Fernando’s phone rang and Gramma lifted it from his pocket.
“Helloooo, my dear,” she said sweetly.
“Who’s this?”
“Whattya’ mean ‘Who’s this?’ I’m doing the talking,” Gramma said. “And I wanna know who’re you? That’s what I’m talkin’ about. Fernando wants to know who we have the pleasure of speaking to. Don’tcha sweety pie? My little cutesy lamb.” She tweaked his cheeks.
“Fernando, you’d better be on the job and not down at Miss Sugar’s Bar.”
“Red. It’s me, Gramma, you fool,” Gramma said. “It’s good to hear from you. I was just planning on giving you a call. Fernando’s not available right now. Don’t worry about him. He’s okay, just unable to answer the phone. Got himself occupied. There’s some sticky tape on his lips and face. Can I give him a message for you?”
“That’s you Gramma? What’re you doing with Fernando’s phone? And what have you done with Fernando?” Whee. She is a feisty one, this Gramma!
“Do I have to spell it out for you?”
Red let out a string of nasty name calling.
“No need to be rude or snarky,” Gramma said. “I answered the phone for him. And if you’re gonna be mean to me, I’ll hang up.”
“I meant that for Fernando, not you. You tell that idiot . . .”
“You tell him yourself,” Gramma said. She placed the phone near Fernando’s ear. “Red has something he wants to share with you, honey.”
Red let out a string of unprintable words that would make anyone blush. He blasted Fernando in three languages, maybe four if you include rubbish.
Fernando was stuttering and stammering, unable to speak through the tape.
“Shame on you, Red,” Gramma said. “Talking like that.” She gasped. “I’d tell on you if I knew someone who cared. Maybe I'll call your grandmother. Now listen up. I don’t have the envelope anymore. I passed it on. So, call your goons off and we’ll all pretend nothin’ happened. I want no more of that warmed over cloak and dagger stuff from you. Except, I’m not gonna forget your man threatened me and my Lola. Oh, no. Nobody does that and gets away with it. The next time we’re within fifty miles of each other, you’d better hope I don’t see you first. Understand? Stay away. I’ve bigger fish to fry than worry about you bottom feeders.”
“Me. A bottom-feeder? You got me confused with someone else. I’m the guy at the top of the food chain. Who do you think you are?”
“I’ll tell you who I am. I’m a fierce, but sweet old lady who’s not happy with any of these gumbos you send after me. Oh, yeah, please help Fernando make some better wardrobe choices. He’s really not prepared for the job in what he’s wearing. Patent leather shoes, bright red, patent leather shoes. Can you believe it? His breath is bad too, from those rotten teeth in his mouth. Get him to a dentist and some proper hygiene lessons. He’s got a whole constellation of personal problems. And when you finally get him back, keep him out of the cookie bin. He’s getting fat.”
“You’re concerned about Fernando’s clothing?”
“Just sayin’. You should take a look at the outfit I’m wearing. It pops.”
“I must admit, I like the way you look. So, can’t we talk this over, Gramma? Just the two of us?”
“I’ve nothing else to say.”
“Well, maybe we could go for a drink or something. Just you and me. You know . . .” Red said.
Gramma held the phone out from her ear. She shook it up and down. “Did I hear you right? Are you asking me out?”
“I’m an interesting dude. You’re an interesting lady. You’re single. I’m single . . .”
“Glory day. We’re in the middle of a disagreement, here. Remember? Are you concussed or something? Let me explain it to you. You want the envelope. I’m not giving it to you. You threatened me and my family. I’m still steaming about that. You sent this sophomore Fernando after me. I’ve kicked his butt. Big time.”
Fernando started screaming from behind the duct tape. It was not attractive. He gave Gramma a frantic look.
Gramma gave Fernando some attention. “You lookin’ at me, dude? Huh? And such carrying on. Shame on you. Interrupting an old lady who’s on the phone. You have no manners at all.” She turned back to Red.
“I’m interested, that’s all,” Red said. “We could make beautiful music together, you and me. Stick with me, Baby and you’ll never grow old.”
“Too late for that,” Gramma said. She pushed the ‘off’ button. “How do you like me now?” she said to the dead connection.
Gramma turned to Fernando.
“That Red guy’s really quite strange. I think he’s trying to pick me up. Imagine that. And he has a potty mouth. Just for that, you’re not getting your weapons or your phone back. Nor am I returning the ones belonging to those goofs who were hanging outside our door.”
She ripped the tape off his mouth.
Fernando started to protest.
“Epic fail,” Gramma said. She stuck the duct tape back on his mouth. It had some stones and dirt stuck to it so didn’t hold very good. She pulled another strip off the roll and stuck it over the first one. She pressed down for good measure.
“How very satisfying. I really enjoyed that. I truly did,” she said to no one in particular. “Sometimes I get such pleasure from my job. That’s why I’m still doin’ it at my age.”
Gramma dialed her boss’s number, told him what happened, and where he could pick up Fernando, the goons, their guns and phones. “Hurry up. I’m sure Red or some of his goobers are on the way to clean up this mess, and I don’t want them getting here before you. That Red is starting to get strange on me. Oh, yeah. I gave the envelope to your courier at La Cohina. And if Fernando ticks me off anymore, you can look for him in the hotel’s dumpster with the other garbage.”
She used Fernando’s phone to make gratuitous overseas calls.
“Would you like me to order some weight loss products sent to your home?” She asked Fernando. “You know. Like the kind we see in television commercials. A lot of celebrities vouch for that stuff and you gotta admit, they look great in their 'before' and 'after' photos. They’ve testified to fantastic results. Maybe after you follow their regimen, you can be a spokesperson for them.”
No answer from behind the duct tape.
Gramma made the call for six months’ worth of diet meals for delivery to Fernando’s house, charged to his credit card. She called another number and signed him up for a year’s exercise lessons, charged to the same account.
“I ordered the good stuff for you, not the cheapo crap. I just couldn’t resist. You’ll thank me later for that. Really, you will.”
Chapter 8
Home Again―BMXing
Gramma turned on her lava lamp and watched it bubbling up and down in beautiful colors. Globs of something within the glass lamp rose and fell, all in colorful pageantry.
For some reason today, the pink and golden colors reminded her of her nemesis Poppy Gold.
I gotta stop that. I really love this lamp, but don’t want to think about Poppy when I turn it on.
Sweetums wobbled over for a treat.
“It’s good to be home in Florida, again,” Gramma said to Sweetums. “I really missed you.” She reached down to pet her very pregnant Pomeranian. “Who’s the pretty girl? Why, you are, of course.”
She put Poppy out of her head.
Sweetums rolled on her back for a belly rub. That was not an easy feat for the chubby mom-to-be.
Gramma obliged, rubbing her warm tummy before helping her doggie get back on her feet.
“Whoa . . .” Gramma said. “You put more weight on while I was gone. It looks like you’re gonna have six puppies, not the two the vet said. And who’s the father of these puppies, young lady? I sure hope it’s not Doo Doo. Please, tell me it’s not Doo Doo. That would make him Daddy Doo-Doo.”
Sweetums giggled. Well, it sounded like a doggie giggle to Gramma.
Gramma admonished Sweetums. �
�You know, don’t you, that Doo Doo’s owner Carl waters his lawn when it’s raining? What does that tell you? Huh? It tells me that Doo Doo and his family aren’t a suitable match for you. It’s not him. Right?”
Gramma waited patiently for some indication from her dog who the guilty party is.
Sweetums wasn’t talking. She looked up in adoration at her very favorite of all her favorite persons.
Gramma laughed and rubbed the dog’s tummy again. Hearing her cell phone buzzing with texts, Gramma checked her messages.
“Hmmm,” she said to herself. “D.C. again. Oh, my goodness. Those scoundrels.” She texted back to her contact person. She let them know she’d already made reservations and when she’d be there.
Gramma and Sweetums walked outside to the ocean. Up and down the sand they went with Gramma picking up sea beans and the occasional shell. She rolled a couple of Sea Hearts over in her hands and bent down for a larger treasure which was nestled in some wrack.
“Look, Sweetums. A Mary’s Bean. I’m going to plant that.” She pocketed the dark seed along with some Nickernuts for her collection.
“It’s so lovely here,” she said to her dog. She breathed in deeply of the salty air. “Now, we better get out of here before the doggie police see you and have you arrested for walking on the beach. They’ll put you in doggie jail. No grandpuppies of mine are going to be born in prison. Imagine not permitting dogs on the beach. Why, I see some humans who leave worse trash than doggies. The nerve of those people. Really.” As they walked, she continued muttering about the injustice of it all.
Andy was at Gramma’s when she and Sweetums returned from their oceanside stroll.
“Hey, Gramma.” Andy hugged and kissed his favorite Gramma. “I love you, too,” he said to Sweetums.
The Pomeranian wagged her tail in acceptance of more much-deserved praise and adoration.
“I hope you don’t mind. I brought my pal Zach with me. We’re taking you to lunch,” Andy said.
“Hi,” Zach said. He whispered to Andy, “What should I call her?”
“Call me Gramma, of course,” Gramma said. “And I’m happy you’re joining us, Zach.”
Zach rolled his BMX bike alongside him as the trio walked through the parking lot on their way to lunch.
“Before we eat, Zach wants to show you some of the tricks he does on his bike,” Andy said.
“I’m just learning, but having fun with it,” Zach said.
He jumped on the bike and rode it around the lot, zigzagging here and there for effect. Peddling with a serious expression, Zach did some manualing, bunny hops, back hops, wheelies and endoes. He wobbled a little bit during the execution of his bike trick selections, but stayed on course and finished with a flourish.
“Ta da,” Zach said as he got off the bike.
Gramma and Andy enthusiastically applauded Zach’s efforts.
“Gnarly. Way to go, Zach,” Gramma said. “You learned a lot in a short time.”
“Hey, Gramma,’ Andy said. “Didn’t you used to do some bike tricks?”
“Awww, nobody wants to see an old lady doing those,” Gramma said. Secretly, she hoped they’d ask her to show them what she’s got.
“Will she be okay, doing something like that?” Zach whispered to Andy.
Hearing his comment, Gramma grasped the BMX, hopped on, and took off peddling around the parking lot as fast as her legs would propel her. She wove in and out, around benches and cars, bunny hopping a good four feet in the air while doing fluid Bar Spins. A Manual was performed with Gramma cruising on the back wheel the full length of the lot.
“Amazing athlete,” Zach said. “She’d make a great action figure.”
“That’s nothing. Wait for the finish,” Andy replied. “The Death Ramp.”
Gramma performed a few more tricks then finished her act by speeding up the side of a small hill which had steep steps leading to where Zach and Andy were watching. Gramma wove around the walkway before she and the BMX flew up onto the handrail. She rode it all the way down, jumped the bike off the rail and twirled around when she reached the bottom.
“BMX grinding. Love it,” Gramma said.
Zach’s mouth was wide open.
Andy gave Gramma a high five.
“Whhhhaaat was that?” Zach asked.
“You should see her at the skate park,” Andy said. “Doin’ Triple Backflips, No-handed Front Flips and Can Cans. And she rides the rails better than most. Man.”
“No way,” Zach said.
“Way,” Andy answered.
“Will you teach me some of that, Gramma?” Zach asked.
“Sure I will. When I’ve time, but when we’re at the skate park, you’ll have to mind your skate park etiquette. We always wait our turn, be polite and don’t nag the bikers with tons of questions. We’ll talk about it, honey, before we go. Now, I’m hungry, how about lunch? Oh, look, I have a coupon we can use.”
Zach wondered if Nitro Circus was aware of this Gramma.
After lunch. Back at Home.
“See you later, Zach,” Andy said.
Zach waved goodbye, giving a special extra wave to Gramma.
She returned his gesture.
Gramma checked her e-mails. “I’ve got a lot to do right now, so I’ll be on the computer for a while. You might want to get packed for our D.C. trip. It’s all set.”
“Sweet,” Andy said. “Answer that,” he said when Gramma’s phone rang.
“Gramma, Red here . . .”
“Red who?" She laughed. "Is this a knock-knock joke?”
“Knock it off. You know it’s me.”
“Did you put Fernando on the diet I recommended? And, is he still smelly or has his hygiene improved?”
“I don’t want to talk about him,” Red said. “I want to talk about us.”
“There is no us,” Gramma said. “I’m a loner. Single. No ties to anyone.”
“But I’m handsome, wealthy, interesting and . . . interested,” Red said in his best ‘come-hither’ voice. “Stick with me, Baby, and you’ll drive a Rolls. Poppy . . .”
“Already did,” Gramma said. She turned the phone off.
“Who was that?” Andy asked.
“Nobody.” Gramma was silent for a few minutes. Did I hear him say ‘Poppy?’”
“What’re you thinking about? Is something worrying you?” Andy asked.
Gramma shook it off. I must’ve imagined that.
“I’m puzzled about Neck-Tattoo-Man. The guy who was on my plane ride to Israel. Who is he? I’ve got to check him out. After I get some work done first.”
She was already thinking ahead to her online article about following a healthy diet. She considered sending it to Fernando and followed through. ‘I’m doing this for you and your family,’ she explained. She chuckled to herself.
She’d forgotten all about Red.
Later . . .
Gramma was outside watering flowers. Her mind was relaxed, enjoying the garden.
A courier drove up on a nondescript motorcycle and called her over.
Gramma and the motorcyclist talked, hands waving here and there with lots of pointing. In the process, Gramma’s flash drive was deposited in the cyclist’s Power Glide Jacket pocket and the bike sped off.
“What’d he want?” Chatty Mae called from across the street.
“Directions. He was lost,” Gramma called back.
Chatty Mae thought Gramma had more peculiar happenings at her home than anyone else at the company she, Gramma, Carl and their other neighbors worked for. She was glad she didn’t know everything about her neighbors’ activities.
“How’s Sneaky Rex doing?” Gramma asked, changing the topic “Sorry, I promised not to call him that, didn’t I?”
“No worries. He’s great. You just missed the Poodle Twins. Earlier in the day, they were gallivanting their little black bodies all over the neighborhood. Those two will be the next ones having puppies, if they keep that up.”
“I hope they’
re not in my backyard again. They get up close to our sliding glass doors and smudge them when they’re looking in for Sweetums. There’s dog nose slobber all over the glass. And Carl’s cat Boozie’s no better. Who names a cat Boozie, anyway?”
“Carl does,” Chatty Mae said. “Shh,” she said, pointing to a smiling man, swaggering their way.
“Hi Carl,” Gramma said.
“Back at you,” Carl said. “Hey, do you two want to go for breakfast tomorrow morning? We could go to that new place that opened up near the movie theater.”
“Aw, darn. I gotta work tomorrow,” Gramma said.
“Me, too,” Chatty Mae added. “Such a shame.”
“I got an idea. We could go eat breakfast together tonight since you can’t go in the morning,” Carl offered. “That way, we’d have it out of the way.”
Gramma and Chatty Mae just looked at him.
“You’re serious, aren’t you?” Gramma said.
Carl didn’t answer. He was too busy backtracking toward home. “Boozie. Oh, Boozie. Where are you?”
“Doo Doo and Boozie,” Chatty Mae said. “And breakfast at night ’cuz we can’t go in the morning. And he waters his yard when it’s raining. You know that, don’t you?”
“That explains a lot,” Gramma said. “Working with him has always had its moments, hasn’t it? It's a good thing he's brilliant and likeable.”
Chatty Mae agreed. “One wouldn’t know he’s the best computer geek ever, would they?”
“Nope. One wouldn’t, but he is.”
Chatty Mae got distracted and pointed to where Rex was sitting quietly in front of the mailbox, staring at Gramma’s house. “He’s waiting for Sweetums to come out,” Chatty Mae said. “Aren’t her puppies due soon?”
“Yep. The vet says she’ll have two.”
“Do you know who the father is?” Chatty Mae asked.
If Gramma had hackles, they would have gone up. She mumbled something about a pie in the oven. She rushed into the house.
The Amazing Adventures of Gramma Page 6
