by Amanda Brown
“I didn’t think I’d be swimming,” she replied feebly.
“A good Scout plans ahead,” Mr. Flores preached to one and all.
“An elephant threw me off the cliff,” Pippa snapped, relieving her boots of heavy water.
“Woooow! A real elephant? That is so cool!”
“That is anything but cool,” Mr. Flores disagreed. Scouts were supposed to be truthful at all times. “In the first place, Pennsylvania is not a natural habitat for elephants. In the second place, elephants don’t generally use their trunks as slingshots.” He tore his eyes from Pippa’s lovely throat. “What color was this animal, ma’am? Pink?”
“Gray. Her name is Mitzi.” What was his problem? “Let’s forget about her, okay? She’s wanted to kill me from the moment we met.” Pippa rubbed her aching scalp. She wouldn’t be surprised if half her hair was still in the trees. As she touched the lump on the back of her head, it began to throb. “Would there be any aspirin in that first-aid kit? Four or five would hit the spot.”
Mr. Flores made a show of reading the label. At last night’s campfire he had been lecturing the boys on substance abuse. “Two is the recommended dose. Just this once I think we can make an exception. It’s not every day you get thrown into a river by an elephant named Mitzi, is it?”
“Thanks.” Pippa chewed five and drank from a proffered canteen. “You saved my life.”
“Do a good turn daily. That’s our slogan. Right, Scouts?”
“Right, chief!”
“My name is Geraldo Flores,” he said, shaking her hand. “You are . . . ?”
Pippa needed a long, suspicious moment to respond. “Wilma.”
Mr. Flores watched, perplexed, as she suddenly lunged for some paper in her belt and unfolded it as if it were the Magna Carta. “My diploma! Thank God it’s okay!”
It looked more like used toilet paper. Wilma was definitely off her rocker. “Congratulations,” Mr. Flores said. “That represents a lot of hard work, I’m sure.” Now what was he supposed to do? Invite her to join them? The older boys were already agog at her endless legs and off-the-shoulder fur bathing suit. Even the six-year-olds were riveted by the red thong peeping beneath her hem. Once she got into a canoe, nobody would be paying the least attention to birds and clouds and trees, himself included. “Now that you’re feeling better, Wilma, may we escort you home?”
To his chagrin she threw herself at his feet. “Please, Mr. Flores! Don’t make me go back to the circus.” She forced some cash from her bodice into his hands. “I’m happy to pay you.”
None of the boys had ever seen one, let alone four, hundred-dollar bills before. “Wow! Can we have a look?”
“Sure,” he sighed, handing them over. He helped Wilma to her feet. Much as he enjoyed a half-clad woman prostrate before him, this was not the right time or place for such mercies. “May I introduce you to Cub Scout Pack 35 from Philadelphia. We’re canoeing to the Delaware Water Gap.”
“That would be perfect. Thank you.”
“Let me get you some warmer clothing.” That was a joke, the temperature having shot well past eighty. “I mean longer clothing.” Mr. Flores gave Pippa shorts, shirt, and cap from his own camp roll. As she went into the woods to change, the other scoutmaster pulled him aside.
“Is this a good idea, Geraldo? Chicks don’t just fall out of the sky with four hundred bucks in their pocket. Maybe she robbed a gas station.”
“In that outfit? Did you see the black eye? Scratched legs? I think she’s escaping someplace bad. Maybe she was kidnapped.”
“Could have been an act. She obviously made up her name.”
“She’s scared. Come on, this is a perfect lesson in helping a fellow citizen.”
It helped when the fellow citizen was a hot blonde. “She doesn’t think we believe that elephant crap, right?”
The words were no sooner out of his mouth than a feral shriek froze his blood. The boys clutched each other in fright: it sounded awfully close. Pippa burst out of the bushes with Mr. Flores’s shirt half unbuttoned. “That’s Mitzi! She’s coming after me!”
“Into the canoes, boys,” Mr. Flores commanded, unnerved by a second shriek. “No crying. Scouts do not cry. Scouts are brave.”
Pippa didn’t help the situation by whimpering, “Elephants can swim like fish. And they’ve got really sharp tusks.”
“Zip it, Wilma!” Mr. Flores herded his charges back to the river. “Look sharp, everyone.”
Pippa grabbed an oar from one of the taller boys. “Do you mind? I was on a rowing team.” She planted herself in the rear seat and, energized by terror, paddled furiously out to the strong current. Pippa was dimly aware of Mr. Flores behind her screaming something about rapids. Canoe and Cub Scouts made horrible noises as they scraped over a patch of submerged rocks. “Hold on, guys,” Pippa shouted. “We’re doing fine.”
They shot over a waterfall into a series of robust eddies. By some miracle Pippa’s canoe remained upright. “Paddlepaddlepaddle!” she screeched to the kid in the front seat.
He didn’t need to be told twice: every few seconds one of the smaller boys would look over his shoulder and scream, “I see the elephant!”
Pippa kept them going at maniacal speed for what seemed like miles. Only when they had rounded a bend in the river did she dare look backward. In her wake were three canoes but no Mitzi.
“Pull ashore, Wilma,” Mr. Flores yelled, practically hoarse. “Over there.”
Pippa steered the canoe onto the sand. “Nice rowing,” she told the boy in front as they waited for the others to catch up. “You were awesome.”
First thing Mr. Flores did upon alighting was march up to the lead boy and snap, “You call that safe rowing, Sancho? You nearly drowned half the pack.”
“There was a man-eating elephant behind us! What was I supposed to do?”
“As for you, Wilma, if you weren’t a woman, I’d beat the tar out of you.
Pippa hung her head. “I’m sorry, Mr. Flores. I must have panicked.”
He gave her the four hundred dollars back. “There are some motels right down the road. I suggest you go there and contact—whoever people like you contact.” He belatedly realized that this was not the greatest example of samaritanism on record. “Unless we can be of further assistance.”
“You’ve done more than enough.” Pippa pulled her sodden boots back on and began walking toward the highway. She turned to see twelve boys and two men staring at her in various stages of bewilderment. “Thanks for rescuing me. I’ll never forget that.”
“Will you be all right?” the littlest one called.
“I’ll be fine.” She gave a snappy salute and kept going: exit as gloriously as you enter, Thayne always said. Pippa’s confidence waned as she got to the highway. What if Slava had a pickup truck and was already conducting a demented search-and-rescue mission? What if Mitzi was just a few yards away, ready to charge? If ever, this was the time to hitchhike. Illegal in the state of Texas, she heard Officer Pierce say.
Pippa stuck out her thumb. The third car pulled over. The driver, an obese woman about her age, was on her way to Bushkill. Pippa had no idea where that was but said, “Perfect!”
A self-help cassette was in progress. “Remember, only YOU can take charge of your life,” a man’s honeyed voice assured those of lesser mettle. “Only YOU can—”
The woman ejected the cassette and offered Pippa half a bag of Chips Ahoy. “I really shouldn’t be eating these but I’m nervous.”
“About what?” Pippa took six dry cookies. They were an exquisite change from Masha’s fare.
“I’m going to a wedding. Seeing guys from my high school.” The woman started to cry. “Why did I ever say yes? This will be so humiliating. There’s my bridesmaid’s gown. I can barely fit into it.”
In the back seat was a pink monstrosity in a plastic bag. “Beautiful,” Pippa chomped.
“We copied the design from that wedding in Texas. You know, the one that blew up?” Desp
ite the absence of an affirmative, the woman continued, “If I was a bridesmaid at that horror show, I’d sue.”
With difficulty Pippa swallowed half the cookie stuck in her throat. “I’m sure some of them already have.”
“At least the mother went to jail.”
The other half of the cookie sprayed all over the dashboard. “Jail? What for?”
“Disorderly conduct. She got into a fistfight with some guy named Wyeth.”
Pippa forced herself to stay calm. “I thought she was resting in Kalamazoo.”
“So was Wyeth. She broke his nose. The judge put her bail at a million bucks because it was her third incident in a week.”
“Third?” Pippa barely eked out the syllables.
“The first was with a Korean masseuse. The second was with the mother of the groom. On the steps of the Dallas courthouse! Can you believe that?”
“Absolutely.” Way to go, Mama!
“That was after she drove a Maserati into a pool. Covered with chocolate!”
“It was mud, not chocolate, and she wasn’t driving.” Pippa felt ill that some lardo in Pennsylvania knew more about her mother’s tribulations than she did. “How far is Bushkill?”
“Ten miles. You all right?”
“Just anxious to get there.”
The woman returned to her cassette. Pippa endured a self-help sermon so inane that even the narrator chuckled. Meanwhile the woman demolished the rest of the Chips Ahoys and cracked a bag of Pecan Sandies. Pippa inwardly groaned as they passed a huge billboard. WELCOME TO BUSHKILL, HONEYMOON CAPITAL OF THE POCONOS.
The car veered into the parking lot of a tacky motel. “Well, here goes nothing,” the woman said.
“Thanks for the ride. Hope you catch the bouquet.” Pippa walked down Route 209 and checked into the first dive that didn’t advertise heart-shaped bathtubs. She handed the Junior Service Associate two hundred bucks. “I’d like a room for tonight.”
A former Eagle Scout, he frowned at her blatant desecration of the uniform. “Would you have two forms of identification?”
Sure, except they didn’t match. Pippa returned to the highway. She finally found lodging in a flophouse run by dour Indians. They took two hundred bucks and told her not to smoke in bed. Pippa’s cabin was barely larger than the mattress it housed. Once inside, she lunged at the phone. By some miracle it produced a dial tone. “This is Pippa Walker. Connect me with Sheldon. It’s an emergency. I’ve heard the most awful things about my mother.”
Sheldon’s personal assistant Gwendolyn-Sue replied, “I’m afraid Attorney Adelstein can’t come to the phone. He’s in the hospital.”
“My God! Did Thayne break his nose, too?”
“He received a bomb in the mail. It was made to look like a cigarette lighter.”
Pippa nearly collapsed. MatchMace! “Is he all right?” “It’s too soon to tell. His eyebrows and nose hairs got singed right off.”
Pippa winced: Sheldon’s intimidating eyebrows were his pride and joy. “Who could have done such a thing?” she asked innocently. “He’s not telling.”
“Which hospital? I’d like to send flowers.”
Gwendolyn-Sue took a deep breath. “Attorney Adelstein has specifically instructed me to tell you—and here I quote— ‘not to communicate with me in any way, shape, or form until my burning desire to strangle her ebbs into merely a desire to chop her legs off at the knee.’“
“What does that mean?” Pippa wailed. “I’d say he’s mad at you, honey.” “Wait! I have a diploma.”
“Why don’t you take a little vacation until he feels well enough to contact you?”
“I’ll send my diploma for verification. And I won’t budge from here until he calls.” Pippa gave Gwendolyn-Sue her cabin number. “Is my mother really in jail?”
“Please, Pippa! Give everyone a rest!” The phone went dead.
Pippa spent two miserable weeks in her cabin waiting for Sheldon to call. Following its plunge into the Delaware, her Chippa Flushowitz debit card quit working. Afraid to venture outside lest Mitzi was still hunting her, Pippa lived on canned ravioli, Grape-Nuts, and old fruit from the convenience store across the street. She wore an increasingly grungy scoutmaster uniform or her Wilma Flintstone costume. She passed the time watching Bollywood films on in-house cable. She obsessed about Thayne, who seemed to be bouncing around the country from disaster to disaster in tandem with her. Following an erotic dream about Cole taking a naked moonlight swim with her in the Delaware, Pippa made a list of every boyfriend she ever had from the age of eight. The list was not only short but also discouragingly shallow .. . just like her. Lance was far better material than anyone who had preceded him. She should have married him. It would have been a tolerable nunnery; she would have spent the whole year unpacking wedding presents, and at the end of it, Pippa would be divorced but still a Walker. Ready to scream, she balled up her list and threw it at the television. She was far too depressed to even think about ways to spend a billion dollars.
Unable to stand the silence any longer, she called Sheldon’s office. He still hadn’t returned to work. “Did you get my diploma?”
“We did get an overnight letter billed to recipient,” Gwendolyn-Sue replied. “Attorney Adelstein left instructions not to open anything from you.”
“For Pete’s sake, it’s not a bomb, it’s my diploma! It’s critical that you open it. I’m down to my last fifty bucks. Please. I can’t hold out much longer.” That didn’t cut much mustard. “If anything happens to me here, I’ll have no choice but to sue you. Really major sue you.”
Pippa was put on hold for a long while. “I’ve opened the envelope,” Sheldon’s assistant finally informed her. “Now I’m unfolding the paper inside.”
Pippa waited an eon. “Well? What do you see?”
“A large brown stain.” Accusing voice: “It smells like fecal matter.”
“That’s Pushkin’s pawprint. It’s the official seal of the school. What you smell is insect repellent used as ink. Very effective insect repellent, I might add.” Pippa sensed she was not closing the deal. “Surely you see Slava Slootski’s name on the bottom of the page. He’s the most revered clown in the history of circuses. His signature alone is worth thousands of dollars.”
“I see a centipede on the bottom of the page. Dead.”
“Look, the diploma got soaked in the Delaware River by mistake. If you take it to an expert, I’m sure you’ll see the signature.”
“Expert or no expert, it’ll take a miracle to convince a judge there’s anything here but centipede guts.”
“So you’re telling me this isn’t going to fly?” Pippa’s voice began shaking. “I give you my word it’s genuine. I have three witnesses.”
Gwendolyn-Sue swore her fingers were beginning to itch from the damp, possibly bubonic paper. First explosives, now sewage. What next? “Pippa, you need professional help.”
“No kidding. That’s why I called Sheldon.”
“I’m not talking about legal assistance.”
“Are you calling me crazy?” Pippa screamed. “I’ll tear your head off!”
“You’re sounding like Thayne now.”
That cooled Pippa’s jets. “Is she out of jail?”
“It wasn’t cheap, but she’s out.”
“Where is she now?” Nothing. “Please tell me. I’m not going to contact her. I just want to know where she is so I can worry about her better.”
Gwendolyn-Sue sighed. The two of them were pathetic. If Anson Walker were alive today, he’d march Pippa and Thayne to the woodshed before you could say Five percent executor’s fee. “She’s traveling with an old friend from college. That’s all I can tell you.”
“Not that awful Dusi Damon!” The silence only confirmed her suspicion. “Give my regards to Sheldon. I’ll call when I’m enrolled in another school. That will be soon because I’m really, truly, out of money.”
Gwendolyn-Sue tried not to laugh. When people like Pippa said they were broke
, that meant they were down to their last fifty grand. “Keep us in the loop.” She hung up.
For a long while Pippa watched a fly crawl around the sole screened window in her cabin. A couple of days ago the fly had been full of energy and anger, bashing against the screen, sure it would find a way out. Now it was becoming lethargic. It no longer buzzed, it just wandered around the screen, an easy target for anyone with a swatter. Tomorrow its wings wouldn’t be able to lift it off the sill. The next day it would be dead. Pippa understood completely.
You are not a victim. Jerk is pretty damn close, though.
Leave nothing to fate, your soul mate awaits. Yeah right. Hope you had a nice lunch with him.
You must suffer for your art. I’ve suffered enough and I miss Pushkin.
Pippa morosely sniffed her bottle of Thayne. There being only a half inch of perfume left, she didn’t dare use any more of it. Around midnight she wandered across the street to the convenience store for a can of ravioli. As she was counting out a dollar and thirty-nine cents, the cashier asked, “Want a lottery ticket, hon? It’s up to a hundred and thirty million.”
Pippa laughed harshly. Her chances of winning the lottery were far better than her chances of acquiring a diploma. She picked a phone card off the floor. “Someone dropped this.”
“Loser weepers, finders keepers. Call your mother.” Seeing Pippa’s face, the cashier said, “Call your boyfriend.” The frown got worse. “Girlfriend.”
Pippa handed over her last four pennies. “I don’t have any friends.”
“You found that card for a reason. There’s a phone on the porch.” Poor kid had eaten a whole shelf of Ravioli-O’s and was looking more desperate each day. “Pick up that phone, you hear me? Someone’s got to be worried about you.”
Pippa inserted the phone card and dialed Ginny, whose number was one of the few she could remember. She got the answering machine. “Hi. Are you still in Costa Rica? I’m at—” She looked at the sputtering neon letters across the street. “Taj Mahal Cabins in Bushkill, Pennsylvania. Call if you feel like it.” Pippa almost hung up. “Oh! Ask for Lotus Polo,” she said before the card expired.