Mustard on Top

by Wanda Degolier

“This is not your problem, besides you’re leaving in two days,” Helen said.

  “I’ll take more time off work.”

  “No. I’ll get Theo a hotel room. He’ll love that anyway, and I’ll stay at home,” Helen said.

  “I’m not letting you spend money or take more time off work. Honestly, I’d rather have Ben stay with Jeremy at your house,” Agatha said.

  “You traitorous rat.” Helen exclaimed.

  “I love you more than Ben. No offense Ben.”

  “None taken.”

  “Look at Ben. He’ll be able to protect himself if he needs to.”

  Helen didn’t need to examine Ben, she was quite aware of his muscular build. “If I’m careful they won’t have a clue,” Helen said.

  Agatha scowled at her. “What if they knock on your door and ask you if you’ve seen Jeremy?”

  “I’ll tell them no.“

  Agatha shook her head. “You’re the worst liar I’ve ever seen. I’ve never witnessed Ben in action, but he’s lawyer, so I’m sure he’s good.”

  “Gee thanks,” Ben said.

  “Ben,” Agatha addressed him directly. “She truly is a horrible liar.”

  “If Ben’s going to be there, I’m going to be there,” Helen insisted.

  To her surprise, neither Ben nor Agatha disagreed. Instead, a sly look passed between them. “What?” Helen wanted to know.

  “I think the plan’s perfect,” Agatha said.

  “Me too,” Ben added.

  “Good. Fine.” Helen felt left out, and therefore, miffed.

  Twenty minutes later Helen crouched at the back corner of Agatha’s house scanning her surroundings.

  “See anybody?” Ben whispered from behind.

  “Negative. You?”

  “Nothing.” The quarter moon was dusted by high clouds, and Helen could barely make out the bushes in front of her.

  Helen took a deep breath to calm her nerves. “Let’s go. Three, two, one. Move.” Stooped over, she dashed the sixty feet from Agatha’s back yard to her own back door. Behind her, Ben maneuvered Jeremy. The bucket clunked against the jostling wheelbarrow.

  Helen opened the back door, entered her dining room, and flicked on a reading lamp while Ben hefted the wheelbarrow up the two steps that led onto her back porch.

  “This is fucked up,” Jeremy cursed.

  “Shh,” Ben reprimanded.

  Ben backed through the door pulling Jeremy. His face flushed red with the effort, and after parking the wheelbarrow in the dining room, he swiped an arm across his brow. “What’s in that bucket anyway? It’s not just cement,” he said on exhale.

  “They put weights in the bottom,” Jeremy said. “So you sink faster.”

  “Would you two please be quiet?” Helen whispered. She mouthed Theo’s name to Ben. They’d decided to let Theo sleep until the morning.

  “Right. Sorry.”

  “You’re worried about the kid. Boo hoo.” Jeremy called out.

  Ben clamped a hand over Jeremy’s mouth.

  “Be quiet, or I’ll personally tie you up and gag you,” Helen said.

  Ben let go.

  “I might enjoy that,” Jeremy whispered and waggled his eyebrows.

  “Can you keep him quiet while I get the basement ready?” Helen went to the basement door and eased it open.

  “My pleasure.” Ben pulled a chair up alongside the wheelbarrow and sat.

  Helen turned on a light and went down creaking stairs. A single, naked light bulb hung from the ceiling, illuminating dangling cobwebs.

  Labeled, plastic bins were stacked against a wall along with cardboard boxes. Unframed, black-and-white photos of various sizes hung about. Skis and a hockey stick were propped in one corner. Toward the back were a sink and a toilet. The trip to the basement was bittersweet, like taking a walk through Theo’s childhood.

  Helen pushed everything toward the walls, creating an open space. She placed Theo’s oversized, green beanbag chair in the center along with a three-foot-long, stuffed, purple elephant Theo had won at an amusement park. A packed box of CD’s served as a nightstand.

  Helen gathered a lamp, a few pillows, blankets, and books. When Jeremy’s cubby was ready, she grabbed a pair of crutches, and ascended the stairs. She propped the crutched next to Jeremy. “I figured they would help you balance on the way down.”

  “Everything ready?” Ben asked.

  “Yep.”

  “Helen, I know you want to help take Jeremy downstairs, but I think it would be easier if you stayed out of the way.”

  Helen eyed Jeremy and the bucket. “Are you sure?”

  “Three people and a hundred-pound bucket of cement is not a good combination on a set of rickety, narrow stairs,” Ben said.

  Helen wanted to protest the ‘rickety’ part of his statement, but he was right. “Okay.”

  After cajoling far longer than Helen’s patience lasted, they got Jeremy out of the wheelbarrow and onto the crutches. With his multicolored body and warped stance, he resembled a zombie from a B-movie. Though the crutches helped, Jeremy couldn’t budge the bucket on his own.

  Clearly reluctant to balance the bucket on the rim like he’d done in Agatha’s house, Ben scooted it across the floor to the staircase while Jeremy hopped on his good foot.

  Helen stood at the top of the stairs as the men thudded their way down, one prolonged step at a time. For once, Jeremy kept his mouth shut. When they hit the bottom, Helen drew in a deep breath and followed them down.

  “Delightful. Regular Guantanamo Bay accommodations,” Jeremy said.

  “You’d prefer the bottom of Puget Sound?” Ben asked.

  “Don’t suppose either one of you two has any ganja?” Jeremy asked.

  “Get serious,” Ben retorted.

  “Ganja?” Helen asked.

  “Ace. Giggle weed. Marijuana,” Jeremy exclaimed.

  “You’ll not be smoking in this house buster,” Helen warned. “That’s why we decided to keep the bucket on your leg to begin with remember? It’ll force you to get clean.”

  “Your kindness overwhelms me.” Jeremy placed a hand over his heart.

  “Come on,” Ben said. “Let’s get you set up.”

  Ben positioned the cement block on the beanbag, while Helen ran an extension cord to the lamp she’d put on the makeshift nightstand.

  Once Jeremy was comfortable, Helen brought him water and crackers. She and Ben retreated up the stairs, and after closing the basement door, Helen asked. “Who would have thought getting Jeremy set up would take so much effort?”

  “It would be easier if he’d help.”

  “He’s so awful. Poor Agatha,” Helen whispered.

  “Who knows what’s in his system. I’ll keep a close eye on him. When his cravings hit, he’ll probably do anything to get out of the house.”

  A chill crept her spine at Ben’s words, and Helen wrapped her arms around herself and rubbed her shoulders. “I understand Agatha wanting to fight back, but this is extreme.”

  Ben sighed. “I agree with you, but I’ve seen firsthand the injustice of our criminal system. She’s backed into a corner. The woman is feisty, and I’ve got to respect that.”

  Helen went to the linen closet and retrieved a blanket and pillow. She dropped the items on the love seat. Ben had the curtain pulled to the side and was staring out the living-room window.

  “Anything going on?” Helen asked.

  “Still nobody out there as far as I can tell.”

  Helen’s foreboding returned, “I’m scared this whole thing is going to blow up in our faces.”

  Ben turned to her. “You okay?”

  She nodded.

  “You’re a good friend to her,” Ben said.

  “Thanks. How late is it?”

  Ben checked his watch and grimaced. “Three-forty.”

  “You weren’t required to help you know.”

  “With what?”

  Helen chuckled. “With Jeremy you big goof.”

  �
�And miss out on the fun?”

  Ben had to be exhausted and Helen needed to get to bed herself, but she was wound up and wanted to talk. “I’m sorry you got dragged into this.”

  “Are you kidding?” He smiled. “I’m happy to be able to help. Besides, you’re the one harboring a drug addict with a serious attitude problem.”

  “The way Agatha tells it, you’d think this crazy plan was risk-free,” Helen said.

  Ben smiled. “She’s quite the statistician. I like how she tried to talk to you about Hot Diggitys at the end.”

  “She always does that, but she is good at what she does.”

  “If we’re careful, I don’t think Moe will figure out Jeremy is here,” Ben said. “Nice job on the roof today by the way. We make a good team.”

  Ben gazed at her as though he was drinking her in, like he wanted to kiss her. Helen’s pulse picked up, and she turned away before he could act. “Let’s get some sleep.”

  “Sounds good.” Ben plopped onto the love seat. He took up half the space sitting up.

  “You can’t sleep there. Take my bed.”

  “No.”

  “I’m serious.”

  “So am I. Go to bed and I’ll talk to you in the morning. Go. Shoo.” He flicked his hand at her.

  Helen huffed.

  “You’re keeping me awake.” Ben fluffed the pillow then curled into a fetal position. He barely fit in the space.

  “Take my bed,” she tried again.

  “With you in it?”

  A spike of lust stunned her, and she tried to laugh off his comment. “You’re funny. No.”

  “Go to bed, Helen,” Ben intoned.

  Helen stepped closer. She intended to kiss his cheek, but Ben turned his head and her friendly kiss landed on warm lips. Helen caught her breath and pulled away. “Good night, Ben.”

  “Night sweet lady.”

  Chapter 8

  Helen woke to the sound of a car door slamming. On her way to the bathroom, she heard Ben’s voice.

  “This is a family emergency.”

  Helen crept closer.

  “No, I can’t explain.” Ben’s tone was agitated.

  Guilt over spying pricked her conscience.

  “Do what you need to do, but can not come back right now.”

  There was a pause. Helen knew she ought to go in the bathroom and close the door, but she didn’t.

  “I could manage that, but I physically must be here,” Ben said. Pause. “I understand. I’d hope the partners would take into consideration eight years of flawless service and the vacations I’ve forfeited.” Pause. “I know. Of course.” Pause. “Like I said, do what you need to do.” Pause. “Yes, two weeks.” Pause. “A family emergency. I can’t go into the details. Let me know what they decide.” Pause. “All right. Bye.”

  After using the bathroom, Helen padded into the kitchen. With his hand wrapped around a cup of coffee, Ben was staring out the window. His forehead was crinkled and his eyebrows drawn together.

  “I overheard part of your conversation. Everything okay?” Helen asked.

  Ben swiveled around then his dark eyes softened. “Good morning.”

  “You can go back to Chicago. We’ll be fine.”

  “I wish you hadn’t eavesdropped.”

  Heat flushed Helen’s chest and face. “I’m sorry. Truly, there’s no reason to risk your job—”

  “I’m staying.” He cut her off.

  Even with circles under his eyes, tousled hair, and bit of beard growth, Ben was distractingly attractive. “Are they going to fire you?”

  Ben shrugged. “I talked to Theo this morning. He knows about Jeremy, and he’s already gone to my hotel room.”

  Anger, or perhaps jealousy, flared inside Helen’s chest. “I would have preferred to tell him.”

  A pained expression crossed Ben’s face. “He asked why I was here, and I didn’t want to lie. I thought about waking you, but figured you needed your sleep.”

  The air between them turned brittle. Not sure she would have acted differently if the roles had been reversed, Helen nodded. “It’s okay. I understand.”

  Helen poured herself a cup of coffee. Her kitchen was coming together only because Ben had committed to finishing it before he left. Able to apply her makeup in the sheen of the stainless steel appliances, Helen had a hard time believing the kitchen was hers. The new cabinets had transformed the space into something modern.

  “You’re cute in the morning,” Ben said.

  Startled, Helen glanced at her oversized pink T-shirt, baggy Capri-cut sweat pants, and twenty-year-old slippers. She noticed the hair on her legs and sighed. She hadn’t shaved in a week and had gone to bed without cleaning off her makeup. She probably had a black ring around her eyes. “You’re crazy. I do not.”

  “You do so.”

  Helen shook her head effectively ending the game. She checked the clock on the microwave and jumped. “Oh, my. It’s late. I’ve got my weekly meeting with Agatha in half an hour.”

  “Meeting?”

  “She’s my bookkeeper, and she’s hell-bent on turning Hot Diggitys into a real business.” Helen used finger quotes for ‘real business.’

  “Hot Diggitys has potential.”

  “So she says.” Helen yawned, and Ben smiled at her. “What?” Helen asked.

  “Nothing.”

  “Last night wasn’t a bad dream? A drug addict is being held hostage in my basement?” Helen asked.

  “I’m afraid so.”

  Helen blew out a breath. “Have you checked on him?”

  “About an hour ago. He was sleeping.”

  “I feel like a slug. You’re doing everything.”

  “My pleasure.” Ben flashed his megawatt smile.

  “Have you looked to see if anyone is staked out watching us?”

  “I checked and didn’t seen anyone.”

  Helen nodded. “That’s welcome news. I better go or Agatha will lecture me on the virtues of being on time.” Mentally running through her schedule, Helen yawned again. “I’m going to run to the grocery store after the meeting. Do you need anything?”

  “No. No breakfast?”

  “I’ll grab something later.”

  Ben frowned. “I’ll run to my hotel to get my laptop while you’re out.”

  “Sure.”

  Helen rang Agatha’s doorbell at precisely 10:30 a.m. Within the span of a few heartbeats, the door cracked open. Agatha poked her head out, scanned the street, then invited Helen in.

  “How’s Jeremy?” Agatha asked as soon as the door was closed.

  Helen relayed the little news she had.

  “I researched what his withdrawals will be like.” Agatha ventured further into the house. “When his cravings hit, I worry he’ll cause damage.”

  “Don’t be worried about my basement. Nothing down there is worth much.”

  “Maybe this will be a turning point for him.” Agatha sounded hopeful. She sat in a chair at her dining room table. “It can’t get much worse.”

  Helen touched Agatha’s arm in comfort. “Things will turn out okay.”

  Agatha’s jaw twitched. “Shall we get started? There’s a lot to cover, and I’ve got a hair appointment at noon.” Agatha pushed an inch-thick folder toward her. Frowning, Helen sat. In spite of her ignorance, Hot Diggitys had run successfully for years.

  “Have you implemented any of my latest recommendations?” Agatha asked.

  “Some. Everyone is wearing matching T-shirts now, and I dropped the AvocaDog from the menu. I also worked the last two weekends. I have to tell you, those DerFoodle Dogs are selling like mad.”

  “Excellent. I don’t have monthly information from previous years, so I can’t tell you where your revenue is in comparison, but I suspect you’ll reach last year’s annual revenue by September.”

  “That wouldn’t surprise me. Thank you for helping us become more profitable.” The Hot Diggitys’ bank account proved something was going right.

  Agatha
beamed. “So are you ready to take Hot Diggitys to the next level?”

  Helen’s expression froze. “I’m not sure right now is the time to ‘take Hot Diggitys to the next level.’ Things are kind of hectic right now.”

  “I’m not asking you to work harder or more; I’m asking you to work smarter.”

  Helen eyed the folder. She didn’t want to disappoint Agatha, but she’d rather ease into the changes at a slower pace. “What’s your idea?”

  “To franchise.”

  Helen’s eyebrows cocked up to form an M. “Like McDonalds?”

  “Them and a whole host of businesses.”

  It sounded grandiose, so out of her league. Helen squirmed. “Isn’t starting a franchise expensive?”

  “The way I see things, you have two options. One: apply for a small business loan, which you would get by the way. Two: sell some of your stocks to an investor. The money wouldn’t be a loan, but of course, you’d be splitting up your ownership.”

  Helen bristled, she didn’t want to split ownership or take on debt. “How about we leave things the way they are?”

  “Fine choice if your goal is to live from paycheck to paycheck for the rest of your life.”

  “It’s not quite that bad Agatha. Who would want to invest in a hot dog stand?”

  “Have you been listening to me at all these weeks? You’re sitting on a gold mine. I’d be stupid not to snatch the opportunity.”

  “You? I can’t take your money. I know our profits are up, but truly Agatha, you’re being kind.”

  “Snap out of it. As your friend and self-appointed consultant, I’m telling you, you’re playing too small. Why work as hard as you do and not earn more money.”

  “But… they’re… hot dogs,” Helen said for lack of a better argument.

  “Yeah and Oscar Meyer was just some guy’s name before he started a company,” Agatha said. “Can I be honest with you, Helen?”

  “You always are.”

  “Honesty is a virtue.” She cocked her eyebrow in emphasis. “Listen to me. You could do amazing things with Hot Diggitys. You’re smart, you’re creative, and you’re incredibly resourceful.”

  “Thank you?”

  “But you lack conviction you’ve grown used to living small.”

  Helen grew cross. “There’s nothing wrong with the way I live. I don’t want a fancy house or a fancy car. So what.”