4 Brewed, Crude and Tattooed

by Sandra Balzo

  Trying to sublimate my fears - big word for futile task - I felt along the wall for the bathroom door. As I reached for the handle, it sprang open, bashing me in the forehead.

  ‘My apology, Maggy,’ Jacque’s voice said. He grabbed my arm to steady me. ‘I did not see you there.’

  ‘I’m OK,’ I said, though I was still seeing fireflies in the dark. I had a feeling "fear of doors" was going to join my other neuroses. A-door-aphobia. ‘I was looking for your ex-wife. She said she was going to use the bathroom.’

  ‘I did not see my ex-wife. I am afraid -’ even in the dim light I could see the sheepish look on his face - ‘that you may not want to go into the restroom just now.’

  That would explain why I hadn’t seen Jacque for a while. He’d been stinking up the bathroom. And the toilet wouldn’t flush, of course, without running water. Ugh.

  ‘Here. Clean your hands.’ I gave him the hand disinfectant and went back into Goddard’s.

  Chapter 13

  Luc, Tien, Sarah, Oliver, Caron and Rudy were all sitting at the lunch counter when I returned. I took the empty seat at the far end next to Sarah, and Oliver set a heavy white plate sporting an egg salad sandwich, dill-pickle spear, and pile of potato chips in front of me.

  At seventeen, Oliver was almost as tall as his father Way who, when he had his head, was well over six feet. In contrast to Way’s rugged looks and dark coloring, though, Oliver had his mother’s blonde hair and blue eyes.

  ‘Thank you. This looks great,’ I said just as Jacque came through the door. He was followed by Naomi Verdeaux.

  ‘I find her,’ Jacque said. ‘She is not in the bathroom. She is in the mall office.’

  ‘Why...what were you doing in Way’s office?’ Rudy asked, looking surprised.

  Verdeaux shrugged and took a seat next to Luc. ‘Using the bathroom, of course. Somebody -’ she looked at Jacque - ‘was in the process of stinking up the other one. I see that, at least, hasn’t changed.’

  Verdeaux didn’t get a rise from her ex-husband, but she did from Oliver. ‘Where’d you get a key to my father’s office?’

  I thought Verdeaux had the grace to blush, but it may have been the reflection off the pink lantern light taped to the wall next to her. ‘Well, I -’

  ‘God!’ Oliver put his hands to his head like he thought it was going to explode. ‘My father was always such an asshole.’

  No one seemed to have anything to say to that. I tried, of course. ‘You might not know all the facts,’ I said. ‘I mean, maybe Ms Verdeaux and your father were just....umm, friends.’

  I looked around. ‘Right?’

  Rudy lifted the bottle of Korbel. ‘Brandy old-fashioneds, anyone?’

  Even to old-timers, a brandy old-fashioned sweet - Wisconsin’s classic drink - might seem an odd pairing with an egg salad sandwich, dill pickle and potato chips. Still, unusual circumstances call for unusual cocktails.

  Rudy and Tien mixed the drinks. Using a ‘Welcome to Brookhills!’ shot glass from the tourist trash aisle (‘That’s $4.99,’ Mrs G said, tallying it.), Rudy measured out the brandy. He spooned a teaspoon of sugar into a Flintstones’ jelly-jar glass, added a dollop of bitters, the brandy and a rapidly melting ice cube from Goddard’s freezer. Then he topped it off with Luc’s lemon-line soda before passing the drink on to Tien, who garnished it with a cherry and an orange slice speared on a toothpick.

  Since I was on the end of the counter, I got the first one. I sniffed. Typically a wine-drinker - and with just enough knowledge to be obnoxious about it - I would normally turn up my nose at the state’s flagship concoction.

  Today, though, it smelled like nectar of the gods. Whether my God, or somebody else’s, I didn’t care. I took a sip and moaned. ‘This is heaven. Thank you, Rudy.’

  He nodded. ‘I know it’s a bit...old-fashioned,’ he chuckled at his own joke, ‘but they are comforting.’

  ‘Like tomato soup and a grilled cheese sandwich,’ Caron agreed, downing hers.

  ‘Or tuna noodle casserole,’ Mrs G offered, old-fashioned also in hand.

  ‘McDonald’s cheeseburgers and orange drink,’ Oliver said, sticking his hand out for a glass.

  Tien hesitated and looked at Mrs G. Oliver was underage, but Mrs G nodded and I concurred. ‘I don’t think he’s going to be driving anytime soon,’ I said, looking out at the still-falling snow. I was starting to get worried about Aurora.

  When we all had our drinks, Rudy raised his glass. ‘To Way,’ he said.

  ‘Why?’ Caron asked and promptly hiccupped, covering her mouth with her hand. She’d finished her first old-fashioned, then managed to filch another. And she was halfway through the second.

  ‘Because he’s dead,’ Sarah said. ‘It’s a tradition. Suck it up.’

  Caron popped the cherry into her mouth. ‘Way was a womanizing two-timer,’ she managed around it. ‘And we all know it.’

  I raised my eyebrows at her and cocked my head toward Oliver. ‘His son is here.’

  ‘It’s OK,’ Oliver said. ‘My father wanted to get rid of the mall, which is the only place I...I...’ He looked at Mrs G.

  ‘Belonged,’ Tien finished for him. ‘I can understand that. Basically, I grew up here, too.’

  Her father, who hadn’t touched his glass, looked like he wasn’t certain he should be proud of the fact his daughter had matured in a strip mall. Judging by the way Tien had turned out, I didn’t think he had anything to worry about. ‘I’m going to get some more lemon-lime soda and fixings,’ Luc said. ‘We need anything else?’

  ‘More brandy,’ Caron said, raising her glass.

  ‘Your father wasn’t a bad man,’ Mrs G told Oliver after Luc had left. ‘He was just all...business.’

  ‘So was Mr G,’ Oliver said, ‘but he didn’t kick people out of their homes.’

  Verdeaux, who had been busy stirring her drink, caught that. ‘Are you living here?’ she asked sharply.

  Mrs G flushed, or so I imagined in the dim light. ‘I stay some nights,’ she admitted. ‘I work late and there’s nothing to go home to, so...’ She shrugged.

  ‘Gloria doesn’t have a home,’ Sarah whispered in my ear. As she said it, the wind whipped up outside, causing the plate glass windows to creak.

  ‘What do you mean?’ I whispered back.

  ‘The bank foreclosed on their house. In addition to being a hunter, Gloria’s husband Hank was a bit of a gambler. She had to take out a home-equity loan for his funeral and to pay off his debts. She managed to keep things afloat for awhile, but then...’ Her shrug matched Mrs G’s.

  Sarah’s information fit with what Naomi Verdeaux had found in the bathroom, as well as with what I’d witnessed car-wise in the parking lot. All that wasn’t enough to make me feel less guilty about not being more attuned to a friend who needed help.

  ‘If I had my say,’ Oliver injected as Luc came back in, ‘no one would have to leave. I’d keep Benson Plaza just the way it is.’

  ‘I’ll drink to that,’ Caron said and hiccupped.

  It was going to be a long night.

  I took a slug of my drink and surveyed my friend suspiciously. Caron's talk about Way being a two-timer...could she be yet another of the dead man's lovers? Was Caron getting drunk because she'd found out about Verdeaux and Aurora? Or because she was a lightweight?

  ‘Can I have another cherry?’ Caron asked Luc.

  Lightweight.

  Truth be told, I had seen an awful lot of fooling around in Brookhills. Some of it had involved Caron, which was why I was making a Brook-hills into a mountin’.

  I giggled and slapped a hand over my mouth. Apparently Caron wasn’t the only one who couldn’t hold her liquor. But then I had an excuse. I’d been assaulted. And pushed in the snow.

  Jacque was talking to Luc. ‘So how is it that you came to open your market in Benson Plaza?’ he asked. ‘I must admit that I worried when you did so, for fear our stores would compete for the same consumer.’

  ‘And they didn’t?
’ Sarah asked.

  ‘Not really,’ Luc said. ‘People come to our store for meats, deli foods and breads and to Jacque’s for fresh fish and seafood, specialty items.’

  ‘Produce,’ Jacque added. ‘We pride ourselves on the freshest of produce.’

  Which is one of the reasons the opening of Gross National Produce would be almost as much a disaster for Jacque, as it was for the rest of us.

  Luc was answering Jacque’s original question. ‘Tien’s mother, An, came here from Vietnam with me after the war. We lived with my folks for awhile and worked my ma’s deli in Milwaukee. When Tien was born, my mother turned the business over to me and I moved it out here so Tien could grow up in the suburbs.'

  ‘I was...what, a year old when we came to Brookhills?’ Tien said, looking adoringly at her father.

  Luc nodded. ‘Just before your mother died. It was very hard, but we - you and me - we kept it going.’

  ‘At one year old,’ Tien said, ‘I must have been more of a burden than anything else.’

  ‘Just having you around meant more to me than you’ll ever know.’ Luc picked up his drink, looked at it and set the glass back down on the counter. ‘At any age.’

  It was quiet for a moment, except for the icy snow pelting the windows outside.

  ‘You’ve moved once,’ Sarah said. ‘You can do it again. I can find you a location that will be even better.’

  Under other circumstances I would have put it down to a sales pitch. Somehow, now, I didn’t believe that. Sarah was genuinely trying to help.

  ‘No,’ Luc said. ‘I didn’t like Way much, but he might have done us a favor. I can retire or go somewhere else and Tien can start a new life.’

  ‘A new life?’ Tien asked. ‘Doing what?’

  ‘You can go back to school,’ Mrs G said, trying to be optimistic. ‘Or maybe you’ll meet a nice boy.’

  Tien just smiled. As a thirty-something, she probably figured the percentages were not in her favor.

  ‘It’s all Way’s fault.’ Caron had cut a wedge from the orange Tien had used to garnish the drinks and was dipping it in brandy. ‘Him and this Naomi girl.’ She pointed the knife at Verdeaux, punctuated by a crash of thunder.

  Jacque took the knife away from her. ‘You are half right.’

  Not to mention half in the bag.

  Jacque continued. ‘I am not certain Way can be blamed. He was a man, after all.’ He cocked his head toward Naomi Verdeaux. ‘And my former wife has a way with men like Way. Ask Rudy.’

  That was way too many ‘ways’ for me. As I opened my mouth to ask for clarification, I heard a sound.

  Squish SLAP, squish SLAP, squish SLAP.

  I glanced at the front door, expecting...I’m not sure what I was expecting. Maybe Mad Max: Beyond Thundersnow? It couldn’t be my attacker, after all. He, as Luc said, would be long gone. He sure wouldn’t come knocking at the front door.

  But no. Not only wasn’t it Mad Max, but the sound wasn’t coming from the front door, but rather the back. The service hallway. Uh-oh.

  As one, we spun around on our lunch counter stools and regarded the door.

  ‘Did anybody lock it?’ I asked in my stage whisper.

  ‘No,’ Caron said breathlessly. Then she giggled.

  Rudy stood up. ‘It’s probably Aurora.’ He approached the door and I followed.

  As Rudy reached the door, the noise stopped and the doorknob turned.

  Probably wanting the advantage of surprise, Rudy pushed the door open. Preferring the advantage of cover, I hid behind him.

  ‘Hey, watch out,’ a familiar voice said.

  ‘Bernie?’ Caron called. She slipped off her stool and walked - a trifle unsteadily - to the door, then peeked over my shoulder into the dim hallway. ‘Is that you?’

  Bernie Egan, Caron’s husband, had fallen ass over teakettle on to the concrete floor. His feet were waving in the air, one snowshoe on, the other nowhere in sight.

  ‘How in the world did you get here?’ Caron asked as she went to his aid.

  ‘Umm, the snowshoes maybe?’ I suggested as Rudy shook his head in disgust and went back to the rest of the group.

  ‘But he just has one,’ Caron pointed out.

  Bernie sat up. ‘Have you been drinking?’

  ‘Nah,’ she said. ‘Eating fruit, mostly.’

  Bernie looked at me.

  ‘And maybe a little brandy,’ I told him. ‘Where’s your other snowshoe?’

  ‘At Uncommon Grounds. I couldn’t get this one off, though.’

  ‘I’ll go get a knife,’ Caron offered.

  Having seen what she did to the orange, I didn’t think that was such a good idea. ‘Maybe I can get it undone.’

  ‘I think a knife or a scissors would be better,’ Bernie said. ‘I sort of jury-rigged it.’

  I wasn’t an expert on snowshoes, but it did look like it was held on by shoelaces and duct tape.

  ‘Duct tape?’ I asked, as I went back into the store for scissors.

  ‘It’s all I had.’ Bernie, taking the scissors from me, slipped the blade between the duct tape and his boot. ‘I have to admit, it held pretty well.’

  I’d say. It was a good mile-and-a-half from Bernie and Caron’s house to Benson Plaza.

  He stood up. ‘I couldn’t get through to Uncommon Grounds by telephone, so I got worried.’ He put his hand on Caron’s shoulder. ‘I wanted to make sure she didn’t try to drive.’

  Especially under the influence of ‘fruit’.

  I was wondering how Bernie got into the coffee shop when he said, ‘And Maggy, guess what? I have a surprise for you.’

  For me?

  A BMW perhaps? Or a nice bottle of red wine? I wasn’t greedy. I was up for anything except, perhaps, another body.

  Then in walked one.

  Chapter 14

  ‘Eric!’ I cried, instinctively going to throw both arms around my son who stands six inches taller than me. ‘I’m so glad to see you.’

  Then, because I am a mother, I pulled back and looked at him square on. ‘What’s wrong?’

  His eyes dampened just a bit. Then, it was gone.

  ‘Nothing’s wrong,’ he said with a smile. ‘Can’t a loving offspring just come visit?’

  Not the week before final exams, he couldn’t.

  If I hadn’t known better, I might have thought I’d imagined the look in Eric’s eyes. But I knew better, because I knew my son.

  He was projecting his hearty voice. The one he used around distant relatives and strangers he wanted to keep that way.

  I nodded, willing to bide my time until he and I could talk in private about what was going on in his world. ‘How did you get here?’

  ‘Bernie,’ Eric said, shrugging out of his pea coat. It wasn’t warm enough for a snowstorm, but at least the kid had the sense to layer a sweatshirt under it.

  ‘From Minneapolis? I think not.’ I tipped up the hood to dump the accumulated snow and then reflexively looked around for Caron.

  Happily, we were at Goddard’s and Mrs G had a more positive puddle-posture than did my business partner.

  ‘Eric, you poor boy,’ our host said, not even bothering with the mini-mountain of snow I’d just dumped on her floor. ‘You’re soaking wet. Can I get you an egg salad sandwich?’

  Eric, who was not into ‘gooshy’ things (as he termed all things soft when he was five), gave her a hug. ‘Thanks, Mrs G, but I just ate.’

  An outright lie, if I knew my son, though one designed to make Mrs G feel good and still get him off the hook. ‘Do you have any chips left over, though?’

  Mrs G gave him a cuff on the ear. ‘That’s not food,’ she said and, of course, went off to get the potato chips.

  I turned to Eric. ‘Did you drive all the way down in the snow?’ I asked.

  ‘There wasn’t any from Minneapolis almost all the way to Delafield.’

  Delafield was just west of us.

  ‘By the time I pulled off the Interstate,’ he continued, ‘I cou
ldn’t believe my eyes. This much snow? In May?’

  He was telling me.

  ‘How did you know where I’d be?’ I asked.

  Eric gestured behind him. ‘When I got home, Frank and you weren’t there, so I figured that meant you’d be at the shop.’ Even as he spoke, Frank came bounding up, followed by Oliver.

  Oliver and Eric exchanged knuckle bumps and then settled down on either side of Frank. The sheepdog had dropped to the floor and flipped over on his back, the better to receive belly rubs.

  Ahh. A boy and his dog. And another boy.

  I turned to Bernie. ‘So you found Eric in our parking lot?’ I was still trying to piece together my son’s trek.

  ‘No, the corner of Brookhill and Poplar Creek. He slid off the road at the stop sign and landed in the ditch...’ Bernie hesitated, like he didn’t want it to look like he was tattling on Eric. ‘The minivan is...’

  I shook my head. ‘I don’t care what shape my old Dodge Caravan is in, so long as Eric is safe.’ And with me. I was still reveling in the fact that ‘home’ to my son was where Frank and I lived, rather than the Mc-Mansion his father occupied.

  Petty, I know, but hey, I take my victories where I can find them. And today I found them on the wrong side of the proverbial tracks, in a tiny Brookhills house with blue stucco walls, a puke-green toilet and a gigantic, accident-prone sheepdog.

  Life is good.

  ‘Who else is here?’ Bernie was asking. ‘Is everyone safe?’

  Caron took on the hostess role, albeit a bit unsteadily. ‘I think you know everyone, Bernie: Luc, Tien, Rudy, Jacque, Sarah, Mrs Goddard, Oliver...’

  As she spoke, I was hit by another pang of concern for Aurora, whom Caron hadn’t mentioned. Out of sight, out of mind. But I also registered that with all the hubbub, I wasn’t quite sure how long Aurora’d been gone. An hour maybe?

  ‘Did you see anyone else coming in?’ I asked Bernie. I was grateful to have Eric inside and safe. It would be nice if Aurora proved likewise.

  ‘Not a soul,’ Bernie said as he collapsed into a booth. ‘Don’t be surprised, though. It’s an ungodly mess out there.’