Barfing in the Backseat
Page 5
“The dude talks weird,” Frankie whispered, covering the phone so the guy on the other end couldn’t hear.
“Weird how?”
“Weird, you’ll see.”
“Hello,” I said, taking the phone and trying to sound way older than eleven. “This is Hank Zipzer here. You might remember me. We stayed in room 319 last night.”
“Excusez-moi, monsieur,” the man said. “Excuse me, but I do not remember every guest and their particular room number.”
Boy, he did sound weird. He sounded like Luke Whitman doing his lame impression of a waiter in a French restaurant. I wondered if that accent was for real.
“Trust me, monsieur,” I said, giving him back a little of the old French accent, “we were there, and loved your establishment. And now I need a favor.”
“That is what I am here for, monsieur,” he said. “To provide comfort at the Comfort-For-U Motel.”
“I left a very important packet of homework under my bed,” I explained. “And I need you to send it to me as quickly as you possibly can…as in now.”
“Now is not good,” he said. “Now is lunchtime.”
“You don’t understand, monsieur. This is urgent. Can’t lunch wait a little while?”
“Snails in garlic butter sauce cannot wait. They must be eaten at the precise moment they come out of the oven.”
“So I guess a quick peanut butter and jelly sandwich is out of the question?”
“Ah, that is what’s wrong with you Americans. You don’t understand the delights of a fine French meal dancing across your taste buds, being helped down your throat with an aged wine over a slow two-hour lunch.”
“Two hours?” I gasped. “That can’t happen. I can’t wait that long. Sir, I need you to go to the post office now. I must have that packet by tomorrow morning or…”
“Or what, monsieur?”
“Or…um…America will lose out on who I could have been because my parents will kill me, especially my father. You don’t understand, sir, how important it is that I get that packet as soon as possible.”
“This is what I mean. You Americans are always hurrying someplace.”
“I’m hurrying to become the future of America. Do you want to stop my journey right here?”
“No, I want to enjoy my snails with a crisp garden salad.”
I was so frustrated, I handed Frankie the phone and started walking in a circle. Frankie dove into the conversation feetfirst, smooth as only he can be.
“First of all, monsieur, sir,” he said. “On behalf of all Americans, and I know this is long overdue, I want to thank you for giving us the Statue of Liberty.”
I stopped walking in a circle and just stared at this wonderful dude named Frankie Townsend. What hat did he pull that fact out of? How did he even know the Statue of Liberty was French?
“And second of all,” Frankie went on, “let me just tell you that my favorite food, and I know you will understand this, is the french fry—done, of course, the French way.”
“Ah, you mean frites,” the French dude said. I could hear his voice coming from the phone. “Crispy on the outside but soft like a feather pillow on the inside.”
“Obviously, you and I understand each other,” Frankie said. “And I need you to understand that this is an emergency. My friend Hank has made a mistake, and you and I have the power to help him correct it. America and France, working together. Side by side. Building a better future.”
There was a silence on the other end of the phone. Frankie had the guy thinking. Then he went in for the kill.
“Tell me, monsieur, sir,” he said with big-time drama in his voice. “With the friendship of our two nations in mind, how can you not go to the post office and mail that packet as quickly as you can?”
I couldn’t hear the French dude’s answer, but I saw a smile spread across Frankie’s face.
“Excellent,” Frankie said into the phone. “And what is your name, again? Oh, Pierre Chapeau. That’s the greatest name I’ve ever heard in my whole life. So, Pierre, I guess we’re finished now?”
The smile suddenly disappeared from Frankie’s face.
“Oh right, overnight delivery is expensive. And certainly, we’re prepared to pay for it. Aren’t we, Hank?”
“Whatever it takes,” I whispered to Frankie. “Just get him to send it. We’ll figure out the money part.”
“Right, then,” I heard Frankie say to him. “Cash on delivery will be fine. Oh sure, of course you need the address.” Frankie covered the phone again. “Where should he send it? Where are we going to be tomorrow?”
“Somewhere in Virginia,” I answered. “At the bee farm.”
“A bee farm isn’t an address, dude,” Frankie said. “I need a street number, a town, a zip code.”
“Keep him on the line,” I whispered. “I’ll go ask my mom.”
Before I could make a mad dash for the gift store where my mom was doing a little shopping, Frankie grabbed me by my Mets jacket.
“Hold it,” he said. “I just remembered. I have the itinerary your dad typed up in my back pocket.”
Leave it to Frankie to, first of all, know a fancy word like itinerary. (In case you don’t know it, it’s a list of the places you’re going on a trip. I didn’t know it either until he told me.) And second, to have his itinerary with him, where he could actually find it. My dad had made me a copy of it, too, but the last time I saw it was by the vending machines at a rest station on the New Jersey Turnpike.
Frankie read the guy the address of our next stop, which was the Buzz Haven Honey Farm and Snooze Inn.
“Mr. Shampoo,” I said, taking the phone from Frankie after he finished giving him the address. “This is so great that you’re doing this.”
“It had better be, young man,” he said, “because my snails are ruined. And by the way, the name is Monsieur Chapeau, as in hat.”
“Well, Mr. Hat, you’re all right with me.”
I hung up the phone and gave Frankie Townsend the biggest high five you’ve ever seen. This wasn’t the first time he had saved my butt, but it was certainly in the top five. There was no time to celebrate, though, because the tallest, strongest man you’ve ever seen, who was wearing a guard uniform, was suddenly standing over us. Let’s just say he was not smiling.
“How would you boys like it if someone sat on your tonsil?” he asked.
“Now that you mention it, sir, I wouldn’t like that at all,” I said, jumping off the tonsil like it had caught on fire.
“Hey, guys, there you are!” Emily called out. For the first time in her life, she appeared at just the right time. “You can’t believe what’s in the next room. It’s a lab where you can add all kinds of flavors to 250 different candies. I made a pizza-flavored chocolate bar.”
“Hey, I’d love to talk more,” I said to the still unsmiling guard, “but we have candy to make. Science can’t wait.”
We waved a quick good-bye to him. I thought I’d give it one more shot.
“Thanks for the use of your tonsil,” I said. “Hope we didn’t give it a sore throat.”
That didn’t make him smile, either. Obviously, the guy had no sense of humor.
Frankie and I ran after Emily to go make candy. After our conversation with Mr. Hat, I felt my problem was solved, and even a pizza-flavored chocolate bar sounded good to me.
IT WAS ALMOST DARK by the time we pulled into the dirt driveway that led to Buzz Haven Honey Farm and Snooze Inn. We could hear a buzzing in the air as we drove up to the main house, which made the whole place seem really eerie. Like maybe swarms of alien bugs had escaped from a horror movie and were hovering in the fields on either side of the car.
Even though it was cold outside, I lowered the window to let the buzz fill the car. Emily freaked out.
“Are you nuts, Hank?” she said, leaning over Frankie and me to reach for the automatic window button. “Put the window up immediately.”
“Don’t sweat it,” I said. “The bees are hap
py in their hives. They won’t bother you if you don’t bother them.”
“That may be true for one bee, Hank, but we don’t know how a colony of thousands of bees is going to react. What happens if they swarm us and I’m stung about a million times and I’m rushed to the hospital but they don’t have any anti-bee-sting vaccine? Who will take care of Katherine?”
“Don’t worry about it,” I told Emily. “We’ll turn her loose and her keen iguana instincts will lead her to her relatives in Central America as she sucks flies out of the air with her long, sticky tongue along the way.”
Frankie tried not to laugh, but he just couldn’t keep it in.
“This isn’t funny, Frankie,” Emily said. “How can you laugh at the thought of Katherine, alone and abandoned?”
“You’re right, Emily, it isn’t funny,” he said.
Then he burst out laughing again, so hard this time that he sounded like he had the hiccups. I’m ashamed to say (actually I’m not), I joined in.
“Dad, tell them to stop,” Emily whined.
“That’s enough, boys,” my dad said. “Raise the window so Emily can calm down.”
By that time, we were in front of the neon sign that said Office. A tall blond man wearing a baseball cap with a yellow and black bee on it came out to meet us. I could see that he also had a bee embroidered on the front of his overalls.
“Welcome, bee lovers,” he said. “And if you’re not now, you will be when you leave.”
“We’re so happy to be here,” my mom called out. “Aren’t we, children?”
The guy didn’t seem to notice that no one answered.
“We hope you’re going to make yourself right at home here at Buzz Haven. I’m Jimmy Jim James, making sure you have a honey of a time.”
He laughed. My mom, who has the best manners of all of us, laughed, too. She reached across the front seat over my dad and stuck her hand out to greet him.
“We’re so happy to be here, Jimmy Jim,” she said. “I’m looking forward to our honey-tasting tour tomorrow. I try to promote honey usage not only in our home, but in my restaurant, too.”
“Then you and me, we’re going to be like two bees in a honeycomb,” Jimmy Jim said. “I’ve put you in rooms 15 and 16. Go make yourselves comfortable. My wife likes to call our rooms bee-autiful. Come on down to the main house for dinner in about half an hour.”
“Excuse me, Mr. James, do you happen to have any extra lettuce and maybe a cucumber before dinner?” Emily asked.
“Sure, little cutie,” Jimmy Jim said. He must have gone momentarily blind, because of all the things Emily is, cute isn’t one of them. “I like to see a young lady who’s fond of her vegetables.”
“Oh, it’s not for me, sir. It’s for my iguana.”
Emily held up the crate with Katherine in it. Katherine shot her tongue out of the cage. She was going for Jimmy Jim, but luckily she hit the headrest and nearly stuck to it instead.
“Whoa, I’m afraid we don’t allow pets here,” Jimmy Jim said.
“Oh, Katherine’s not a pet,” Emily answered. “She’s my half sister.”
“For a while there, we thought they were twins,” I chimed in. “But then Emily grew hair.”
Frankie and I cracked up. My father didn’t.
“That’s enough, Hank,” he said.
“I promise you, Jimmy Jim, Katherine travels everywhere with us, and she causes absolutely no trouble,” my mom said, still in her charming voice.
“Except when she leaves her droppings on your pillow,” I muttered. My dad swung around, even with his seat belt on, to shoot me a world-class “Keep Your Mouth Shut” look. From the corner of my eye, I saw Frankie trying to stuff his fist in his mouth to stifle a laugh, but I didn’t dare look at him, because I knew if I did, we’d both lose it.
“Well, I guess if you keep her in the cage, I could make an exception,” Jimmy Jim said. “We worry about animals stirring up the hives. You can’t bee too careful with bees.”
“Bee-lieve me, we’ll be careful,” my dad snorted, in a rare show of humor. I think you’ll agree he’s not what you’d call a big jokester.
Our room was number 15. Dad, Mom, Emily, and the unwanted reptile were in number 16.
If I tell you this room was weird, it would be an understatement. It was, as Jimmy Jim James would say, un-bee-lievable. Everything was bee themed. The bedspread had black and yellow stripes. The handles on the bathroom faucets were bee wings. The snacks in the TV cabinet were chocolate-covered honeycomb, orange-covered honeycomb, and honey-covered honeycomb.
What happened to pretzels?
Oh, there they are. Honey covered pretzels. Right next to the bottle of iced tea, flavored with, you guessed it…honey.
After we moved our suitcases in, Frankie flopped down on the bed to relax before dinner.
“There’ll be none of that,” I said to him. “Get your tired butt off that bed. We have a mission to accomplish.”
“What now, Zip?” Frankie said.
“We’ve got to talk to Jimmy Jim before dinner and let him know there’s a package arriving for me tomorrow morning.”
“Good thought, dude,” Frankie said. “We should tell him not to tell your dad. And leave him some money for the delivery.”
“Do you think five dollars will cover it?” I asked. “It’s all I have.”
Frankie took a deep breath, reached into his pocket, and pulled out a twenty dollar bill.
“This was supposed to be for my University of North Carolina hat,” he said with a sigh. “But I don’t look good in blue, anyway.”
“I’ll make it up to you, Frankie. I swear.”
I knocked on my parents’ door to tell them we were going exploring and we’d meet them at dinner. I was worried that Emily would want to come, but she was busy making Katherine a bed out of the cotton balls and Q-tips that were in the bathroom.
“I’m sorry you can’t leave the room, Kathy,” I heard her saying. “But Mommy’s going to make you all comfy and safe.”
Could you just throw up?
We headed right to the office. No one was there, but there was a sign over the front desk that said buzzzzzzzz for service.
Of course it said that.
We buzzed and buzzed, but still, no service.
Come on, Jimmy Jim. This is no time for you to disappear!
WE WAITED FOR A FEW SECONDS, then buzzed again. Finally, a voice called out.
“Back here, in the kitchen.”
Frankie and I walked around the front desk and crossed through the office. We had to be careful not to knock over the bear-shaped and bee-shaped jars of honey that were on display. In back of the office was a big old kitchen. Jimmy Jim was at the stove, standing next to a tall, blond woman who was wearing the same bee overalls as he was.
“Hey, boys, meet my wife, Honey,” he said, pointing to the woman who was pulling a big pan of corn bread out of the oven.
“Your name is actually Honey?” I asked. I hoped that didn’t seem rude, but the words flew out of my mouth before I could stop them.
“It took me quite a while to find her,” Jimmy Jim said. “I met a lot of Barbaras and Susans, but then one night at the red barn dance, I saw her standing at the punch bowl. I offered to pour her a cup of punch, but when she said she preferred iced tea with honey, I knew she was the girl for me.”
“My name was actually Henrietta, but I never liked it much,” Honey said. “I had it legally changed to Honey as a wedding present for my Jimmy Jim.”
“I hope we’re not disturbing you,” I said, getting right to business, “but we have something very important to talk to you about.”
“It concerns a package coming through the U.S. mail,” Frankie said. I could tell he was trying to sound urgent. And it worked, because Jimmy Jim turned away from the frying chicken and faced us.
“Okay, boys, you got my ear. In fact, you got both of them.”
“And mine, too,” Honey chimed in. “That makes four ears.”
“Specifically, Hank’s dad, Mr. Zipzer, is not to know about the package,” Frankie said. “It’s strictly confidential.”
Jimmy Jim raised an eyebrow and gave us a suspicious look.
“What are we talking about, boys, that your dad can’t know about?”
Uh-oh. Maybe we had overdone it on the strictly confidential bit. I looked at Frankie. He looked at me. And without thinking about it, I blurted out, “Birthday present.”
“Right,” Frankie said, catching on. “It’s a surprise birthday present for our main man, Mr. Z.”
Jimmy Jim’s face lit up like a Christmas tree. “Now that’s what I call considerate.”
Honey came over and threw her long arms around my neck. She smelled like a human corn bread.
“If you aren’t the sweetest thing, then I don’t know what is,” she said. “Your parents must be so proud of you. And you, too,” she said to Frankie. “I can see why you’re best friends.”
Okay, I admit I was starting to feel a little guilty taking all this praise when really all I was doing was covering my butt. But difficult situations call for difficult action. And I rose to the challenge.
“It’s something I’ve been planning for over a year,” I said. “I can’t wait to see my dad’s face when I give him what’s in the packet…I mean…package.”
“Can you tell us?” Jimmy Jim asked. “We won’t let it out of the bag.”
“I’d love to tell you, really I would,” I said to them, “but this whole situation makes me so nervous that I really don’t trust myself to say.”
“He hasn’t even told his mom,” Frankie said, seeing that I could use some more support. “I’m the only one on the planet who knows what’s inside that packet. I mean, package.” That was the closest thing to the truth we had said since this conversation started. I felt it was best to get out while the getting was good.
“So not a word at dinner,” I said, handing them the delivery money.