by Lizz Lund
“She didn’t give you no box?” Vito asked.
“No…” I replied, feeling a twinge of righteous indignation. If Vito was going to be this much of a dry cleaning junkie he could meet, and pay, his own dealer. Hrmphh.
“What about the bag?”
“Well you know, I figured since she was new and all… it’d be better to deliver your bag to Mrs. Phang after she got back from her vacation,” I said.
“Vacation?!”
“Well, yeah, I guess she has to take a day or two once every seventy years or so…”
“So yous didn’t drop off the bag?”
“No – it’s right here… I just forgot about giving it back to you, with everyone visiting and all…” I stammered.
“That’s okay… that’s okay, Toots… I’ll just take this bag of dirty duds off your hands,” he said.
“Don’t you want your clean shirts?” I asked.
“I’ll help myself tomorrows.”
Vito left with his gym bag of dirty duds, while I stood in a dust of disappointment. I hung my head.
“Well goodnight, my dears. I must bid you adieu,” Aunt Muriel called out at us, after checking to see Vito was well inside his house. I exchanged glances with Ma, and we shrugged. I figured Aunt Muriel was still a little paranoid about Vito, what with his church boob petting and all. She pointed at the prescription bottle of horse-size antibiotics. “Before I go, take these!” she warned. “For her infection. From the laceration,” she explained to Ma, pointing at my foot.
“Oh, yeah, right,” I said. I got some water, choked on a horse pill, and chased it with another pain med.
Ma and I got everything in the kitchen stashed away. The dishwasher hummed happily. Vinnie lay on his back in the middle of the living room a la cock-a-roach and pfffed more pepperoni fumes happily into the ozone. Ma held her nose and waved herself off to sleep in my room. I shrugged and trudged upstairs after her with a piece of pizza crust for Marie and got in my jammies. Then I headed back downstairs with a blanket, a pillow, and last month’s self-help book purchase, ‘The Cretin’s Cavalcade for Kitchen Addictions’. I was glad the author obviously knew how to help with self-esteem, too. I made myself a little nest on the sofa and settled down to read behind closed eyes.
CHAPTER 5
(Tuesday morning)
Tuesday morning, I woke up around dawn to a Biblical scourge of smells. I looked around the living room and didn’t see Vinnie. But clearly his pepperoni eating was a lot more toxic than I’d figured. I stumbled into the kitchen to open a window and found the terrier growling at Flower the Skunk over Vinnie’s bowl of Kitty Cookies.
I scooted Vito’s would-be-pooch away from Flower and into the basement. Flower responded by showering me and my kitchen with skunk spray. Then she waddled to the back door, looked over her shoulder at me with a dismissive glance, and pushed her snout at the gap in the door and let herself out.
Since I was now up and stinky, I decided it was time for Ma to be up and stinky, too.
“Ma-aaaa!!” I screamed congenially.
“Wha-aaattt!?”
Ma came downstairs and yawned. Then she choked. “Pew! What have you been doing down here?” she asked, holding her nose. I explained about the close encounters of the smelly kind. Ma leaned toward me and sniffed. “Phew! You stink!”
“Ya think?”
“Do you have any tomato juice?”
“You want a Bloody?”
“No, you fool! You’re supposed to take a bath in tomato juice to get rid of skunk stuff.”
“Oh. I have a six pack of individual cans. But I only have 4 left because K. and I had Bloodies a few weeks ago.”
“What you need is a few gallons,” Ma said.
I responded by crying.
“There, there, it’s not your fault you’re stinky,” Ma said, patting my head from an arm’s length away.
“Thanks,” I sniffed. “But it’s just everything… and on top of the burning dog poop job stuff, my head hickey and the shredded foot thing, I gotta smell bad now, too?” I blubbered.
“Maybe this is a good time to ask your neighbor for some help,” Ma said sympathetically. I sighed. The last thing I wanted to do was invite Vito over for an additional visit. Especially while I, along with my kitchen, was stinky. Vito might never stop Swiffering. “After all, Vito does like that dog. And he’ll probably be over here to Swiffer anyway,” she finished.
She was right. “Okay,” I sniffed.
Ma left me to walk across the front porch and negotiate with Vito for help. I trudged upstairs with 4 individual cans of tomato juice, wishing I could have brought the vodka, Tabasco, Worcestershire sauce, horseradish and a nice fresh lemon wedge along, too.
Let this be a word to the wise. The stinky wise, that is. Washing with tomato juice to get rid of skunk stuff does not work like the old wives’ tale we’ve all heard about. It’s more like being stuck with no running water for a week or two, and then settling to wash up with cans of Minestrone soup. It kind of masks your stinky smell, so you don’t completely reek of BO. But you end up smelling like soup instead. Which got me thinking: it had been a long time since I’d made a nice vat of homemade soup. Since it was August, maybe I’d make a small stockpot of zucchini soup. I could serve it warm, with a dollop of sour cream on top. Or a bit of grated parmesan. It was comfort food, and lo-cal. How could I go wrong? And while I was on the Italian theme, with the zucchini soup and all, I could throw together a nice summer veggie lasagna, with squash and mushrooms and a light béchamel sauce.
I finished fantasizing about my summer menus once the hot water ran out. I got out cleaner, and about six recipes richer. I sniffed. I still smelt a bit like Flower. Should have used the tomato juice to make a Bloody after all. I’d still smell funny, but I wouldn’t have minded so much. I pulled on a soft clean short-sleeve shirt and khakis, and trudged downstairs with my hair back in its usual wet pony tail.
“Oh-my-gawd!” Ma yelped and leapt away from me. This was not exactly the reaction I’d hoped for.
“What’s the matter?” I asked.
Ma held her nose and tapped into the Borg. She put her Bluetooth in her ear. Seriously, her cell phones are pretty slick. I’ve only seen kids working Target or drug dealers use these. I hate to admit it, but Ma’s techno savvy knowledge thingy is scarily impressive.
Ma got through to Aunt Muriel, and a lot of Mhming and “Yes, yes that’s right… yes, you did hear me correctly,” went on. I hunched on the landing. Vinnie came down from upstairs and looked around a little wide-eyed. Clearly the aroma was not conducive to his sensibilities either. He sniffed me, shook a paw and stalked back upstairs. I didn’t blame him. I didn’t want to sit near me either.
I didn’t know what to do. So I cried. It didn’t start out full-blown: just a few sniffs while Ma talked on her Borg Phone and paced around the front porch. Anyone not knowing she was talking on the phone would swear she was a raving lunatic talking to herself. And getting answers.
The whole situation reminded me of when in the sixth grade and I went to school all happy because I could show off my first pair of official bell bottoms. Ma had let me pick them out myself: Blind Your Eyes White, just like I remembered Marcia Brady wore on ‘The Brady Bunch’. The day was great until recess when my best buddy Mona came up to me and tied her sweatshirt around my waist.
I’d gotten my first period. In fact, I was the only girl in the entire grade school to get her first period before matriculating to Junior High. Which was a shock. Because we all were convinced that Betsy Heffelstein was gonna be the one because she had to wear a bra. But there I was, in my brand new white bell bottoms, with a crimson splotch that looked like I’d sat on a stuck pig. So I had to go to the principal’s office and call Ma – and then had to wait for her in Mrs. Heinz’s office perched on a copy of the Bergen Record. I liked Mrs. Heinz. She had white hair that she rinsed each week to match her suits. That week was lilac – my favorite – so her ha
ir was a misty shade of lavender to match the various styles of purple and grey suits.
Ma flew down to school and swooped me and a clean section of the newspaper back home. I told her I felt awful about the new slacks – they weren’t even a full day old. But Ma went out that afternoon and bought me a replacement pair right away. And I didn’t even have to beg. Go figure. Ever since then, Ma and I were on different terms.
Anyway, sitting on the landing bruised and stinky felt a lot like being in the principal’s office. So I cried some more. Ma marched back into the hallway on a mission. Then she saw me. I palpably felt her put on verbal brakes when I saw her jaw clench to a screeching halt. Probably bit the end of her tongue in the process, I wagered. She took a deep breath, and in a strange tone I suspect she uses mostly for clients said, “Aunt Muriel suggests bacon. I saw Vito on the porch. He’s bringing some over.” She removed the Borg Phone from her ear and came toward me, and patted my shoulder – once again from a safe distance. “There, there, there. My poor lamb,” she said. Although I noticed she wasn’t about to get close to me. When you’re stinky, you’re stinky.
Vito came over with a pound of bacon. I took it and headed into the kitchen to find a frying pan. Ma slapped her hand to her forehead. “You’re not supposed to cook it!” she yelled at me.
“Huh?” I replied.
Vito looked awkward. “Uh, I got some things I have to do,” he said, and beat a hasty retreat.
Ma motioned to the hallway, then pointed to the stairs. “You’re supposed to rub it on you. Where you got sprayed. It’s supposed to get rid of skunk stuff,” she instructed.
“Raw bacon gets rid of skunk stuff?” Ma nodded. “Doesn’t sound very kosher,” I said, taking the bacon upstairs. Vinnie trilled happily and trotted back upstairs underneath my feet.
I’m not so sure about the political correctness of rubbing bacon on yourself. But ever since Lady Gaga wore a brisket, it might not be such a big deal. Most of Flower’s spray had gone on my knees and shins, so I rubbed the bacon there. Then I redressed and put makeup on. Vinnie licked my legs. I headed back downstairs a new fake woman. Ma looked sort of happy.
“See, I told you everything would be fine,” she fibbed. “Now just stand there a moment.” She sprayed me with cologne. I cringed. I hoped I wasn’t going to smell like apple-smoked cologne.
I drove to EEJIT, and after helping another octogenarian negotiate the intricacies of the parking garage, decided to drive up to the rooftop and park next to Bauser. I knew his favorite spot by the piles of peanut shells littering it. Except that Bauser’s car wasn’t there. Which was weird, because he starts at o’dark hundred. I shrugged, took the garage elevator out and walked up the covered path to EEJIT.
The building’s security guards were still in place. And the fans blowing out the smoke fumes were, too. I nodded to them – the security guards, that is – produced my ID badge and headed toward my desk. A lot of the cubes were empty, which didn’t surprise me. I figured most of my co-workers didn’t need much of an excuse to not work in smoked cubes. EEJIT, in its usual spirit of corporate decay, was open, forcing its employees to burn a vacation day if they didn’t want to come in and work in the smoke. Unless of course they were looking forward to their families cashing in early on life insurance policies from inhaling a barrage of carcinogens. In which case it smelled like they had it made.
What got me in the door, in spite of the carcinogens, was curiosity. I had a few ideas I wanted to run past Bauser. Also, I needed Bauser’s help dealing with the insurance stuff. I hoped he was coming to work. I couldn’t imagine Bauser taking a day off since he had to literally be forced to neutralize his accumulated vacation days a couple years ago. That was because EEJIT used to let us carry over unused vacation time from year to year, mostly because a lot of the employees visit family in China, India, the Ukraine or other countries that are a good 14 hour plane ride away. Last year, another large corporation bought EEJIT and stood firm. Our new parent corporation, Effhue Ltd., refused to allow any more vacation carryovers, so everyone had to use up their accumulated time. As a result, a lot of my co-workers took month-long vacations last year. Consequently, we hired a lot of temps, who in turn made a lot of mistakes. So our projects took twice as long, because none of the project managers were allowed to factor in re-work time into development because of using temp contractors instead of the real developers.
Anyway, since Bauser accrued his benefit time since 1989, by the time the new corporate edict came around, he had almost 13 weeks of vacation time and 18 personal days. Once corporate realized Bauser is our IT department, a deal was made that forced him to take two weeks of vacation off in perpetuam, with the remaining time paid out clandestinely. Which made sense, considering his cash purchase of a 54” flat screen TV that he hung on his 108” long living room wall. So I guessed Bauser was taking off today, to keep up his end of the bargain.
I got to my desk, logged in, and waited for the one thousand and one diatribes from How-weird to appear, and sorted through for bonafide emails.
The phone rang. “Mina speaking, EEJIT,” I said automatically.
“Girl, you are not going to believe this!” Belinda hissed at me.
“How you mean?” I whispered.
“Halloween?!”
I emailed her my question. Yeeshkabiddle. “Oh,” she said after she’d read it. She knew that I knew better than to fool with her about Halloween. Baptists take Devil Worshipping Holidays pretty seriously. After all, she was going to go up in the Rapture while I was going to get blown to oblivion because of sporadic attendance to St. Bart’s, Breakfast Wars or not.
“They put Bauser on the Plan,” Belinda whispered.
“What!?”
“You better watch your back with Howard,” she added, and hung up.
I stared at my screen. “Shit.”
Norman looked up, came over with his towel and folded it up and placed it on the desk in front of me. “Don’t let EEJIT give you permanent brain damage,” he said kindly, preparing the space on my desk where I usually bang my head.
“It’s pretty bad,” I said, and told him about Bauser. Norman shook his head.
“This place gets lousier every day. I can’t believe they opened the office for work with all this smoke,” he said. Then he looked at me. “Hey, do you smell bacon?”
I got up and mumbled, “Thanks,” then grabbed my purse and hightailed it to the Ladies’ Room.
This was just too much. Especially for a Tuesday. So I started to cry. Then I tried not to cry – which only made me cry more. Which, in turn, made me look awful. Mascara tears streaked down my face. I blew my nose hard. Then I heard someone coming in.
Shit, shit, shit, I thought. I really didn’t want to explain my Sad Clown face to any coworkers. So I ducked into the farthest stall, closed the door, blew my nose hard again and waited for the occupant to come and go.
The door opened, and I heard someone come in and run water. I was beginning to calm down. I began to think that maybe I could come out into the open with some kind of wisecrack and laugh my cosmetic disaster off. I was about to come out and face the gurgling music when I heard the door open again. And whispering.
“What happened?”
“What should have happened months ago. That goof-off Bauser’s been put on the Plan,” the other voice smirked. It was Lee. Big surprise.
“I didn’t think Bauser goofed around. He hardly takes a day off,” mouse voice stammered. Who the heck was this? I held my breath, pulled my feet up and eavesdropped.
“Let’s just say he’s finally been found out as being the world’s largest paperweight,” Lee smirked. “So he’s taking his weenie day off to decide if he wants to take the Plan or quit.”
“But he was working on his day off, taking care of the fire,” Mousie began. And then stopped abruptly. Probably because Lee set her Shut Up Glare on stun.
“Yeah, he was here. And incompetent,” Lee snorted. �
�The server room should have been locked down. He allowed the arsonist’s entry.”
I didn’t think I could dislike Lee more than I already did. I was wrong.
“Well, anyway, who do you think will handle the server room?” Mousie asked. “We’re having a lot of data problems called in about the website and Bauser always troubleshoots those between our servers and the host site.”
Ohmygawd, Mousie was Maureen! Sometimes I had lunch with her! And we both kvetched about Lee together! I pinched my lips together and gnawed my tongue.
“Me, of course,” Lee said. “After all, I took a course in web management,” she added smugly.
“Oh, well, that’s good to know,” Maureen continued. “I’ve already got clients complaining. Thanks for filling me in about Bauser. I tried to find Mina to ask, but I couldn’t find her.”
Lee started to say something when Smyrna blew into the restroom. I pondered about slamming the stall door open Clint Eastwood style and letting them all have it (“You need office supplies? You need toiletries? Go ahead! Do you feel lucky, punk?”) but my leg was falling asleep.
Smyrna announced, “Maureen, Howard is looking for you. He has the Buy-A-Lots executive in his office and they’re screaming about the data downloads.”
The three tsking workabees scuttled out of the Ladies’ Room. I heard the door swing open. Then I heard Maureen’s voice one last time as they departed: “Do you believe all this smoke? And, I swear, I think I actually smell bacon.”
I unfolded myself, came out, rubbed my leg and washed my face. And reminded myself to keep my mouth shut and just chew if I ever had lunch with Maureen again.
I wandered into the kitchen in search of some high octane coffee and a sugar buzz. Since the server room’s right next to the kitchen, most everything was either melted or smoked, with the combination of the fire, last night’s power outage and it being a very hot summer. I started a new pot of old coffee, grabbed a semi-soft package of peanut M&M’s and munched.
Norman shuffled into the kitchen. We stared at each other.
“Jeez, are you alright?” he asked. I explained about Flower and my scents. “Jeez, maybe you could go home sick?” he asked hopefully. I shook my head and explained about Ma and Vito and the Non-Peaceable Kingdom complete with swatches. “Oh, me too,” he said. “The girls are all home. This is the week between music and equestrian camps.” He sighed. “So it was come in to work or stay at home with my family.”