by Lizz Lund
The alarm went off about at 7:00 a.m. Which would have been fine, if I had gotten up when it went off. Unfortunately, repeatedly hitting the snooze button for additional zzzs doesn’t make waking up on time a predictable activity. I think I hit the sleep button the first two times. I recall Vinnie hitting it once or twice, too. But I’m not sure. I was asleep. Fast, fast, asleep.
CHAPTER 14
(Friday)
The phone rang. It was K.
“RISE AND SHINE, MISS SCARLET!” I held the receiver from my face like a day old trout. “TODAY IS YOUR LUCKY DAY!”
“Huh?” I replied intelligently.
“I’ve rung GILL-I-ANNN!!”
“Gillian?” I ventured, dipping a virtual big toe into K.’s frenzy.
“GILL-I-AN! Of the HUSH-HUSH New York supper club!!!”
My mind rummaged feebly through the rank and file of stock excuses. Nothing fit.
“Remember? TOMORROW we will have our EXPERIENCE!!” K. squawked proudly. Crap. I thought about travelling three hours in each direction in the Doo-doo. Crap was a pretty good description.
“Who is ‘us all’?” I asked.
“Well first, before I rang you – I know how grumpy you are first thing in the A.M., dearie,” K. teased, “Armand is coming.”
“You mean they still haven’t put him back on weekends?” I asked.
“No, the bat rastards. But he feels the Supper Club is necessary professional research,” K. replied matter-of-factly. “And of course I thought to include Ida and Walter, since Gillian’s invitation is for five.”
I sat up. “WALTER? YOU INVITED WALTER?” I asked hysterically.
Walter is a very, very nice guy (he’s from Lancaster) and he’s also very, very large. Walter is about 6’3” and weighs four thousand pounds. So, unsurprisingly, traveling with Walter can be … problematic.
“Well, he rang me up and I was so excited about our news… I was just so eager to tell someone… and he does appreciate a decent meal…”
K. has a good heart. I sometimes wonder what happened to his brains.
“K. – if it’s not an ‘all you can eat’ you better make sure Walter’s well advised. You know, fed, beforehand.”
“Done.”
“The Doo-doo doesn’t have A.C.”
“We’ll open the windows.”
I sighed thinking about the broken car window of my stinky van. K. dove into the silence of my non-response. “Saturday, 2pm-ish; you pick me up. Then we’ll pick up Ida, then Walter. We should get into the city about five-ish; perhaps have a beverage? Our reservations are for six-thirty!”
I yawned. “What time is it?” I asked lazily.
“Oh, it’s not too early. It’s just after nine.”
I felt my scalp catch fire. “Gotta go! Call ya later!”
I slammed the phone down and launched myself off the bed. Vinnie flew off beside me and raced me for the stairs. I checked the coolers – I was in luck, and very glad I invested in the brand name coolers that everyone told me I didn’t need. I took care of Vinnie and Marie and threw myself into the bathroom for a light speed shower. Luckily, I landed softly. After that I dressed and quickly pushed my hair back into another wet pony tail.
I ran across my front lawn and banged on Vito’s door to make sure hijacking his car was okay. He answered, wearing a fluorescent peach Hawaiian shirt, electric blue shorts and holding a newspaper.
“Hey, Toots,” he beamed, bridge fully in place.
“Hey, Vito, mind if I borrow your car this morning?” I asked.
Vito sweated. “Hold on, Toots,” he said, entering back into his secret lair and leaving me out on the front porch. I surveyed the damage post-flaming-doo-doo. The porch still had a freshly charred look to it. And smelled a bit like burnt doo-doo. Pew.
I stepped off Vito’s front porch and waited on his walkway.
Vito finally stepped back out. “Sorry for keeping you, Toots.” He beamed again. This time his bridge was gone. “I had to arrange for alternative arrangements,” he explained.
“Oh, of course you can borrow Vito’s car ANY-TIME! We’re happy to help!” Miriam beamed as she exploded out the front door after Vito, clad in her previous evening’s getup with her turban slightly askew. “Here, dearie.” Miriam smiled, handing Vito his MIA bridge.
“Thanks, Vito,” I said, running toward the safety of my garage. I thought I heard a distant “Toots,” in the background, but it was muffled by sound of Miriam’s giggles and the slam of Vito’s front door.
I started loading Vito’s car with the breakfast bounty. The phone rang. I looked at the clock, saw it was 10:15 a.m. and ignored the phone. It was probably Auntie. I shrugged. It was a massage party, right? So Auntie and Ma could go first, right?
I finished loading Vito’s Towncar, cranked up the AC and I flew across town like a maniacal meals-on-wheels.
I got to Auntie’s with one of Vito’s floor mats slightly worse for the wear after baptism by salad dressing. The rest of the tubs and platters were a bit askew from the hairpin turns I inflicted, but otherwise they survived. I hefted out the first cooler, exceedingly proud of myself, and headed inside Auntie’s house.
I found Auntie, Ma and the massage guy sitting at Auntie’s kitchen table sipping coffee and perusing various editions of Meals and Deals magazines.
“Uh, hi,” I said brightly.
They looked at me like as if I had Jell-O spouting out my nose.
“Picnic?” the cute massage guy smiled at me.
Aunt Muriel clapped her hand to her forehead. “Mina, you didn’t!” she said, shaking her head.
“She can and she did,” Ma answered for me. “What’s for brunch?” she asked.
“Brunch? Hey, that’s great,” Massage Man beamed.
I stared at him. Pieces of the usual equation began to float toward the front of my mind and summed together: Gourmet cooking magazines + VERY good looking + very, very nice must = gay.
I shrugged and plunked the first cooler down. “Thanks. I’ll be right back; I’ve just got a couple more coolers in the car,” I said, retreating.
Massage Man leapt up and was at my side in a culinary flash. “Let me, please,” he said, walking past me and opening the door to Vito’s car.
“Ah, sure…” I said.
Before I knew it, he had the two other coolers out, and was hefting them together inside the house ahead of me. Wow. He could carry two coolers at one time. It was impressive. And useful. I looked down. A half dozen prescription sample boxes lay scattered at my feet, yelping for attention. I scooped them up, patted them, and put them back under the floor mats, locking the doors.
Massage Man set the two coolers down on the kitchen floor, right next to where Ma was unpacking the first cooler and spreading the contents out on the counters. Conversely, Aunt Muriel sat at the kitchen table with her head in her hands.
“You were just supposed to show up for a massage empty-handed,” she said. “This was supposed to relax you.”
“I know, Auntie, thanks,” I said, “but getting ready to get relaxed made me really, really nervous, so I just made a little something to calm me down.”
Massage Man coughed, put a hand to his mouth, and turned away. He turned back around, shaking his head and smiling at me. Again. I stared at him. He stared back at me. In the distant background I heard the theme from ‘Fistful of Dollars’ playing, accompanied by Ma shuffling plates and slamming things into the microwave.
“Are you making fun of me?” I demanded, hand on hip.
“Yes.”
I huffed, and thought about high-tailing it out of there. I didn’t want some sarcastic massage mope putting his paws on me, congratulating himself that he was relaxing me when all he’d accomplished so far was making me uptight. And losing another night’s sleep.
I huffed again. Aunt Muriel flew up and over the kitchen table and assumed referee position. “Mina, dear,” she began cordially, �
�this is James. He’s your masseuse this morning, dear.”
“I remember,” I said, trying not to pout at him. He smiled back brilliantly.
The microwave binged. Ma shuffled another plate inside and re-set it.
“James; Mina. Mina; James,” Auntie continued.
“Not Jim? Or Jimmy?” I asked, accepting his outstretched hand – and then only because Auntie’s glare made me.
“No. James,” he replied, holding my hand in his cool, strong, smooth hand.
“Oh,” I said, all noncommittal.
I looked down. He was still holding my hand. Aunt Muriel looked flustered. Ma banged several more plates into the microwave. We were still holding hands. That was about when I started blushing.
“So very nice to meet you, uh, James,” I said, pumping his hand up and down.
“Brunch is ready!” Ma shouted.
The three of us looked over at the kitchen table. Ma had the table set with four places, and was working at fixing Bloody Marys at the counter.
“Muriel?” Ma asked, pouring multiple shots of Vodka into glasses.
Aunt Muriel surveyed the repast. “Really, Lou, all I usually have for breakfast are a few berries,” she said.
Ma stared at her. “Right then, this one’s yours,” she answered, pouring more Vodka into Aunt Muriel’s glass. “James?” Ma asked.
“Just tomato juice, thanks. I’m on the clock,” he said, smiling at me.
I stared at him. I couldn’t stand it. Way deep down, in his soft brown eyes, I wondered if he was laughing at me, or did I have spinach in my hair?
I heard Ma pouring out more shots and clinking ice cubes into glasses. “All ready,” she said, placing the various beverages on the table.
“Hey, you didn’t ask me,” I said.
“That one’s yours.” She pointed a finger at my place. “Sit.”
“Woof,” I answered and sat down and sipped. And coughed. My Bloody Mary looked a bit anemic compared to the rest of them. Apparently Ma had just waved the tomato juice over my glass as a blessing.
We ended our brunch on a much more congenial note than it began. Mostly because of the Bloody Marys, I suppose. But maybe because I finally relaxed a bit.
“Well, I suppose we better get started,” James said, politely wiping his mouth.
I looked at him. “Huh?” I asked.
“With your massage, Mina,” Auntie answered for me, rubbing her temples with both hands.
Rats. I thought I had obfuscated my way out of this one.
“The table is in there.” Ma pointed toward Auntie’s living room. “Take the sheet, get down to your skivvies in Muriel’s bedroom, drape the sheet around you, lie down on the damn table and proceed to be relaxed,” she ordered.
I stalled. “Someone’s got to clean up.”
Ma and Auntie were up in a flash, plates in hand and water running in the sink.
“We’ve got it; just go!” Ma yelled.
I looked at James. He smiled, took my plate and his and walked over to the sink.
I got up and peered around the corner. There, directly in front of me, stood the dreaded massage table. Waiting. On top of it laid a folded, clean, white sheet.
“Go!” Ma shouted again.
I trudged into the living room, grabbed the sheet and toddled off into Auntie’s bedroom, none too eager to strip down to my skivvies.
I quickly realized I hadn’t been too particular about my skivvy selection that morning, since I began my day shot from guns. I gazed at myself in the mirror, sans everything except for a dreary pair of faded flower print Gramma panties with a slight hole starting at the band. I suspected that there were nuns who wore panties more alluring than mine. And without holes. But if they had holes, maybe they’d be Holy panties?
Clearly the Bloody Mary was taking effect. Which was probably a good thing, since I couldn’t imagine myself in a sober moment agreeing to scamper out into Auntie’s living room wearing only tattered panties and a sheet.
I stepped out into the living room with the sheet wrapped around me, trying to pretend it was the most normal thing in the world. I sat on the sofa and draped an arm across the back of the couch. The sheet slipped off. I grabbed it and held on tight with my armpits like a junior high girl in her first strapless dress. Outside the living room windows, I watched Ma and Auntie sit at the umbrella table, looking at more magazines and catalogues together. The smell of crepes and casserole hung heavy in the air. Maybe they were still hungry?
I started to walk toward the kitchen and was met by James, water glass in hand.
“Here; this is for you,” he said quietly.
“Oh,” I said, taking the glass and holding it.
“You need to drink a lot of water after a massage,” he explained. “It releases a lot of toxins in your body.”
“Uh huh,” I replied. It came out as an unintelligible babble.
“And that Bloody Mary,” he added. “Those things have lots of sodium.”
I shook my head and began to think sober thoughts. Clearly there was more to this massage thing than met the eye. Although James was certainly easy on the eyes. I sighed inwardly. Clearly, as usual, I was attracted to another out of bounds guy.
James helped me onto the massage table, explained the drill, the philosophy of massage, and within moments I was yawning. He turned on some new age music in his portable boom box. “To relax you,” he explained.
“Oh,” I replied, lying face down on my tummy.
“Do you prefer oil or cream?” he asked. I picked my head up. Huh? Were we having salads now? “For your massage,” he clarified.
“Oh. Dunno,” I answered.
“Right. Okay. Well, let’s try this; a lot of people like this,” he said and started rubbing my calves and feet with a warm oil that smelled like rosemary and lavender.
I woke up in the late afternoon light with Aunt Muriel asleep on the sofa to a Classics! movie re-run. I rolled onto my side. It looked like we were in the middle of ‘African Queen’. Auntie snuffled softly in the foreground. I sat up, stiffish and all-over stickyish. I was still wrapped in my sheet. And almost every inch of me was covered in a lavender rosemary scented film. I looked around and saw James’ boom box. It was still on the coffee table, with the water glass on it, and a note that read, ‘Drink this.’ Even though I wondered if I’d grow too big or shrink too small, I realized I was very thirsty and that this might be a good thing to do. I drank the water and wondered into which phase of Alice in Wonderland I would be propelled. Then I got up and shuffled the glass into the kitchen. The dishwasher hummed happily, and my casserole dishes and various serving pieces lay cleaned and drying on Auntie’s kitchen counters. The clock on the microwave over the stove blinked 3:43 p.m. I got out a mini bottle of spring water from Auntie’s fridge and drank that, too.
I walked back into the living room where Auntie was still fast asleep to Humphrey Bogart and Katherine Hepburn battling leeches. I shuddered. I hate leeches. I can’t stand the sight of escargot because I’m pretty sure they’re just French leeches in disguise.
I went into Auntie’s bathroom and showered and dressed. When I came back out, Auntie was awake, flipping the remote control in one hand, with a mug of coffee in the other.
“Brunch was very good, dear,” she said, still flipping. She landed on the local news recap.
“Thanks. I really didn’t mean to go overboard,” I said.
“I know. I just wish you didn’t worry so much,” Auntie said.
I sighed. “I don’t mean to. It’s just my stupid catering disorder.”
“Stop it.”
“I keep trying,” I said.
“No, I mean I wish you’d stop referring to it as a catering disorder,” Auntie said. I looked at her. “You know, your mother and I were talking after you passed out… I mean, were having your massage.”
“I passed out?” Auntie nodded. I was horrified. “What did Ma put in my Bloo
dy Mary?” I asked.
“Nothing more than the usual. But James explained that sometimes stress builds up so much in some people that when they finally relax, they sometimes pass right out. He said it’s a lot like people suffering from sleeping disorders. They have so much sleep deprivation that when they finally get that first good night’s rest, they sleep for days.”
“Oh,” I said.
Auntie sipped her coffee. “He felt very badly for you, dear,” she said. I rolled my eyes. “Luckily you were his only appointment today, otherwise he would have had to wake you to take his table back.”
“I was his only appointment? I thought you and Ma were getting massages too?” I asked.
Auntie sipped. “We lied,” she said.
“Oh. Where’s Ma?”
“Outlets.”
“Oh. That makes sense.”
“By the way, dear, James needs to pick up his equipment tomorrow morning, and I have a hair appointment. Would you be a dear and be here to let him in?” she said.
“Are you lying again?” I asked.
“No, I really do have another hair appointment. I’m due for my dye.”
“Sure,” I said.
“Anyway, your mother and I were talking,” she began again, “and we think that you should get into some kind of restaurant business. Maybe take a job with something already established, to learn the ropes, and then branch out on your own.”
I swallowed. “Auntie, you realize that starting out with no experience in that kind of a business basically means I’d make dishwasher’s pay?”
“Well, it beats flippin’ burgers,” she answered. “Unless of course they’re your own burgers,” she added quickly.
A Botox commercial ended and the news came back on. The news anchorwoman – the same one who’d shown up at Vito’s porch-burning – appeared on the screen.