Take Two!

by John J. Bonk

  I meandered down the back steps with Cinnamon nudging my ankles from behind. Sometimes I wondered whether that cat wasn’t really LMNOP in disguise. Aunt Olive was in the kitchen winding up a phone call of her own – to the bug man no doubt.

  “Thanks, Pookie Bear, for doing this. I’m sure he’ll be thrilled.” She dropped her volume way down when she saw Granny approaching. “Yes, until tomorrow night then. I’ll miss you,” she cooed. “No, I’ll miss you more! No, I’ll miss –”

  Granny grabbed the receiver from her and barked into it, “Meet my friend, Click!” and hung up the phone.

  It was pretty funny, but I was too frenzied to laugh. My aunt didn’t get upset either – in fact, she seemed really excited about something. “Oh, just the guy I’m looking for. Wait’ll I tell you – you’re gonna flip!” My thoughts exactly. She pulled me into the walk-in pantry to get out of earshot of Granny, and closed the door. “Now this doesn’t compare to your TV commercial – not even close,” she said, opening a bag of Oreos and stuffing one into her mouth. “But I know from personal experience – crunch – that nothing can beat the thrill of entertaining a live crowd.” Crunch-crunch. “Am I right? Cookie?”

  “No.”

  “No?” she asked, chewing.

  “No to the cookie part.” Just be direct. “Grrrr.” “Listen, Aunt Olive, I have something really imp –”

  “Your grandmother leaves these goodies lying around on purpose like booby traps. For spite. She knows I still have a few more pounds to shed before the wedding.”

  “Piece-a-cake.”

  “Where?” Aunt Olive asked, scanning the shelves.

  “I meant easy. But you know… if you changed it to a spring wedding, you’d have plenty of time to slim down. And there’d be roses on that trellis out back instead of dead vines. Something to think about.”

  So much for being direct.

  “Don’t be silly, we couldn’t possibly postpone the date. The RSVPs have already been returned,” she said through chocolate-stained teeth. “Not to mention nonrefundable deposits on the cake, and the caterers, and the priest –”

  “People can be very understanding,” I lied. “Or you know what would be cool? Eloping! Flying off to Vegas and having, like, an Elvis-themed wedding.”

  I was definitely on a roll!

  “Okay, now I know you’re razzing me. Being surrounded by family at my wedding means the world to me, you know that. I couldn’t imagine getting married without seeing your smiling face – right there.” It got quiet for a minute. Aunt Olive hid the Oreos behind a giant can of sunflower oil, then turned to me with sad eyes. Not the sad eyes! “You realize we’re not going to be seeing as much of each other anymore, you and I,” she whispered. “Not after I move away to Hinkleyville.”

  Ooh, didn’t see that one coming. I almost launched into the auto-response of “Sure we will. You’ll visit us – we’ll visit you,” but I stopped myself. Even if it turned out to be true, things were never going to be the same. She was dead right. In an awkward moment of not knowing what to say I ripped into a nearby bag of minimarshmallows and shoved a fistful into my mouth.

  “Anyway, what was I talking about? Oh! The promotion for my Dennis’s new business. He was going on about hiring an actor through a talent agency to hand out fliers in a funny costume at the Hinkleyville Mall. Well, that set off a bell in my head! I told him, ‘You call them right back and cancel, because I have the perfect guy for the job.’ So? Are you interested?”

  “Oh, I don’t think I could –”

  “It pays seventy-five bucks.”

  “– pass up an opportunity like that. Thanks for pulling for me.”

  Not exactly the acting role of a lifetime, but how could I say no? Aunt Olive grabbed a box of Ding Dongs off a shelf and we were done. Mission aborted. I’d officially chickened out.

  It’s not over till it’s over, I told myself, leaving a marshmal-low trail on the way upstairs, or until the fat lady sings. But when I reached the top landing, “I’m getting married in the mooorning…” came wafting up in Aunt Olive’s wobbly soprano. It was a sign.

  Operation desperation! There had to be another way. Maybe I should tackle the whole thing from a different angle? But there weren’t any more angles. I figured I’d call Dad -he’s always full of advice – he’d know what to do. But when I picked up the phone again, my brother’s voice came squawking through the receiver.

  “No, Becca, not the song from the karaoke bar. I just rocked out to a Foo Fighters tune – but they really ate it up. Yeah, for real! They said they were lookin’ for a guy like me with a good strong voice who could –”

  “Sorry, Gord, but you have to hang up right now. I’ve got a real emergency.”

  “Get off the freakin’ phone, you nosy, little –”

  Why can’t we have our own separate phone lines like civilized people? I had to regroup, organize my thoughts, and really kick things into high gear. Desperate situations called for working things out with a pen and paper – for some reason that always helped. So I made a mad dash to my room to equip myself with stationery, then hauled butt back downstairs again for a series of frantic phone calls. Luckily, no one was hanging out in the kitchen and their telephone was (whew!) available.

  Here are the final results as recorded in my spiral notebook:

  Call #1: Dad. (Collect.) Totally weirded out. Will check with agent to see if she can “pull some strings” for me! I’m not supposed to count on anything, though.

  Call #2: Wally. (Mrs. Dorkin answered.) Not home. At Oxymoron’s house and gonna spend the night. Figures! Why did I even bother?

  Call #3: Pepper. Freaked when I told her. Said I should try bribing casting people, like Maggie was doing to Lynch with baked goods. Brilliant idea! But did I want to sink to Maggie’s level of butter-uppery? YES! Pepper’s suggestion: Send them a basket of minimuffins. Too blah.

  Flowers? Balloons maybe? A box of chocolates? No, no – and definitely nothing to do with candy. I ran up to my room and searched around on the Internet for the next, like, two hours until I came up with a real winner. Ballads-to-Go! I could appeal to their sense of theatrics. They only took credit cards, though, so I had to drag Mom into the picture when she got home from work.

  “Oh, Dustin, you’re going a little overboard, don’t you think? I’m happy to put it on my card for you, but – I’ll have to eventually get reimbursed.”

  So I burst open my piggy bank and forked over every last cent of the $138.73 of birthday money it was digesting. I did have that mall job coming up so what the heck? Spare no expense, right? I mean this was my life we were talking about!

  Cutting to the chase, here’s how it was supposed to go down. Picture it: ten AM Wednesday morning, Uncle Sam flies into the front office at McKenna Casting, Inc. and shouts, “I want you – to change Dustin Grubbs’s time slot!” Then to the tune of “Yankee Doodle” he belts out my original singing telegram:

  “Have a heart and don’t make Dustin forfeit his audition

  He would sooner eat a rat than be in that position.

  Dustin Grubbs is talented. Dustin Grubbs is funny.

  He’ll be perfect for the part and make you tons of money!”

  Chapter 17

  Malled

  I’d thought it was genius, but so far the Uncle-Sam-O-Gram had been a total bust. Friday had come and gone and I hadn’t heard jack from McKenna Casting, Inc. If they didn’t leave a message by the time I got home from my mall gig on Saturday, I’d have to call them and – I don’t know what. Offer up my firstborn child?

  It was barely October, so the Hinkleyville Mall should’ve been decorated for Halloween. Instead, it looked as if it had been attacked by Santa’s Elves. They’d decked the mall with boughs of fake holly, visions of inedible sugarplums, and one hulking Styrofoam snowman. Mr. Smashum stationed me on the second floor next to a mirrored pillar, opposite Hickory Farms. His only instructions to me were, “If anyone asks, you’re sixteen.” So there I stood
– just me in a spongy Tommy the Termite costume and a box of fliers. I was Dustin Grubbs: One-Man Bug.

  “Twenty dollars off,” I mumbled to the passersby, holding out a limp flier. No takers, just a lot of strange looks. At least I was miles outside of Buttermilk Falls, where people didn’t know me. I mean I had a reputation to protect, and this was at the bottom of the show-biz ladder – one rung up from being a mime.

  All right, if you’re gonna do this thing, give it all you’ve got. I adjusted the airplane-size wings that were scratching my neck and took a deep breath of smoked meats and cheeses. “Yowza-yowza-yowza! Smashum Brothers Pest Control is offering twenty bucks off your next exterminating job. That’s twenty – two, zero American dollars. Step right up, folks. You don’t wanna pass up this amazing offer!”

  “Oh, look, sweetie,” a lady said, pointing me out to her sticky-faced little girl. “A big butterfly.”

  “Termite, actually. Take a flier?”

  As I was handing her one, her little brat gave me a swift kick in the shins and took off running.

  “Oww, that hurt! Bugs have feelings too, ya know!”

  I saw red. Not rage – hair. Pepper, her mother, and her baby sister were passing the bug molesters, headed my way. What were the chances? Five minutes on the job and I wanted to file for unemployment.

  “Dustin?” Pepper did a triple take. I’d never actually seen one before. “Hey! Is that you? What’s with the getup?” she asked, swatting my antenna. “You in the Witness Protection Program or something?”

  “I don’t know what that means. Just doing a favor for my aunt’s fiancé – but I am getting paid. What are you guys doing out here?”

  “What’s all of Buttermilk Falls doing here?” Pepper’s mom said, wiping a string of drool off the baby’s mouth. “It’s the Shop-Early-Shop-Smart Pre-Christmas Extravaganza Sale!”

  “You’re kidding?”

  “It’s huge! We already got such a deal on towels at Berg-mann’s Department Store.” She started maneuvering through an army of Old Navy bags loaded in the back of the stroller. “My sister does makeovers in their cosmetics department, so we got her employee discount on top of the sale price,” she blabbed on, pulling out the corner of a plain, blue towel from a Bergmann’s bag. “Look. Twelve-ninety-nine for real Egyptian cotton!”

  “Very absorbent,” I felt obliged to say.

  She rearranged the bags and proceeded to unzip her long, puffy coat, hardly coming up for air. “So, big shot, Pepper tells us you might be in a real TV commercial. That’s really something. You excited?”

  “Yep.” Quick change of subject. “That the baby? Man, she’s grown.”

  “That’s my li’l puddin’, Joy-Noelle.” She hoisted the kid out of her stroller and rested her on her hip. “Well, not so little. Nine pounds, twelve ounces coming out the chute.”

  “Gawd, Mom! Spare us the grimy details.”

  The baby fit right in with the whole holiday theme. Having been born on December twenty-fourth, they slapped one of those Christmassy names on her. I guess Carol was too plain. It’s a good thing it wasn’t a boy or he could’ve wound up being a Rudolph – or Frosty.

  “Swudge,” the baby cooed, reaching for my bobbing antennae. “Suuudge.”

  “Holy Toledo!” Pepper’s mom looked stunned. “Did you hear that? I think Jo-No’s saying her first word!”

  The baby kept repeating the same mystery word and all attention was on her bubbly mouth. I kinda could care less, but folded an ear out from my headgear to pretend to hear better.

  “Fudge? Such?” Pepper’s mom guessed, smoothing down a dollop of Jo-No’s red fuzz. “Lunch? Is that what you’re saying, angel? Lunch?”

  “It’s really weird, you guys,” I said, “it almost sounds like she’s saying – sludge?”

  “Bingo!” Pepper’s mom was elated. “Wait…” Then deflated. “What the heck kind of a word is that?”

  Pepper reached over and pulled her mom’s coat open. “Hello? It’s only plastered across your bazooms.”

  “Cripes!” I screeched. I couldn’t believe she was wearing a bright yellow T-shirt with SLUDGE printed on it. Sludge-mania was running amok! “Where’d you get that?”

  “This?” she muttered, looking down at her chest. “I forgot I even had it on. Some of the Fireballs were going door-to-door last night with a petition, giving them away – for the price of a signature.”

  “Was one of them freakishly tall with a buzz cut?” I asked. “And horns?”

  “Tell him what the petition was for, Ma.”

  “Oh, something to do with phys-ed funding. Things have gotten so bad, apparently, their coach just got the boot.”

  “That’s bogus,” I snapped.

  “You left out the part about them wanting to can the Arts Committee,” Pepper added. “And stopping the production of Oliver! I can’t believe you signed that thing.”

  “Why not? Pepper, you love sports. Don’t act like you don’t all of a sudden.”

  “What? This is freakin’ unbelievable!” I roared. “The jocks have had the spotlight on them since – forever. Now that the school is finally throwing us creative types a crumb, they’re acting like big babies. No offense, Joy-Noelle.”

  “Sludge!” she spouted.

  “They won’t let up until all the drama geeks are wiped off the planet!”

  “Oh, Dustin, don’t be so dramatic,” Pepper’s mom said, lowering Jo-No back into her stroller.

  “With all due respect, ma’am, please take off your shirt.”

  She snorted. “What am I supposed to do? Run around the mall in my brassiere?”

  “It wouldn’t be the first time,” Pepper said. She got a smack on the butt for that one. “Kidding, Mother!”

  “Boy, you’ve got some mouth on you.” Pepper’s mom snatched the ducky pacifier that Jo-No had tossed onto the ground and pocketed it. “I know I’ll never be able to drag you away from Dustin,” she said, buckling the baby into her stroller, “so meet us in front of Cinnabuns in an hour. C’mon, Joy-Joy, let’s go spend your father’s money.”

  My face was on fire as I watched Pepper’s mom push her sister’s stroller into the Casual Corner. “I can’t believe that Zack is taking this thing so far. His drill-sergeant father is probably behind the whole thing – how much you wanna bet?” I tugged on the collar of my costume, pumping it for air. “Jeez, I’m sweatin’ bullets in this thing. Talk about chestnuts roasting on an open fire.”

  Pepper picked up a stack of fliers and fanned me with it. “You got yourself all worked up, didn’t ya? I like a man with convictions.”

  “Is that what I am?”

  “That’s what ‘you am.’” She handed me the stack and without warning, took off toward the escalators shouting, “Back in a sec!”

  I tried to calm myself down so I could get back to the job at hand. “Smashum Brothers Pest Control. Twenty bucks off.” Hardly any takers. You’d think I was charging for the darn things. “Get rid of your filthy vermin just in time for the holidays!”

  “I’ll have one of those.”

  Speaking of vermin, it was Candy Garboni. I almost fell back into the potted palms. She was wearing a lime green leopard-print jacket – over her SLUDGE shirt, of course, and a short jeans skirt. I didn’t want her to recognize me, so I turned my face quickly toward the pillar.

  “Hi, Dustin!”

  The mirrored pillar.

  “Don’t try to hide – I can see your reflection. You look so cute. What’re you supposed to be, like, a Christmas moth?”

  “Yes. The traditional Christmas moth.”

  She stuck her face in mine and rolled her eyeballs around. “My dad finally sprung for contacts. You like?”

  “Just keep moving along, miss,” I said in my iciest voice. “You’re holding up traffic.”

  “Du-ust,” she whined, with a hip jut and a hair flip. “You don’t hate me, do you?”

  “Get rid of your obnoxious two-faced pests! Kill them dead!”

/>   “C’mon, don’t!” I wouldn’t look directly at her, but I think there was bouncing up and down. “I hate it when people hate me. Can’t we still be friends?” Yes, there was definite bouncing. And then came the bug-hug.

  See, here’s the thing. Even though Candy was a two-faced snitch, I couldn’t stop myself from overheating when she wrapped her arms around my thorax. She smelled like fresh strawberries and vanilla – like one of those fancy, expensive candles. So the fact that she was clinging on a little too long wasn’t the worst thing in the world.

  “Ooh! Shoot. I can’t believe it!” she cried. “I think my new charm bracelet is caught – on your thingamajig. And Zack gave it to me!”

  “What gumball machine did he get that from?” I said, checking it out. No response. “Don’t come cryin’ to me when your wrist turns green and your hand falls off.”

  “That was just mean.”

  “Are you gonna run home now and tell him I said that?”

  “No,” she answered with a fierce tug. “Don’t have to. He’s right downstairs outside the Sports Shack – getting signatures on his petition to stop your precious show.”

  “Oh, perfect.”

  A clump of Candy’s long hair was now stuck to the Velcro on the back of my costume. And the more she maneuvered to free herself, the more she got tangled in wings and things. People must’ve thought we were, like, a living sculpture of bug parts, legs and hair. Finally, Pepper came huffing and puffing to our rescue and with a single rip! we were free. Candy took off immediately without so much as a “see ya later.”

  “Uh, you’re welcome,” Pepper called out after her. “It’s autumn, in case you haven’t noticed – buy a freakin’ pair of pants!” We both watched as Candy disappeared around the enormous snowman, tugging at her skirt. “Here, dude, I got you a Dr Pepper, my signature drink.” She held the straw from the giant plastic container to my lips and I took a slurpy sip. “Seriously, who dresses like that in this weather? And what’s with all the makeup? She’s obviously covering up a fresh crop of prepubescent zits.”