One Man Show

by John J. Bonk

  “Well, nice work today, munchkins,” Miss Van Rye said, applauding us. “Bravo!”

  Jeremy grabbed his stuff and shot out the door like a bullet.

  “Oh, one more thing, cast!” Miss Van Rye said. She was wedged in a front-row seat, struggling out of her ballet slippers. “There are show posters in the cardboard box stage right - hot off the presses. Principal Futterman is really going all out. Everyone take a stack before you leave. I expect to see Buttermilk Falls plastered in these things.”

  “Oh, man,” Wally grumbled.

  “Get some rest, boys and girls. Tomorrow we begin re-blocking the show.”

  “What the heck’s ‘blocking’?” I heard Wally ask Cynthia.

  “Where you move to onstage,” I said.

  He stomped away from me and stood in line at the box of posters. Pepper and I followed and ended up holding our breath behind Leonard Shempski.

  “Jeez,” Pepper said. “How are we supposed to delve, plaster, and get some rest?”

  “Well, munchkin,” I said in my best Miss Van Rye voice, “show business isn’t for wimps. You have to suffer for your art!”

  Wally gave me a quick look over his shoulder.

  “Knock it off,” Pepper said, snickering. “You’re gonna get us in trouble.”

  “Fiddle-dee-dee! Fiddle-dee-dee!” I said, sticking my fingers in my ears.

  The old Wally would’ve been howling at that, but he just grabbed some posters and left. We’d had rough patches in our friendship before, but this time I think I screwed things up big time.

  Chapter 14

  Yankee Doodle Dilemma

  “Can I help you, young man?”

  The waitress from the Yankee Doodle Diner had a tower of blond hair with an old army hat angled on top.

  “Yes, ma’am,” I said. “We’re doing a play down at the school. Is it okay if I put this poster in your window?”

  “We’ve already got one in the entranceway. Didn’t you see it on your way in?”

  “Oh, sorry, I -”

  “One more’s not gonna hurt, I guess,” she said. “Why don’t you go ahead and take out the one from St. Agatha’s pancake breakfast? That was last year, for heaven’s sake.”

  “Thanks,” I said. I took the faded poster out of the window, shook off the dead flies, and handed it to the waitress, Bunny. Her name tag stood out against the stars-and-stripes handkerchief that was pinned to her pocket.

  I hadn’t been to the diner in months, but it looked different, as if Uncle Sam had exploded in there or something. Tiny American flags were poking out of everything.

  “I like how you fixed up the place.” I said.

  “Well, ever since that Jukebox Café opened across the street, we started losing business,” Bunny said. “So Ed and I are pulling out all the stops. This place is our dream, and we’d sure hate to lose it.”

  “I know what you mean,” I said.

  It looked as if sticking a feather in its cap wasn’t doing the Yankee Doodle Diner much good, though. Besides the dead flies, there were just a few people at the counter and old Mr. Kravitz, the pharmacist, sitting in one of the booths, sipping an iced tea.

  “Oh, miss? Miss?”

  The voice coming from behind the menu at the counter sounded real familiar.

  “I’d better get back to my customers,” Bunny said, trotting away.

  “Can I have that order of fries to go, instead of for here?”

  It was Wally, using a deeper voice, as if I wasn’t going to recognize him. It was the same exact voice he used as the King. He turned his back to me, facing the revolving dessert case.

  “The Star-Spangled Banana Cream Pie came in fresh today,” Bunny said, tapping her order pad with a pencil. “Can I tempt ya?”

  “Nah, I’m not a big fan,” Wally said.

  “Those Red-White-and-Blueberry Muffins are to die for. No? How about your friend?” she asked, looking my way. I was lingering near the gum-ball machine at the entrance.

  “Him?” Wally said. “He’s not my friend. And can you hurry with my fries, please?”

  “Well, you boys both came in with the same posters, so I just figured -”

  “Nothing for me, thanks,” I said.

  Bunny stabbed her pencil into her lacquered hair and yelled, “Okay, Ed, put some wheels on those frog sticks!”

  “Remind me what that means again,” the cook said from the kitchen area.

  “Make the fries to go! For Pete’s sake, get with the program.”

  I knew Wally wasn’t going to run away as long as he had food coming. I wandered toward him, wondering what was going to come out of my mouth. Why is some stuff, like “I’m sorry,” practically impossible to say?

  “So I guess you hate my guts, right?” I said, approaching him.

  Wally plunked his clunky bassoon case on the stool next to him, forming a barrier between us. I sat on the next stool over.

  “Listen, Wally -”

  “It’s Wallace.”

  “Pepper filled me in on what happened,” I said. “About you seeing Jeremy at my house and everything. Would it help if I said… that it was a huge mistake?”

  “No.”

  This was going to take a while. I grabbed a handful of Sweet ‘n’ Slim packets out of the small bowl on the counter and piled them in front of me.

  “It definitely should’ve been you at that party instead,” I said.

  “You must be confusing me with somebody who cares,” Wally snapped, burying his head in the menu again.

  He wasn’t making this any easier.

  “Sorry I lied. For whatever it’s worth.”

  There. I’d actually said the word sorry, but Wally couldn’t care less. I focused my attention on balancing four Sweet ‘n’ Slim packets on their edges to build the foundation of a fort.

  “But you were complaining about having to get my gran a gift,” I went on, “and then I never heard back from you, so -”

  “So you just blew me off,” Wally snapped, spinning around on his stool to face me.

  “Hey, you never officially RSVP’d! That doesn’t count as a blow-off.”

  The bells on the door jingled, but I was too busy with my fort to turn around and see who’d come in.

  “Oh, hi, Dustin Grubbs. Hi, Wallace Dorkin.”

  “Hi, LMNOP,” Wally said. “See, at least she calls me by my right name.”

  My annoying neighbor dropped some coins in the Paws Across America pet-adoption canister next to the cash register and came bouncing over to us.

  “I just ran into Pepper Pew, and she told me the play is on again!” she said. “Are you guys psyched? Are these the posters? Spectacular!”

  Her lisp shot spittle clear across the room.

  “Say it, don’t spray it!” I said.

  “Sorry. I could take a bunch and post them around town, if you want.”

  “Sure. Knock yourself out.”

  LMNOP grabbed some posters and struggled to fit them under her scrawny arm.

  “So, I hear Jeremy Jason Wilder’s gonna be in it,” she said.

  Wally slammed the menu down.

  “Yep,” I said.

  She probably wants my undying gratitude for taking her up on her suggestion.

  “I have to talk to you,” she said in my face. “It’s important.”

  “We’re kind of in the middle of something,” I said.

  “But I think you’re really going to want to -”

  “Later, okay?”

  LMNOP swung her backpack over her shoulder, nearly toppling to one side, and stood there, staring. I wasn’t sure which thing grossed me out more - her muddy fingernails or the I’m Terrific! pin on her backpack.

  “All righty, then,” she said, finally heading out. “Bye, Wallace Dorkin. Bye, Dustin Grubbs.”

  I went back to building my fort.

  “That girl is just so sweet,” Bunny said, bringing Wally his greasy bag of fries. “Comes in here every other day to give money for the homeless a
nimals. Ain’t that something?” She slapped the check onto the counter.

  “Skinny little thing,” Mr. Kravitz said, chuckling. “I thought she was a crack in the wall.”

  “Oh, Frank, stop!” Bunny said, flipping through her order pad.

  “She said ‘Grubbs,’ didn’t she?” Mr. Kravitz said, shaking a crooked finger at me. “Are you Ted Grubbs’s boy?”

  My Sweet ‘n’ Slim fort collapsed.

  “Guilty,” I said.

  “I remember when you were knee high to a grasshopper. Nice man, your father - always with the jokes,” Mr. Kravitz said, standing up. He tucked a dollar under his empty glass. “Used to bring you and your brother into my drugstore on Sundays for root-beer floats way back when I still had the soda fountain.”

  I could barely remember stuff like that.

  “Give my regards to your pop, son,” Mr. Kravitz said, drifting toward the exit. “And tell him to be sure and stop by the store real soon.”

  “Don’t hold your breath,” I mumbled.

  “How’s that?”

  “You bet.”

  “Miss?” Wally said. “Do you think I can get some water to go too? With lots of ice? There’s no charge for that, is there?”

  “It’s on the house,” Bunny said, raising a painted-on eyebrow. “Adam’s ale, extra hail!” she called out on her way to the ringing phone.

  I started again from scratch with Fort Sweet ‘n’ Slim. Wally looked over the check and took his wallet out of his backpack. Well, he called it a wallet, but it was really a change purse.

  “Oh, crud!” he said, looking inside it. He zipped it, unzipped it, then zipped it again. “I totally can’t believe it!” He searched through all his pockets, then his backpack. More pockets.

  “Okay, Ed,” Bunny yelled, hanging up the phone. “Burn one, take it through the garden, and pin a rose on it!”

  “Come again?” the cook said.

  “Hamburger with lettuce, tomato, and onion!” Bunny said, storming into the kitchen. “How many times do we have to go over this?”

  “Wouldn’t it be easier to just say ‘hamburger with lettuce, tomato, and onion’?” I asked, turning to Wally - but he wasn’t there. I heard rattling. The Walrus was by the cash register, trying to shake coins out of the Paws Across America can. I slid down off my stool and hurried over to him.

  “You can’t do that!” I whispered. “It’s illegal.”

  “Not if I put the money back tomorrow,” he said, plucking a nickel from the slot in the canister. “Besides, it’s none of your business.”

  I looked to see if anyone was watching us. There was only one man at the counter now, and he was buried in a newspaper. Black smoke that smelled like deep-fried sneakers was seeping out of the kitchen, and Bunny was waving a rag around, chewing out the cook.

  “Jeez, Wal,” I whispered, “I can’t believe you’re so pigheaded that you’d rather commit a crime than ask a friend for help.”

  “Okay, then,” he said, slamming down the can. “Can I borrow fifty cents?”

  I checked my jacket pockets and pulled out some loose change.

  “All I have are a few pennies and that Canadian nickel from when those jerks threw them at us during the play,” I said, and handed him the coins. “Otherwise I’m bankrupt.”

  “Some help.”

  Wally rattled the canister again and three dimes fell out.

  “Jackpot!” he said, scooping them up. “Okay, now I’ve got exactly enough. But no tip.”

  “Here comes the waitress!” I warned. “I think maybe she saw.”

  Bunny poured a coffee refill for the man at the counter, then swung behind the cash register with Wally’s cup of ice water and a straw.

  “You ready?” she said, giving us a suspicious look.

  Wally paid his bill mostly in pennies. Bunny counted the change out loud, moaning every ten cents or so. She shoved the register door closed with her hip and gave us a limp salute. “Have a Yankee Doodle day, now.”

  Wally and I grabbed our stuff with Bunny staring us down. We were almost out the door when she called, “I wish you boys all the luck in the world with that play of yours!”

  We hit the sidewalk running and didn’t stop until we got to Main Street.

  “I don’t think she really meant it when she said to have a Yankee Doodle day, do you?” I asked Wally, catching my breath.

  “Why? She wished us luck with the play, didn’t she?”

  “Yeah, but there are two kinds of luck. Think about it. Good luck and…”

  Even with the clue, it took a while before Wally’s face registered that he got it.

  We headed down Main with Wally walking a few feet away from me. That meant he was still mad, but things were definitely moving in the right direction. I tried to stay in rhythm with the thwack-thwack-thwacking of Wally’s bassoon case as it hit his leg. By the time we reached Cubberly Place, we were walking side by side. I think we’d automatically slipped back into being full-fledged best friends.

  “Watch this,” Wally said with a bunch of fries sticking out of his mouth. “The lips, the teeth, the tip of the tongue. The lips, the teeth, the -”

  “Knock it off,” I said. “We’re in public.”

  “Fry?”

  “No, I’m good.”

  That felt like a normal moment. I was out of the woods.

  “Wow, look at that sky,” I said.

  Fiery orange and pink streaks were melting into the horizon ahead of us. Wally and I were practically melting too. It was unusually hot out, considering it was barely spring - and even though the sun was setting, it was still packing a punch. We stopped to put up a poster on the bulletin board in the Laundromat. It was boiling in there, but at least it smelled like clean sheets. That’s when Wally saw the flyer.

  “Oh, look! My bassoon teacher said he could get me two free tickets to this,” he said, all excited. “I almost forgot. He’s performing with the Verdant Valley Chamber Ensemble at the high school Saturday night. Wanna come?”

  I knew I should’ve jumped at the chance, just to get on his good side. But classical music gave me a stomachache. I’d rather listen to alley cats in heat.

  “Can’t you take your mom?”

  “Come on, man, you owe me big time,” Wally said. “And they’re doing a piece featuring bassoon. Nobody ever does a piece featuring bassoon.”

  “Maybe there’s a reason for that,” I mumbled.

  “Huh?”

  “Nothing.”

  After we left the Laundromat, we took our usual route home. Except for the sound of Wally chomping on ice cubes, we passed by four antique stores in complete silence. The distance between us was widening again. We got to the end of the block, stepped off the curb, and then -

  “Selfish.”

  “What?” I said. I smelled another fight brewing - and after we’d barely made up.

  “You can really be selfish sometimes,” Wally said.

  “Just because I can’t go to the stupid concert with you makes me selfish?”

  “Won’t - not can’t - it’s not stupid - and yes.”

  “How?”

  “I did you a favor by being in your stupid play, and you can’t do me a favor by - oh, forget it.”

  We stopped when we got to the other side of the street. Wally crushed the empty bag and paper cup and lined them into a garbage can.

  “Favor? You have a great part,” I said, digging a roll of tape out of my backpack. “The King is a great part!”

  “Oh, who cares? I only agreed to do the play in the first place ‘cause you’re my best friend. It’s turning out to be a real pain.”

  “How can you say that?”

  I ripped off four pieces of tape with my teeth and stuck them to the corners of a poster.

  “News flash!” Wally said. “The whole world doesn’t want to be an actor, you know.”

  “Well, if you’re into being a musician so much, why’d you put ‘Dentist’ on your index card for the hall bulletin b
oard?” I’d been meaning to bring that up.

  “I dunno,” he said, wiping the sweat off his forehead. “My dad’s a dentist.”

  “Oh, well, that makes sense,” I said, ‘cause it obviously didn’t. “Whatever.”

  I whacked the poster up on the side of a telephone booth, and we continued walking at a faster pace.

  “You know, sometimes people do stuff just to make other people happy,” he said. “You should try it sometime.”

  Wally sped up and stayed about a half a block ahead of me until we got to the corner of Chugwater and Spruce. That’s where we always split off in different directions.

  “Here, take these - I’m not putting ‘em up,” Wally said, handing me his stack of posters. “That play is just a freakin’ waste of time. I’ve got better things to do.”

  “So, what does that mean?” I asked. “Are you quitting?”

  “I’ll get back to you on that.”

  “That’s what you said about the party!” I wanted to sock him, but I held back. “I need an answer right now,” I said as calmly as I could. “Are you quitting, or what?”

  “Maybe I am, and maybe I - am!”

  “Fine! Have a nice life,” I hollered, and tore down Chug-water.

  “Fine!” Wally said, heading up Spruce.

  A few seconds later I heard him call out to me, “Oh, by the way - about your play… ?”

  I stopped to hear what he had to say without turning.

  “I wish you all the luck in the world!”

  Chapter 15

  Gone Ape!

  Trudging down Chugwater Road, I got a lungful of exhaust fumes from an oncoming Lotustown bus. It kicked off another one of my black-and-white movie memories: the night our whole family went to see Dad do his comedy act in Lotustown. I was around seven years old, I think. It was talent night in some little coffeehouse or something. Dad mainly talked about how crazy our family was: how Granny never bothered to close the door when she used the bathroom, and how birdbrained Aunt Birdie used air freshener for perfume ‘cause she liked the smell. The family hated his “airing their dirty laundry,” but the rest of the audience laughed. “Growing up Grubbs,” Dad kept repeating. “And that’s what it was like growing up -”

  “Grubbs, Dustin Grubbs! Wait up!”