Having a Ball!

by Misty Simon

  “Promise?”

  “Yes, absolutely promise. Would I lie to you?”

  “Don’t ruin it when I was just starting to feel kind of okay about looking in the mirror. I’ve done your taxes for years. Don’t say things like lie.”

  Her booming laughter rang through the front of the house. I nearly tripped over poor Arrol in the middle of the floor. He stood in his statue state, gray and faded, a big blanket wrapped around the lower part of his curly-booted feet.

  “You should put your stuff away, you know. I almost tripped over that ugly little dwarf,” Marcia Benner said as she trailed me into the bathroom.

  I hoped Arrol couldn’t hear her when he was in his stony state, because if he could, there would be hell to pay for both the “ugly” comment and the “dwarf” thing.

  And again I was trying to distract myself from the inevitable. I inched toward the mirror, not sure what I would see.

  Then Marcia thrust her hand over my eyes and squealed. “Wait! Wait, let me do one more thing!”

  I felt her tugging on the back of my head at the top. I had a swift vision of the way we used to tease our hair in the back to be fuller but instead made it look like a bird’s nest. I swallowed back a glob of bile and squinched my eyes closed. “Are you ready yet?”

  “Yep. Go ahead and look. I bet you’re going to love it.”

  Oh, please let me love it and not throw up. Then again maybe I was blowing this whole thing out of proportion. Maybe I would think it was the best thing since sliced white bread.

  “Come on, Danner honey, open your eyes. I promise it’s not that bad.”

  I cracked one eyelid open and got a slim line of sight through my eyelashes. The blur softened all the edges in the bathroom. I heard the bathroom light click on and prepared myself for the worst.

  I cracked the other eye open and kept the blur going as I tried to decipher what precisely I looked like in the mirror. “Okay, I’m going to open my eyes all the way.” I couldn’t see diddly-squat with my eyes half-closed.

  “You’ll like it.”

  I reminded myself that this was a client and I shouldn’t piss her off before I got her check. I also reminded myself that hair grows back, and it would do me well to remember that when I opened my eyes all the way and stared into the mirror.

  And you know, when I did finally pry my eyelids open with my fingertips, it wasn’t that bad. I think. “Will this take forever and a day to do?” I asked as I combed my fingers through the soft layering around my face. I could feel a draft on my neck and ran a hand over the cooler place. It felt nice and soft on my fingers.

  “No, it won’t take forever and a day. Maybe ten minutes, tops.”

  I preened a little more. It actually looked really nice and framed my face nicely, and without all the gel and mousse and whatever else she’d put in there, I’d bet it would almost look like me. Huh.

  “So are you going to thank me and knock ten percent off my bill for finally giving your hair some life?” She smiled from behind me, and I gave her a real smile too. Somehow I thought Corporate Danner had just gone right out the door.

  ****

  I did really enjoy the free-ness of my new hair. It didn’t have the weight that I’d suffered through before. My hair was so heavy that even shoulder length could be heavy. It would be interesting to see how I managed in the shower. I’d probably use way too much shampoo and conditioner and smack my elbow into the wall when I went to run my hands through the ends to get the conditioner in. My poor elbows never got a break. You’d think I would have grown into them by now. Sigh.

  After I printed out Mrs. Benner’s quarterly reports and stuffed the copies in an envelope for her, I set out to the post office. I needed some stamps and a couple more full-sized envelopes. This wasn’t the only quarterly meeting I had scheduled for the week.

  I donned my coat and wrapped a scarf around my newly shorn neck. I didn’t want to catch a cold on top of everything else.

  I hadn’t had any time with the ball today, so I was looking forward to coming back later and hanging out with the bally ball and some of my own beer. I made a mental note to call Caro and find out if she and Phoebe had survived the night.

  And speaking of beer, I added more beer to my other mental list of things I needed to buy. Arrol had drunk my last one the night before, along with his pizza. I should probably pick up a frozen pizza, too, although now that he was used to Jo-Jo’s pizza he might not want to make do with a little frozen entrée.

  Damn gnome was going to cost me a fortune. A fortune I didn’t have, if you hadn’t noticed. Not that he had. We might have to talk about that before too long.

  I walked out of my upstairs apartment and down the stairs, enjoying the light autumn breeze coming through the yard. I felt good about how things had gone with Mrs. Benner, and I did end up giving her the ten percent off, since she didn’t charge me for the haircut. If she hadn’t done something with my poor hair, I’d probably still be walking around with that damn round brush sticking out from the side of my head. She said she’d never seen anyone do such a thorough job with a hair snarl. Nice to know I can excel at something.

  I meandered down the sidewalk, checking out the old-fashioned street lamps the city had put in recently. The whole town was going through a revamp, and I had to admit the area did look pretty again. Not that things were getting run down, but people seemed to be taking more pride in their surroundings and their houses. Always a good thing.

  I waved to the man who perpetually walked around town with his dog. That thing must get more exercise than anyone I knew. It was a big, old Shar-Pei with drool hanging down from his mouth, but he was a friendly sort. I waved and continued on.

  No one had stared at my hair like it was from some space age show about what not to do, so I started to relax a little. I also wondered if Arrol should be getting some exercise. Does one walk their gnome in the moonlight? I guess I’d have to ask. Somehow, I had a feeling he’d balk at a collar.

  As I neared the post office on the next corner, I got a little tingle in my stomach. I’d known Betty Grahamson since I was in first grade. She was a straight shooter and wouldn’t pull any punches if she hated my hair. She didn’t pull any punches, period.

  I’d need a little more courage to go in and face her. She could be cruel if she wanted to, but she was always truthful and frequently right. I hadn’t had the time to wash the hair stuff out of my new ’do, so it was still kind of stiff in the back.

  I drew a deep breath for courage and prepared to walk in like I owned the place. I could replace Corporate Danner with Dominator Danner. “Take no shit and brook no resistance” would be my new motto.

  I looked at my reflection in the plate-glass window fronting the post office and gave one more fluff to the feathery sides. It really did look quite nice, if I did say so myself.

  Movement inside caught my eye as I ran my fingers through the sides. I stopped mid-run with my elbows high in the air and my mouth wide enough to catch flies.

  Sixty-five-year-old Ms. Betty Grahamson was feeling herself up like she had just received a new set of boobs for her birthday.

  Um, yikes!

  Chapter Eleven

  My first reaction was to duck and flee upon seeing Betty running her hands up and down her sides and around the front of her chest like she couldn’t get enough of her own boobs. Her head was thrown back, her gray bun bobbing near her standard-issue, light blue shirt collar. Her mouth was slightly open as if in complete ecstasy.

  This was not quite the way I had ever seen her, and it was a little disconcerting. If you want to do that kind of thing in the privacy of your own bedroom, have at it. But here? In front of man and beast, with nothing between you and the street but a piece of see-through glass? Um, no. Not good, not good at all.

  Ducking and fleeing was looking better and better as she ran her tongue along the outer rim of her lips. Her hands dropped to her stomach and then further, but fortunately I was saved from that particul
ar view by the tall counter in front of her.

  I hated to disturb her, but, damn, I did need those stamps. Plus she was a friend of the family and had been for over twenty years. I could just hear my mom’s voice in the back of my head: “It’s your duty as a friend to let someone know if they are publicly embarrassing themselves, dear. If you had a booger hanging out of your nose, wouldn’t you want someone to discreetly let you know, rather than let you walk around like that all day? Wouldn’t you?”

  But this was a little different than a booger, and God only knows what Betty would say when I asked what she was doing. Had the whole world gone mad? First Toby and his bipolar disorder when I’d never known him to be so moody in the last year. And now an older woman who was always the absolute epitome of decorum and prim manners was giving herself the jollies on Main Street.

  I saw the guy who mans the counter at the tool store coming along the sidewalk with three large boxes in his hand. No doubt he was coming to the post office to mail them. I had to get in there before he did. It might not be a booger, but it could definitely be that much more embarrassing if she did a When Harry Met Sally orgasm scene in the middle of the post office. Things like that just weren’t done around here.

  So apparently ducking and hiding was now out of the question. Well, I still needed those stamps, anyway, and maybe if I distracted her I could get her to stop with a minimum of fuss.

  Bracing myself for what might come… (Ah, bad choice of words there, sorry.) Bracing myself for the future confrontation, I took three deep breaths, pushed open the post office door, and prepared to do battle.

  “Betty! Hi! I was wondering if I could get some stamps!” My armor was in the form of excessive exclamation points.

  “Stamps?” she said, her skin taking on an unhealthy-looking flush.

  “Yes, stamps.” She hadn’t stopped with the roaming hands. “Is your bra too tight by any chance?”

  “What do you need stamps for? Do you not see I’m fondling myself?”

  Ah, okay. Not quite the response I was hoping for. “I did see that you were, um, enjoying some, um, leisure time.” My God! “But I was hoping you could get me some stamps. And I think Jim is about to come in to ship some stuff. You may want to hold off on the self-exploration until another time.” I just knew I was bright red. This had to be the most uncomfortable conversation I had ever not enjoyed.

  “Very well, Mort. I will help you, and then you must go so I can resume—”

  “Right, right, resume away. Maybe in the back room, away from the street, and after Jim ships his three packages. And my name is not Mort, it’s Danner, as you’ve known for the last twenty years.”

  She gave me an odd look. Why did I get the odd look when she was…well, it doesn’t bear repeating. I raised an eyebrow at her and pointed behind the counter. “Stamps, please?”

  “Oh, all right,” she said as she finally (finally!) let go of her body and got out the packet of stamps. She fumbled at the register and then handed me back too much change after I gave her a ten. She put them in a clear envelope, and I gingerly picked it up with the very tips of two fingers.

  Jim chose that moment to walk in. I made a quick decision to stay and engage him in conversation while Betty weighed his packages (thankfully, the ones on the counter and not the ones on his person, if you know what I mean) and put metered postage on the parcels. It was inane conversation, not worth repeating here, but I did end up walking him out and down to the tool store. I glanced back over my shoulder at Betty and caught a glimpse of her going through the door behind the counter, rubbing her butt for all she was worth.

  Something very strange was going on. I didn’t know what, and I didn’t know why. But there were two things I did know. I was out of my depth, and I guess my new first name was Mort. It wasn’t really any better than Danner, in my humble opinion.

  ****

  I was thankful not to encounter anyone else acting strange as I went to pick up my beer and other necessary groceries. The clerk even called me Danner when I went to the liquor store. Imagine that.

  Out in the parking lot, I called Caro to see how her day was progressing and whether she and Phoebe had decided to join the world of the living.

  “What’s up?” I said, once she answered on the ninth ring. How could she stand the noise?

  “Unh.”

  “That good, huh?” I snickered.

  “What do you want?” She yawned, and I could hear her jaw crack.

  “Ow. I just wanted to find out how you all were doing this morning. It didn’t sound like you were too coherent last night.”

  “Yeah, well, I got the job done, though. Her mind was nowhere near the subject of Jared all night, and she had a good time.”

  “I don’t doubt it.”

  “Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it.”

  “Sure. Anyway, when are you bringing her home?” I glanced around the parking lot to make sure no one else was feeling themselves up or going to kiss me and slime me.

  “You don’t have to sound so excited about having her at your house. She is your guest and your cousin, after all, you know.”

  “Yes, I’m aware of that. But I didn’t ask for this.” I blew out a breath and opened my car door. No weirdos in sight.

  “I don’t think she brought this on herself, either, even if she does exaggerate horribly. I think something really big did happen with Jared. I also think you would do well to try and help her get past all this so she can move on and move out.”

  Huh. I hadn’t thought of that aspect. Maybe I would make more of an effort to be understanding and let her unload so I could get back to my regularly scheduled life at home. “I’ll think about it.” It was the most I was willing to commit to.

  “Well, think hard, because I have to go back to work tomorrow, and I can’t have another night tonight like I did yesterday. I also won’t be able to pal around with her tomorrow. So you need to come up with something for her to do or hang out with her yourself.”

  Nice. “Where is she now? You’re not talking in front of her, are you?”

  “Of course not. I have more class than that, as I’m sure my clients will tell you.”

  “Please. You run a psychic hotline, and you don’t believe in anything you say.”

  “And that is beside the point. I have to go. Phoebe just moaned from the office. I think she’s in need of a trashcan.”

  “Gross. All right, I’ll talk to you later. Tell her to call me before she comes home. I’d like to try and paint some and get everything put away before she arrives.”

  “Sure, sure. Talk to you later. Gotta run.”

  I said goodbye to a dead line.

  I went back to my house, keeping a sharp eye out for anyone else acting suspicious. I wasn’t disappointed when all was normal. Up in my apartment, I decided I’d get out the ball and then spread out my new paints to try. After the stress of the day, I felt I deserved a little downtime.

  The ball was in my room on my bedside table. I grabbed it and a light blanket. A chill had made the afternoon cool, but I wasn’t yet ready to start paying exorbitant amounts of money to the gas company this early in the season.

  I moved Arrol out of the way on my way back to the living room, putting him at the fireplace, positioning him with his little backside to the empty grate. I had yet to see him turn from stone to flesh, so I thought it would be neat to watch the transformation this time. I spent a moment trying to think about how it would happen, then gave up that pursuit because the ball was calling to me, warming in my hand.

  “I’m coming, I’m coming,” I said, which reminded me uncomfortably of Betty. I should really call my mom and see if something was going on in the woman’s life that would make her act so out of character.

  The ball got hot this time. I guess I was taking too long. “Okay!”

  I took a seat on the couch, brought my feet up, and tucked the blanket in around me, getting comfortable. I was settling in for a long and hopefully informative
session with my favorite ball.

  “Hello, bally ball.” I felt bad calling it this, but since I didn’t know its name I was improvising.

  It didn’t say hi back, but maybe it just wanted me to get on with it. “Did you have a good day?”

  YES, DEFINITELY.

  I put the ball in my lap and rubbed my hands together. Now we were going to get down to the good stuff. “Is everyone and their mother weirding out on me?”

  ASK AGAIN LATER.

  “No, no, no! Don’t start that with me again.” I sank back against the couch and blew out an exasperated breath. What was I doing wrong? It had to be something. “Aren’t you going to talk to me?”

  IT IS DECIDELY SO.

  All right, that was better. “What is going on around here?”

  ASK AGAIN LATER.

  “Crap.” I tried to think of another question. Maybe I was asking the wrong things. How about something easy first? “Is my name Danner?”

  YES.

  “Are you my ball?”

  THE SIGNS POINT TO MAYBE.

  Huh.

  “How old am I?”

  ASK AGAIN LATER.

  “Okay. I get the hint. I’ll ask again later. This isn’t working anyway.” And I was only frustrating myself.

  I put the ball on the end table and climbed off the couch to get a glass of water. I’d just mosey on over to the easel and do some color testing while I waited for the sun to set. Maybe Arrol would be able to tell me what I was doing wrong.

  Ha. Of course Arrol would tell me what I was doing wrong. Probably in excruciating detail.

  ****

  I had a very frustrating time of the whole painting thing, but what else was new? I tried several techniques from a book in my extensive library. Failed. I even tried to remember some of the stuff my mom used to do while I made myself peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Still failed. I was getting a feeling oils might not be my thing. And yet I’d plunked down too nice a chunk of change to give up just yet. So I started putting it all away. I crammed the supplies into my art closet. I had to lean on the door to get it closed and locked, but everything was in there and in its proper place.