suit and tie. He said, “Ties make me feel like I’m being strangled.”
I clicked away. “Pretend you’re in your favorite place.” His eyes darkened, he grew serious, and I took that one, too. I took a few more. “Let’s go into the factory.”
He let me take five photos of him in front of his furniture. He was a testosterone-driven hunk of a semi dangerous he-man. I did not utter that. As I took the photos his employees joked with him and said, “Aren’t you the handsome one, boss?” and “Tilt your head back so we can admire those brown eyes!” and
“Doesn’t he have an engaging smile?”
Kade threw the teasing right back at them, then said, “Okay. I think I’m photographed out.”
“What, the life of a model wouldn’t suit you?”
“It would be my hell.”
“Thanks for your time.”
“Sure. Anytime.” He ran a hand through that thick black hair of his. “Anytime, as in, you can come and talk to me anytime but I’m not posing for any more photos.”
“Now you’ve taken all the fun out of my life.”
“Poor you. Try fishing.”
I laughed; he laughed.
I thought he was going to say something else, but he didn’t.
I was not interested in getting involved with any man again for at least a hundred years, but I did have a boss who was plain gorgeous in a wild and sexy Mexican cowboy sort of way. Eye candy.
I felt happy. I was glad I had this job.
For many reasons.
Covey continued to call from different numbers. I continued to delete his messages. He told me I would go to prison for years if I didn’t get my “tight little trailer park ass” home.
I thought he could be right.
I would not bring my ass home, though.
&nb
sp; I took Cleo shopping for her fabric and pillow form for her own button pillow on Monday. Rozlyn stayed home and took a nap because of another headache. She called it her “menopausal mental pain, associated with having too many thoughts in my head and a true fear that I will never capture Leonard. Did I tell you I saw him yesterday? I waved, twice, but he didn’t see me.”
Cleo wore an Indian dress with intricate beading that she’d worn at Halloween, pink glitter tights, purple high-tops, and a rainbow-colored hat with a stuffed black cat on top.
She chose fabric with the galaxy on it, and I found a foam pillow.
We went back to my house over the big, red barn. We gave Liddy an apple and Cleo said, “What? You’re right, Liddy, I think I am magic! I’m going to cast a spell right now,” and she waved her arms around. Liddy bobbed her head up and down, appreciating the magic spell. That connection between horse and kid is amazing.
“I’m fluent in horse language,” Cleo said.
“I can tell.”
Later we measured and cut the fabric for the pillow and sewed it on the sewing machine. She did almost all the work.
We used white shiny buttons on the stars, a red button on Mars, and tiny glitter buttons around Saturn’s rings.
She loved it.
“10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1. Blast off!” she yelled, then ran around the room, arms out at her side. She was a fast spaceship.
Rozlyn was asleep when I returned Cleo. I made us cheese sandwiches and then put Cleo to bed.
Rozlyn woke up when I was cleaning the kitchen.
“How are you?”
“Fine.”
“You’ve had a lot of headaches.”
“I know. Curse them.”
She then told me about a girl who used to cast spells on her when they were in high school. That girl is now head of a Wiccan group.
“How magical,” I said.
“Indeed. Wonder if her curse extended to thirty years out of high school and that’s why I have these headaches?”
“Doubtful. I think spells have a shelf life.”
“Let’s hope, because she was one mean witch.”
We laughed and talked about our favorite movies, politics and social issues, bladders that leaked when we laughed too hard, how coughing while running was a bad idea, how she farted one time with a man in bed, a ripper, and he never called back, and our art—quilts and collages.
She was pale. I was beginning to feel pale with her. I don’t like seeing people sick or hurting.
I went home, neighed back at Liddy, put my lily bracelet in my pink, ceramic rose box, and went to bed.
A jail cell flashed in my mind. It took a while to get to sleep after that.
24
FIR GROVE ELEMENTARY SCHOOL OUR MASCOT, FURRY GROVER SAYS, “BE KIND TO EVERYONE.”
April 6, 1985
Dear Mr. and Mrs. LaMear,
I know that Grenadine is your foster child and you are working at home with her on conflict resolution and her temper, as we are. I left you a voice message last week but you did not respond. I don’t know if you received it, so I will repeat the story here.
One of the boys in my class whispered, “Dummido Grenado” at Grenadine on Monday, and she got up and slammed her book over his head. His nose hit the desk and bled. I sent her to the office. That was the third time this year.
When I told her she was going to see Mrs. Crumps to talk about how to resolve problems without hitting, she said, “Why?” I told her it wasn’t appropriate to hit other kids and she said, “If they don’t say Dummido Grenado or Stupido Grenado, then they won’t get hit.”
She did not want to go to Mrs. Crumps initially, but then she found out that Mrs. Crumps likes drawing and she now enjoys her visits. Mrs. Crumps said that Grenadine has helped her improve her own drawing skills.
However, there has been no improvement in the fighting department as only two days ago she was sent to the office when a boy name Lyle called her “white trash foster kid.” She knocked out two of his teeth with a stick.
When Lyle’s father, a dentist, found out that his son called Grenadine “white trash foster kid,” he declined to ask the state to pay for his son’s missing teeth and instead has offered to fix Grenadine’s teeth. He apologized for his son’s actions, as did Lyle. Lyle was suspended for two days, and the principal declined to suspend Grenadine at all.
I do hope you will take advantage of Dr. Wellcoll’s generous offer.
Mrs. Lynn Ashley
Dear Dr. Wellcoll,
Thanks for the new teefh. I think I look a lot detter. Not so uggly. I’m glab you pulld out the gray teefh and gave me knew ones. My smile dont look scary no more and I dont have to covver my mouth wif my hand. Also, thannk you for taking out the two rodden teefh in dack and putting them in the trach. They hurt so bab all the time and now I dont hurt none at all.
Thanks for giving me fifteen new toothbruches too and tendental flosses. Its good to hve the extra suplies, for when Im moved agaen to an other home.
I am sorry I nocked out Lyle’s two bady teefh but Im glad I hit the bady teefh and not teh purmannent ones. I won’t hit again him. At leest not that hard.
I wish he was nice as you dut maybe he will be nice when hes a denttist.
Your new freind,
Grenadine Scotch Wild
25
I talked to one of the assistant managers, Tad Kamaka, on Tuesday and told him what I wanted for the lobby.
“Nice idea. Sure, I’ll do it.”
“Don’t tell Kade.”
“Don’t tell Kade? Why not?” He was a serious and kind man. Wore glasses. Had degrees in chemistry and music. Now he was an expert carpenter.
“It’s a surprise.”
I could tell he was uncomfortable.
“Kade will like it, I promise.”
“I don’t keep anything from Kade around here, but I will this once because I like what you’re doing.”
“Thank you.”
“Sure. Hey, my wife, Debbie, and I are going to The Spirited Owl tonight. It’s her forty-fifth birthday. Will you be there?”
“I will. I’ll come over and say hi.”
“That’d be great. We’re bringing the kids.”
“You have six, right?”
“Yes.” He was surprised. “You remember that?”
“Yes, I do. Sabrina, sixteen. Loves chemistry, like you. Matt, fourteen. Hates bacon. Plays the guitar, like his mom. The troublemaker Tina, twelve. Lyden, ten, not so bright, but loves sports, according to you. And the surprise twins, Abbott and Zoe, one year old. Running your wife ragged.”
He blinked. “Whoa. That’s quite a memory.”
“Thank you. What I remember can be a problem for me.” I shouldn’t have said that; I don’t know why I did. Change the subject, Grenady. “What’s your wife’s favorite dessert?”
“Chocolate cream pie.”
“I’ll bring it to her. My treat.”
“Gee. Thanks, Grenady. That’s awfully nice.”
“See ya there.”
I brought Debbie a chocolate cream pie with forty-five candles that night, my treat. She was so touched, she teared up as we all sang to her.
I had met her a few weeks ago at the bar. “I love my kids, but I’m always so busy. I can’t even think. And I used to be sexy. I used to be smart. Now my brain is in my crotch and my crotch is sinking from all these kids and my boobs have sunk, too. I do housework. I’m a chauffeur. A cook. What happened to me? You know, the fun Deb? The smart Deb? The Deb that used to travel and sell computer stuff and drive a Porsche too fast? Now I have a minivan, car seats, and spit up on my shirt all the time. Look. It’s right here. I’m leaking, too, from nursing. Yesterday I went to the store in my pajama bottoms and didn’t even know until I came home. The day before, my car stalled when I dropped the kids off at school and I had to walk home in my nightgown.”
We bonded over her martinis. I called a cab later.
Debbie stood up and hugge
d me. “Thanks for making my night special, Grenady.”
Tad shook my hand. “Thanks, Grenady. You’re the best. I’m glad Kade hired you.”
“Me too.”
Oh, me too.
Saturday morning, I had coffee in my own bed with whipping cream with my French doors open, a cool wind blowing through. The mountains were topped with snow, but the sun was shining.
It was one of those moments in life where you have to stop. You have to put aside all the problems, all the stress, all the worries, and be in that moment. Be happy. Be grateful. Be glad to be alive.
I had my own bed again and a white comforter with pink roses. I had my coffee.
The wind blew through again, cool and gentle.
Peace.
Then my divorce attorney, Cherie called, and said that Covey wanted half my income from my art for the next five years, as he’d launched my career. Cherie cackled and said, “I will smear him into glue for you.”
About eleven-thirty I drove to Hendricks’ after a stop at the paint store and a light store.
Hendricks’ Furniture is a man’s place. It’s reflective of Kade. The outside, with the brick, windows, and red barn doors, was architecturally interesting and welcoming, but the lobby needed help. It wasn’t Oregon enough, it didn’t show off the woods he used, it didn’t advertise the furniture, and it wasn’t personal to Kade. In addition, it was tripping Alice, My Anxiety, because it was both disorganized and not pretty.
What it did have going for it was that it was a large room with a wall full of windows around the red, double barn doors.