by Lizz Lund
I was behind Henry in line. He turned around. His nose was bandaged. He looked like Scarecrow from the Wizard of Oz. I stared at him. I didn’t mean to, but I did. I mean, it was as plain as the nose on his face.
“Accident!” he said, nodding enthusiastically.
“Sorry,” I replied.
Henry nodded up and down some more in agreement. He got his coffee, and I dawdled behind, trying to leave a good, large space between us. This was getting weird.
I got my coffee, turned around, and bumped right into Mrs. Miller’s walker.
“Watch it!” she snapped kindly.
Her wrist was bandaged. Huh.
Then I backed up into a man with a sliding toupee and a Band-Aid on his forehead. I apologized, extricated myself and stood in line at the brunch buffet while contemplating running vs. walking away. I looked and saw a lone remaining profiterole. I sighed gratefully, took a napkin and reached for it when a wheelchair rolled over my foot.
“OUCH!”
“Sorry,” the wheelchair driver said.
“Really is crowded here today, isn’t it?” I tried politely, rubbing my dead foot.
The wheelchair maven peered around. “Yes. This church could use a few good funerals,” she said, grabbing the profiterole with her gauze bandaged hand, and rolled away.
I looked at the buffet table, and quickly slid a donut and some grapes on my plate. I exited the line and took a seat at an empty round dining table. I sipped my coffee and looked around. The line of seniors waiting at the brunch buffet looked like the parade of the walking wounded. A bunch of kids ran around, their moms chasing after them. Some teenage boys conspired in a corner. Near them sat Mike Green and four other suits. Gack.
I turned around quick. I pretended to sip my coffee, thankful I was on church grounds so my prayer about not putting my family or friends in jail hopefully went on the express lane. I looked straight ahead, keeping my eyes averted from the U.S. Marshal table, and saw Ma and Mu and Tina Phang in a huddle in the kitchen. Oh boy.
Just then, Vito and Miriam ambled over and sat down next to me.
“Hiya, Toots,” Vito said.
“Good morning!” Miriam added, bobbing her head up and down excitedly. Her plastic red and yellow polka dot drop earrings swung wildly with her head. Which was okay, because they matched her red and yellow polka dot sundress, red and yellow polka dot head band, and an equally matching polka dot neck scarf and sandals. It was impressive.
Miriam sipped her coffee, and tucked into her slice of seven-layer chocolate cake. Vito speared a piece of his cantaloupe.
“Good morning,” I said, shifting my eyeballs repeatedly to the right, toward Mike Green’s table.
“Whatsa matter, Toots, you gotta somethin’ in your eye?” Vito asked.
I sighed. “Not exactly,” I replied, leadingly.
“Huh?” Vito asked.
I rolled my eyes and threw my napkin on the ground. Vito shrugged and bent over to pick it up. I bent over quick and grabbed the napkin with him.
“Green’s here,” I hissed, doubled over, shifting my eyes to the right again.
Vito sat up and handed me my napkin. “Yeah, I know,” he said and shrugged, and ate some more cantaloupe. I shook my head.
Just then, Trixie and K. joined us.
“Morning!” K. gushed, looking around at us all, then waved to Mike Green. I sighed and looked over. Mike Green nodded from behind his sunglasses. The others suits copied. Yeesh.
“Well, isn’t this nice!” K. went on.
I looked at him. “Since when do you go to church?” I asked.
“Oh, I just thought it would be a nice change,” K. lied, and bit into his apple turnover.
Trixie leaned in. “Since your Aunt Muriel gave us all marching orders last night,” she whispered. K. choked.
“How did Aunt Muriel get you to come to church?” I asked.
“She traded invitations to the Conestoga Cabana Cup,” Trixie said, smiling.
K. nodded. “I understand there’s quite a diverse crowd,” he beamed.
“Yeah, with uniforms,” Trixie sighed.
Well, their social lives were looking up.
Just then, Mike Green sat down at the table with us, along with a Junior suit. He took off his sunglasses, and looked directly at Vito.
“Good morning, Vito,” Green said.
“Vlad,” Vito answered.
Green blanched. “I’m sorry, I think…” Green began.
“My name is Vladimir Pryzchntchynzski,” Vito said.
“Gezundheit,” a man at the table next to us answered. Vito nodded thanks.
“Otherwise known as, here in Lancaster, Vito Spaghetti,” Vito – Vlad – finished.
Mike Green hung his head. “You know what this means, right?” he asked.
Vito nodded. “It’s time I come out, Mike,” Vito answered.
“Oh, you go, girlfriend!” K. cried. We all stared at K. “Well, coming out of the closet needs support!” K. said.
“Wrong closet,” Vito answered.
K. looked at Mike hopefully.
“Sorry, no closet,” Mike said.
“Oh well.” K. shrugged and finished his apple turnover.
“Really?” Trixie asked, looking all hopeful at Mike.
“Really,” Mike answered, looking back at her just as hopefully.
I rubbed my neck, because I couldn’t rub the pain in my butt.
“So, where do we go from here, Mike?” Vito asked.
“Dunno,” Mike answered truthfully.
Trixie pushed her untouched slice of lemon meringue pie at him. “Here, you’ll feel better. Really; Mina always says so,” Trixie said. I kicked her under the table. She kicked me back.
“Thanks,” Mike Green answered simply, and had some pie.
After chewing for what seemed a millennium, Mike turned to Vito. Vlad. Whoever.
“This means you’re not in the Witness Protection Program anymore,” he said. “It’s out of my hands.”
Vito nodded. “No problemo.”
Mike Green sighed. “It was nice knowing you, Vito. Vlad.”
“Same here,” Vito answered.
“Shame about your niece’s boyfriend and all,” Green added.
“Fiancé.”
“Really?” Vito nodded. “Well, I wish them both luck once he’s out,” Green said.
“They’ve got good heads on their shoulders, mostly,” Vito said.
Green nodded. “They’re pretty much just kids. Hopefully this was just a good scare to set them straight.”
“What’s wrong with not being straight?” K. asked.
I looked up and perceived Jr. Suit standing up straighter with what appeared to be righteous indignation. This was going to be a bit of a change for Green. Then I looked down and saw Trixie’s hand on Green’s knee. Green was going to be in for a lot of changes, too. Costume changes, that is.
“Well, gotta be going,” Green said, extracting his knee from Trixie’s clutches.
“What about the Burning Buy-A-Lots?” Trixie pouted, upset at the abrupt departure.
Mike shrugged. “Who doesn’t want to burn a Buy-A-Lot?” he asked. We all nodded. Mike looked at Vito. “By the way, I thought you were Jewish?”
“We’re converting!” Miriam piped up, standing up at Green in full polka-dots and non-moonbeams.
Green rubbed his forehead. “Let me see here. I just want to make sure I’ve got this straight, okay?”
“I wish there was a lot less emphasis on straight,” K. muttered. Jr. Suit sniffed.
“Okay, Vito – Vlad – is out of the closet; no more witness protection policies,” Green said. Vito nodded. “Next, no one here in this room has anything to do with any of the burning Buy-A-Lots, right?”
“Agreed!” sang the chorus of burnt onlookers.
“Last,” Green added speculatively, “does anyone here have any kind of prescription s
ample boxes they’ve actually bought in the last month or so? You know that buying and selling prescription samples is illegal, right?” Blank looks abounded. “I thought so,” Green said. “Just to be clear, selling prescription samples – for whatever reason – is punishable by law.”
We hung our heads.
Trixie bounded up and grabbed Green’s elbow in hers. “So what are you up to while you’re here in Lancaster? Care to see the sights?” she asked.
“Of course!” K. added. “We’ve got extra tickets to Polo!”
Trixie glowed at him.
“Actually, I don’t know…” Green began.
“I do,” Trixie answered, and led him out of the door under minimal false protest. The other Suits followed.
Jr. Suit handed K. his card. “Call me,” he mouthed. K. nodded happily.
I stood up from the table and hoped to beat a hasty retreat. I figured I had done my Sunday morning’s work for God and catering. Then Ma appeared.
“What’s the matter?” she asked.
“Kind of a headache,” I said.
Evelyn, Henry, Ed, Ernie and Mrs. Phang immediately offered up sample size boxes of pain relievers, anti-inflammatories and diuretics. I looked at their outstretched, gauze wrapped hands. Either they were all severely accident prone or they were pretending to be extras in a Curse of the Mummy remake.
“Or you could have some of these,” Miriam said brightly, standing next to me, holding her beach bag pocketbook wide open. I looked inside. It was a pharmaceutical tricks or treats bag. I reached in and grabbed a packet.
“Oh, those are really good. They work just like a charm,” Miriam said from one side of me.
“Yeah, they come in real handy,” Vito said from the other side. I looked at him. He leaned in. “They can be a real blessing sometimes. Just like a banana in the desert,” he said.
“Don’t you mean manna in the desert?”
“Hey, that’s pretty good, too,” he said.
I pocketed the packet, and walked over to a trash bin to toss out my empty coffee cup and any leftover logical thought. I saw Aunt Muriel, Ma and Mrs. Phang in full post brunch deconstruction mode. I pitched in, and we planned how they would pick me for the special Conestoga Cabana Cup polo match later that afternoon. When all that was arranged, I wandered off, wondering what social outfit I had on hand that would work with my Herman Munster Crocs.
Vito came up next to me. “Can I hitch a ride?” he asked. I nodded and handed him his keys.
“What happened to Miriam?” I asked.
“She’s got a community theater audition,” he answered. “Besides, we’ve been seeing a lot of each other. I need some time off for good behavior,” he said, rubbing his forehead. I handed him my sample packet of pain relievers.
We headed out and Vito drove us back up Orange Street. A few traffic lights later, we were back on Clover Nook Court and parked in Mt. Driveway just behind Bauser’s car. We got out and found Bauser, Jim and Norman camped out on my front porch, reading the Sunday paper and drinking Krumpthf’s. Bauser and Norman, not Jim.
Stanley yipped his greetings from inside Vito’s half of the townhouses. Vito opened up his front door and Stanley bounced out at Jim. Without looking up from his paper, Bauser threw a tennis ball absentmindedly into the front yard. Jim and Stanley barked after it.
“What’s up?” I asked, sitting down on the stoop.
“Did you read the paper? Do you know about Myron?” Bauser asked.
“Sort of,” I said.
Norman looked up from his copy of the paper, shaking his head. “Talk about the three stooges,” he said.
“Why?” I asked.
Norman held up the paper and read, “…a trail of evidence found included an engraved wristwatch, address book and a color copy of Myron Stumf’s driver’s license.”
“So that’s what alerted the police to investigate Myron? But how did they find out about the packet sniffers?”
“That was easy,” Norman said. “I just programmed the sniffer to send a confirmation transmission to Myron’s work email,” he said.
“That was pretty sneaky,” I said.
“And unnecessary,” Bauser added. Norman nodded. “Myron was either dumb enough or full of himself enough that he thought it was safe to use his work email account to communicate with the hackers in Bangladesh.”
I shook my head. It was hard to imagine Myron and Howard in jail.
“Wonder who’s going to take over for them both at EEJIT?” I mused aloud.
Norman and Bauser looked at me. “Didn’t you know?” Bauser asked.
“What?”
“EEJIT’s parent company, Effhue, got bought out by Wurst Marketing,” Norman said. “In fact, they wasted no time. Their ad’s on the same page as the article. ‘The Wurst Group. Because your business deserves The Wurst.’”
We stared at each other.
“I like it,” Vito said.
We looked at him. He shrugged.
Bauser folded his paper. “All this makes me hungry. Want to go out for brunch?”
Jim sat up, wagging his tail, and tilted over onto Norman’s lap.
“Actually we just got back,” Vito said.
“You went out to brunch?” Norman asked, crestfallen.
“Not really; just brunch buffet at St. Bart’s,” I answered.
“Oh, well that doesn’t count,” Norman said. “Maybe you could whip us up a little something?”
I shrugged. “Okay, but it’s gotta be quick. Got another polo thingy with Auntie and Ma,” I said. “You guys wanna come?”
“Actually, yes,” Bauser answered truthfully.
“You want to borrow my bike helmet?” Norman asked.
I cringed. “No, I think I can handle it this time.”
Norman shrugged. “It’s your noggin.”
“You think I can bring Stanley, Toots?” Vito asked.
“Sure; it’s a family thing,” I answered.
After some more polo Q&A, we went inside and I got Bauser to watch over a skillet of sausages and scrambled eggs, while Vito and Norman rummaged through my refrigerator to improvise a polo picnic. Jim, Stanley and Vinnie sat hopefully on the sidelines. I rolled my eyes and went upstairs to change into something that didn’t resemble restaurant service industry wear. I didn’t want to risk another case of mistaken identity again while amongst food servers.
My answering machine light blinked hello at me.
“Hi, Mina, this is James,” James’ voice said. I smiled. Well, he was pretty good-looking. And had great hands. And was reasonably calm. And, I realized, available. And calling me! “I’ve been hired for a bridal massage party next Saturday,” he said good-naturedly. “The bride was asking me about finding a low-key caterer, nothing too fancy, to cater for her and her girlfriends. So, umm… I thought of you. It’s just a small party of 5 ladies. Give me a call if you think you’d like the job,” he said, and left his phone number. “Oh, and maybe afterward we can go out and get a bite to eat, too,” he added, and hung up.
It may have been several hundred years since my last boyfriend, but this sounded vaguely familiar. It sounded like an actual invitation to an actual date. Huh. And gainful employment. Double huh!
I hummed happily to myself, went into my closet and suddenly saw dozens of wardrobe possibilities. I opted for an upscale Bohemian look, to pull off the comfy Crocs. I even put on make-up and cologne, and trotted downstairs.
The boys were standing about happily munching sausages and eggs, including Vinnie and Stanley and Jim. I looked on the counter, where several hundred deli items had been lined up. Vito shrugged.
“We got confused,” he said.
I went into the pantry, dug up a loaf of French bread, slit it in half and spread one half lightly with mayonnaise, and the other half with jarred pesto sauce. I piled on the assorted lunchmeats and cheeses. Then I grabbed my rolling pin and pressed the sandwich until it was flattene
d into a mouth size height. I wrapped the whole thing up in plastic wrap, and grabbed some pickles and pasta salad to round out the meal. I looked in the freezer and dug out a chocolate cream pie that only needed to be defrosted before being served. Then, lastly, I placed everything in both coolers, including Bauser’s Krumpthf’s, several bottles of wine, Pelligrino and some doggie biscuits.
The doorbell rang, and Vito let Ma and Aunt Muriel come in. They stared aghast at the stocked coolers, while Bauser and Norman explained. Ma and Aunt Muriel heaved collective sighs of relief. I patted Vinnie on the head and locked the door, as the boys carried the coolers out of the house. Then I climbed into Aunt Muriel’s Lexus, while the boys loaded the cooler into the trunk of Vito’s Towncar.
“Wow, that’s a really big trunk,” Bauser said.
Vito nodded. “Yeah. You know, even with all that stuff, it can actually fit an entire person, all rolled up like,” he said. Bauser and Norman stared at him. “You wanna try it?”
“Maybe some other time,” Norman said, closing the trunk.
Vito shrugged, whistled for Jim and Stanley, and threw a doggie Frisbee into the backseat. Jim and Stanley leapt in after it. Bauser and Stanley did a quick ‘Once! Twice! Three! SHOOT!’ behind the trunk of Vito’s car. Bauser climbed into the front seat. Norman sat in back with the dogs. I wasn’t sure who had won.
We wound our way back across town, and eventually onto the polo grounds. The pleasant lady we’d seen collecting entry fees last week was back at her post.
“Well, welcome back, so nice to see you again,” she began, handing Aunt Muriel a large packet of information. Then she stared at me. She backed way and reached into a basket with more pre-printed information. She returned, and knocked on the window in the backseat. I rolled the window down, and she handed me a bumper-sticker size warning: POLO BALLS SOMETIMES EXTEND BEYOND THE PLAYING AREA. WE ARE NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR ANY BODILY INJURIES. ALSO, PATRONS ARE REQUESTED TO EXTINGUISH ALL CIGARETTES, CIGARS, PIPES AND OTHER LIT SMOKING TOBACCO PRIOR TO ENTERING THE CHUKKER TENT.
I cringed, waved bye-bye and we set off to find a spot to park. We found one near the end of the field, very near a goal post. Aunt Muriel and Ma looked at each other nervously.