by James Ross
CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE
“Tuey O’Tweety! Has you’s lost yo’ mind?” LeVournique shrieked when Tuey entered the front door of their home.
“Da guys at da course thought dat it would be uh good idea fo’ me ta clean up uh li’l fo’ da meetin’,” Tuey answered as he rubbed his hand over his bald head.
“I tinks dat’s you’s has lost aw uh yo’ mawbulls,” LeVournique replied. “Dis here battle wit’ da city hall be pushin’ you’s ova da top, Tuey.”
“Ya don’ts likes my new doo?” Tuey flashed a grin at his wife then bent at the waist so that she could rub her hand over the top of his head.
LeVournique reached forward and touched the top of Tuey’s head and then she rubbed her hand all over his scalp. “Dat’s gonna takes some gettin’ used ta.” She pulled her hand back and looked at her palm. “But it be kinda soft an’ smooth.”
“One uh my’s frien’s at da golf course did dat fo’ me. He’s da barba down Clayton way,” Tuey explained.
“He sho’ do gives ya uh smooth shave,” LeVournique admitted as she continued to rub Tuey’s bald head. “But I’s still tinks dat you’s has lost yo mawbulls ta even git sumptin’ likes dat in da first place.” She paused to let her words sink in. “Do you’s tinks dat’s I’s gonna git used ta it?” LeVournique asked Tuey out loud. She quickly answered her own question. “No way!”
“Maybe’s dis new doo will influent dose peoples down at da city hall an’ dey’s starts ta goes uh li’l mo’ easy on me’s,” Tuey said to his bride of twenty years.
“If dey’s don’ts Tuey, den I’s tinks dat I’s had enoughs uh aw uh dis nonsense,” LeVournique fired back.
“What’s ya mean dat ya’s had enough?”
“I’s tinks dat I’s gonna pack up an’ go down ta live wit’ my sista down in Texas.”
“What’s dat ya be talkin’ ’bout aw ova agin?” Tuey thought he had heard this threat before. He and LeVournique had been high school sweethearts and married after his sophomore year in college.
“I’s jus’ had enoughs. First, it was aw uh dese tickets dat we’s don’ts have da money ta pay. Den it wuz you’s uh joinin’ dat new church cuz uh what’s D. Wayne sed. Now its dis new doo dat I’s don’ts tink dat I’ll eva be able’s ta git used ta.”
“LeVournique, don’ts ya goes an’ leaves me,” Tuey begged. “Please, Sweet Chile. We’s in dis togedda. I’s jus’ tryin’ ta make uh decent livin’ ta provide fo’ my family.”
“An’ I’s had enoughs. It’s gone too far. An’ if ya’s can’ts git dem peoples down at da city hall ta see yo’ side uh dis deal, den I’s gonna go down ta Texas an’ takes uh break from aw uh dis.”
Tuey looked into the eyes of his wife. A giant tear welled in his left eye and slowly dribbled down his cheek. “Don’ts leave me, LeVournique. I’s can’ts fights dis battle by myself.”
“Whens I’s packs ups an’ leaves, den you’s is gonna have ta.”
CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR
Ricki Sandstoner had her own set of problems at the bank. Harold had taken it upon himself to help Alpha Bear since the Catholic priest had gotten the diocese to commit to building a new high school on some of the land that the banker was developing with Neal Brownfield.
The priest had encountered some parishioners who had employed the services of a little French maid named Barbeaux Rivette. He thought that it would be a good idea if the bank could give her a few hours at the bank to dust the silk plants, empty the trash cans, and do other menial tasks. Harold, who liked to think of himself as a worldly entrepreneur, became enamored with the pronunciation of the maid’s last name. He thought that it was so sexy to roll “ri-vay” off of his tongue. So he enthusiastically employed the lovely young immigrant part time because, as he put it, “it’s all the little things that I do for the community.”
That bit of generosity on his part did nothing but create additional work for Ricki. As usual, she was wrapping up some of the little things that the maid overlooked, when Harold approached her in the bank lobby. “Have you finished the presentation for our meeting with the city?” Harold asked as Ricki wiped the missed fingerprints off the front window.
“It would be done if I didn’t have to do all the things your little French maid can’t handle,” Ricki said defensively. She wasn’t about to be called out by her boss. She was sick and tired of the little things her boss constantly reminded her were important.
Harold smiled. “You’re so efficient. We need somebody to cover-up for her.”
Ricki was a tad ticked off. “I don’t think that it’s in my job description.”
Harold chose to overlook the real problem. “Let’s not worry about it. I like to have her around here. She’s so energetic and bouncy. It’s good for the customers to see that, you know, cute outfit and hear that, you know, sexy accent and . . .”
“Oh come on,” Ricki interrupted. “Don’t make me puke on this window.”
“ . . . and I just love the way ‘ri-vay’ rolls off of my tongue.”
Ricki rolled her eyes. “What you really like is that short skirt with all of the frills and her bustierre pushing her assets up and out.” She was mildly disgusted with her boss. “What do you want?” she snapped.
“You’ve got all of the paperwork completed for the planning and zoning meeting next Wednesday, don’t you?” The first Wednesday in March was the date that Harold expected to get the final okay for the private Catholic high school from the city.
“What do you think?” With a spray bottle of Windex in one hand and a rag in the other, Ricki wasn’t in the mood to be scrutinized by her boss. “I wouldn’t leave you stranded.”
Harold smiled. “I knew that I could count on you.” He headed back toward his office. Over his shoulder he said, “You know that I’ll take care of you at bonus time.”
“You better!” Ricki went back to work on the window. “And just between you and me, the whole family wants to go to Cabo instead of Cancun.”
Harold acted like the words went in one ear and out the other. “Monty’s due any minute. Send him in when he gets here.”
Ricki noticed Monty dressed in jeans and loafers and bundled up in a down jacket exiting his car in the parking lot. “He’s here. You don’t think that he’ll mistake me for Barbeaux Rivette, do you?” She bent over to wipe a smudge off of the window about a foot off of the floor, in the process shooting her boss a covered moon.
Harold got a kick out of his trusted assistant. He smiled and retreated to his chair behind his desk. Seconds later Monty entered and closed the door. “Do you have everything arranged?” Harold looked as excited as an eight-year-old boy in an ice cream shop.
“How does Dame Flutterbelle and Cleoparro sound?” Monty said as he flopped into a leather chair opposite Harold’s desk.
“D. Wayne did that for us?” Harold questioned.
“For a ninety-nine, the guy ain’t bad,” Monty said smugly.
Harold looked confused. “Huh?”
“They ain’t worth a buck,” Monty said as he defended his comment. “I normally don’t associate with them.” He chuckled at his words. “You don’t think that he’ll stick us, do you?”
“The guy made me a lot of money last fall,” Harold said as he referred to the winning football bets that he had cashed in on. “I had to get the money back into the old bitty’s account.” Harold was convinced. “He’ll come through.”
“What did you learn from him?” Monty asked.
“That maybe the blacks are better than the Japanese,” Harold said with a laugh. “Now if I can only speed that worthless contractor up so that we can get the streets poured.”
Monty grabbed a packet that Harold had placed on the desk. “Thanks.”
“Make sure the girls are well taken care of,” the banker said, “and there’s something extra for you.” Harold stood to shake Monty’s hand. It seemed like his armpits were barely higher than the desktop. “I want this to be the best victory party we’ve ever ha
d.”
“It will be,” Monty assured him.
“I mean, we need to take care of Mayor Leavitt and Father Blair and . . .”
“If that’s the case should I see if D. Wayne knows where we can find a pool boy named Ruiz?” They both laughed. Amid the chuckles Monty continued, “That might be better for the priest than Dame Flutterbelle and Cleoparro.”
CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE
A couple of days later after a tiring day dealing with the sludge on the golf course Tuey did what he had done on so many days in the past . . . he parked his pickup on the street, threw his skull cap on the passenger seat, and headed for the front door of his home. February was about to become March. Daylight crept into the early evening hours. Temperatures were seasonably mild. Now if the chilling wind would let up, then it would start to feel a little more like spring was only a few weekends away.
With a dozen red roses in his hand and a dinner coupon for two to the Aqua Mermaid Tuey was only a warm shower away from a birthday celebration with LeVournique. Elia had given him a tester bottle of after shave and a handful of courtesy mints that he provided for the hot-shot lawyers that worked in the high-rises of Clayton. Tuey even went out of his way to buy a colorful ascot that he could stuff into his breast pocket. He wanted to make sure that his partner was going to be treated like a queen for her birthday.
He opened the door and was ready to announce his arrival when reality slapped him in the face. The house had been cleaned out.
Sitting on the floor in the living room was a bean bag chair. Against the far wall was a nine-inch black and white portable TV with a reconfigured coat hanger propped against the wall acting as an antenna. Next to that was a rolled-up sleeping bag. That was it.
No, no, no. LeVournique, you dint! Tuey surveyed the room. He opened the hall closet and looked at the bare shelves. You’s dint evens leaves me uh towel.
Tuey continued into the kitchen. He pulled open a drawer. Nothing. The second drawer. Nothing. All four were empty. He threw open the door to the pantry. On a shelf was a can of yams, a can of wax beans, and a box of Cocoa Puffs. Tuey shook his head as tears started to form. LeVournique, you’s evens took da can opena. He made a move to exit the room and clanged his head off of the light fixture that hung from the ceiling above the kitchen table that was no more. Ow, dammit! With a grimace Tuey reached up and rubbed the spot above his right eye.
He walked down the hall to the master bedroom. It was empty. Evens da picshurs aw off uh da wall. After walking into the bathroom Tuey noticed that the toilet paper roll was virtually empty. I’s can’ts evens wipes my butt.
Tuey looked out the window toward the back yard and noticed that the picnic table was gone as well as his barbecue pit. He walked back into the kitchen being careful not to bang his head on the light fixture. He opened the screen door to the carport and saw that LeVournique had left behind an engine block, a stack of used tires, and some worn out carburetors. Looks like jus’ my junk be left.
The sun was going down. It was getting dark. She’s no left me’s uh note. Tuey went to the front room and plopped down into the bean bag. I’s can’ts believes dat you’s did dis ta me, LeVournique. Fatigued, depressed, and having difficulty swallowing Tuey gently closed his eyes for a moment. His mouth was dry again. With his little finger and thumb he wiped away white residue that had accumulated at the creases of his mouth. Slowly he placed his hands to his throbbing head . . . and sobbed and sobbed and sobbed.
CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX
The next day, with no place to turn, Tuey acted upon one of his few options. He hopped into his pickup and drove to the office building that housed Nehemiah’s Neighbors Have Arisen to seek advice and comfort from Reverend Puld. Several cars were visible in the parking lot. Tuey recognized one as belonging to D. Wayne Smith. The new black Cadillac Sedan DeVille with shiny gold trim was unmistakable. To circumvent the signage ordinance that the city had imposed the church had parked a beat-up, rusted-out white panel truck with a message painted on the side that read: “With no rain, there would be no rainbows.”
Tuey opened the door and stepped into an atrium area. He ascended a flight of stairs to reach the entrance to the church. Upon opening the door he stepped into a room of folding chairs that was eerily quiet. He yelled out. No one answered. Confused by the silence Tuey backtracked out the door to the lobby of the building. Still no signs of life existed. He returned to his pickup.
Before he opened the door Tuey decided to walk around the exterior of the building. Reverend Puld has gotsta be somewheres. He trudged around until he reached the back of the building. Standing at the rear property line was an unlikely trio . . . Reverend Puld, the small banker Harold Syms, and D. Wayne Smith. What’s can dey’s be ups to? He approached the threesome.
Immediately Harold started to fidget. He had a lawsuit filed against the contractor and had no idea what the guy would do. Instinctively he rolled up the drawings and readied himself for a quick exit.
“How have you been?” Reverend Puld said as Tuey neared the group.
“Jus’ lookin’ fo’ you’s,” Tuey said. “I’s got worried when’s no ones wuz inside.” Tuey shook hands with D. Wayne and the preacher. Harold acknowledged him by nodding his head. He apologized for having his arms full of papers. Tuey looked skeptically at the banker. Then he turned back to Reverend Puld. “What’s you’s doin’ back here?”
“We’re workin’ on a little project,” the preacher said. Tuey had seen them pointing to a spot near the property line.
“Yeah, we’re trying to decide the best spot to put a satellite dish,” D. Wayne volunteered, “and we needed to get the landlords approval.” He flashed his golden smile at the banker. The duo had become tight ever since D. Wayne made some quick cash for the banker during the football season. So much so that Harold was actively helping them with financing for the church and the new cable television endeavor.
“What’s ya goin’ ta do dat fo’?” Tuey asked. His throat began twitching and he was having difficulty swallowing. In the past few days his vision had become blurry and he would constantly close his eyes, open them slowly, and refocus.
The trio exchanged glances not knowing whether or not they should let the cat out of the bag. “We’re going to broadcast to the world,” D. Wayne boasted. Tuey looked baffled. He wrinkled his nose at the thought. “How does this sound? Something like ‘Live from the pulpit of Ostrahemial Puld’,” D. Wayne explained.
Tuey’s eyes glazed over and looked scary. So much so that Harold felt nervous and uncomfortable. He shifted his weight from foot to foot and squirmed.
“So’s you’s gonna be one uh dem dere TV evangels?” Tuey asked.
“Evangelists,” D. Wayne corrected.
“If we can get da banker to help us out,” Reverend Puld added.
Tuey shifted his attention back to Harold. As he saw it the banker was just as much a part of his problems as the people at city hall. The lawsuit hung over his head. He lost out on an opportunity to buy ground to park his equipment on because the banker nosed him out. Tuey did not trust the guy. Now, because of all that, LeVournique left him. His piercing stare got a reaction out of Harold. “I better get off to my next appointment,” the banker said as he stepped away from the group.
Tuey turned and spoke to the banker’s back as he walked away. “I’s wants ya ta know dat’s I’s still workin’ hard on dat sewa job.”
Harold thought for a second, stopped, and kept his back to the contractor. He ran his hand over his forehead and through his thick mane of hair. “No comment.” Slowly he headed toward the parking lot.
D. Wayne sensed the tension and left with the banker. “I’ll walk you to your car.”
Tuey nodded his head as the pair headed away. “Have mercy on you,” he said.
“What brings you over here?” Reverend Puld asked as the two sauntered behind the other two.
“My’s wife left me,” Tuey blurted to the preacher.
“What on earth! Why?”
Reverend Puld asked.
Tuey went on to explain the mess that he was in with the city, the construction delays, broken equipment, his money woes, the civil lawsuit that Harold had filed against him, and the court dismissal of his civil rights claim. “My’s faith is bein’ tested.”
“It always is darkest befo’ it gits light,” the preacher said as he comforted the giant man. “We’re here to help you. We want to see that bubbly smile again.”
“Right now dere’s nuttin’ ta smile ’bout. I’s don’ts tink dat I’s gonna make it,” Tuey said dejectedly. “Tings be uh lots mo’ dan I’s can handle.” He started to hyperventilate as beads of sweat formed on his forehead.
“We always find ways, Tuey,” Reverend Puld said. His attention seemed to be more focused on the new evangelistic project than the single parishioner.
“Wit’ dis here new church an’ now da satellite you’s got sumptin’ ta live fo’ Reverend Puld,” Tuey said. “I’s don’t.”
“We’ve all got value to society,” the preacher rationalized. “You remember the service that I preached, don’t ya?
“What one dat be?”
“The one ’bout the animal kingdom an’ the wise owl an’ how much we can learn from the various species,” Reverend Puld expounded.
Tuey looked disoriented and confused.
“It was the one about how we can learn from animal behavior an’ once we die we get reincarnated as a different animal to learn a different lesson on earth,” the preacher reminded his parishioner.
Tuey shook his head as if it was throbbing. He pressed at his temples trying to fathom what the minister was trying to say. “Den what’s my’s lesson ta learn?”
“It’s private an’ only you know,” Reverend Puld explained.
The more the preacher talked, the more confused Tuey became. “Den what animal be me?”
