“I just want to check this out, for sure. You say you’ll send a bus for us, for the closing-night performance? And we get a ten-percent senior citizens discount on the tickets? And all we have to do is make fifty costumes?”
“That’s what I said,” he answered like a circus hawker. “Plus an exclusive performance right here at the home, by the Munchkins...a sort of pre-dress-rehearsal rehearsal for them.”
The old man puckered his mouth and nodded twice before he said, “Count me in. Pass me a needle and thread.”
“You old fool,” the woman sitting beside him muttered. “You can’t see anything smaller than a barn. How you gonna see the eye of a needle?”
“Huh. If that’s true, then it’s no wonder I can see you plain as day.”
“That’s enough,” a woman named Sally Garvey announced with a clear tone of authority Scotty was glad to hear. There was one in every crowd, he’d discovered over the years, a take-over-and-organize-things person, who...took over and organized things. “George, you can see well enough to press the costumes once they’re finished. Now, who else is in on this?”
Scotty smiled and sighed over another job well done as Sally called for nonarthritic volunteers to cut out the patterns and assigned elastic threading to another farsighted resident. He was off to Phillips Lighting and Electric to see what could be wrangled for the lighting board at the high school, which was in dire need of some repairs.
“Okay, we have the ladies of the Garden Club doing the Kansas costumes. The Ladies Auxiliary is taking care of the Oz costumes for the lead characters, and the Daughters of the Pioneers are handling the Emerald City getups,” he said, rattling off missions accomplished as he checked them off the list on his clipboard one evening in Gus’s living room. He had removed his shoes and propped his feet up on her coffee table—papers, magazines, and books scattered about him in a three-foot radius. “Jerry Divine, our illustrious guidance counselor, is working with his kids, designing the tickets, flyers, and programs. And the guy at Paper and Prints said he’d give us a really good deal on the printing. So, that leaves...hmmm...that’s it,” he muttered, frowning over his list. “All we have left is to figure out what to do about the cast party and...What?” he asked, glancing up to find Gus scowling at him.
“Midas Man, my aunt Fanny,” she said, with much mock disgust. “You’re nothing but a wheeler-dealer, an operator, a flimflammer, a plain old hustler.”
“And your point is?”
“You,” she said, nodding her head. “You.”
He raised one brow, tossed his clipboard aside, and waited, giving her another chance to make her statement.
“You’ve got nearly everyone in this town working on this play that was your idea.”
“Yes?”
“Conning construction materials, pitting merchants against one another for bigger and bigger contributions, inducting slave labor with a promise here and a ticket discount there.”
“All without a single drop of blood drawn, I might add.”
“You’re like the Music Man and the Rain Maker and...and...”
“And?”
“And...I’m very impressed,” she said, releasing her smile. “It’s not a senior play anymore, it’s a community project. Single-handedly, you’ve pulled everyone in this town into this, into a tight-knit unit with a single cause. It’s...”
Could it be? It was something she never thought she’d see. Scotty looked away, fingered the papers on the couch beside him while his neck and face grew rosy and hot.
“You’re blushing!”
“I am not.”
“You are,” she said, getting out of her chair, remaining bent over as she approached him for a better look. “You are. Praise embarrasses you.” She was close enough now to touch his face with one finger. She snapped it back and blew on it, as if it were burned. “Oh! This is so cute. The Great White Scotty Hammond all hot and pink, blushing like a—ahhhhh!”
Quick as a hiccup, he reached out and snatched her, pulling her down atop his papers and books.
“You’re not laughing at me, are you?” he asked menacingly, pinning her arms at her sides.
“Me? No. Never.” She laughed.
“Good. Because you know what happens to people who laugh at me.”
“Oh no. Not the Chinese tickle torture.”
With a hazardous light in his eyes, he nodded. “Exactly. Now, was I blushing?”
“Well...” She felt the pressure of his thumbs at her ribs. “I thought maybe for a second you might be, but obviously I was wrong.”
Again he nodded, looking satisfied, a smirk on his lips. “It takes a big person to admit when they’re wrong,” he said, repositioning himself a little so he could reward her with a kiss. “I love a woman who can admit she’s wrong.”
“You do?”
“I do,” he said, moving in slowly, feeling her anticipation and prolonging it, until his own was unbearable. He brushed his lips against hers, teasing and testing until he felt her teeth nipping at his lower lip. He deepened the kiss, sliding a hand beneath her and pushing everything under her onto the floor.
She looped her freed arms around his neck and let him carry her away to a place she’d come to know as “our place,” where only the two of them existed and reality gave way to magic. Her breath caught in her throat when his mouth closed over the rapid-fire pulse at the base of her neck, and she murmured, “And I love a man who can blush.”
Truth was, she was relieved to know she was in love with just a man. A simple man. Let the gossips say what they wanted. Let the town fathers believe what they liked. She knew Scotty Hammond’s secret. And his secret was as simple as he was. It was hard work. He didn’t leap tall buildings in a single bound, he took the stairs like everyone else—he just never let anyone see him sweat.
By Halloween, Gus was ready to try a couple rehearsals in the high school auditorium on Saturday mornings.
“That’s okay, Jeremy. You make as many rehearsals as you can, when they don’t interfere with your soccer games,” she told the nineteenth child who had come to her with this same concern. She stood up and waved her arms at the Munchkins onstage. “Boys and girls? May I have your attention please? These Saturday morning rehearsals are to get you used to being on the stage...” and to a lesser extent to give Chloe a chance to sing and become friendly with the group, “...and to make sure you’re singing loud enough for the people in the last row to hear you. That’s very important. I understand that many of you have soccer games and that basketball is starting up and some of you older children have midget football on Saturdays, so just make as many of these rehearsals as you can. Okay? We’ll still practice the songs at school, and later on I’ll be giving you a schedule of the days when we’ll be rehearsing with the high school people. So until then, just come when you can and try not to worry too much.”
She watched Carrie Mutrux herd several strays out of the wings and back onstage, and smiled to herself. She really loved working with these children. They were so young and so easily distracted, and yet they poured all their enthusiasm into singing the songs, were very serious about being the best Munchkins they could be, and worried constantly about doing everything right. There wasn’t a conductor anywhere who wouldn’t have given his or her eyeteeth for a group so willing and eager to please.
“Okay, we have a few more minutes before your parents come to pick you up, so let’s try the ‘Follow the Yellow Brick Road’ song. Remember, Dorothy will be walking in a bigger and bigger circle, so you need to stay out of her way. Mrs. Mutrux will be Dorothy today, and where are my three speakers?”
Two hands rose in the back, and Chloe jumped out of the crowd saying, “I’m right here, Gus.”
“Good. Now all three of you listen for your cues and say, ‘follow the yellow brick road,’ real loud. Okay?” She pressed the play button on the tape recorder when they were all in place. “Get ready now...” she said, then lowered her hand on the down beat.
The so
ng was all of two lines long, repeated once with a lead into “We’re Off to See the Wizard.” Gus clapped wildly at the end. “You are the best Munchkins ever,” she announced.
She gathered up the temporary props and her belongings as parents came for their children, asked about soccer games and where to purchase tickets, and eventually left Carrie, Gus, and Chloe in the auditorium alone.
“Thanks for all your help, Carrie. I could never handle all this alone.”
“Are you kidding. I’m having a ball. Every time the Lollipop Guild sings, every time I think of them singing, I laugh. They are so darling. And I’m so proud of myself. I’ve been looking for striped tights for their costumes, and I finally found some the other day in Springfield when I went over to visit my mother.”
“I live in Springfield,” Chloe said, assuming her share of the conversation as the three of them walked toward the exit. “With my mommy.”
“I know you do, darlin’. And I think it was such a good idea of your daddy’s to let you be in the play. Now you’ll have friends in Springfield and friends in Tylerville too.”
“I know,” she said. “But Daddy said it was Gus’s idea for me to be a Munchkin, and Mommy said it was a good thing Daddy had Gus.”
“Did she?” Carrie asked, encouraging the child to tell more, even as she sent Gus a wily glance. “Because Gus has so many good ideas?”
Chloe looked at an apprehensive Gus. “I guess so, but mostly we’re glad because we don’t want Daddy to be lonely all by himself.”
“I see,” Carrie said, grinning at Gus, who sighed audibly. “So your daddy and Gus are spending lots of time together, are they?”
“I guess so. Daddy says being with Gus makes him happy.” She hesitated. “But being with Gus and me makes him happiest of all.”
“Your daddy’s a lucky man to have you, Chloe,” Carrie said sincerely before turning to Gus, knowing and amused.
“I know.” Chloe slipped her hand into Gus’s. “And so is Gus.”
That was debatable for the next week or so when rooms would go suddenly silent with Gus’s arrival and any mention of Scott Hammond would get her a nudge and a congratulatory grin. Though she confirmed and denied nothing, they were soon paired up like peanut butter and jelly, a cough and a cold, warm milk and insomnia...like Bertrum T. Goodfellow and barbecue-flavored Dog-Gone Dog Yummies.
“How long did you think we could conceal it in a town this size?” he asked, studying what was left of the warm milk she’d made for herself and poured into a glass for him.
Now, Bert didn’t mind a little nighttime roaming. As a matter of fact, he’d just finished his midnight security check when the woman stumbled out of the bedroom. The little one did it frequently to take in and let out fluids, so he was used to it. But the man was up now too. The light over the stove was on. Beverages were prepared. And they were talking. Really, it was too inconsiderate, he decided with a huffy snort. He curled up under the table to wait them out. He was not a happy puppy.
“People were bound to find out eventually.”
“I know,” she said, sitting across her kitchen table from him, her left hand in her lap, going around and around. Now when she failed him, the whole town would know that as well. She’d had a nightmare about the looks and the turning heads, the cold shoulders and pitying pats on the arm she’d endured the last time she’d failed. Warm milk was a poor substitute for the regime of antidepressant drug therapy she was beginning to feel she might need. “I just thought there would be more time.”
The milk in his glass had grown a skin and taken on a life of its own, so he set it aside.
“Time for what?” he asked, his expression gentle with understanding. “Just the two of us? To cocoon ourselves in our little secret? In our own little world?” He slipped the tips of his fingers under hers. “I admit, I’m going to miss those looks across a crowded room, our surreptitious meetings, but it’ll be nice to hold your hand in public too. Take you to the movies. Go to dinner in romantic restaurants...”
But couldn’t he see how much worse that would make everything when she let him down? When he couldn’t bear the sight of her any longer and yet he’d let everyone know how he’d once felt by taking her out in public? She couldn’t tolerate the thought of his humiliation.
“What about your reputation?”
“My what?” He laughed.
“You’re the principal of the high school. People look up to you, they trust you to set a good example for—”
Again he laughed. “What? You think I’ll strip you down in the park so we can make love in the fountain?” He hesitated. “I don’t think anyone would put that past me, come to think of it, but the fact is, they knew I was a red-blooded single male when they hired me. Now, I don’t intend to do anything so scandalous as to attack you on the school playground, but I also have no intention of living the life of a monk, just because I’m the principal. I’m a man. A human being. I’m in love, and I’m proud of it.”
She sighed loudly and melted all over the Formica tabletop. He didn’t play fair. She saw the unsuspecting sincerity in his expression, then shook her head and lowered her eyes away from it. He wouldn’t understand until it happened. They were a slow-motion train wreck in the making: two locomotives on close parallel tracks, heading in the same direction, equal in size and strength, seemingly safe—with track missing up ahead.
“Come on, Gus,” he said after several minutes of watching her stew. “It won’t be so bad. And it’s certainly nothing to lose sleep over. Come back to bed, and I’ll help you forget all about it.” She smiled when she looked up and found him staring lecherously, wagging his brows. “Truly. This is what small towns are all about. The babies grow up, fall in love, get married, have babies of their own. In another week, the two of us will be old news.”
Wanting very much to believe him, and ignoring the potential of any and all events bringing them suddenly back as front-page news, she began to climb out of her muddy pit of despair—only to recall the approach of another impending disaster which had her slipping back to the bottom.
“In another week my mother will be here.”
He couldn’t help laughing at the dread in her voice and on her face. “Want me to warm up more milk?”
“You wait. You meet my mother and then try to laugh.”
“Listen, the whole time she’s here I’ll be wearing my shining armor. All you have to do is squeak in distress, and I’ll come running to rescue you.”
She simpered and nodded at him. “And who’s going to rescue you?”
He looked appalled. “Me? Ha! She’s gonna luuuv me.”
“Hmmm. Think you’re pretty slick, don’t ya?”
“As frog fur.” He flashed his dimples at her to prove his point. He pried her empty milk glass from her hands, drew her to her feet, and placed her hand in the bend of his arm. “I don’t know how you missed noticing it, but I happen to be a huge hit with the over-forty crowd.” He was also a huge hit with the under-forty crowd, but why split hairs, she thought. “I’m as irresistible as a rumba on Saturday night,” he said, twirling her into the bedroom. His boxers could just as easily have been a tux with tails as he caught her and took her down for the dip. “As overpowering as apple pie à la mode,” he added, dropping kisses along her throat. “As beguiling as all things warm and fuzzy.”
“Actually,” she said, laughing as she fell onto the bed with him. “I did notice.”
“You are the best sister I’ve ever had.”
“Remember that the next time Alan and I want to go to the beach for a month, alone,” Lydia said, verbalizing her favorite haggard-young-mother fantasy. “Which could very well be the day after Thanksgiving when Mother leaves. I told Eric he’d be sleeping in Jake and Todd’s room for a little while, and he broke out in a rash. I didn’t even have to tell him why.”
“Aw, poor guy. I know exactly how he feels. But if he’s that upset...”
“I’m kidding. Besides, it makes more sense f
or her to stay here with us. You’re gone all day. God knows what she’d find to get involved in without constant supervision.”
“That’s true. Lord, what if she volunteers to help with the play?”
“It’s too late. Everyone in town has a job to do for it, there aren’t any left. She’ll just have to sit passively in the audience.”
“Well, at least that will be something to look forward to. Mother passive. Mother with nothing to do. I—Hang on, Liddy, someone’s at the door.”
Not time for a violin lesson. Not Scotty or Chloe, because they always used the back door. She was curious, and glancing out the front window, she saw no car out front.
“Mother!”
“Augusta, honey, help me with this, will you?” Wanda Miller said, breathlessly hoisting a heavy cardboard box at her daughter. “Can you believe the cab driver wouldn’t tote it into the house for me? He just set everything there on the sidewalk.” She dropped a quick kiss on Gus’s cheek before she reached out the door to drag in a large suitcase. “The world is going to hell in a handbasket, I’m telling you. No one has any manners anymore. Men think the gentle part of gentleman is a synonym for gay, and most of them won’t have anything to do with it.” She stopped short and looked at her. “What have you been up to, sweetie? You look lovely.”
“I do? I mean, what...”
“Now, I know we all agreed that I’d stay at Lydia’s, but I was thinking about it, and with the play and Thanksgiving coming up, she doesn’t need me underfoot, and I think I should divide myself evenly when I come to visit anyway. I know you’re quiet and set in your ways, but I promise I won’t interfere. Oh, I love the color you chose for this room. What is it? Peach?”
“Dainty Apricot.”
Ms. Miller and the Midas Man Page 13