This Mimi woman might be an ally. I give her my warmest smile. This is turning out to be like that reality TV show, Survivor. Who knew the world of dog shows was going to be so cut throat?
My cell phone vibrates. I turn my back to Mr. Leisure Suit and look at the caller ID. It isn’t a number I recognize. I answer, “Jamie Bravo here. Hurry, I’m busy.”
“Oh, hello, Jamie, sorry. I’ll be quick.”
“Who is this?”
“Gloria Lambrusco. You probably don’t remember me, but—“
“Of course I remember you!” If she only knew how much I remembered her. My heart beats double-time.
Gloria laughs a tinkly girlie laugh. “Well, I definitely remember you, too.”
“I remember you, too,” I say. Omigod, I already said that. Why am I repeating myself?
“Well, I was just wondering if you were going to come to the Fall Festival tonight? Griffin is playing the mashed potatoes. He’s even got a line. I need to know if I should reserve you a seat. Because… um… it’s almost sold out. What I mean is we’ve only got so many seats.”
Now it seems Gloria is the nervous one. “I was planning on it. I like to be involved in his life. In fact, you’ll probably get tired of seeing me hanging around.”
“Well, it’s too bad that he’ll be moving on to third grade next year,” Gloria says. “I mean, I could use more involved parents… and aunts…like yourself.”
“Yeah, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that,” I say. “What’re the odds of holding Griffin back in second grade? I mean, just until I can work up the nerve to ask his teacher out on a date?”
There’s a long silence and I’m pretty sure I’ve overstepped my boundaries. I hold my breath until she answers, “I don’t think we have to be so drastic as that. We can go out anytime you ask.”
My knees go weak with relief. I fist pump the air and silently mouth “Yes!” Then I say back into my phone, “Okay… so maybe we can do something after Griffin’s play?”
“That would be wonderful,” she says. “I look forward to it.”
“Okay, then… see you tonight.”
“Bye, Jamie.”
“Bye, Gloria.”
Taa Daa! Score one for the Geek Squad. I got a date with the prettiest girl in school!
I hear Ivan growling and when I turn back around, I see Mr. Leisure Suit giving Ivan the once-over.
“Get your stinky paws off my dog,” I say.
Mr. Leisure Suit squints at me and that’s when I recognize him. He doesn’t have a mole, but it’s the expression that tells me who it is. It’s the same look that was freeze-framed in the blown-up photo I got from the surveillance tape.
I grab Ivan and hug him to my chest. Ivan licks my face in gratitude. Mr. Leisure Suit a.k.a. Lenny Russo, alleged dognapper, sneers at me and says, “Just checking the little fella out. You know it is a competition and all.”
He is self-consciously quartered away from me so that I can see only the left side of his face. I take a step closer to him and see the reason he doesn’t have a mole. He is wearing make-up. It’s the same stuff my sister used to wear back in high school to cover the hickeys on her neck.
Ivan growls at Lenny.
“My, my, touchy little guy, isn’t he?” he says snidely.
Ivan barks at him.
“He doesn’t like to be called little.”
“Oh, my bad,” Lenny says.
“So have you checked him out enough? Because I’d like to get back to what I was doing before you so rudely interrupted us.”
“Sure. Besides he isn’t competing in my group,” Lenny says.
“What group would that be?”
“Sporting. The German Short-haired Pointer is my dog. I’m his trainer, Lenny Russo. Beaumont Fontelle is his owner. We almost won Best in Show last year.”
He says Beaumont Fontelle’s name like I’m supposed to be impressed. He turns to leave and I set Ivan back down on the table. I watch him walk away with his nose so far up in the air I’m afraid he’s going to trip over his own feet.
Mission accomplished for today. The target is sighted. Now all I have to do is follow him and get him to tell me where he has the dognapped dogs napping. Which, of course, I don’t have the slightest idea how to do.
I watch as Lenny is stopped by a man in an expensive tailored suit. Even his haircut looks like it costs more than my entire wardrobe. Everything about him—from the tips of his shiny shoes to the St. Christopher medal around his neck—screams Mafia. That’s got to be Auggie Bosco, the west side capo. I keep my head lowered and listen in to their conversation:
“How ya doin’, Lenny. I didn’t know you were into dog shows. I thought the only dogs you bet on were at the track,” Auggie Bosco says.
Lenny’s voice and demeanor change to an attitude of subservience. “Mr. Bosco,” he says.
“You got a dog here?”
“I’m the trainer for Mr. Fontelle’s dog,” Lenny says.
“Got me a dog in the show myself,” Auggie Bosco says. “Doberman Pinscher. We’re a shoo-in to win it all. If you’re smart you’d put your money on us.”
“Good luck,” Lenny says. “Even though I’m sure you don’t need it.”
“Good luck to you, too,” Auggie Bosco says. “May the best dog win.”
I look up and am surprised to find Auggie Bosco standing next to me. “Miss Jamie Bravo, I assume.”
“Mr. Bosco, sir, very nice to meet you.”
“Nice lookin’ dog,” he says. He put his hand out. Ivan smells it. Then he licks it. Ivan must be able to tell a good mobster from bad one.
“Yes, his name is Ivan.”
“Chinese Cresteds get a bad rap. Myself, I think they show great courage. Can you imagine how it feels to be the ugliest everywhere you go? But look at him.” We both look down at Ivan who is busy gnawing his butt. “He doesn’t care. We could all learn a valuable lesson from this boy of yours.” He scratches Ivan behind his ears. Ivan quits chewing his butt and luxuriates in this new attention.
“What’s your dog’s name?” I ask.
“Her name is Patsy. I love that dog. She’s a better friend and family member than most of my own, if you know what I mean.”
“Is she named after Patsy Cline?” Okay, that was a stupid thing to say. Since when do mobsters listen to country and western?
“Nah, she’s named after my wife.”
I don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. Is it homage or insult? “Well, it’s a real nice name.”
Mr. Bosco leans in to me and whispers out of the side of his mouth, “I’m counting on you to bust Lenny and Beaumont Fontelle. You know what I mean? I don’t abide cheaters and thieves.” He stares at me until I look away.
“I plan on it, sir.”
He pats me on the shoulder. “Good.”
“I won’t let you down. Sir.”
“Tell your mother hello from me,” he says with a wink. I watch him walk away.
Thirty-Eight
I’m sitting on my bed, lacing up my shoes when Travis pirouettes into my bedroom. “How do I look?” he asks. He spins in a big circle and ends with a dramatic flourish. He sees Fruit Loops in his cage preening. Veronica, the cat, is on my bed glaring at the bird and probably planning his murder. The bird, cat, dog thing isn’t working out so great. “Don’t even think you’re going to poop on this.” Travis points to his fabulous outfit.
“You look great, Trav. Where are you going?”
“Duh. To Griffin’s play. With you,” he says.
This is the first I’ve heard of that. In fact, I didn’t even invite him. “I hate to break it to you, Travis, but you can’t go. There’s limited seating. Standing Room Only and it’s sold out. Sorry, but not really,” I say. I stand and look at my reflection in the full-length mirror. I brush some cat hair off my pants.
“I have a reservation, Jamie,” he says. “I traded shifts with Jason just so I could attend.”
“How’d yo
u get a reservation?”
“I know somebody on the inside.”
“Who? Griffin? He can’t hand out tickets, he’s only the mashed potatoes.”
“Gloria reserved me a seat.”
I turn and look at him. “Gloria? My Gloria?”
“Oh, so she’s your Gloria? I know her too, ma chere. How do you think she got your phone number?”
I narrow my eyes to tiny slits. “How do you know Gloria?”
“Maybe I called her up. Maybe I told her you had a giant crush on her. Maybe I told her she should call up you and ask you out because you were a chicken and would never be the first to ask. Maybe I gave her your phone number.” He pushed me out of the way, aimed his butt at my full-length mirror and looked over his shoulder.
“Maybe you should mind your own business,” I say.
“Right. If I did that you’d never get a date.”
“I am completely capable of getting dates all on my own.”
“Are not.”
“Are, too. I asked Veronica out, didn’t I?”
“Proves my point. Face it, you need me.”
He’s got me there. Maybe I should give him full control over my love-life. After all, it couldn’t get any worse.
“Besides,” he continues, “Griffin adores me and will be ecstatic to see his Uncle Travis in the audience… Omigod!” he clasps his hand over his mouth and stares at me wide-eyed.
“What?” I check my fly.
“You aren’t wearing that outfit, are you?”
I look in the mirror. I don’t see anything wrong with what I’m wearing. “What’s wrong? This is what I always wear.”
“Exactly. Black pants. Black shirt. Don’t you own anything with some color to it?”
“Last I checked, black is a color."
He sighs and begins to unbutton his shirt.
“What’re you doing?”
“You’re going to wear my new shirt.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Yes. You are.”
I say it more forcefully, “No. I. Am. Not.”
“This shirt actually looks pretty good on me,” I say. “I never thought I’d like pink, but I do.”
“It’s not pink, it’s magenta.”
“Whatever.” Travis is right. Maybe I should add more color to my wardrobe.
“You look fabulous,” Travis says.
“Thank you, I feel fabulous,” I say sarcastically. “If you’re going to the play with me, you have to promise that you will keep your mouth shut and your tiny butt in the chair.”
“What are you insinuating?”
“I’m not insinuating. I’m remembering high school. Pirates of Penzance? I was the props manager and you came backstage and –“
He interrupts me, “Not my fault. You told me to make fake swords for all the actors. How was I to know that the lead actor was so short and his sword was too long? How was I to know that he was going to trip over his own sword, fall into the orchestra pit, break his leg and the conductor’s arm on opening night? Again, I reiterate… Not my fault.”
“You promise to keep your mouth shut?”
“I promise.”
He’s standing with his back to the mirror. I look at his reflection and say, “Travis, I can see that your fingers are crossed behind your back.”
He looks over his shoulder at his reflection. “Damn. Foiled again.”
Ivan barks at the cat. The cat hisses at the bird. The bird ignores them both. I look at them apprehensively. “Do we need a pet sitter?”
“No, everything will be all right.”
Famous last words.
Thirty-Nine
The Fall Festival play is in the grade school cafeteria. Griffin’s posse (as he calls the Bravo family) takes up a whole row of metal folding chairs. My parents are on one end, Juniper sits in the middle and me and Travis are on the other end. There’s one empty chair on the other side of me. It’s for the missing Jenner, Griffin’s dad. He works so much, he is a no-show at all family events. I’m beginning to wonder if he even exists. Juniper could have killed him and buried him in their backyard for all I know. I never seen him other than in their wedding pictures.
I look over at Juniper. She’s smiling broadly and fooling around with her movie camera. She always records every event in Griffin’s life. She claims it’s so Jenner can see what he missed out on, but now that I think about it, it could be an elaborate cover-up for his murder.
This is what happens when I have too much time and not enough things to occupy my brain. I make up murder scenarios. I should always carry a word search or Sudoku with me.
Ma pulls a family-size hand sanitizer out of her large purse and moves down our aisle squirting a glob onto everyone’s palm whether they want it or not. With each squeeze of the pump she says, “Don’t touch anything. There are snot germs everywhere.”
The house lights dim and Gloria walks out onto the make-shift stage. She looks great. Her hair is curly and her eyes are brown and her lips are red and… that sounds like I’m describing a million other women, but there’s something about Gloria that makes her unique. I can’t take my eyes off her.
There’s a small smattering of applause and Gloria smiles and bows her head. Travis elbows me in the ribs.
“Ouch.”
“Stop clapping already. You’re being weird.”
I stop clapping and smile apologetically to everyone around me. “Sorry, I really love Thanksgiving.”
Gloria laughs then says, “I want to thank all the parents that were able to make it tonight. I’m certain that you’ll be pleased with what the children have come up with. They were very involved in the making of this performance. So, sit back and enjoy.”
Gloria walks off the stage and down the aisle. She gives me wink as she passes my chair. It gives me goose bumps all over.
The house lights go all the way out and in that moment of darkness, a person slides into the empty seat beside me. For a brief moment, I think I’m about to meet the elusive Jenner.
A spotlight hits the stage and the light spills over into the audience. I can’t believe my eyes. Veronica is sitting next to me.
“What are you doing here?” I hiss.
“Coming to see the play,” she says cheerily.
“You weren’t invited.”
“Why, I thought the Fall Festival was open to the public,” Veronica says, snatching the program out of my hand. “Now, shhh, we don’t want to ruin the play by talking.”
I throw her rays of hate with my eyes, but Veronica doesn’t seem to notice. She did this intentionally, of course. She’s trying to sabotage my first date with Gloria. And she came in late so I couldn’t do anything about it without looking like a giant ass. That’s her modus operandi.
Veronica smiles at me and points to the stage. “Look! There he is. Isn’t he cute?”
I’ve been so busy throwing hate rays at Veronica I missed the pilgrims getting off the ship and the killing and plucking of the turkey. The kids are deep into the first Thanksgiving meal by the time I look at the stage. Griffin is completely covered in cotton balls with only his eyes and mouth showing. He’s the fluffiest mashed potatoes I’ve ever seen.
“Paper mache would have been a better choice,” Veronica says.
Travis hisses from my other side, “Who asked you?”
“Well, I was costumer for my church Christmas pageant when I was in third Grade. As well as playing the lead character, Little Bunny Foo-Foo,” Veronica says.
“Little Bunny Foo-Foo was at the birth of Jesus?” I ask.
“It was a modern telling of the story,” Veronica says.
“Oh, aren’t you just the Renaissance woman?” Travis spits.
A woman sitting behind us says, “Do you mind? Some of us are trying to watch the play.”
Travis glares. Veronica sniffs. I sigh.
After the play, Griffin is swarmed by my family and pilgrims, so I walk through the crowd searching for Gloria. I finally find her stand
ing all by herself in the back of the room. She looks a bit taxed. “Hi,” I say. “The play was fantastic.”
“Thank you,” she says. “Griffin did a great job. He stole the show.”
“I know, right? I loved the part where he poured gravy on his head.”
I feel somebody walk up behind me. I close my eyes. Please, please, please, I pray, don’t let it be Veronica. Let it be a kid, a parent, my mother, anybody but her.
Damn, it is Veronica. She sticks her hand out to Gloria, saying, “Hi. You must be Gloria Lambrusco. I’ve heard so much about you.”
“Oh?” Gloria says. She looks from me to Veronica, obviously confused.
“No, she hasn’t,” I say. “She hasn’t heard a thing.”
Veronica fake-laughs. “Oh, Jamie, you’re such a kidder. You’ve told me what a great teacher she is and how well she handles kids.” She looks at Gloria. “She’s also told me how much Griffin adores you. Our nephew, Griffin, doesn’t adore just anybody you know.”
At the mention of the words ‘our nephew’ Gloria visibly flinches. “I’m sorry, but I don’t believe we’ve been properly introduced.”
I do a mental face-palm. I should’ve seen this coming. The problem with conniving ex-girlfriends is that they’re always doing crap like this. They’re not satisfied with ruining your life while they’re in it, they also want to ruin your life while they’re out of it.
“I’m Veronica, Jamie’s partner.”
Gloria turns about three shades of red.
I jump in feet first, “No, you’re not. You are most definitely not my partner. You’re my ex. And you’ve been my ex for months.” I look at Gloria and say in a please believe me voice, “She’s my ex. I didn’t invite her. She snuck in. She just wants to destroy my life.”
Travis shows up right then and inserts himself into the conversation. “Veronica, I’m so glad you could make it. Are you going to American Pie with us all for dessert?”
Veronica smiles smarmily and says, “I’d love to.”
“Great,” Travis says. “Would you mind going ahead and saving us all seats? It’s going to take some time to remove all the cotton balls from Griffin. I told Juniper she shouldn’t have used superglue.”
Worst In Show: A Jamie Bravo Mystery Page 17