Three

by McMan, Ann;

  I could taste it all right now….

  Marty retched into the trash bag. Again.

  Okay. Maybe not now…but I knew it was all going to be extraordinary.

  And the best part? We were planning our wedding. Our wedding.

  We decided months ago that we would short circuit all the family hoopla and sneak off to City Hall tonight—Christmas Eve. Just the two of us. My brother, Father Frank, would be our only witness.

  We’d hatched this plan because it became clear to us in short order that trying to orchestrate an event that could balance the Wylie family need for refinement with the Gillespie family need for crab claws and creamed corn would surely generate chaos on an apocalyptic scale. Although Clarissa did wryly suggest that it was too bad film director Robert Altman died. In her view, he would have made the perfect wedding planner.

  So here I was, six hours and change away from the happiest night of my life, and my best friend was heaving his guts out in the middle of a traffic jam on St. Paul Street.

  I inched the van windows up a notch.

  It looked like the weather was taking a nosedive, too. What started out as “scattered flurries” was starting to resemble a bona fide snow squall.

  I didn’t like the way these odds were starting to stack up. An unhappy thought occurred to me. I looked at Marty.

  “Um…who’s taking care of the kids?”

  He fixed me with a bleary-eyed gaze, but didn’t say anything.

  “Marty? Dude…please. Tell me you have somebody lined up to help you.”

  He shook his head.

  I felt myself beginning to sweat. Dear god, this was not happening.

  “Marty?”

  “It should…only…be for…one night.”

  One night? One night with Alvin, Simon, and Theodore?

  I’d rather shove a hot poker into my eye.

  Another horrifying prospect reared its ugly head.

  “What about…her?” I asked.

  “Who?” Marty looked confused. And green. Very, very green.

  “That servant of Cerberus you call a dog.”

  “Oh. Yeah,” he said. You’ll need to take Sadie, too.”

  Make that hot pokers in both eyes.

  “You can’t be serious?”

  “Do I not look serious?” Marty bent over and retched into the bag, just for emphasis.

  Oh, god. Clarissa was going to kill me….

  Someone blew a car horn and I jumped about a foot into the air. Shit. I was so lost in contemplating my misfortunes that I didn’t notice traffic had started moving again. I hit the gas and the van lurched forward.

  Bad idea. Marty all but did a face plant into his hefty bag.

  Okay, I reasoned. It was only for one night. With luck this…thing…Marty had would be over with in about eight hours, and hell could go back into its box.

  He was retching again.

  Make that twelve hours….

  “You have to make Teddy wear his retainer.”

  “Right.”

  “He won’t want to. He’ll try to hide it and say it’s lost.”

  “Okay.”

  “Last night, he hid it in Alvin’s Pull-Ups.”

  “Pull-Ups. Check.”

  “The dirty ones.”

  I looked up from my notepad. Dirty ones?

  “Gross.”

  “Tell me about it. Alvin’s had the trots for three days. I had to soak the retainer in Clorox.”

  “Good god.”

  “Now Teddy really hates it.”

  Marty was on his knees, hugging the commode in their master bathroom. I was taking notes.

  “And he has to have ear drops twice a day.”

  “Ear drops. Roger.”

  “Twice a day, Diz. I’m not kidding. Otherwise he gets this smelly, yellow ear magma that oozes out and stains everything.”

  I made the note. “Twice a day. Right.”

  “And you have to take them to see Santa Claus tonight.”

  I lowered the notepad. “Marty….”

  He held up a hand. “I promised them, Diz. It’s their last chance before Christmas.”

  I sighed and looked at my watch.

  It was nearly two-thirty. I still had to pack up all their shit and then go and retrieve them from their after school program at Church of the Redeemer on Charles Street.

  And I had to be home by five-thirty to meet Bernard Wiley for the Maris handoff.

  “Can’t they just skip it this year?”

  “Sure.” Marty groaned and rested his head on the porcelain rim. “They probably won’t scream for more than six hours…seven, tops. Of course, Alvin starts projectile vomiting when he cries for more than ten minutes.”

  My shoulders drooped. “Santa Claus. Check.”

  “Sadie has to be crated at night.”

  Crated?

  I looked at him. “What kind of crate?”

  “You know.” He waved a hand. “A crate. With bars and shit.”

  That sounded about right. If I had my way, Sadie would be spending Christmas in Leavenworth.

  “I don’t have one of those. Can I take yours?”

  “If you can get it apart.”

  “How big is it?”

  “About the size of a Buick.”

  Okay, so that wasn’t happening. “I’ll figure something else out.”

  “Yeah, well make sure you do. She eats upholstery.”

  Marty was fading. I needed to get him up and into bed. “Come on. Let’s get you settled.”

  I helped him stand up and guided him into the bedroom. He’d already shucked off most of his clothes as soon as we got inside the house. I helped him crawl beneath the covers.

  “Do you have food?” I asked.

  He moaned.

  “Okay. Forget about food. Do you have juice? Gatorade?”

  “I don’t want anything. I just want to die.”

  “Right.” I pulled the covers up to his chin. “Your cell phone is right here on the nightstand. You call me if you need anything, okay?”

  He nodded and closed his eyes.

  “I’ll call Sheila for you.”

  He grunted.

  I was halfway out of the room when I heard him call out to me. I paused in the doorway.

  “What did you say?”

  “Presents,” he muttered.

  I took a step back into the room. “What presents?”

  “For the kids. They’re in the back of the van, beneath two, forty-pound bags of cedar chips.”

  “You mean their Christmas presents?”

  He nodded. “They’re not wrapped….”

  I opened my mouth to protest, but it was useless. He had already dropped off to sleep.

  I did the best I could trying to collect everything I thought we’d need to manage the kids for a night. I just grabbed clothes, jammies, and stuffed animals and crammed them all into a couple of pillowcases. Fortunately, toothbrushes, medicines, and Teddy’s retainer were all on a shelf in their bathroom. And Marty was right…that thing did smell like Clorox.

  I also grabbed a big, open box of Pull-Ups.

  As soon as I started down the stairs, I heard a high-pitched wailing sound that was like fingernails on a chalkboard.

  Sadie. The Siberian Vortex.

  Let the games begin.

  I still don’t know how I managed to get all three kids strapped into their car seats after I picked them up at day care.

  Who designs those contraptions, anyway? They’re like straight jackets in Day-Glo colors.

  Sadie was riding shotgun up front. I had to tie her into the passenger seat with bungee cords so she wouldn’t make a break for it when I got out to get the kids.

  “Where’s daddy?” Simon asked.

  Alvin and Theodore seemed too preoccupied with trying to figure out why Sadie was strapped into the front seat to notice that I was the one picking them up.

  I lifted Simon into the van.

  “He’s sick today, and he asked me to co
me and pick you guys up.”

  “Why is Sadie in the front seat?” Alvin asked. “I have to pee,” he added, before I could reply.

  “You have to pee?” I looked back at the church. “Didn’t you go inside?”

  He nodded. “But Brian Plotnik pushed me outta the way and I didn’t get to finish it.”

  Theodore had already climbed into the van by himself. He strapped himself into his car seat so fast his little hands were a blur.

  “Brian Plotnik hates you,” he said to his brother. “I hate you, too.”

  Alvin started to cry. He was holding his crotch with both hands.

  Great. Now what was I supposed to do?

  I looked around for someone to ask for help. People were fleeing the scene like inmates in the aftermath of a prison break. Nobody would even make eye contact with me.

  “Okay, guys. I’m going to lock the doors on the van while I take Alvin back inside to use the bathroom. You have to promise me that you won’t open the doors for anyone until I get back. Okay?”

  They both nodded.

  “You have to promise…cross your hearts.”

  They looked at each other.

  “Well?” I asked.

  “We don’t know what that means,” Simon said.

  I sighed. “It means that if you promise not to open the doors, no matter what, I’ll take you to Dairy Queen on the way home.”

  Their eyes lit up.

  “We promise!” they cried in unison.

  “Okay.” I slid the side door closed and hit the lock button on the key fob.

  I looked down at Alvin, who was now crouching by the curb.

  Uh oh.

  A wet stain was making determined progress down the inside of his pant leg. A small lake spread out beneath his Spider Man sneakers. Steam rose up around his little feet like an acrid cloud.

  “Dude….”

  “I had to go,” he cried. “I told you.”

  I sighed. At least I had some clean clothes with me. He could change once I got him inside, and I could wash the soiled stuff when I got them home.

  “It’s okay,” I said to Alvin. “I’m not mad at you. I have some dry clothes for you in the van.”

  I hit the door unlock button on the key fob. Nothing happened. I hit it again. Zilch.

  Great.

  “Hey, guys?” I tapped on the side window. “Wanna open the door?”

  They ignored me.

  I tapped again—louder this time.

  “Simon? Teddy? Open the door, please.”

  They continued to ignore me. I did notice, however, that Sadie was staring at me with her clear, blue eyes. “Good luck with this one,” her gaze seemed to say.

  I slapped the side panel with the flat of my hand. “Boys? This isn’t funny. I know you hear me. Open the door.”

  Nothing.

  Alvin started to cry again.

  Judas.

  “Simon and Theodore? I’m not kidding. Open this door right now.”

  Silence.

  Enlightenment dawned. I decided to try another approach.

  “Okay, boys. I’m very proud of you both. You passed the test. Now open the door, and I’ll let you order whatever you want at Dairy Queen.”

  The door locks shot up with a resounding thunk.

  I was proud of my ingenuity. Even Sadie looked impressed.

  “Come on, Alvin.” I rolled open the door and lifted him into the van. “Let’s get you into some dry pants.”

  “I want a Peanut Buster Parfait,” Simon said.

  “I want a Dilly Bar,” Teddy added.

  “Can Sadie have a puppy cup?” Simon asked.

  I was trying to find a pair of pants that would fit Alvin. His shoes were soaked, too—and smelly.

  “What’s a puppy cup?” I asked.

  Sadie chose this moment to begin singing the songs of her people. It wasn’t exactly howling. It was more like…yodeling. Loud yodeling. Loud, endless yodeling.

  “What’s the matter with her?” I shouted above the din.

  Simon yelled back. “She wants a puppy cup.”

  Right.Of course she does.

  I had forty-five minutes to roar through the drive-in at Dairy Queen and get home in time to meet Bernard and Maris. I wondered if Dairy Queen had a dirty, double Goose martini on the drive-through menu?

  I gave up on finding Alvin a pair of pants that would fit. I pulled out a pair of pajama bottoms.

  “Here, buddy. Let’s put these on.”

  “Those aren’t mine,” he complained. “They’re Teddy’s.”

  “Gross!” Teddy yelled. “Don’t let him pee on my pajamas.”

  “He’s not going to pee on anybody’s pajamas.” I looked at Alvin. “Are you?”

  He took a minute to think about it.

  “Dude?” I asked again.

  He shook his head. Thank god. I got the dry pants on him and strapped him into his car seat. Sadie was still yodeling at ear-splitting decibel levels when I climbed behind the wheel.

  “How do we get her to stop?” I shouted at the boys.

  “Mommy usually just turns the radio up really loud,” Simon said.

  Okay. That might work. I started the van and turned on the radio. Polka music came blasting out of the speakers. It sounded like a medley from The Best of Myron Florin.

  Miraculously, Sadie shut up. Immediately. Then she resumed looking placidly out the passenger window.

  Whatever. I shook my head and pulled the van out into traffic.

  Clarissa wasn’t buying it.

  “Explain to me again why we have a house full of screaming children?” She plucked a furry, gray and white tumbleweed up off the hardwood floor. “And dog hair?”

  “The dog hair is not my fault.” I felt confident enough to try and acquit myself of that offense.

  Sadie decided that this was a perfect moment to bolt across the room at a full lope. She slid to halt just inches short of the Christmas tree, where Maris was reposing on a fluffy, red pillow. I noticed that she was carrying something in her mouth, but I was too preoccupied with mounting my defense to pay much attention to it.

  “As you can see,” I continued. “Not all of the dog hair is my fault.”

  Clarissa dropped her hand. “Nice try.”

  “Come on, Clar. What was I supposed to do? Call the National Guard? He’s really sick.”

  She closed her eyes and let out a deep sigh.

  I put an arm around her shoulders and pulled her closer. “It’s only for one night.”

  She slowly shook her head.

  I kissed her hair.

  I honestly thought we were home free until Teddy decided to create a makeshift trap set out of our pots and pans. He was no Art Blakey, but to be fair, he was doing a credible job keeping up with the Retro Cool Bossa Nova Christmas CD I had playing in the background.

  Clarissa looked toward the kitchen, then back at me. “That,” she pointed a finger toward Teddy and his stainless steel skins, “I can’t even talk about. But explain to me why we’re still listening to this awful music.”

  I was offended. “It’s Vinnie Zummo.”

  “I know who it is.”

  “You don’t like it?”

  “I wouldn’t go that far,” she explained. “Let’s just say that any traces of nuance or quirky appeal it had for me evaporated after the first five-hundred times you played it.”

  “They like it.” I gestured toward the dogs. They were curled up together on the big red pillow, happily munching away on something.

  I took a closer look.

  Uh oh.

  “Excuse me.”

  I disengaged myself and walked over to retrieve what was left of the whole pork tenderloin I had taken out of the fridge when we got home.

  There wasn’t much.

  I held up the soggy, plastic wrapper.

  “I guess we’re eating out?”

  “Whatis that?” Clarissa had a horrified expression on her face.

  “It was a por
k tenderloin. It was going to be our dinner.”

  “You left meat out on the counter?” Clarissa was incredulous.

  “No. It was on top of the fridge.” I looked at Sadie, who was gazing back at me with her pale eyes. “How did I know this dog was part Flying Wallenda?”

  “Diz….” Clarissa started to say something but thought better of it. It was clear that another thought had occurred to her. “Aren’t there supposed to be three of them?” She looked around the living room.

  “Three of what?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Children. Three children.”

  “Yeah….”

  “So where are the other two?”

  Shit.

  “Um.” I raised my eyes. “Upstairs?”

  Clarissa took off her coat and calmly draped it over the back of the sofa. “Why don’t you go and check? I’ll stay here and guard the perimeter.”

  “Right.”

  I took the stairs two at a time.

  Sure enough, Alvin and Simon were in our room playing. Sort of.

  Alvin had pulled every pair of Clarissa’s shoes out of the closet and appeared to be trying them all out. Right now, he was striding back and forth in a pair of sling-back Jimmy Choo’s.

  Oddly, I thought they had a slenderizing effect on him.

  Simon was stretched out on our bed with what was left of his Peanut Buster Parfait, watching TV. I was impressed that he figured out how to navigate his way through all five of the remotes it took just to turn the damn thing on.

  He was watching BBC World News.

  I tried to ignore the chocolate stains on the bolster.

  “Come on, guys.” I clapped my hands together. “It’s time to go see Santa.”

  That got their attention. Alvin made a dash for the door, which was pretty impressive considering his footwear. I caught him by the back of his sweatshirt as he flew past me.

  “Hold up there, Hoss. Let’s change our shoes.”

  “He’s a pervert,” Simon chimed in from the bed.

  “Hey.” I held up a finger. “That’s not a very nice thing to say. Lots of people like fancy shoes.”

  Simon was now flipping channels. He stopped on the Bloomberg channel. Charlie Rose was interviewing Anthony Bourdain.

  “He’s wearing a pair of your underwear, too,” he added.

  “My…” I looked toward my dresser. Several of the drawers were standing open and clothes were strewn across the carpet.