Take Two!

by John J. Bonk

  “Does a woodpecker squat in the woods?” Aunt Birdie mumbled through the clump of hairpins poking out of her mouth. “Haven’t seen hide nor seek of her all morning.”

  I was just going to walk right by Granny’s bedroom door. Having to fake a happy face all day was going to be hard enough without her giving me grief. But something made me grit my teeth and knock.

  “Gran?” I said. “It’s me, Dustin. You decent?”

  I pushed the door open a crack and peeked inside. The usual rubbing alcohol smell of her room was camouflaged by heavy perfume. “Are you sleeping?” No answer. It was dark, but I could still see a crown of silver braids sticking out from the covers. Something’s definitely up. I knew I was asking for it, but I took a deep breath and whipped off her blanket in a single throw.

  “Hey!” Granny screeched, springing to life.

  She was wearing her navy blue church dress and the good stockings that go all the way up. Plus, her false teeth were in her mouth ready for action.

  “You’ve changed your mind,” I said, grinning. “You’re coming to the wedding!”

  “Nobody said no such thing.”

  “Well, today’s not Sunday, so why are you so dressed up?”

  “In case I die in my sleep, I’ll be all ready to ship to the funeral parlor.”

  “Don’t kid a kidder, kid. You’re busted.”

  “Humph!” she replied, and pulled the covers back over herself.

  I stared down at her for the longest time, waiting for something to happen. But nothing did. Finally I’d had it. “When’s it gonna sink in?” I yelled, ripping open the drapes. A tornado of dust specks swirled through the air. “This is it! Aunt Olive’s getting married today and moving away and there’s not a doggone thing you can do to change that. Zilch, nada, nothin’. So you can either be Granny Grudge and lock yourself in your room all day, tearing yourself up inside – or join the party.”

  Her usual response would have been to go for the jugular. But she just lay there blinking up at the ceiling. “It’s your choice,” I jabbed, storming out of her room. “But either way, she’s still leaving.”

  I slammed the door and stepped into what had transformed into Grand Central Station. On my way into the kitchen, a mishmash of flowers, food, and people whizzed past me: the butcher, the baker, the finger-food maker. Aunt Birdie was already at the open refrigerator, strapping on a wrist corsage and barking orders at the caterers. Foil-covered trays lined the counters, and there were smelly, mystery-meat UFOs smoking on the stove – Unidentified Frying Objects.

  “Uh-oh! Aunt Birdie, have you seen the cat?”

  “Oh, Ellen picked Cinnamon up early this morning. I tell ya, I’m sure gonna miss that li’l pussy-puss-puss.”

  “LMNOP is back?”

  I snatched a deviled egg from a tray and popped it into my mouth just as Father Downing was squeezing by, carrying a Bible, earmuffs, and a steaming coffee-to-go cup.

  “Am I headed in the right direction?” he asked.

  “Yeah, out back,” I told him, swallowing fast. “Hang a left at the compost heap and aim for the frozen guests. Break a leg, Father.”

  “Olive, the priest is here!” Aunt Birdie called out. “Chop-chop!”

  “Say, I understand you really shook things up at the high school today,” he said as he weaved through the wedding workers. “Quite a noble gesture, sacrificing that check the way you did.”

  “Thanks. Chock it up to temporary insanity.” It’s a good thing it all happened so fast – that grand would’ve really come in handy. I waited until he was out of earshot and the back door banged before turning to Aunt Birdie, who was still at the fridge messing with the bouquets. “Man, how did he catch word already? Is there, like, a hotline to St. Agatha’s?”

  “Oh, you know how things are in Buttermilk Falls,” she muttered. “News spreads faster than wildflowers.”

  “Wildfire,” I said, correcting her as usual.

  “What?”

  “Fire, Aunt Birdie,” I yelled. “Fire!”

  “Oh, my God!” she cried, tossing the bridal bouquet into the air. “Dustin, go grab your grandma! Nobody panic! Remember, stop, rock ‘n’ roll!”

  “Stop, drop, and roll.”

  Luckily, I’d set things straight before she hit the floor.

  * * *

  It wasn’t until I’d already escorted Aunt Olive halfway down the makeshift aisle in the backyard, heading for her shivering groom, when I realized where “The Wedding March” was coming from. Opus Five! Wally and the rest of his quintet were set up in front of the lawn-mower shed. How could he not even bother telling me they were gigging in my own backyard? The ultimate slap in the face. I was glaring at the Oxymoron, hoping his lips would get frozen stuck to his horn, when my aunt whispered, “Thanks so much for doing this, sweetheart.”

  “Not a problem.” Little did she know. I guess it was worth it, though – she looked so happy. The blushing bride, gliding down the aisle. Well, not so much blushing as windburned – and not so much gliding either. Her heels kept sinking into the ground with every step. When we reached the rickety trellis, I handed her off to the bug man of her dreams, then parked myself on an ice-cold folding chair next to Mom.

  “We are gathered here on this bone-shatteringly brisk autumn day,” Father Downing began through trembling lips, “to join this man and this woman in holy matrimony…”

  My focus shifted from his words to the bottom of Aunt Olive’s dress. Apparently she’d dragged a bushel’s worth of dead leaves along with her. Funny. But sad. It made me think about how her marriage was just getting started while Mom and Dad’s was lying in a dried-up heap.

  “I saw you and Dad getting kind of touchy-feely through the window of the motel,” I muttered into Mom’s coat sleeve. “Holding hands and stuff. What was that about?”

  “Hmm? Oh. Not now.”

  “C’mon, tell me.”

  She did up her fake-fur collar. “If you must know, we were just discussing Gordy’s last-minute college plans – and how we were going to work things out financially. We certainly didn’t see that one coming.”

  “Oh.” Mom handed me a tissue and I emptied my drippy nose. “You must really hate him now, huh?”

  “Hate who?”

  “China’s prime minister,” I said sarcastically. “Dad!”

  “Oh, honey, I’ll always love your father.” Her answer, like the wind, just about blew me away. “Just because he makes me want to strangle him from time to time doesn’t mean I don’t love him – I just can’t live with him. He is who he is and he’s never gonna change. Like they say, a leopard never loses its spots. Now shush.”

  She was right about the spots thing. Teddy Grubbs was who he was – love him or leave him. Or both in Mom’s case. She took my gloved hand in hers and suddenly the sun broke through and everything shimmered in a silvery sheen. The weather and my father had something in common: They were both totally unpredictable.

  As Father Downing was speed-preaching toward the big finish, I heard the sound of crunching leaves coming from behind. It turned out to be Granny wrapped in a blanket, scurrying down the aisle. Jeez, if the acting thing doesn’t work out I should become a motivational speaker! I laughed out loud when I noticed the Vegas-showgirl earrings she was sporting. Her earlobes were swinging low from the weight – they reminded me of the pounded-out chicken breasts Aunt Olive used for her chicken piccata.

  “Do you, Olive Tallulah Grubbs, take Dennis Peter Smashum to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

  Tallulah?

  “I do,” the bride-cicle said through a tiny cloud puff.

  “What?” Father Downing asked.

  Aunt Olive lifted one of his earmuffs and repeated, “I do!”

  The knot had been officially tied and the guests rushed into the house to thaw out and chow down. Wally and his new best friend attempted to make small talk with me while they were stuffing their faces at the buffet table, but I wasn’t buying it. “You should ask
to make sure the hired help is allowed to eat,” was my only comment. But I refused to let them bum me out. People are who they are and there’s not a darn thing you can do about it. So after three plates of food, I undid my belt buckle and did what any red-blooded American boy would do. The Hokey Pokey. Just as we got to the “turn yourself around” part, the phone rang and I made a mad dash to answer it.

  “That’s what it’s all about!” I sang into the receiver.

  “Turn on channel five quick!” It was LMNOP.

  “Err – I’m kinda in the middle of a wedding reception here.”

  “Omigod, quick, quick!”

  With phone in hand, I flew over to the television set and clicked it on – luckily, it was already tuned to channel five.

  “Yeah? So? There’s some guy tripping over a Chihuahua,” I told her. “What’s the big deal?”

  “Nuts,” LMNOP said. “You just missed your television debut on America’s Goofiest Slips and Trips!”

  “Wait. Say that again.”

  “They showed a video of you singing in the shower and taking a nosedive. I’m serious! I think it was that same night I brought Cinnamon –”

  “Cripes!” I slammed down the phone and turned to Gordy’s deejay setup. “Hey, turdface,” I yelled over a roomful of distant relatives who had their left hands in and were shaking them all about. “Please tell me you didn’t send in that tape of me half-naked in the shower to that America’s Goofiest show! Is that why you got that letter from NBC? Gooord!”

  “Huh? Oh, right, I forgot,” he said, switching off the boom box. “Was that on tonight? Surprise!” And switched it back on.

  I needed some fresh air before I rearranged his face! So I grabbed a jacket off the coatrack and made a quick exit onto the front porch. That wasn’t exactly the television debut I was hoping for – far from it! My life wasn’t turning out at all like it was supposed to. And my patience, like the pages of this book, was quickly running out.

  “Where’s my happy ending?” I shouted up at the moon, struggling into the jacket. I collapsed onto the porch bench just as LMNOP was climbing the front steps.

  “It was the freakiest thing, seeing you on TV like that. “Look,” she said, showing me her hands, “I’m still trembling.”

  “That’s ‘cause it’s colder than a witch’s spit out here. I didn’t win anything, did I?”

  She shook her head no and plopped down on the bench next to me. Just then the front door squeaked open and Opus Five started filing past us, lugging their instrument cases. The Walrus was the last one out. He stopped right in front of me and I felt my buttocks clench.

  “Uh, that’s my jacket,” he said, staring me in the face. “It’s new.”

  The pound and a half of miniquiches stuffed in the pockets should’ve tipped me off. I quickly got out of the denim tarp and tossed it to him.

  “I heard about that town meeting today,” he muttered, galumping down the steps. “That you stuck up for all the artsy kids – musicians too. Pretty cool.”

  “Yeah, well – no biggie.” I must’ve been a little dumbstruck by his verbal pat on the back. It wasn’t until he was headed down Cubberly that it occurred to me to return the compliment with “You guys sounded great tonight!”

  “Thanks,” Wally shouted, practically stumbling over his own feet. “Hero.”

  “I’ll call you later!”

  We said it in unison. I wondered if either one of us would follow through on that anytime soon. Still, it felt good.

  “What meeting?” LMNOP asked. She grabbed the mildew-scented quilt hanging over the seatback and flung it over the both of us. That felt good too. “Did I miss anything exciting while I was away?”

  “Nah. Same old, same old.”

  “Liar. Well, you’ll fill me in later. So… notice anything different about me? No more braces!” She blurted it out before I could guess. I had to admit, she did look semidecent for a change. More mature or something. And hardly any lisp. “Left ’em back in Gloucester. Along with my father.”

  “Oh, yeah.” I remembered her last postcard. “Sorry.”

  “He’ll be back. At least for Christmas.”

  That was debatable, but I kept it to myself. Dads were a touchy subject any way you looked at it. We sat silent and shivering for quite a while, staring at the three-quarter moon, until – Ka-boom! Both of us jumped and practically hit the porch roof when an explosion came from the backyard. A bright red blaze lit up the treetops.

  “What the heck was that?” LMNOP said, hugging her knees.

  “Fireworks.”

  “Oooh! I love pyrotechnics.”

  “Gordy’s probably setting them off in the empty lot behind the garage. Mom’s gonna annihilate him. It’ll save me the trouble.”

  “Ah, you should cut your brother some slack.” I was about to tell her to mind her own business, until she finished with, “It can’t be easy having such an extraordinary little brother.”

  The fireworks were really going to town – making it impossible to talk. Weird how I actually wanted our conversation to continue even though I felt like a human ice sculpture. “She’s good people,” like Granny would say. Who knew? For the first time ever I was happy to be her friend. All of a sudden LMNOP threw off the quilt, grabbed my hand and pulled me down the steps to get a better view of the sky, which was exploding in green, red, and white sunbursts.

  “C’mon!” she urged, running toward the backyard, where the guests were spilling onto the lawn.

  Out of the corner of my eye I saw a streak of blue light that stopped me in my tracks. Not in the sky, though. This was whizzing down the street. When I turned around, I swore I was hallucinating. A taxi with a blue LuvQUEST.com sign glowing on the roof was pulling up behind the carnation-covered station wagon in our driveway. My heart thundered louder than the fireworks.

  Ka-boom!

  I stood watching and waiting for the engine to turn off, but it kept on running and running. Finally it stopped and the cab door swung open.

  “A funny thing happened on the way to Orlando,” I heard.

  Whoosh! Ka-boom!

  It was one of those rare perfect moments. I wanted to remember that feeling forever. Bottle it. Freeze it, like Aunt Olive did with the top layer of wedding cake. Don’t get me wrong. There weren’t any major expectations going on inside my head, watching Dad get out of his cab – I mean, I’m not stupid. But I did have a million questions.

  “I switched flights,” he said. “SeaWorld gave me a little leeway. As long as I can get there on Monday the job is still mine.”

  And with that, he’d answered about half of them – and raised a half dozen more. Dad stood staring up at the house and squeezing my shoulder. “Wow ’em with a big finish and they’ll forgive ya for anything. Right, kid?”

  “Right, kid.”

  I guess he was about to put that to the test. He was mumbling something about finally facing the music when the cell phone in his other hand started squawking. “Oh. Here,” he said, handing it to me. “Someone wants to talk to you.”

  “Huh? Who?” I put the phone to my ear, watching Dad trudge toward the front porch. “Hello?”

  “Dustin? Hi! I thought we lost our connection. It’s Nadine Fleck, your father’s agent. I wanted to speak to you personally to give you the news.”

  “News?” I asked through chattering teeth.

  “Tell me, are you a big fan of our national pastime?”

  “Sure. Who doesn’t like watching TV?”

  “Oh, you are such a hoot,” she said, chuckling. “No, I mean baseball! McKenna Casting thinks you’d be perfect for a new commercial they’re working on. It’s for Toyco’s Pop-Up Pitcher…”

  While she was feeding me the details I fell cross-legged onto the cold grass, laughing to myself. I looked up past the branches, through the purplish smoke at the milky-white moon that was hogging the sky. Even though a chunk was missing, it was plump and complete. “Thank you,” I mouthed.

  And righ
t on cue something wet landed in my eye.

  “Bah-dum-pum!” I said with a wink.

  Acknowledgments

  Will the following people please rise and take a well-deserved bow for their selfless contributions to this book: Andrea Spooner, Sangeeta Mehta, Steven Chudney, Chris Woodworth, Lisa Williams Kline, Jeffrey Kline, DVM, Tracy Shaw, Alexandra Speck, and Mary-Ann Trippet. (Okay, you can sit down now – people are staring.)

  Don’t Miss

  Dustin Grubbs

  ONE MAN SHOW

  Now available in paperback

  John J. Bonk, the author of Dustin Grubbs: One-Man Show, previously worked as a singer, tap dancer, and actor in New York and around the world. He has now hung up his tap shoes, focusing his creative energy on “performing on the page.” John J. Bonk lives in New York City.

  Dustin Grubbs gets his big break—

  but will he slam on the brakes

  before making it big?

  After starring in last year’s school play, Dustin Grubbs is ready for his acting career to take off in his school’s upcoming musical production of Oliver! The twist is that phys-ed funds are being cut to do it, sparking grounds for an all-out war of the worlds: athletes vs. drama geeks. What’s worse, Dustin has only sung and danced in the shower. Badly.

  It looks like it’s the final curtain for Dustin when a field trip to Chicago teams him up with his wacky absentee father for the opportunity of a lifetime–a shot at a national TV commercial! But when a family conflict leaves him with an impossible decision, will Dustin still rise to new heights–or fall flat on his face?

  Packed with hysterical scenes and zany zingers, Dustin Grubbs: Take Two! is the showstopping sequel to Dustin Grubbs: One-Man Show, in which our plucky hero proves once again that showbiz isn’t for wimps!

  James J. Kriegsmann, Jr.

  John J. Bonk, the author of Dustin Grubbs: One-Man Show, previously worked as a singer, tap dancer, and actor in New York and around the world. He has now hung up his tap shoes, focusing his creative energy on “performing on the page.” John J. Bonk lives in New York City.