Me and My Manny

by M. A. MacAfee

  “Instructions?” the other two men repeated in unison.

  “Ruthie was doing all the talking. Seems she was concerned about her time running out and forking over more money.”

  “So the issue of money came up?” Jason asked.

  “Did it ever. Then and there, midway through the conversation, Ruthie produces a checkbook and says they got to hurry to the bank before it closes.”

  “I’d better look into this month’s cancelled checks,” Jason then said.

  The handyman sucked in a breath and, after a brief pause, said, “I’ll tell ya, when they made this guy, they broke the mold. He was one cool fella. Like he never touched a thing so as not to leave any fingerprints around.”

  Jason issued a thoughtful hum. “Ruthie has been kinda dissatisfied with the way things have turned out, what with me all cooped up.”

  “Lisa’s fairly confined, herself,” Ernie said, “her helping run this place twenty-four, seven.”

  “You don’t think they’d be into anything fishy?” Jason asked.

  “Nah,” Ernie answered. “I don’t see where either of them would have the time.”

  Jason must have agreed as he said, “Likely not, he’s just a casual acquaintance.”

  “Though it is kinda curious that Judy what’s-her-name up on the fourth’s been seen with a guy who fits that description, a shady character with his hair slicked back,” the handyman informed the others.

  “It could be Harry,” Jason said in a confidential tone.

  “He’s bad-tempered, too,” the handyman added. “Word is one day he’s out running in the park. These two sisters get in his way, and he assaults them. They hoof it back to that high-rise over on Parkway. Right away they tell the whole story to the building manager.”

  “Sounds like he was crazed on steroids—’roid rage,” Ernie said.

  “I tell you, it’s not safe to go outside anymore.” This came from Jason, who hadn’t been outdoors in years.

  “More than likely it’s just talk,” Ernie suggested. “If our wives were fixing to get rid of us, you’d think we’d get a warning sign.”

  “Not if they had something more permanent in mind,” the handyman said.

  I strained my ears, inferring that, from their muffled voices, they tightened their huddle. I inched closer convinced that the person in question could not have been Wolf. My manny might be something of a loony cartoon, flinging himself into women on the jogging path and flirting while on loan to the girls, but he could hardly be mistaken for a hit man involved in a conspiracy to get rid of unwanted husbands. However if, as Jason assumed, anyone happened to think the stranger was Harry—

  Zikes! I swung around and darted for the elevator just as the doors opened and Sarah Crumble doddered out.

  “Oh good,” she said, focused on the coupon in my fist. “Has my poster come yet?”

  “Check with the office,” I told her, looking at the waiting elevator.

  “What rushed times we live in,” the hump-backed old woman said. “Everyone is always in a hurry, pushing and shoving.”

  “I’d love to stay and talk, but—” I raced by her and caught the elevator just as the doors started to close.

  On reaching my floor, I unlocked the deadbolt, flew back inside, and slapped the coupon on the console. “Harry,” I yelled, running into the bedroom. “We’ve got to leave here,” I said, when he appeared in the doorway. I yanked my suitcase from under the bed. “We’ve got to pack up and hide out for a while.” I caught my breath and explained. “Jason and Ernie are gunning for my manny. They think he’s been fooling around with their wives, two at a time, and that he, maybe, agreed to bump the both of them off, one at a time. Jason and Ernie, that is.”

  Harry’s jaw dropped as he fixed me with a troubled stare.

  “I know it’s kind of confusing,” I said, “but you remember I told you that Ruthie and Lisa rented my manny. While on the job, different people saw him at different times with the both of them.”

  “Hold on.” Harry raised his hand like a traffic cop. “The dummy can no more have a fling with real-live women than he can contract to whack their real-live husbands, so what’s the problem?”

  “The problem is people think you’re the dummy. I mean, they already suspect you, and as soon as they talk to that big-mouth bank teller, they’ll know for sure that you’re the gigolo under contract.”

  Harry in a pronounced slump shook his head. “I’d better clear this up.” He did an about-face, marched into the living room, and reached for the door.

  Coming from behind, I grabbed his wrist. “Don’t go down there, not right now. It’s best to give them a chance to chill. Later, when things calm down, you can talk to them rationally and sort it all out.”

  “You’re right.” Harry backed up. “I shouldn’t go down there. You should! You’re the one got us into this.”

  “Okay, I will.” The ball being in my court, I figured I’d dribble for a while. “Just… let’s not do anything crazy. Let’s just wait and see what shakes out.”

  Manny Manufacturing

  Confident that my perfect record for screwing up was intact, I went to the door and engaged the deadbolt. That done, I headed for the kitchen, sniffing the air. “Doesn’t dinner smell good?” Gaily I chortled, hoping to dispel the tension. Harry, a meat-and-potatoes man, would appreciate tonight’s fare. At the table, I looked down at the empty platter pooled with meat drippings. “But where is dinner?”

  Harry, in the doorway, shrugged. “Don’t ask me; you said you’d fix it.”

  “I did. I took the roast out of the oven, set it on the plate to cool, and went down for the mail.” I scanned the room, and then inspected Harry’s lips for telltale signs. Baffled, I asked, “Harry, you didn’t eat the entire roast, did you?”

  “Yeah, sure, I swallowed it whole.”

  The roast was only about three and a half pounds, enough for tonight with leftovers for tomorrow. I couldn’t have been gone more than fifteen minutes. When I left, Harry was in the shower, singing, and since he couldn’t hear if a stranger came in, I locked the door behind me.

  “If you didn’t eat it, where’d it go?”

  After checking the refrigerator and the trash, just in case, I went into the living room and examined Wolf in the recliner. The little circle in the red bow of his mouth was clean.

  “Something weird is going on in the apartment,” I said to Harry, still watching me from the kitchen doorway.

  “Can’t argue with that.”

  I shot him a look of irritation.

  He then sounded more contrite when he said, “You’re sure you didn’t take it with you when you went out?”

  “Now, why would I do that?”

  “Please, Judy, you’re talking to a guy who wonders why you do most of the things you do.”

  Exasperated, I placed my hands on my hips. “If this is a joke, it’s not very funny.”

  “I did not touch the roast. In fact, I don’t even recall seeing one after I got dressed.”

  As I stood there, brooding on the mystery, a rapid thudding occurred in the space behind Harry. It was the colossal Spike using his body to beat the opposite wall like a kettledrum. Only tonight I guessed that Spike wouldn’t be all that hungry. The missing-roast antic had his paw prints all over it.

  “Harry, while I was gone, did you hear anything, any odd noises like bumping and such?”

  Harry grinned. “Spike can work a door handle, but he couldn’t use a key, even if he had one.” He strode closer to me and gave me an easy hug. “It’s been a long day and I’m starving. What do you say I pick up Chinese?”

  Since it was too late to enjoy eating out, I agreed to take-out. The fortune cookies might cheer us up too. Shortly after Harry left, taking the Volvo because his antiquated Chevy needed service, I slid the hassock closer to the recliner and sat down.

  Trying to make contact with the manny’s off-center eyes, I spoke in earnest. “When you and I first got together, I
never dreamed we’d end up in this much trouble. My marriage is shaky, my friendships are rocky, and when it comes to you… well, two clients are hardly a winning streak.

  “That leaves only the part about mannys being lovingly handcrafted one at a time. Still there’s the problem that in a world where materialism holds sway, it makes no monetary sense.

  “I hate to break it to you this way, Wolf. But I’m afraid I’ll have to limit my operation to manny manufacturing. I’m talking mass production, Wolf. The idea might not sit well with you, being an idol and all, but in this neck of the woods, I call the shots.

  “So, I’m figuring a manny manufacturing plant could be run along lines similar to Santa’s workshop. I’d get me a small industrial facility, a conveyer belt, and all the low-level pixies necessary to make, package, and ship mannys en masse.

  “Mannys Inc. Operators are standing by to take your calls. Major credit cards accepted. Soon as the money starts rolling in, I’ll do it smarter. I’ll outsource the manufacturing end of the business to some foreign country. Possibly Italy, using Mr. Gippo’s contacts. Then I’ll import the end results and charge all that the market will bear.”

  Feeling a pang of hunger, I again thought about the missing roast beef; it was a nice cut, too. But, until Harry returned, I resumed my one-sided discussion.

  “Because you’re the prototype for the entire manny-line, it might be assumed that you’d have a say in the overall process of things, but, since I’m your spokesperson, I do the talking.”

  Back at the drawing board, that being a scratchpad in my makeshift office off the kitchen, I began work on a revised business plan. A manufacturing business meant I’d need money up front, in turn meaning I’d have to get the backing of venture capitalists. But I wasn’t deterred. The manny’s inability to speak or move on his own had presented little drawback. Ever the optimist, I was sure the lack of hard currency could be handled.

  In the interim, I would tackle what I could. I’d already started to lay the basis for a manny’s proper maintenance, things such as the right clothes, the right conveyance, and the right furniture polish. But, as I learned more about the drawbacks of manny ownership, such as flipped-out husbands gunning for adulterers, I realized that a manny had to come with an owner’s manual.

  Just as I scribbled a few notes on the start of a manual, I heard Harry return. “Sorry I took so long,” he said as, from different directions, both of us entered the kitchen. “I stopped by the manager’s office on the way out.” While Harry removed the takeout cartons from the bags, I got a few dishes. “Jason and Ernie were still there,” he went on. “And guess what, I won’t be facing a firing squad after all.”

  “Really? How’d you manage that?”

  “I just requested that they give a little thought to what they know about you.”

  Falling silent, I sat down, heaped moo goo gai pan onto my plate, and snapped open a fortune cookie. It read, “Look before you leap.” Good advice, even if somewhat overdue.

  Mind over Matter

  The next morning, at the kitchen table, I penciled the info to be printed on the business cards, envelopes, and vehicle-logo I intended to order for my pioneering enterprise. First off, I’d need a phone number that customers could easily remember. There’s 1-800-I Got Mannys. Nope, too many words. 1-800-Oh Manny had the correct sum of letters, but I didn’t like the implied inflection. So I considered 1-800-Go Manny. It sounded upbeat like hurrahs from a group of high school cheerleaders.

  I left off doodling and looked up at Harry, sitting across from me. He was glaring at Wolf, who sat on an adjacent chair, braced in an upright position with one arm resting on the table.

  “Does that blockhead have to sit at the breakfast table every morning?”

  “I wish you wouldn’t refer to him in such derogatory terms.”

  “Why not? He doesn’t seem to mind.”

  “He might not, but I do. It makes me feel like I’m back in my parents’ house.” I recalled that every morning started with a fight that cast a cloud over the entire day.

  “Knock, knock,” Harry said suddenly jovial.

  “Who’s there?”

  “Wooden.”

  “Wooden who?”

  “Wooden you like to eat breakfast alone with your second-to-none other half?”

  Smiling, I again glanced at Wolf; and in that instant, I could have sworn that his bright red lips jutted forward in the actual blowing of an air-kiss. I sipped my coffee and turned to Harry.

  “It’s the strangest thing, but sometimes I think I see movement in the manny. Sometimes from the corner of my eye, it’s like I glimpse a slight twitch of his hand. Or a tiny jerk of his foot.”

  “He’s made of wood, you know, wood expands and contracts.”

  “Yeah but what I see is barely perceptible. It’s more like an involuntary knee-jerk reaction.”

  “El Fake-o can’t react because he’s solid.”

  “I wish you wouldn’t say things like that. How would you like it if somebody called you nasty names?”

  “All right, I’m sorry. Let’s forget it, okay?” Harry lifted his coffee to his lips.

  As he lowered the cup, I asked, “Do you suppose it’s possible to animate an inanimate object by just thinking about it? I don’t mean that if someone visualized a manikin jumping from its chair and dancing the jig, it really would. I was thinking of something more along the lines of a talent, like telekinesis.”

  Just as Harry opened his mouth to speak, the china in the cupboard rattled, and for some time he sat, agape. Without telling Harry that Spike colliding with the wall in the next-door apartment had probably caused the disturbance, I went on. “I’ve heard that telekinetic events can really get wild when the person’s under stress.”

  “A body at rest is not a body in motion,” Harry mumbled. “Laws of physics.”

  Rather than quiz him on which law of physics, I elaborated. “There was a movie once where the main character demonstrated the destructive potential of telekinesis. She became so angry over being picked on by her classmates that she tapped into her wild talent and brought down an entire town.”

  “Sell all you want, I ain’t buying,” Harry said just as the overhead light bulb flashed with a loud pop and burnt out.

  “Mind over matter,” I resumed. “Though it’s not normally under a person’s conscious control.”

  “I can’t talk to you when you go off on one of these illogical tangents.”

  “I’m not so sure it is illogical. There’s documented evidence.”

  “Unreliable evidence.”

  Then suddenly, Wolf’s arm slipped off the table and dangled at his side, swaying. I looked at Harry, staring saucer-eyed at the displaced limb.

  Such incidents, occurring as they had right before my eyes, prompted me to dwell on the possibility that I could be moving my manny with my subconscious mind. It was a disturbing prospect. By implication, it meant that if I ever became so mad over Harry’s scorn of Wolf that I’d be as dangerous as a loaded gun.

  Were my dendrites jump-starting Wolf? Were my neurotransmitters triggering him? To find out, I wound my mind up and flung a thought at the manny. Hop to it! I waited, but nothing happened.

  In truth, I hadn’t expected anything to happen. Telekinetic power can’t be reigned over. Further, I doubted my subconscious mind could rattle dishes and blow out light bulbs. Rather, in my own inimitable way, I figured my wild talent was object-specific and limited solely to the manny.

  To verify the phenomenon that the manny could be activated by my brain, I would attach bells to Wolfs frame. Whenever he shifted, flexed, or stretched by way of my subconscious mind, the bells would tinkle and as such confirm my suspicions.

  That very night, sure enough, my manny’s bells went off.

  “What the—” Harry sat up in bed and angled his head. “Did you hear that? I thought I heard something.”

  Not recalling that I’d booby-trapped Wolf, I stirred and, in a tired voice, said
, “It’s only the mice. Go back to sleep.”

  “I got to check,” Harry said. “It was a tinkling sound, like glass breaking, like someone cracking a window.”

  “Nobody can break into a place on the fourth floor,” I muttered, rolling onto my back.

  With his robe on, his slippers flopping, Harry had gotten as far as the bedroom door when I bolted upright.

  “Don’t go out there!”

  “Why not?” He turned, looking annoyed.

  “I didn’t want to tell you, but it’s Wolf. He’s up and around.”

  “The dummy is up and around,” Harry slowly repeated through clenched teeth.

  I nodded. “Remember what I told you about mind over matter?” Even in the dimness, I could see anger flaring like struck matches in Harry’s eyes. “Well, I’ve managed to achieve it. Wolfs been animated. He could be dangerous.”

  Despite my protests, Harry pivoted smartly and tramped out of the room.

  In the meantime, I sat frozen by visions of a deranged manikin shambling out of the darkness and toward Harry, intent on getting even for the pounding it took.

  “I don’t believe it,” Harry moaned from another room, hence scaring the wits out of me.

  I shot from the bed and scurried into the lighted kitchen.

  “He looks strung up like a Christmas tree,” Harry said, now hunched over Wolf’s body slumped on the floor beside a chair.

  The window across from where Wolf had been sitting was opened a few inches and through the crack came an errant breeze that tinkled Wolf’s bells and from the looks of things had also blown him over.

  “I couldn’t be sure of my powers,” I explained. “Being telekinetic is like having a split personality. One half of you doesn’t know what the other half is up to because the talent’s not under your conscious control.”

  Looking bewildered, Harry stared at me for what seemed an eternity. He then went back into the bedroom and slammed the door closed.

  The Merits of Virtual Reality

  Never one to make a critical decision without first consulting reliable sources, I was about to check my horoscope in a supermarket tabloid, when someone knocked on the front door. I set the paper aside, eyed Lisa through the peephole, and invited her in.