by Lizz Lund
“Yick!”
Trixie sighed. “Listen, you didn’t hear this from me. I’m honor bound to report anything funky to the police like gunshot wounds, stabbing, contusions, or anything else that can be associated with a crime – including dog poop.”
“Right.” I sighed and rubbed my forehead. It was going to be another long night.
“Look, they both insist they were barbecuing. I’m gonna say, they’re old. And since they were barbecuing in their backyards, it makes sense that they wandered into doggie poop while they were on fire, right?”
“Oh. Right!” I said happily. Good old Trixie!
“That’s my story and I’m sticking to it. But the thing is, they can’t do it again. You or your aunt are gonna have to have a long talk with them.”
“Oh, right…”
“Okay… anything new on your end? You’ve got ten seconds.”
“Ethel’s preggers!” I said quickly.
“That’s great! Is it a Hansel or a Gretel?”
“Dunno.”
Trixie sighed. “Okay, I gotta go. I have a minute and 35 seconds left to pee. Bye.”
“Bye bye.”
I hung up and went into the living room and turned on the news to watch flambéed feces on Fruitville Pike – again.
“Geez, is that Buy-A-Lots on fire again?” Vito asked.
“Yip,” I answered. I looked over at Bauser. He hung his head.
“Well, at least you’re not konked on the noggin again,” he added glumly.
“Hey, yeah!” That was good, at least. It was getting to be too much of a habit.
“And now reporting to you live, from the future Buy-A-Lots site…” the announcer droned.
Bauser leaned over and turned the volume up. A young blonde, who looked directly related to the older blonde who accosted us on Vito’s porch, orated. Jim yawned. I patted his head in agreement. Suddenly the screen ‘split’ as Channel 13 showed off its new technology. The older blonde, seated at the TV studio desk, broke into the young blonde’s reporting from a small screen on the lower right hand corner of the TV set.
“I’m sorry to interrupt you,” the older blonde lied, “but we have some late breaking information from a tipster that we’d like to play for our viewing audience.”
“Great, thanks,” the younger blonde woman fibbed back, sweating in the summer heat and smoldering burnt poop. “It’d be great to have a tip on this series of heinous, heinous arsons.”
Bauser smirked. “She just likes to say heinous because it rhymes with anus,” he grinned. The rest of us gasped and stared at him. He shrugged. “She dated my brother in high school,” he answered. We all exhaled. Except me. Bauser had a brother?
“And now, live from our newsroom, is the recent information from a tipster,” the anchorwoman said. She nodded authoritatively in the direction of the camera and said, “Okay, Artie, let her roll.” The younger blonde held her ear piece closely to feign attention.
“Now I don’t want to get a body in trouble or nothing. Or caught with the law not on their side. But I just can’t live with myself knowing who’s been starting these fires. Now, I know he’s a church going soul, but seriously – a body could get hurt. Including Henry. So I figure the best thing to do is to make this here anonymous phone call, to make sure he behaves himself. I mean, just nobody barbecues that much. This is not Texas. No, sir, I said to myself, Norma Jean Brown, you just sit right down and use that anonymous tipster hotline and… OH!” Both blonde TV women both stifled smirks.
“Well, I guess we’ll be having some more information later this evening from our ‘anonymous’ tipster,” the anchorwoman said.
“To be sure,” the younger blonde woman beamed back at her. “And that’s our live coverage about the latest Buy-A-Lots fire in Lancaster, Pennsylvania.”
Vito and Aunt Muriel smacked themselves on their foreheads. Vito wandered out into the kitchen and dispensed another drink for himself. Muriel and Ma followed and retrieved their bottles of vodka from the freezer.
“I knew those two had to be finks,” Vito said.
“Who?” I asked.
“Norma and Ray. After all, who works in a kitchen and don’t sweat? It ain’t natural. In summer, no less!”
Muriel clanged some ice cubes into her glass. “Goodie goodies,” she muttered.
Annie wandered into the kitchen. “Do you mean to tell me that you know who’s behind the burning Buy-A-Lots’?” she asked, wide-eyed.
“Well, not all of them, of course,” Vito said matter-of-factly. “Just the local ones, I mean, pretty much.”
“Vlad – Vito – this is a national level case,” Annie replied. “So I-don’t-hear-you I-don’t-hear-you,” she said, pretending to hold her hands up to her ears.
Aunt Muriel rolled her eyes. “Oh, please. Who doesn’t want to burn a Buy-A-Lots?” she said and took a swig.
I shrugged and did what I do best when I’m stressed. I whipped up some sausage and peppers and onions and eggplant to go over some nice risotto. Then I dug out some hearts of Romaine lettuce from the fridge and tossed a Caesar salad. I sliced up the roast, laid it on a platter and dressed it in its own juices. I placed it on the impromptu buffet table along with salad, potatoes, butter, sour cream, chives and some cream cheese for good measure.
A short while later, my family and friends were more calm, reasonable, and slightly more sober. While they helped themselves to the largess, I zipped around making sure my crazy cockatiel and cat were taken care of. And I remembered to throw the mini-bakery stuff on the banquet pyre, too.
I re-entered the living room to a chorus of, “Chestnuts roasting on an open fire.” Apparently Ethel found my ‘Yuletide Harmony – The Sounds of Christmas’ video. It features a ‘live’ Yule log burning in ‘real’ time, while Christmas carols play in the background. Ethel loves it. I do, too. Just not so much in August.
“Uh, chilly?” I asked Ethel.
She shrugged. “I figured we could use something calm. Too bad you don’t have a real fireplace,” she said.
I nodded, but wondered when Ethel’s hormonal thermostat thingy would stop acting whacky.
Vinnie settled down in front of the TV Yule log. Jim settled alongside him. Everyone else settled sleepily and stared blankly at the screen. Julie Andrews began to sing ‘My Favorite Things’. Why is that considered a Christmas song? I’ve always wondered about that.
After Ike began to snore, I poked them all awake, hoping that visions of leaving would dance through their heads. As my slumberous herd yawned and stretched, the doorbell rang. I grimaced and opened the door bravely, fearing another visitor. A woman clad in party wear greeted me. “It’s alright! They’re not dead!”
Ordinarily I would have figured this was just another visit from an enthusiastic Jehovah’s Witness. For some reason, Jehovah’s Witnesses visit my neighborhood a lot. However, this evening-wear version was a new breed. She was clad in a hot-pink silk jacket and electric green slacks. Her eyes were smeared with lots of lime green eye shadow that matched the streaks in her hair. She also sported an air-brushed beach-scene manicure, and wore about as much gold jewelry as a small third world nation.
Vito lumbered up behind me, yawning and stretching. “Hi ya, Miriam,” he said sleepily.
Miriam. Oh. Yeah. Right. Miriam. Didn’t recognize her with the green streaks. Last time I saw her, they were fushcia. Then again, that was last Christmas.
Miriam’s my neighbor on the other side of Vito. Miriam Gladstein, the Happy Widow. That’s how she introduced herself to me when I first moved in, while I was holding the bottom half of a mahogany dresser: “Miriam Gladstein – the Happy Widow! Pleasure to meet you, I’m sure. My husband died eight years ago. He was a cheap S.O.B.. Never let me have a nickel. After I scraped together enough cash to get the carpet washed, that’s when I found $50,000 under it! No wonder it was hard to vacuum. The kid cleaning the carpet found it! Lucky for me that kid was real honest.
So I tipped him a hundred bucks! Altogether we found $358,625 stashed across the house! The ceiling, the box spring, behind the medicine cabinet, the garage – you name it. Saul would have bust a gut to know I’d found that money, or tipped anyone a hundred dollars! Ha! I sold that old dump, moved here, and got an African Grey, a parakeet and two Conjures. Did I mention I love birds? He never let me have none of them. I found a special vet for mine, too – it costs lots. Ha!” In the time it took for Miriam to introduce herself to me, I had lugged the dresser all the way upstairs, placed it, and packed it full of clothes.
“Oh, Vito, I was hoping you were here!” Miriam cried.
I looked at Vito. He rolled his eyes. “Well, you know, I do live next door, ha ha,” he said.
“Of course, of course, ha ha!” Miriam agreed. “I saw Muriel’s car here, and figured she’d want to know the news, seeing as Henry goes to St. Bart’s and all.” She looked around. “I hope I’m not interrupting a party or anything,” Miriam said in a hopeful voice that told me she hoped exactly the opposite, clearly glad she was all decked out with some place to go.
“Sorry, no, not at all; please come in,” I said.
“Actually, Mu’s got some news tonight,” Vito grinned.
“Really?” Miriam asked hungrily. She was unable to resist the lure of neighborhood gossip.
“Yeah, Muriel’s gonna be a great-aunt!”
Miriam pursed her lips and stared at me.
“No! No! It’s not me! I’m not pregnant!” I yelped quickly, holding my hands out in front of me.
“I am,” Ethel called out from the living room.
“My sister Ethel; my brother-in-law Ike,” I introduced quickly. “And Ma,” I added.
“Louise,” Ma clarified.
Miriam nodded and walked around the room, pumping hands. “Miriam Gladstein, the Happy Widow…” she began. I went back into the kitchen to refresh my drink, and whip up a batch O’Brioche. After all, I knew I had the time.
I came back into the conversation a lot more buttery but no less informed. “So, Ethel, you are the one who is expecting?” Miriam asked.
“Yup,” Ike beamed back for both of them.
“Mazel tov!” Miriam said, “This calls for a celebration!”
Vito held up a hand. “Just a second, just a second – we got just the thing, Miriam,” he said, and went into the kitchen to dispense a Rusty Squirrel for the newest guest. I looked at Ma and Mu. They shrugged.
“Well, I guess you’ve been too caught up with your news, what to be watching the TV news and all,” Miriam sipped.
Then the TV sang out joyfully, “We wish you a Merry Christmas! We wish you a Merry Christmas! We wish you a Merry Christmas! And a happy New Year!”
Miriam looked around at us, opened her mouth, and closed it. That was the extent of her trout impersonation. She shrugged and took a really big sip from her Fleet Cosmo. She came back up with a pinkish frothy mustache. In keeping with the incidental Hallmark Christmas theme in my living room, she looked a bit like the Little Drummer Boy with his painted on smile.
“Well, it turns out Henry’s just about burned his fingers off. Involved in some kind of arson, according to Norma,” Miriam said with a dismissive smirk. “What an imagination. It’s getting so a person can’t even barbeque a brisket around here without being accused of some goofball scheme,” she said. “Remember when she forgot she signed up for call waiting? And thought the call-waiting beeping was her wire being tapped?”
Aunt Muriel, Vito and I collectively rolled our eyes and nodded. It had taken Aunt Muriel the better part of a weekend to walk Norma through those instructions. And a proportionate volume of Absolut to recover from administering the call waiting tutorial.
“Anyway, he and the Mrs. got taken to the hospital on account of the flare up,” Miriam continued, and sipped.
“Are they okay?” Aunt Muriel asked.
Miriam shrugged. “Except for their eyebrows, I think they’ll be fine,” she said.
“What happened to their eyebrows?” Ma asked.
“Singed right off. They probably look like a couple of peeled eggs.
“Anyway,” Miriam continued pointedly and turning to Vito after another long slurp, “I know how you have plans to have, uh… coffee with Henry like usual tomorrow morning. You know, like you do every third Thursday of the month? But since I heard the news, like I just told you about, Henry might not be feeling so up to it, on account of being so crisp and all,” she said emphatically.
Vito nodded blankly. “Oh, jeez, sure. That’s completely understandable.”
“But if you like, I could give Henry the book you keep meaning to give him. I mean, I’m sure he’ll miss it,” Miriam said breathily, flushed and pleased in thinking she might possibly be involved in some kind of dramatic secret mission.
Vito thunk hard, then dropped into a chair. Along with the penny. “Oh, yeah! Sure! Right!” He beamed. “Actually, I got it right here. I put it in Mina’s basement here for, uh… safekeeping,” he said and then went thumpity-thump like downstairs. For a big, round guy, Vito always surprises me at how swift of foot he can be. But I guess that had its plusses in his former career.
I looked at Aunt Muriel. She invited Miriam into my make-shift banquet hall to partake of the repasts. I just hoped she’d leave soon after, before all the effects of her cocktail kicked in.
We all settled back down with our various reinforcements of food and drink. “…five G-O-L-D rings!” sang sappily from the flickering tape. Miriam looked at me. I shrugged. She shrugged back, and chewed. Miriam had it right. What you don’t know can’t burp you.
Vito came back up the stairs waving a plastic grocery bag crammed full with a lot of stuff that did not look in any way, shape or form like a book.
“Here you go!” he said happily, coming in through the dining room and holding the bag out to Miriam.
“What kind of a book is that?” Annie asked.
Vito looked around. Ma looked at the floor. Aunt Muriel’s eyebrows shot up and waved in place over her head. A thin orange line trickled along Vito’s shirt collar.
“It’s a Book Club book. Vito gets it in installments,” Bauser lied.
“Oh,” Annie said, and nestled back down into her corner of the sofa.
Vito nodded his head up and down a lot and smiled. “Yeah, that’s it!” He grinned. “Here, Miriam, I’ll just show yous out here.”
And he hustled her out the front door. She flushed and handed her glass and fork to me on the way out. From the front porch, we heard Vito bidding Miriam farewell. We heard Miriam bidding Vito farewell. Then we heard what sounded like a lot of boxes tumbling all over my front walk. So we all went over and looked out the windows. About two dozen boxes of prescription samples lay littered across my walk and tumbled onto the lawn. Vito and Miriam were picking them up and shoving them like Easter Eggs into Miriam’s beach bag size purse. Vito looked up at the audience in my living room windows. He waved and pointed to the ripped grocery bag he held in his other hand.
That was when Miriam clapped her hand right over Vito’s mouth. “My purse broke. I keep all my samples in here. My doctor insists I try samples for weeks before he’ll prescribe the real McCoy,” she shouted. We all nodded back in acknowledgment.
“Well, I guess it’s getting to be that time,” Aunt Muriel said, giving Ma the ‘high sign’ to get Annie away from the window. “Let’s help Mina put some of these things away.”
Everyone agreed – including Ike, who stayed on the sofa and put his feet up. I looked back out the front window and saw Miriam and Vito gesticulating loudly, their hands crammed full of samples. I looked closer: one of the samples was labeled ‘Viagra’.
“It’s always a surprise, isn’t it?” Annie asked, standing right next to me. I jumped. I thought she’d followed Aunt Muriel into the kitchen. “Sorry,” Annie said, looking out at Vito and Miriam. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”
“Oh.
Yeah. Right. No biggie,” I lied
“But you have to agree, it’s pretty surprising,” she said.
“What’s that?”
“The lengths people will go to for medications.”
A dim roaring started to pound in my ears and I realized it was either all the blood in my body rushing to my head or away from it. I didn’t blame it. I figured that most of my blood cells didn’t want to get caught by a U.S. Marshal’s assistant, either.
“Well, you know, she is older…” I stalled.
“That’s why it’s always surprising. Who’d have thought an old gal like that would have a boyfriend on the side, with, ermm… issues?” Annie asked matter-of-factly. “Nice of Vito to cover for her,” she added.
The pounding started to fade. I realized I had been holding my breath for a few months, then exhaled.
“I wonder if Vito’s jealous?” Annie mused. I stared at her, afraid to ask about the basis for that convoluted logic. Then, indicating the platter of half-gnawed canapés she’d been holding, she asked me, “You want another one of these?”
“Uh, no thanks,” I said.
“Suit yourself.” She shrugged, popping a slice of bologna pie into her mouth and heading toward the kitchen.
I looked out the window to see Miriam waving bye-bye to Vito, her purse bulging open with its contraband contents. I sighed. That was as close to federal entanglement as I wanted to get with Mrs. Phang’s pharmaceutical folly. Then I shrugged. It could have been worse. It could have been Ma’s or Aunt Muriel’s pocketbooks full of Viagra.
All the food got put away, as well as divvied up, since I basically had enough food left over for a small wedding. Everything else got washed and cleaned and put away.
I went into the kitchen to find Ma and Mu arguing.
“Yes, I am,” said Aunt Muriel
“No, you’re not,” Ma replied.
“Yes – I – AM!”
“AB-SO-LUTE-LY NOT!”
“What’s the matter?” I asked stupidly.
Aunt Muriel rolled her eyes at me. “I told your mother that I would schedule another massage for her, to make up for what got undone tonight, and she’s refusing.”