by Leo Bonanno
She looked to be about the same age as Arnold, maybe a little younger. A small, golden hummingbird broach was stuck on her left lapel. It shimmered with reflections from the chandelier. “Ida Scribbs, everyone. Everyone, Ida Scribbs.” Ida Scribbs shot us all a phony smile and diverted her attention back to Arnold.
“I can’t believe you’re finally doing it, Arnold. I never thought you would,” she said, sliding her right hand up his left arm. Her eyes jutted upward to the chandelier, and then down to the fountain. “Did you do that?” She asked. “Such wonderful touches…must have been something to get these approved in the budget. I only got a third floor this year,” she said sarcastically. She turned and looked at me, acting as though Emily wasn’t even there. “And you are?” She asked with an outstretched hand.
“Reevan Hunt,” I answered flatly.
“Surely you’ve heard of him, Ida,” Arnold jumped in. “He’s been a local icon around here lately. Reevan, Ida is the Curator of the Boyhan Science Center.”
“Oh yes, of course!” Ida shrieked with excitement. “How exciting to meet you. You must tell me all you can about that nasty murder business. I’m a bit of a forensic science buff, you know. My center has a whole department devoted to the subject, what with the recent CSI and Law & Order craze!”
Law & Order? My little voice spoke up. Oh God, don’t tell me we have something in common with this uptight old crow.
“Yes, I know, I’ve seen the Boyhan Science Center,” I replied.
“Oh really?” She shrieked once more. “How nice! What did you think?” Emily’s head tilted forward as she stared down at her shoes.
“Well, it wasn’t actually a pleasure visit,” I explained. “I was heading back from a trip up to Banyan Falls, actually. I made the mistake of buying a hot dog from a vendor on the side of Highway 9, and I was only a few blocks from the Boyhan Science Center when that hot dog decided to evacuate its residence, if you get my drift…” I paused and smirked. Emily’s lips thinned as she squeezed them together.
“Yes, I think I get the pic-” Ida started, but I continued.
“-your building was the only thing between me and a very messy afternoon.” The room fell silent and awkward. The music wasn’t even wafting down from the ceiling anymore. Someone needs to turn the tape over my little voice mentioned.
Ida looked past me at the three standing in the boardroom doorway. “Hello again, Carol!” She shouted. “It is Carol, isn’t it?” I turned to see Leon, Dennis and Carol still standing in the doorway. I watched as Leon handed his dripping spoon to Carol, then turned and disappeared back into the boardroom. An uproarious guffaw bellowed out of the room. Carol and Dennis eventually turned and walked in, as did Emily, and Leon’s laughter was accompanied by that of the others. Dolores Tilson came to the door with a red face, tried to speak, then turned and walked back in, starting another round of hilarity. I turned back to Arnold Medley and Ida Scribbs; the former trying not to laugh and the latter looking incredibly pissed.
I plastered a large grin across my face and said “Who’s hungry?”
The spread was impressive and delicious. Sandwich meats, hot pasta, bread and butter, bottles of wine and water and beer. I thought that was all when two gentlemen with the catering company poked their heads in and asked where we would like the desserts. “Push the cart into my office next door, it’s open,” Arnold commanded. “They’ll be fine; it’s like an icebox in there. I’ll make arrangements to get the cart back to you.” The two young men disappeared briefly, then one returned as the other walked briskly past the door towards the main entrance. His hands were shoved in his pockets and his shoulders were slouched.
“An icebox for sure, sir,” the young man standing before us said, and he rubbed his hands together. Loading ice cream cake onto a cold metal cart will have that effect my little voice explained.
Arnold gestured to the young man who came to his side. Arnold leaned over, reached into his pocket and pulled out several bills. He handed them to the young man whose eyes opened wide. I couldn’t see them myself, but I guessed from the young man’s expression that they were bigger than singles. “You split that with the others and give them my thanks.” The young man stood there, still staring at the wad of bills he was just handed.
“Let us take care of something, Arnold” Dolores said, motioning to the others. “You’ve paid for your entire retirement party. The least we can do is tip the kid.” The room bustled for a few moments as the men reached into their pockets and the ladies reached down for their purses. I did the same, but noticed Ida Scribbs hadn’t moved at all.
“Nonsense,” Arnold insisted. “I’m still the boss around here, and it’s all taken care of.” He tapped the young man on the arm and it seemed to awaken him from some somber thought. “Good night, Simon. That door should lock behind you.” He looked around the room as we replaced our wallets and purses.
The young man, apparently named Simon, turned and started to walk away. “Dig in, everyone,” Arnold said, but no one else moved when Arnold reached for his silverware. He looked up and realized that we were all staring at Simon, who had stopped and turned back to us all in the doorway. His expression was quite perplexed and bewildered, as if he wanted to say something but didn’t know how.
“Something to say, Simon?” I asked. He looked straight at me, and I raised my eyebrows in anticipation. His mouth opened, but the voice of his partner rang through the museum before Simon could speak.
“Simon! You comin’ or what?” The other young man shouted over the music in the great room.
“Good luck, Mr. Medley,” Simon said, then turned and hastened to the entrance. Arnold and Dolores had small smiles on their faces, and Dolores’ eyes seemed to tear up, but only slightly. Everyone else, including myself I imagine, was wearing confounded faces. What the hell was that all about my little voiced asked. I had no idea, but it seemed that Mr. Medley did. He smiled a larger smile and began to eat.
The generic dinner sounds began; the clanging of forks and knives against one another, the sips from cups and chatter from lips. Off in the distance, over the chatter and sips and fountains and music, I heard Simon’s footsteps fade towards the entrance. Over the clanging and chewing and rising laughter, I heard the large entrance door close and echo through the great room.
“You paid for everything?” Ida Scribbs blurted. She remained very quiet while we ate, only occasionally laughing and murmuring to Arnold, who was seated to her right at the far end of the table. Carol was telling a comical story about a trip to Africa involving a very gassy safari elephant, but apparently Ida wasn’t interested.
“Excuse me?” Arnold said aloud.
“You paid for your own retirement party?” Ida asked again.
“He insisted,” Dolores answered. Ida never turned to look at her, but Dolores didn’t seem to care. “I tried to arrange it, but he wouldn’t have it. It’s only money!” She said, impersonating Arnold’s stuffy and jovial tone.
“What?” Ida asked, finally turning to the small woman sitting next to me.
“That’s what he always says,” Dolores explained. “It’s only money!”
“That’s true,” Dennis added, shoveling in his third or fourth helping of pasta and bread. “That’s his motto, without a doubt.”
“Is it really?” Ida said, turning back to Arnold.
“It is. When you die you can’t take it with you, right?” Arnold said without hesitation, and the others laughed. “These people have been at my side for years. This is just as much for them as it is for me, maybe even more so.” Carol, sitting across from Ida at Arnold’s right side, reached over and rubbed him on his right shoulder with a smile on her face. We know that look Little Reevan said softly.
“Well that’s real big of you, Arnold,” Ida said, clearly forcing a smile to her lips.
“If only the generosity stopped there,” I added from my end of the table. Arnold looked at me, confused at first. “I’ve heard that wonderful fountain an
d chandelier out there are also examples of your philanthropy, Arnold. Is that true?” Arnold’s confusion quickly dissipated and he nodded his head in the positive.
“Yes, it is. I think they really add to the ambiance I’ve been trying to create here; education and culture with a touch of class and erudition.”
“That’s a bit more than a touch,” Ida added sarcastically. “How much did that set you back, Arnie?” The room fell quiet as Arnold chewed his food slowly. I admit to being curious myself, but I didn’t have the gumption to ask. Apparently gumption is one thing Ms. Scribbs has plenty of my little voice pointed out. What crawled up this woman’s ass? And who the hell is ‘Arnie’?
“Not as much as you would think, Ida?” Arnold finally replied. He looked across the table at me and winked. “Besides, it’s only money.” Carol burst into laughter, which spread around the table.
“See? Told you he is always saying that,” Dolores snickered. I wasn’t laughing nearly as hard, and I saw that Arnold wasn’t either. He took a sip from his wine glass and swirled the liquid inside it before putting it back on the table.
“More wine, Ida?” Ida Scribbs removed her napkin from her lap, wiped her mouth, and stood up from her chair.
“Please excuse me for a moment,” she announced as she walked out briskly. The others continued to laugh. Arnold joined in after looking across the table at me and shrugging his shoulders.
Altogether, it was an enjoyable evening. Arnold regaled us with tales of his life experiences and had us all splitting at the sides throughout. Even Ms. Scribbs seemed to loosen up after her return from what I assumed was a trip to the powder room. Over dessert, Arnold entertained us all with his impression of stuttering Mayor Douglas Ruskin. “Congratulations A-A-Arn-Arnold!” He blubbered as we all held our stomachs in pain. “We’ll m-m-ma-ma-miss you around h-h-he-here, old ba-ba-ba-boy!”
Leon and the others shared some great stories as well. Even the large mass known as Dennis Trago had a few good yarns to spin in between his trips to his boss’s glass to freshen his drinks. Sycophantic walrus. Carol Sykora told us of a time when she walked into Arnold’s office to find him in only two pieces of a three-piece suit. “I spilled coffee on my pants,” Arnold tried to explain.
“Sure you did, Arnie!” She screamed, slapping him on the back. His face turned red and embarrassed as tears streamed down his smiling face.
As with all good things, the evening eventually ended in an assortment of tears, laughter and pats on backs. Ida Scribbs left first, followed by Dennis Trago and Emily Sellars shortly thereafter. Dolores Tilson left with Carol Sykora, who hugged Arnold a total of five times before she finally reached the door.
“I can’t thank you enough for coming,” Arnold said as he shook my hand next to the fountain. “I can see why Leon holds you in such high regard.”
“Thank you for inviting me,” I replied, “and thank you for what you’ve done here. Public servants are probably the least appreciated class of people on the planet, but I think what you’ve done for this community is great. Even Ms. Scribbs seemed impressed.” I leaned in closer with eyebrows raised. “Very impressed.”
“Got ‘em!” Leon blurted as he came forward, holding out my blazer in one hand with his in the other.
“Why don’t you go warm up the car for your guest, Leon. I’ll see him out.” Leon seemed confused, as was I, but as usual he followed orders without question. He shook Arnold’s hand, told him he would see him on Monday, and he headed for the door. “Come with me, Reevan,” Arnold said, starting to walk back towards his office.
Arnold stepped into his office and began removing the blue sweater he had put on earlier in the evening. “I feel the need to apologize to you,” he said flatly.
“What? Why?”
“For what you saw tonight, and heard.”
“You mean Ida?” I asked. I began to pace around Arnold’s office as I spoke. “I didn’t mean to imply-“
“No, no. I mean Emily.”
“Oh,” I proclaimed, having just remembered the confrontation and finger wagging I had witnessed between them earlier, at the entrance to the Animal Sciences room. I had wandered closer to Arnold’s desk, tapping my fingers on the back of the leather guest chair I was sitting in earlier. I suddenly felt awkward, and my eyes darted around Arnold’s office for something on which to focus. On Arnold’s desk, the golden giraffe continued to study the photograph of the young man on the back of the elephant, just as surprised by this topic of conversation as I was but hiding it much better. I had pushed the empty dessert cart back into Arnold’s office during the cleanup. It was parked off to the right where I left it, looking cold and sterile. “What about Emily?” Arnold was staring at me. He had swapped the blue sweater for the black overcoat on the coat rack. He opened the door to his office, indicating he was ready to leave. I stared at the floor as we walked through the great room in silence.
Arnold finally spoke when we reached the entrance doors. “Ida Scribbs isn’t very impressed with anything I’ve done. She hates my guts.”
“Really?” I said with surprise. “Why?”
“We’ve been rivals, her and I; rivals for so long. Since the beginning, you could say.” I was puzzled, and he picked up on that. “She applied for my job when I did,” he said, and I immediately understood.
“Oh, I see. You got the job here, she moved on to the Boyhan Science Center, and you’ve had a professional rivalry ever since?” He nodded, opening the door for me.
“I do consider myself lucky,” he continued. “She was already the Curator of another museum when she applied for this job, and I was a humble department head like the others, but I got it anyway, and here we are.”
“Wait, I don’t understand,” I said, stopping in my tracks. “You did invite her tonight, didn’t you?”
“Yes, but I never thought she would come.”
“So why bother inviting her at all?”
“My departed wife Janet once said that the best way to defeat those that oppose you are to succeed despite their efforts. Part of me wanted her here, I guess. Wanted her here to see what I’ve done despite her malevolent attempts to undermine my museum with hers, which is more like an amusement park than an actual a facility of education and culture. Does this make me a pompous ass, Reevan? Be honest.” I stood there, half in the night air, half in the light of the great room, staring at this old man who had dedicated a large piece of his life to the betterment of a community, and I gave him an honest answer.
“I don’t think it makes you a pompous ass, Arnold. I think it makes you human.” Arnold looked up at me through those glasses as he did when we first met only hours before. I turned my head to the heavens and shut my eyes, digging deep into the recesses of my Educator Lobes. “I would enjoy experiencing the hollowness of success at first-hand.” I opened my eyes and looked back down at the old man, who said nothing. “Mason Cooley,” I said with a smile. Arnold smiled and stuck out his hand. I shook it, feeling quite pleased with myself.
“Thank you,” he said. I nodded and turned away, but then turned back.
“Oh, wasn’t there something about Emily you wanted to say?”
“On second thought,” he said, “I’ll leave it up to her.” Leon honked the horn from his car.
“Oh, Arnold, look…” I said, pointing behind him. He turned, and I walked closer to him. “Is your office supposed to be open?” Arnold turned and peered across the room, then breathed a deep breath and moaned.
“Damn it,” he said.
“Do you want me to wait?” I asked.
“No, no, Leon’s waiting. I’ll lock up. Thanks again.” I patted him on the shoulder. I started walking down towards the car, turning once to see Arnold standing at the door waving at me. Leon honked the horn with two quick honks, and Arnold turned to go back inside the museum, shutting the large door behind him.
I got into the car and Leon and headed for the road. “Eleven o’clock?” I said. “Geeze, how did that happen?”
“Time flies when you’re having fun,” Leon said.
“Well that explains it,” I replied. “I could have sworn it was at least one a.m.” Leon turned to me, then turned back to the road. We laughed the entire way home.
Niki was waiting by the door for me when I got home. She didn’t wait every time; only when I went out to eat, and she must have heard me say the word party at some point Friday morning because there she was Friday night, sitting in the foyer.
I reached into my coat pocket and pulled out a rolled up napkin. Niki stood up on all fours and licked her chops. The napkin revealed some bits of bologna and ham I had swiped from the party. I tossed them in her direction. She caught several in mid-air and slurped up the rest from the floor. I took off my blazer and threw it over the arm of the sofa as she waddled into the living room and plopped down in her usual spot next to my armchair.
I sat, leaned over the arm and scratched her behind the ears. “Old girl…” I said to her. “You’re a creature of habit.” Then I turned on the television and fell asleep watching Law & Order.
I woke up the next morning to a loud pounding on my front door. My first assumption was that the local papers were so desperate for a story that they were beating down my door at the crack of dawn in an attempt to snap a shot of me in my underwear.
That was it. I had had enough. Partly in surprise and partly and rage, I stampeded to the front door, still in the clothes I was wearing the night before. I reached for the doorknob but stopped to listen to voices on the other side. I was still too groggy to make them out, but there was definitely more than a few out there. In my cantankerous morning rage I unlocked the front door and pulled it open without even bothering to use the peephole or the kitchen window to survey the situation. Looking back, that was probably a mistake.
I yanked the door open and came face to face with a giant ball of light. The voices I had heard before now seemed to triple in volume and came from all around me. There was the familiar whizzing and clicking of cameras. People were shouting my name, lots and lots of people. They were all asking me questions, asking me to comment, asking me to say a few words, but it was all an audiovisual blur to me. My rage had vanished and I was instantly left with a feeling of regret for ever opening the door. The regret turned to fear as a booming voice in front of me bellowed “Get back, now! I mean it!” That’s Myron my little voice screamed over the echoes in between my ears.