by John J. Bonk
“Dr. Devon,” the man said, shaking my hand.
“What was wrong, Doctor?” I asked. Then I realized that Granny had on an eye patch under her glasses, over her left eye.
“Corneal abrasion,” Dr. Devon said.
I gave him a puzzled look/ It sounded serious.
“A minor scratch on her eyeball,” he explained. “The patch will do the trick.”
“Now all I need is a peg leg and a parrot,” Granny said.
“You do look like Pirate Pete from the Crustacean Crunch commercials. How the heck did it happen?”
“It was the darnedest thing,” she said. “We were at your school for the play, and your aunt Birdie gave me some tortilla chips - what are they called? Corn Fritters or some such thing. Not Corn Fritters. Burritos? Lolitas?”
“Cornchitas?” I said.
“No, no, no. Those spicy triangles. Oh, you know what I’m talking about,” Granny said. “Cornchitas, that’s it!”
The doctor gave me a quick wink.
“Anyway, I took a bite and the tip of a chip broke off and flew right into my eye.”
“Oh, cripes!”
“Stung like the dickens,” she said. “They were the barbecue kind, so that made it even worse. No, not barbecue - cheddar cheese and onion. No - jalapeño!”
As a kid with firsthand experience of spaghetti sauce up the nose, I could relate.
“Well, I’m glad you’re all right,” I said, giving her another hug.
“Look at the two of us,” Granny said. “The prince and the pirate. We might as well go trick-or-treating.”
With a “yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum,” we made our way to the orange vinyl chairs, where the rest of the family was sitting and drinking tea. Dr. Devon explained the details of Granny’s injury to the family and told us how the eyeball was one of the fastest-healing parts of the body. The Grubbs women were staring him down as if he’d stepped off the cover of Dream Doctor magazine.
“We appreciate everything you’ve done, Doctor,” Mom said, extending her hand.
“My pleasure,” Dr. Devon said, taking her hand in both of his.
I swear Mom was blushing. It made me squirm to see her acting like Darlene does around Jeremy.
The doctor gave Granny her instructions, making sure we all heard. “Leave the patch on for a full three days,” he said. “You can take two acetaminophen every four hours if there’s any pain. If you sit tight, I can have the pharmacy send up your drops.”
“Thanks, Doc,” Granny said.
“And I’ll see you back here on Monday for a follow-up. All right, young lady?”
“It’s a date!”
“Nice meeting all of you,” Dr. Devon said, flashing his hundred-watt smile.
“He’s a real looker, that one,” Granny said, watching him walk away. “And no wedding ring. If only I were twenty years younger.”
“Twenty?” Aunt Olive said.
“If ifs and buts were candy and nuts we’d all have a wonderful Christmas,” Aunt Birdie said, ripping into a snack bag. “Here, Ma, have some of these - they’re dee-lish.”
“Cornchitas?” Granny said. “I swear, Birdie, sometimes I think the elevator’s not reaching your top floor.”
“Dr. Julius Devon,” Aunt Olive sang his name. “It’s like music.”
“How long do you think that prescription’ll take?” I asked. “’Cause we should be heading back to the school.” It was as if I were invisible.
“What a catch, Dorothy!” Gran said, nudging Mom. “I wonder if he knows you’re available. Shoot, even with one eye I saw sparks between the two of you.”
“Oh, please,” Mom muttered.
“Did you notice his eyes?” Aunt Birdie said. “A perfect shade of sea-foam blue.”
“Sea foam is green,” I said. “And we really should go.”
“I’m telling you, Dorothy, you have to strike while the iron’s hot,” Granny said. “You’re not getting any younger, you know.”
“Okay, that’s it,” Mom said, getting up. “I’m going to wait in the car.”
“That’s a start!” I said.
“I don’t understand you sometimes,” Granny said, pulling her back. “A handsome doctor’s not good enough? After my good-for-nothing son runs off and deserts you, you lock yourself in the house for three years. Then all of a sudden you’re gaga over that rumpled doughnut salesman. That Larry, or Gary, or -”
“Barry?” Mom said.
“No, that’s not it,” Granny said.
Mr. Ortega’s head popped up from the water fountain.
“Barry, what are you doing here?” Mom said, falling back into her chair.
“Oh! Hello, Dot - Dorothy,” Mr. Ortega said, all wide eyed. “Uh, I drove Dustin. Didn’t he tell you?”
“No.”
“It slipped my mind,” I said.
“I was going to the school play and Regina said your son needed a ride, so -”
“Regina?” Mom interrupted.
Mr. Ortega just stood there, stone-faced and silent, like Felix Plunket when he’d freaked out onstage. Then he suddenly crouched down next to Granny and shouted, “Are you all right, Mother Grubbs?” as if she were deaf.
“Keep your voice down - you’re in a hospital,” Granny said, hoisting herself out of her seat. “I think I forgot my pocketbook in Dr. Divine’s office.”
“Your purse is right there,” Mom said, pointing to it. “And it’s Devon.”
“Then I forgot to ask him something,” Granny said, shooting Mom an annoyed look. “I’ll be right back.”
“I’ll phone Regina and tell her everything is fine and dandy, and that Dustin’s on his way,” Mr. Ortega said nervously. He wandered over to a vending machine, dropped some coins in, and wrestled out a candy bar. “Okeydokey, then. I guess I’ll see you folks at the play.”
Everyone muttered an anemic good-bye. Mr. O. left, and my aunts went to “powder their noses” in the ladies’ room.
“Who’s this Regina?” Mom asked after we were alone.
“Miss Van Rye, the kindergarten teacher,” I said. “She helped with the play.”
“Well, that explains a lot.”
“So where’s Turdface?” I asked, changing the subject.
“Your brother doesn’t even know we’re here,” Mom said. “He’s meeting us at the play with his new girlfriend.”
“Oh, no! And you’re letting him? This one could be, like, a vampire or a stripper or something.”
Mom gave me her oh-you’re-overreacting-again look and took a sip of tea.
“He really seems to like this girl,” she said, smiling. “And no tattoos!”
“You know who else might be meeting us at the play?” I blurted out.
She’d find out soon enough if he showed up; I figured I’d give her fair warning. And if she overreacted - well, the emergency room was just steps away.
“Who?”
I couldn’t say it. Then I thought about how she didn’t even flinch when Gordy told her I wanted to be an actor. This was a lot different, though, and I knew it. I took a deep breath and said it on the exhale.
“Dad.”
Mom’s face went whiter than a hospital sheet.
“What?” she said, knocking over her tea. “But when did you - how did you -”
“I left him a message at a club he’s working at in Chicago - I kinda tracked him down. Said I was doing a play and that maybe he’d want to come see it. Then he sent me a telegram at school, saying he was coming. Did you know that telegrams still exist?”
Mom didn’t speak. She grabbed a bunch of napkins that were on the table, wadded them up, and started stabbing at the spill.
“Who put you up to this?” she finally said, still stabbing. “One of your aunts?”
“No, it was my idea. I never thought in a million years he’d say yes.”
“Oh, Dustin….” She looked at me as if I’d just murdered someone, as if I were standing over the body, dripping in blood. “And you wai
ted until the last minute to spring this on me? What’s your grandmother going to do when she sees him?” She sat quietly for a minute, just staring at the soaked napkins on the table. “I - I just don’t think I can face that man again. What would I say?”
“Hello?”
“This isn’t a joke, Dustin,” Mom said sharply. Her face was clenched as tight as a fist. “How could you do such a thing?”
“Well, he is my father!”
She grabbed her jacket and purse and rushed into the hall, almost slamming into Aunt Olive, who was walking out of the ladies’ room.
“Mom!” I called after her. A burly nurse shushed me. “Mom, wait!”
I instantly regretted telling her. Regretted everything.
“Where’s she running off to?” Aunt Olive asked. “Did you tell her about -?”
Aunt Olive was the only person I’d talked to about Dad coming - well, until now.
“I had to,” I mumbled. I should’ve been dehydrated from before, but I could taste the salty tears running over my lips. “I hope she doesn’t take a bus home or something.”
Aunt Birdie flew out of the ladies’ room and migrated from side table to side table, hand-sweeping crumbs and picking up empty wrappers and cups.
“I thought Granny wasn’t coming to the play,” I whispered to Aunt Olive. “What’s gonna happen if Dad shows up?”
“Well, I tried to get her to stay home,” she said, rubbing my shoulder, “but you know your gran - she insisted on coming. Maybe now she -”
“What’s all this whispering about?” Aunt Birdie said, dumping the trash into the receptacle next to us. “And where did they go for that prescription, Timbuktu? It’s ten to eight. We should skedaddle.”
My heart jumped. “We have to go!” I said, sniffling. “Now!”
“Here she comes,” Aunt Olive said as Granny came shuffling around the corner. “She won’t be up for your play after all this hoopla. I’ll drop her off at home.”
“Don’t you dare,” Granny said, joining us. “And I can speak for myself, Olive, thank you very much.”
“You really should get some rest now,” Aunt Birdie said, taking Granny’s arm.
“I’ll get plenty of rest when I’m six feet under.”
“Oh, Ma, how you talk,” Aunt Olive said. “We’re only trying to -”
“Listen!” Granny growled in her drill-sergeant voice. “This child has his play to do. Can’t you see he’s on pins and needles? Now, I’ve got the prescription in my pocketbook, so stop your jabbering and let’s vamoose!”
Chapter 20
Row C, Seat 101
“He’s here!” Wally and Pepper both shouted when Aunt Olive’s station wagon dropped me off in front of the school. They were in costume, jumping up and down in the entranceway. I had to climb over Mom, who hadn’t said a word to anyone for the entire drive over and was still sizzling with anger -but at least she was there. The car sped off to find parking, and I sped up the steps.
“Come on, hustle!” Pepper said, pulling me into the corridor. Shouts of “He’s here! He’s here!” echoed off the walls. I felt important.
“We’re holding the curtain,” Wally said, “but the audience is getting antsy.”
“They passed antsy ten minutes ago,” Pepper said. “They’re about to start throwing rotten fruit.”
The three of us raced down the hall as if we were running on hot coals. The muffled roar of the audience grew louder and louder the closer we got to the auditorium. My mind was a total mishmash from the night so far - and the main-event stuff hadn’t even happened yet.
“I’m glad you’re back,” Wally said, “and that your grandma’s okay. Miss Van Rye gave us the scoop.”
“Here!” Pepper flung a garment bag at my head. “Get dressed, quick!”
“I am dressed.”
“As the Prince,” she said. “But you’re back to playing the Jester again, ‘cause Jeremy flew the coop!”
“No way!”
“Way!” Pepper said. “He cut out after Futterman said he would press charges.”
“Yeah, but first he made Jeremy scoop the stolen box-office money out of the toilet,” Wally said. “On national television! How cool is that?”
“I knew it was in the bowl!” I said.
“Futterman said celebrity or not, a thief is a thief,” Pepper said, “and that there would be swift… revolution, or something.”
“Persecution?” Wally said.
“No.”
“Retribution?” I said.
“That’s it!” Pepper said. “At least the idiot left his costume behind.”
“Wait,” I said. “If I’m playing the Jester, who’s gonna be the Prince?”
“Felix,” Wally said.
“Cynthia’s helping him go over his lines in the kindergarten room right now,” Pepper said. “Take off your costume and I’ll bring it to him. It’ll save time.”
“But -”
“Take it off!” she insisted. “This is no time to be shy.”
I undid my tie belt and handed it to Wally, then pulled off the gold tunic and tossed it to Pepper. There I was, running around half-naked in public again. I really should start working out.
Pepper hiked up her dress and zoomed down the hall, shouting, “See ya in Gálico!”
“Felix Plunket?” I said to Wally. “How did they get ahold of him?”
“Futterman spotted him in the audience,” he said. “I didn’t think Felix would go for it, but he jumped at the chance. Said something about wanting a do-over.”
The Walrus helped me on with Jeremy’s Jester costume, the rental from Hollywood Costume Cavalcade. It was a zillion times better than my original, with red, green, and yellow satiny pieces all sewn together in a diamond pattern - and a huge zigzag collar with tiny bells attached to the tips.
I popped my head through the neck hole and saw Miss Van Rye barreling toward us in her blinding sequins, her pearls rattling. Little reflections of light bounced off her and filled the hallway.
“Oh, thank goodness you’re here!” Miss Van Rye said, suffocating me in a bear hug. “Switching back to Jingle Jangles shouldn’t be a problem for you, trouper that you are. Felix may need some help, though. I’m counting on you to get him through this.”
Okay, no pressure.
The backstage doors sprang open and Futterman’s bald head poked through.
“You’re here!” he said. “It’s about time. Let’s go!” The doors closed, then opened again, like a cuckoo clock. “Don’t mess up this time!”
Pepper was leading the rest of the cast down the hall in a mad dash to the auditorium. It sounded like a stampede of water buffalo.
“Shhh, quiet as church mice,” Miss Van Rye said in a hushed voice. She held the backstage door open and herded us onto the stage. “Break legs, munchkins. And just remember to have fun.”
“Places, people!” Futterman yelled from the darkness.
It was lucky that the jester’s hat Miss Honeywell had made for me was sitting on the prop table, ‘cause Jeremy’s came down over my eyes. Big head - go figure. Wally handed me my tie belt, and I quickly wrapped it around my waist, knotting it on the side. Now the costume felt complete.
I began pacing back and forth, going over the Jester lines in my head. It wasn’t easy with the audience jabbering and clapping in rhythm.
“This must be what it felt like in medieval times,” Wally said, “when they threw people to the lions.”
“Roman times.”
“Huh?”
“They threw people to the lions in - ouch!” I rammed into the prop table. My eyes were having a hard time adjusting to the dark.
“Are you all right?” Wally asked.
“Yes. No!” A surge of panic shot through me. “The audience is going to boo me off the stage!”
“Why?”
“They paid to see Jeremy Jason Wilder, not me!”
“So? You’re a ten-times-better Jester.”
I really needed
that. Friends till the end.
The houselights went out. Everything got quiet.
“Wally?” I whispered, grabbing his arm with both hands. “My dad might be out in that audience right now.”
“Your real dad?”
“No, the guy who plays my dad on TV. Of course, my real dad!”
The musical intro started playing through the speaker system, and Cynthia launched into her minstrel song onstage.
Many sunrises ago, in the Land of Galico,
On a warm and dewy, bright September morn,
There arose unbounded bliss, unimagined happiness,
For the daintiest of princesses was born….
She sounded kind of wobbly on her last verse, but things just rolled along without a hitch after that. Leonard Shempski even got the sound cues right. Felix was sweating up a storm again, but the gods of theater must’ve been smiling down on us, ‘cause he managed to get every word out this time - with hardly a stutter. I kept checking out seat C101, the one that was reserved for Dad. It stayed empty for all of act one.
Maybe he came late and he’s standing at the back of the house. Or he might be just minutes away; trains never run on time. All my good stuff is in act two, anyway.
I spent the whole intermission peeking through that trusty hole in the curtain. It looked as though some of the audience had left, probably because psycho Jeremy wasn’t in the play. I spotted Gordy and some girly-girl huddled together, reading programs. Aunt Birdie was sitting next to them, snapping a flash picture of Granny hiding behind her purse. Mom and Aunt Olive were standing by the covered piano, chatting with Pepper’s folks. No sign of Dad.
Could it be that I just don’t recognize him? I mean, it’s been a while. People change. I tried to avoid the depressing maybe-he-just-blew-me-off thoughts that were knocking around in my brain. I still had to be funny for forty-five more minutes.
“Places for act two, kiddles!” Miss Van Rye shouted, racing across the stage like a streak of silver lightning.
Somewhere around the beginning of the second act, when I was onstage without many lines, I glanced out into the house at third-row center and just about freaked out. A dark silhouette was filling the aisle seat reserved for Mr. Theodore Grubbs. Adrenaline rush! Just knowing he was out there watching made my performance more energetic or something. I thought I’d been giving it my all, but I guess not, ‘cause suddenly it felt as if I was running on high voltage.