How Hard Can It Be

by Robyn Peterman

  “You can do better than that,” Aunt Phyllis insisted, growling for all she was worth.

  “No. No, I can’t.” I had entered an alternate universe, and I was going to have to stay for at least two hours. Two hours of my life that I would never get back. Ever.

  Turned out the camo-growler was Kim Jensen Johnson and her face-painted cohort was her husband Hugh Jensen Johnson. Kim had to be the size of my SUV and outweighed Hugh by at least two hundred pounds. The vague images of their sex life that kept flitting through my mind were enough to put me into a coma. I decided to put that info into the brain folder labeled “Never Ever Think Those Thoughts Again.”

  “We are here tonight,” Kim shouted, “because we believe.” The crowd went ballistic. “Some of us have witnessed the miracle that is Bigfoot and some of us live every day in hopes that, we too will see the Bigfoot.”

  I heard a strange sound. I glanced around the room to see if anyone was ill . . . Nope. What the hell was that sound?

  “People think we’re foolish,” she yelled like a preacher and the crowd booed and hissed. “That’s right, my friends, people think we’re foolish to dedicate our lives and our savings accounts to finding Bigfoot. But they are wrong. They have not seen the light!” Kim did the growl thing again and the crowd growled back. Including me, but only because Aunt Phyllis kicked me hard enough to leave a mark.

  I heard the sound again, although it had morphed into something more bizarre. It sounded like someone hyperventilating and changed to cats having sex. If you’ve never heard cats having sex, trust me, it’s bad. From the feline intercourse, it slowly changed to a grunting monkey. WTF? I glanced around again and my eyes landed on Hugh . . . I realized it was him. At first I thought he was sick. Then it occurred to me he might be mentally challenged, and I felt horrible for making fun of him inside my head . . . When it dawned on me he was making what he believed were sounds of Sasquatch, all bets were off. I could ridicule to my heart’s content. He was doing sound effects for his wife’s sermon on the Yeti.

  “We are here tonight for testimonials. If you’ve seen the beautiful beast, we want you to share. If we have enough sighting stories, we believe we can convince the TV show Finding Bigfoot to come and film us.” That sent the crowd into a frenzy. So much so, I feared for my and Aunt Phyllis’s life.

  “I’ve seen him,” called out a man in the back, who possibly had inbreeding in his family tree.

  “Tell us, my friend,” Kim shouted back as Hugh squealed in a high pitch reserved for dogs and breaking glass.

  “It was three years ago. He picked me up and shook me like a can of pop.” He sat back down with a satisfied look on his face. Who in the hell shakes cans of pop? Why would he choose that metaphor? Thinking too hard was going to make my brain explode.

  “That’s nothing,” said a mousey little gal two rows back. “Bigfoot came on to me.”

  The shocked gasp from the hardcore freaks almost made me pee my pants.

  “Tell us about it, my sister,” Kim bellowed. I wondered if loud was her only volume level. Hugh, if I’m not mistaken, started speaking in tongues.

  “I fought him off and he masturbated in the corner of my bedroom.” She finished her disturbing tale and sat back down.

  “Bigfoot was in your bedroom?” I laughed until realized they were all looking at me with pity. I clearly didn’t believe.

  “Yes, of course,” she replied as if I were an idiot. “He comes at least twice a week.”

  The double entendre made me bite my lip so hard it bled. I love my Aunt Phyllis, but she would be on her own at the next Sasquatch gathering.

  “The last time I saw Bigfoot, he smelled so bad I couldn’t eat for a week,” a tall bald man said, shaking his head and wincing at the memory.

  I felt movement beside me. An icy chill shot up my spine. Aunt Phyllis was ready to add her two cents. This could only lead to her being institutionalized. I tried to stop her, but she would have none of it. “That’s nothing,” Phyllis jumped up and pointed at the bald guy. “I survived salmonella-gate and couldn’t eat for two weeks and three and a half days.”

  “Oh my God,” Kim screeched. “You were there?” Hugh began humming the theme from Jaws.

  “Yes, I was, and I lived to tell,” my aunt said with pride.

  The crowd murmured with shock and respect. Several people came up and touched her while a few others knelt at her feet. Was everyone here insane?

  The tall bald guy was one who knelt. “I heard it was at Evangeline O’Hara’s mansion,” he said, extremely impressed. That was news to me.

  “I love her books,” Bigfoot’s mousey girlfriend squealed. “Is she as scary as she looks?”

  “Scarier,” Aunt Phyllis said, miming big boobs to her rapt audience.

  Always the conspiracy theorist, Kim said, “I heard it was a setup. I heard the caterer had nothing to do with it.” Hugh was now having his out-of-tune way with the theme song from Mission Impossible.

  “Where did you hear that?” I asked. Something in the way she spoke made the hair on my arms stand up.

  “My cousin’s brother’s girlfriend’s sister works for the Health Department and was the lead investigator on the case. She said something was added to the food. It was not the food itself or the way it was prepared that made people sick. They think Evangeline O’Hara did it, but they could never prove it.” Hugh was working up a sweat, beat boxing until Kim punched him in the head. He went flying and everyone smiled their relief that the alarming concert was over.

  “What did they find in the food?” I asked.

  “Some kind of weird plant extract from Bulgaria, similar to Silly Putty,” Kim said, shaking her head in disgust.

  Sweet baby Jesus, she’d poisoned people with the same stuff that she pumps into her bosom. I paled and wondered who the poor caterer was that the Viper had ruined. How many fucking people had Evangeline destroyed?

  “That doesn’t make sense,” Aunt Phyllis said. “Evangeline got sick, too.”

  “That was her alibi,” Kim said knowingly. “If she hadn’t gotten sick, she wouldn’t have gotten away with it.” Hugh started in with the theme from Jeopardy! but quickly ceased when Kim gave him the evil eye.

  “Did they have any idea what her motive was?” Coming to this meeting was more educational than I ever could have dreamed.

  “Apparently, she had it in for the caterer, and she hated all the ladies she played bridge with,” Kim said.

  Every eye in the room went to Aunt Phyllis as she mulled over the new information. “It’s a fine hypothesis.” She nodded. “That bitch does hate all the bridge girls. We’ve been kicking her ass for years, but I can’t confirm the caterer. I don’t know who she used.”

  “I do,” mousey gal volunteered. “It was Nan Thorenson. I have all her cookbooks.”

  Oh shit. I’d just discovered what the Viper had on Nancy. The food-sniffing made sense now. Oh my God, poor Nancy.

  “Did the caterer know Evangeline was suspected?” I asked.

  “From what I heard, she took off and hasn’t been heard from since,” Kim answered, stroking Hugh’s head where she had punched him. “She evaded the Health Department. O’Hara testified that the caterer admitted her guilt and took off. Nothing anyone could do if the caterer wouldn’t talk.”

  I’d bet the caterer was still under the impression that she’d poisoned everyone and thought Evangeline was protecting her. I needed to find out if Evangeline had a line of cookbooks . . . My stomach churned and my hands clenched into fists. My only revenge was my story. I smiled and looked around the room at the freaks who were now beautiful to me.

  I stood and walked to the front of the room. I hugged Kim and patted Hugh on the head. “Could you guys tell me a little more about Bigfoot? I’m doing research for a book, and I want to make sure I get my facts straight.”

  The entire room erupted into applause. They made me a believer. . . kind of.

  Chapter 20

  Pirate Dave had bee
n friends with Hairy Sam forever. Literally. Sam’s stench made Dave smell like a flower. Sam was covered in hair from head to toe, hence the name. He’d tried shaving and waxing and electrolysis, but to no avail. He’d even tried burning it off. That had certainly been a bad fucking idea. The hair grew back within minutes, thicker and coarser than before.

  The pungent gentlemen enjoyed the game called Fucking with the Future. It was a highlight in both of their immortal lives. Between ravaging large-breasted virgins who pretended they were appalled by sex, stealing treasures, and eating box after box of Shaft Macaroni and Cheese, they enjoyed traveling to the future and messing with undereducated Americans’ heads. Especially ones who were married to other family members.

  Pirate Dave and Hairy Sam found it amusing to time-travel to the Pacific Northwest or the deep South anywhere between the 1960s and the early 2000s to perpetuate the Bigfoot myth. It wasn’t exactly a myth, for Hairy Sam’s feet were huge. His shoes were a size twenty-four, matching his doinker to the inch.

  Often times Hairy Sam tried to get laid, but usually ended up masturbating in the corner of freaked-out women’s bedrooms. Pirate Dave thought this was hilarious. Sam hadn’t gotten any in over two hundred years.

  Because of Hairy Sam’s ridiculously oversized man tool and his vomit-inducing aroma, he had a difficult time with the ladies. But that was about to change . . . for the secret admirer of Pirate Dave was due to arrive and her lady bits were not what they used to be. A hideous bout with childbearing had ended her former career as a hooker. She could fit an entire football team in her hoo-ha and that pissed her off.

  “Jesus Christ in a miniskirt. Where did that come from?” LeHump choked on her coffee as I ended the scene.

  “Aunt Phyllis and I went to a Bigfoot meeting last night.” I grinned as Cecil blanched.

  “Um, Rena”—he was having a hard time finding his voice—“does this have anything to do with the rest of the story?”

  “For a Wednesday morning at eight-thirty, I think I’m doing pretty good,” I huffed, grabbing a doughnut and plopping down on the ugly couch. “Besides, I’m going somewhere with it . . . I think.”

  “Cecil,” Shoshanna challenged, “if you have a bone to pick with Rena’s muse, I suggest you take a shot.”

  “Yeah, Cecil, you have a go at it,” I giggled, imagining what he could possibly come up with.

  “Fine,” he said with all the dignity he could muster. “I will.”

  I pulled my feet up on the couch, grabbed another doughnut, got comfortable, and waited . . .

  He cleared his throat, straightened his suit jacket, and then cleared his throat again. And again . . . and again.

  “Today, Cecil,” I laughed, enjoying his embarrassment. It wasn’t as easy as it looked. Coming up with horrific material took some talent and some serious lack of inhibition. Not to mention some brain damage.

  The ashes on the deck of the ship were gray mixed with flecks of turquoise, small pieces of skin, shards of brittle bone, and dyed blond hair. The gentle breeze off the crystal blue ocean tossed the gruesome pile about, scaring years off the lives off the deckhands.

  “What the fuck is that?” Pirate Dave hissed, angry to be woken from his sixth morning nap.

  “We don’t know,” Captain Crunchy, clutching his blow-up doll Susan to his sunken chest, stammered uneasily.

  “It’s black magic voodoo shit,” Mr. Smee cried out, brandishing a knife and backing away from the pile that seemed to be coming to life.

  A whirlwind formed the cinders into a small funnel, eliciting a gasp of shocked dismay from Pirate Dave and his below-average crew. Cackling shrieks came from within the funnel of ash. The men paled and backed away, but not Pirate Dave.

  “What in the hell are you?” he bellowed at the cloud of ash.

  “Your secret admirer,” the hideous sight hissed.

  “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Pirate Dave moaned. He’d been hoping for a hot chick with two vaginas. Clearly he’d fucked a lot of people over through the years to deserve an admirer like this.

  An arm emerged from the ash, covered in age spots and sporting long hot pink nails. Then a skinny leg revealed itself, followed by a bony ass, followed by the other skinny leg and the other liver-freckled arm.

  “Get thee from my ship, you ugly Devil,” Pirate Dave screamed. If the rest of her was as awful as what he’d seen so far, he was afraid he’d lose his lunch from Jack’s Ass-Smack Burgers. It was wonderful going down, but not so good when it came back up.

  The funnel howled with an eerie laughter. The largest rock-hard bosom Dave had ever laid his eyes on emerged from the funnel. “Holy shit,” he muttered, “I like tits, but those are disgusting.”

  The knockers were followed by a shriveled neck and the most revolting face he’d seen in his very long lifetime.

  The crew gasped and hid their faces from the grotesque sight.

  “Hello, Pirate Gabe, did you . . .”

  “My name is Dave,” he interrupted, hoping against hope that she had shown up on the wrong ship.

  “That’s what I said, Steve,” she jeered.

  “Dave,” he corrected.

  “What?” she shrieked.

  “I said that my name is . . . ” he decided to give up. Clearly she was old and senile.

  “So anyway, Javier, did you enjoy the hat full of assholes?” she leered suggestively.

  Pirate Dave threw up in his mouth and tried to run away, but his girth prohibited him from getting very far.

  The horrifying bag of bones grabbed him by the testicles and squeezed. Hard. Dave liked it rough, but this was too much even for him. “You’re mine now,” she ground out between clenched false teeth. “Until I get what I want, I own you.”

  “Oh fuck,” Pirate Dave groaned. The pain from her sadistic ball handling was making him dizzy. He accidentally on purpose projectile-vomited all over her and collapsed into a heap at her feet.

  I never knew what thick silence felt like until now. I was living a cliché. The cat had my tongue and you could hear a pin drop. Cecil had some real issues with Evangeline and he’d decided to take them out on her in the book . . . This was fucking great.

  “Holy shit on a stick,” Shoshanna shouted. “That’s some of the best stuff yet. You should be a real writer, Cecil.” She got up and slapped him on the back. If she only knew the truth. This was Cecil’s chance to come clean. I waited to see what he would do . . . he did nothing. “I mean it, you sneaky son of a bitch.” LeHump bounced around the room. “You’re really good.”

  “The framework had already been expertly laid.” He winked at me and grinned sheepishly. “Is it too much?”

  “Do you think she’ll actually read it?” I asked, wondering how much we could get away with.

  “No, she won’t. She doesn’t like to read,” he said, folding his hands in his lap.

  “Then we’re good to go,” Shoshanna sang as she skipped joyously around the small office.

  “Is Nancy bringing lunch today?” I asked, pushing Shoshanna down onto the couch. She was making me dizzy.

  “Nope, she went to Fargo for a few days to visit her daughter.”

  Crap, I wanted to talk to her alone. I wasn’t sure if all the ladies knew exactly what the others were being blackmailed for. I didn’t want to risk embarrassing Nancy by talking out of school. “What’s her cell phone number?”

  “She doesn’t have one,” LeHump said. “No cell, no answering machine at home, no bank accounts, no e-mail . . . no nothing.”

  “How odd.” I sat back down next to Shoshanna. “It’s like she doesn’t exist.” I glanced over at Cecil. He was avidly brushing nonexistent lint from his pants. He knew.

  If I was unsure before, I wasn’t anymore. Nancy was Nan Thorenson. But never one to leave anything to chance, I kept pushing. “Does Evangeline write cookbooks?” I asked Cecil, who refused to meet my eye.

  “Yes, she does,” he mumbled.

  “Now Cecil, that’s not e
xactly accurate,” Shoshanna fumed, hopping up and poking her little finger into his chest. “The skanky hooker doesn’t write cookbooks, she steals them . . . from Nancy. For a long time I thought the bitch couldn’t write at all; I mean a good handful of her books were written totally by Poppy Harriet, Nancy, and myself. She didn’t bother to change a word. Not one fucking word.” Shoshanna’s voice hardened. “Then I read the Castaway Series, and I realized the hag was a magnificent writer. Ten brilliant books, some of the best I’ve ever read.” She shook her head and her little shoulders fell. “I just don’t understand. If she’s such a great writer, why did she steal all those books from us? She stole careers and livelihoods and dreams.”

  I glanced over at Cecil; he was staring down at his notebook. Every part of his body was as still as a statue, except his hands . . . they were trembling. “I must excuse myself.” His voice was distant and resigned. He stood up and left. So much for him coming over to our side . . . whatever she had on him was good, and I was going to find out what it was if it killed me.

  Chapter 21

  Holy hell, it was five-fifteen and Jack was due to get here at six. I twisted my hair up into a messy knot so it would stay dry and hopped into the lemon-scented sudsy tub. I tried to relax, but that was a joke. I’ve been stretched as tight as a drum all day. Thursday had gone by in a blur. I was so excited for Jack to get back, I couldn’t concentrate on anything.

  Joanne and Poppy Harriet had spent most of the day with us and each took several stabs at Pirate Dave’s adventures. Poppy Harriet’s chapters were filled with bizarre and potentially dangerous sexual uses for items you could find at your local hardware store. I was so perplexed by her description of a blow job using a doorknocker, I got a headache. Cecil just looked nauseated.

  Joanne, living in a strange and violent place in her mind, chose to do painful and permanent things to Pirate Dave’s secret admirer (a barely disguised version of Evangeline). She decimated Evangeline’s hair, face, and upper torso. It was so disturbing, I felt myself viscerally reacting.