“Yeah, but you can dream during that time,” Allison said. “What would it be like if all those things came true? And you can remember what all that magic was like when you were a kid and you believed all those things really were true. I see my nieces and nephews on Christmas day and I remember. And they make it all bearable. It’s like magic.”
“Yeah, the kids make it. If I had kids I think I might get that Christmas feeling back.
“Aw shoot! I forgot celery. You got any celery, Al?”
“Yes, I do,” Allison said, opening the refrigerator and pulling out a bag from the crisper drawer.
“It ain’t all slimy and brown now is it? I know how much you eat out, girl.”
“No,” Allison said in mock defensiveness as she held the bag of celery close to her chest. “I just bought it this week.”
“I knew I could count on you to produce some rabbit food. Hand it over. A Bloody Mary just ain’t a Bloody Mary without celery.”
“Hey, you know what? We don’t have to worry about a vegetable. We’ve got tomatoes and we’ve got celery with the Bloody Mary. No peas, no Brussels sprouts.”
*****
So the two women found themselves together again at table, laughing, discussing, and eating. Vicky wondered how a left over half dried out ham, and an old sack of potatoes, most of which were starting to sprout, could taste so delicious. She guessed it was the company.
Allison had a half a Bloody Mary and said it was already going to her head. By that time Vicky had nearly finished off the remaining contents of the large pitcher. Despite the warmth and relaxation, Vicky still had not mentioned her real, dreamed, or imagined visitation from Chief Bobby. She felt too good–too happy. Bringing it up would just make her feel worried and sick again. She would wait until they rose from the table and moved back into the kitchen to do the dishes. In the meantime she would enjoy this blissful peaceful moment that came to her so freely and unexpectedly.
“Aaahhh,” Allison sighed contentedly as she closed her eyes and leaned back in her chair, swirling the contents of her glass about. The contented look on her face matched Vicky’s own inclination to loosen the belt around her tightening slacks. “Just the right combination of salty and spicy,” Allison said raising her glass toward Vicky.
“Thank you darlin’.”
“Now all we need is the sweet. It’s Sunday–the perfect day for a sundae. I’ve got vanilla ice cream and chocolate syrup,” Allison said moving uncomfortably out of her chair with a great groaning effort as she made her way back into the kitchen.
“Can I help you?” Vicky said standing up from her chair.
“No! Sit down,” Allison ordered her from the kitchen.
“I ain’t gonna argue with you today,” Vicky said plopping back down into her seat.
“Of course the closest thing to heaven on earth is a little salty and crunchy mixed with a lot of chocolate,” Allison said leaning against the door frame shaking a jar of peanuts. “Want a little whipped cream and peanuts on your sundae?”
“Naw, I’m a straight up sundae woman myself. Now if you wanna top off that fancy ass sundae of yours just right, I got a jar of maraschino cherries back at my apartment. Want me to run downstairs and get it?”
“No, thanks. I’m not big on maraschino cherries.”
Vicky was relieved. She didn’t want to leave the comfort of Allison’s place to revisit the ghostly loneliness that hung in the air of her own place. She looked around Allison’s apartment which was usually fairly tidy and noticed the Christmas clutter–cardboard boxes of different shapes and sizes, strands of lights strung across the sofa, a wreath on an over stuffed chair, and a tall skinny tree in the corner all graced Allison’s living room space as if they were supposed to be there, as if the clutter were strategically planned. If she could just stay at Allison’s until she had to leave for work then she wouldn’t have to face the chaotic clutter of her own place–clutter that had no object, purpose, or design.
“Would it be too tacky of me to invite myself to stay after dinner and help you decorate your tree?” Vicky called to Allison in the kitchen.
“Are you kidding? I’d love it.” Allison said stepping into the dining area with a bowl of ice cream in either hand. “Kent’s supposed to come over tonight and help me, but I know he won’t be in the mood,” she said with a sigh that she caught before it completely escaped. She quickly forced a smile in its place.
“I don’t mean to impose,” Vicky said pretending not to notice the stifled sigh and forced smile and all that it implied.
“It’s all right, believe me. He’s helping his parents put up their tree this afternoon. He will have had enough Christmas cheer for one day I’m sure.”
Vicky watched the sparkle leave Allison’s eyes as a dreary colorless shadow seemed to pass over her face. Allison looked down at her bowl of ice cream and the life returned once again to her visage. Vicky wanted to ask her about Kent and why she hadn’t seen much of him around the apartments lately, and why Allison seemed so miserable whenever she spoke of him. Of course, Vicky already knew the answer and she knew better than to ask the question. She thought how she and Allison were just alike really–alone and lonely.
“Please stay and help me decorate the tree,” Allison said, placing the bowl of ice cream in front of Vicky. The thoughts traveled through Vicky’s mind–Allison’s tree and would she ever get around to putting one of her own up. She thought how sad it would be to take all her grandma’s old Christmas ornaments out of the cardboard box marked “decorations” that was printed in her grandma’s scrawling hand–the same cardboard box her grandma stored them in. The box was probably near as old as the decorations themselves. It even had water stains around the bottom corners where it got wet once when grandma’s basement flooded. Then she thought why should she bother putting up a tree if Bobby never comes back? She wondered if she would spend Christmas alone.
“It’s been fun having you here today,” Allison said as her spoon dipped into the ice cream then returned quickly to her mouth where it lingered as if she were sucking on a lollipop. “Ever notice how we always eat when we get together?” The words were scarcely out of Allison’s mouth when Vicky began to cry.
“I’ll get the tissues,” Allison said quickly scooting her chair back. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” Allison said appearing at Vicky’s side with a hand on her shoulder and box of tissues in her face.
“I gotta talk about it. That’s why I came here.”
“I’m listening.”
“Go back to your seat and finish your ice cream. And quit looking at me like an undertaker,” Vicky protested.
“Who can refuse an order like that?”
Vicky waited until Allison was settled in her seat, then with one great heaving sigh she began. “It’s Bobby. I’m worried. I think he might be missing.”
“Missing?”
“Yeah, he left for Florida over a week ago and I ain’t heard from him since.”
“What’s he doing in Florida?”
“He’s there on business. He travels a lot with his work.”
“What business is he in?”
“He’s–uh–self-employed. It’s kinda hard to explain. But, anyhow, it’s just not like him. I should’ve heard from him by now.”
“Maybe he’s just busy.”
“No. He always checks in with me. You know Bobby and me. I’m his home base. Generally, I’d a heard from him at least three or four times by now. It’s just plain weird. Something’s wrong. I just know it.” The dwindling effects of the Bloody Mary made Vicky feel particularly blue and gloomy. She wiped her nose and eyes and sat up straight clearing all the tears back down her throat. Only two things would make her feel better–to cry some more or drink some more. Of course she knew if she drank some more she most certainly would cry some more, but at least she wouldn’t feel so weak and self conscious about the crying if she were drunk.
“You wouldn’t by any chance have
some brandy and crème de cacao, would you?” Vicky said stirring the melting ice cream around in her bowl. “I could mix it with some ice cream and make a Brandy Alexander.”
“Sorry,” Allison said shaking her head. “It really is too bad too, ‘cause it sounds like my kind of drink.”
“How about Kahlua and rum? I could make some Hummers.”
“Actually I do have a bottle of Kahlua. No rum though. Sorry.”
“It’s okay. You get your Kahlua, I’ll get my vodka, we’ll mix it with this ice cream and make some White Russians. Gotta refresh my buzz a little if I’m gonna get through this story.”
Vicky got up and began mixing, measuring, pouring, and stirring. She was on her feet. She was comfortable in this role. She was doing what she did best. So Vicky mixed drinks and Allison quickly scraped dishes and stuck them in the dishwasher. Vicky’s drinks for herself were darker in color than Allison’s–mostly Kahlua and vodka with just a teaspoon of ice cream to give them flavor. “More like a Brown Russian,” Vicky said, handing the lighter colored drink to Allison. Only then did she feel together enough to continue her bizarre tale about Bobby’s visitation.
“I saw him last night.”
“Saw who?”
“Chief Bobby,” Vicky said.
“Wait a minute, wait a minute. I thought you said he was missing–that you hadn’t talked to him since he left for Florida.”
“That’s right.”
“Then how could you have seen him last night?”
“I keep asking myself the same question.”
“What are you saying, Vicky?”
“I’m saying I woke up in the middle of the night and he was standing in my room, by my bed, trying to tell me something, but I don’t remember what.”
“Sounds like you dreamt it.”
“I don’t think so.”
“What makes you so sure?”
“Well, I ain’t sure, but I don’t think it was a dream ‘cause it was too real. You know, not all fuzzy and weird-like, but like it was really happening. I know, you’re thinking maybe I don’t know the difference between a dream and real life. Maybe I ain’t right in the head. That’s what you’re thinking.”
“I didn’t say a thing.”
“This is me, man–Vicky Dooley. I may be ignorant, I may be wild as a March hare, but I ain’t fuckin’ crazy. And no–I wasn’t under the influence of any hallucinogenic drugs either. At least not at the time.”
“I believe you. It’s just that some dreams can seem pretty real.”
“Yeah, I guess so.”
“Then there’s always the possibility that it really was him. Could he have gotten into your apartment? Does he have a key?”
“Yeah, he does. But it just ain’t like him to do something like that. It just ain’t like him to show up in the middle of the night, tell me something while I’m half awake, then leave. Besides, if he was back from Florida, I’d know about it.”
“Either you dreamt it or he really was there. There aren’t any other possibilities. Are there?”
“Yes, actually there is one more possibility.”
“What?”
“He’s dead and his ghost came to visit me.”
After a long pause where neither one of them knew what to say, Allison asked, “Don’t you think if he were dead you would have heard something? You are, after all, his next of kin. Aren’t you?”
Vicky only nodded as she sniffled into her tissues and tried to regain her composure.
“What if no one knows he’s dead?” Vicky finally said, looking up through blurred eyes and dampened eyelashes.
“Oh, c’mon Vicky, someone would’ve found him.”
“Like who?”
“I don’t know – a hotel maid, a business partner, someone for crying out loud. It’s not like he’s off in the Himalayas. He’s in Florida on business. Someone would’ve noticed he’s missing and started asking questions. He probably just decided to play hookie and take a few days off.”
“He wouldn’t do that, not without telling me.”
“Look, you have to have a body before you can declare someone dead. I learned that much from Perry Mason.”
“Not if there ain’t no body to be found. Not if he got fed to the gators.”
“Alright, now you are talking crazy.”
“Bobby has enemies. If somebody wanted to kill him and make sure his remains ain’t ever found, they can do it. They never found Jimmy Hoffa’s body and they never will.”
“Vicky?” Allison sat up straight on the couch.
“Yeah.”
“Never mind.”
Vicky could tell by Allison’s tone what kind of question she intended to ask. She intended to ask if Bobby was on the wrong side of the law, but she stopped herself because she already knew the answer. Vicky thought for a moment about divulging everything to Allison. It was a crazy thought and she dismissed it immediately. That shred of distrust and paranoia, that loyalty towards the others would never allow her to do such a thing. And so they looked at each other, both knowing what the other was thinking though they couldn’t allow the conversation to go any further down its current path.
“You need to file a missing person report,” Allison said suddenly.
“But that would involve the police.” The unchecked words came out of Vicky’s mouth before she had a chance to stop them.
“So? Look, if you want to find him you’ve got to involve the police.” Allison paused. “Despite what the consequences might be for Bobby,” She said looking Vicky straight in the eye.
Maybe he just decided to chuck it all and go to Oklahoma, she thought with some relief. That’s it! That must be it. But he wouldn’t do that. He promised he’d be back for Christmas, Vicky reminded herself once again. It had to be his ghost. He had returned from his swampy grave in Florida to warn her. He didn’t want it to end for her the way it did for him.
“It was strange, Al, but I think he was trying to warn me about something.”
“What about?” Allison’s question came through like static on an AM radio, vying with all the other voices in her head.
“Look, it ain’t like it’s no big secret or nothing, but Bobby’s been in trouble before. He warned me not to make the same mistakes he has. Then he told me goodbye, like it was goodbye forever.” Vicky started sobbing again. She felt claustrophobic and thought she might panic again if she couldn’t get up and move around.
“I’ll make us some more drinks,” Vicky said picking up the pitcher as she quickly rose from her chair. Vicky poured the remaining contents of the pitcher into Allison’s glass then her own. “Let’s decorate the tree, Al, after I refresh our drinks.”
“I’ll start with the lights,” Allison said carefully gathering the strand of Christmas lights off the back of the sofa.
Once back in the kitchen, Vicky drank down her White Russian from the small highball glass in three large gulps. She opened the bottle of vodka and checked over her shoulder to make sure Allison wasn’t standing behind her. She poured her highball glass full of straight vodka and drank it down quickly. She poured another glass and drank it down even faster then made another batch of White Russians. The warmth that finally hit her brain and bounced all up and down her was as welcome as the rays of the early summer sun on her face. She told herself that everything would be all right, that Bobby would be back for Christmas and that the whole thing was just a very vivid dream. She believed it–for the moment.
The White Russians became darker and darker as the afternoon wore on, and as the bottles of Kahlua and vodka got closer and closer to the bottom, the tree became fuller and fuller, and the Christmas sing along more and more absurd. Allison pulled out all her old Christmas records–everything from the dogs barking along to Jingle Bells to Pavorotti singing O Holy Night. The two women were sometimes boisterous, sometimes maudlin–the mood of the music always exaggerated by the alcohol.
“This one always gets to me,” Vicky said throwing the last little b
it of tinsel onto one of the upper branches. Then sitting cross legged on the floor, Vicky began to sing along with The Carpenter’s rendition of “I’ll be Home for Christmas”.
“I’m an old rocker from way back when so I’m kinda ashamed to admit this, but I’ve always loved The Carpenters.” Vicky said.
“Oh, me too! That deep rich alto voice of Karen Carpenter just speaks to me.”
“You said a mouthful there, girl. Some of these new fangled female pop singers can’t sing their way out of a wet paper sack. They all sound alike – got them damned wispy, breathy, wimpy-ass voices. Sound like little girls with a budding case of laryngitis. But not Karen. She sang like a real woman. Poor Karen.
“I know. It’s so sad.”
“Why do all the great ones have to die?”
“We’re getting awfully morose around her. We’re gonna have to put the barking dogs back on.”
“Morose.” Vicky pulled her spiral notebook out of her pocket. M-O-R-O-S-E.”
“It means…”
“Don’t tell me.”
“Oh right. I forgot.You know, it’s a good thing we’re finished with this tree because I’m feeling a little tipsy,” Allison said lying on the floor.
“All but the top,” Vicky said. “You’ve gotta put an angel or a star up there.”
“I don’t have any Christmas tree toppers.”
“Well, we gotta make one.”
“What for? Look at the tree. It’s too tall.” Vicky’s eyes roamed up the sparse branches of evergreen all the way to the top where the tip was scrunched against the ceiling at a slight right angle. “Is that tree rotating or have I just had too many White Russians?” Allison asked.
“They quit being White Russians a while back. For the past hour you’ve been drinking Black Russians: straight vodka and Kahlua.”
ODD NUMBERS Page 25
