“If you mean authentic, yes it is,” he said between bites. “In the old country, they used Tartans … or the weave of a man’s plaid as a means of identification.”
“The old country? You mean Indiana?” Matt asked innocently. “Dad says you’re from Indiana.”
“Older than that,” Gene said with a laugh that exposed his last bite of carrots. “The lineage of this family goes back to the thirteenth century, Scotland.” He wiped his mouth with the heal of his hand. “Our name is derived from the French ‘Bel’ meaning fair or handsome.” He smiled at Matt. “Aye, we were a turbulent mix of French and Scottish families throughout the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries.”
“Honest? We had wars and stuff?”
“Aye son.”
“Didn’t you say there was royalty in our family tree?” Susan asked excitedly.
Gene dipped his head and shifted his eyes from Susan to Frank with glee. “General Sir John Bell was a distinguished soldier, and a friend of the Duke of Ellington.”
Gene and Frank burst into laughter in unison.
Suddenly Gene stopped laughing and blinked across the table at Bobby. “Who is this lad?”
“This is Melinda’s friend, Bobby MacCormack,” Frank announced. “A new addition to the neighborhood.”
Gene jerked to his feet causing his chair to topple over. “MacCormack?! A long time enemy of the clan of Beal’s.” He shoved an index finger into the air. “Much pain and loss was caused by the MacCormack clan forcing the Beal ancestors to move many miles to the north of Scotland, a place where beauty and ugly wouldn’t have to stand in opposition. He bared his gums. “Where has your ugly clan settled now?” His eyes burned into Bobby’s.
“I’m from across the street,” Bobby stuttered.
Frank stooped down and picked up Gene’s chair. He sat it back on its legs behind Gene. “Calm down brother.” He patted Gene on the shoulder. “Bobby doesn’t have any recollection of the events of five centuries ago.”
“There’s a piece of them in every cell of his body,” Gene said nodding accusingly. He slowly sat back down never taking his eyes from Bobby’s. “What does your ugly father do for a living?”
“He’s a schoolteacher,” Bobby replied.
Gene nodded knowingly. “That figures, the MacCormack’s were always finding ways of spreading their foul propaganda among the youth.”
“My father teaches biology Mr. Beal.” Bobby gave him a tight smile. “I don’t think he teaches any foul propaganda.”
Gene picked up his butter knife and split another roll. “Tell me Bobby, has he ever dissected a chicken?”
Bobby grinned. “No, my mother usually does that in the kitchen.”
“You won’t eat it though,” Melinda giggled. “Really Uncle Gene, do you have to be so heavy?”
Gene gave her a puzzled look. “I weigh the same now as I did in high school I’ll have you know.”
Melinda giggled again. “I didn’t mean fat, I meant controversial.”
“Don’t know about that,” Gene said as he looked around the table. “So, my fair Joan, what do we have in the way of dessert?”
Joan stared at him. She took a deep breath and expelled it. “I bought a coconut cream pie.” She stood and turned to go into the kitchen.
“Well, I’m…” he crossed his eyes … “coo coo for coconut!” Gene hooted.
Matt spit milk on his plate again, and his shoulders shook with coughing and laughter.
Gene slapped Matt on the back several times then crooked a finger under his chin and tipped his head back. “What do you say we take our pie into the living room and watch a bit of television?
“We aren’t allowed to eat in the living room,” Matt said.
“I’m not surprised with the way you drink your milk,” Gene said with a shrug.
Matt howled again and nearly fell off his chair in a fit of laughter.
Susan got up from the table and stood behind Gene. “I’ll watch Bewitched with you Uncle Gene.”
“Okay lass, go warm up the TV, and I’ll be there in a minute.”
“I want to watch the Flintstones,” Matt said as he followed her into the living room.
“It was nice meeting you,” Bobby held out a hand to Gene.
Gene stared at him for a long moment then took hold of his hand and gave it a beefy squeeze. Bobby winced.
“I’ll be watchin you son,” Gene warned as he gave Melinda a wink.
Frank waited for everyone to leave the table, and then he eyed Gene. “So, why the sudden interest in the family ancestry?”
Gene shrugged. “I don’t know.”
Frank frowned. “Are you going to tell me this kilt is now part of your daily attire?”
Gene smiled revealing a large slice of his gums. He chuckled. “No, I only started to wear them last week.”
“Why?” Frank asked.
Gene lowered his voice. “I’ve got a hot rash, and the doctor said I can’t wear pants for a couple of weeks.” He looked around and leaned closer to Frank. “It’s in a delicate spot.”
Frank held up a hand. “Go no further; I don’t need to know the details.”
“It presents an obstacle when looking for work.” Gene settled gently back into his chair. “Especially factory work.”
“Why did you get fired this time?”
Gene frowned. “What makes you think I got fired?”
Frank flicked him a look.
“Okay, so I took a couple golf clubs. They had thousands. Besides, those damn commies put in a bunch of machines to do all the work we were doing.”
“What were you doing with golf clubs?” Frank smirked.
Gene slanted him a glance. “I was puttin’ the heads on the shafts for the Big Birdie Driver, at least until they got those fancy machines to do it.” He shook his head. “My boss said automation would be able to calculate an accurate forty-five degree angle and seat the head on the shaft in half the time it took workers to get the job done. Double your pleasure, double your fun, that’s what he said.” Gene muffled a laugh. “I poured a carton of salt in that machine before I left.”
Gene gazed at Frank. “So, how can I help you?”
Frank looked puzzled. “Help me?”
“You called me to say you needed some help. What did you need help with?”
Chapter Six
By the strip of hallway light beneath the bedroom door, Frank stepped out of his pants and hung them over the back of a chair. He snapped his eyes closed when the change from both his front pockets jingled to the floor.
“I’m awake,” Joan whispered.
He stepped across the room and slipped under the bed covers. “I’m sorry,” he said as he slid next to her drew her close to mold his front to her back. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“What time is it?” she asked.
“Almost one o’clock. Gene and I had a lot of catching up to do.”
Joan glanced back at him. “Did he tell you why he is wearing a kilt?”
Frank grinned into the darkness. “He confessed he has a hot rash so he can’t wear his pants right now.”
Joan’s shoulders jiggled with laughter, she pushed her face into her pillow to muffle the sound. She finally came up for air. “All that stuff about the family ancestry,” she gasped. “It is an attractive kilt though, I was going to ask him where he got it,” she giggled. “They are so slenderizing.”
Frank joined her in laughter. “He says it’s hard to go on job interviews, especially for factory work.”
Joan slapped a hand over her mouth to catch a laugh. She struggled to get the words out. “Maybe he’d have better luck in the secretarial pool.”
The bed shook for a long time as they laughed together. Frank smoothed a hand down Joan’s arm then leaned over to kiss the side of her neck.
“Frank, I’m worried about Melinda.”
Frank lifted himself to one elbow. “She’s a teenager; she’s supposed to worry you.”
“It’s
hard for me to parent her when we argue all the time,” she sighed.
Frank found a lock of Joan’s hair and twirled it loosely around his finger. “She’s just trying to establish her independence.”
“She asked me if she could go to the drive-in with Bobby,” Joan suddenly jerked her head around. “Ouch!” Her hair snagged on Frank’s finger.
“Sorry,” he said and uncoiled the lock. “Would it be so bad to let her go?”
He felt the heat of Joan’s glare in the darkness. “Do you know what they want to see?”
Frank shook his head. “I have no idea; I haven’t been to the movies in years.”
“The Cool Ones!”
He shrugged. “Sounds like it might be fun.”
“I don’t think Melinda should see a movie about a girl who invents a dance called ‘The Tantrum’.”
Frank frowned. “How do you know about all this?”
“It’s my job to know. I have to stay one step ahead of the kids or else they will use my ignorance against me.”
Frank laced his fingers behind his head and settled back against his pillow. “I had no idea that I was living in the middle of a conspiracy.”
“You know what I mean,” Joan said.
He rolled toward her and gently massaged her shoulders. “Yes, I do. Don’t you remember when we used to go to the drive-in?” He softly kissed her ear. “Popcorn, sodas and those little hard gummy candies you used to love?”
“Is that what you remember?” She put a hand over his. “With all the kissing and heavy breathing,” she pulled his hand down. “And the steamed up windows? We couldn’t even see the movie.” She pulled at his hand until it cupped her breast. “I can’t believe it’s the popcorn that sticks in your mind.”
Frank jerked his hand back. “You’re right! She’s not going to the drive-in.”
Joan rolled over until she was face to face with Frank. “Not that I regret going to the drive-in with you.” She kissed his lips. “Actually, it was kind of fun trying to keep your hands from going where they wanted to go.”
Frank smiled. “And they still remember how to get there.” He pressed up against her. “In fact.” He nibbled a trail down the side of her neck. “I’m thinking they might want to visit some of those old places right about now.”
Joan pulled back. “Old places?” She said louder than she needed to.
Frank felt an apologetic grin tug the corner of his mouth. “You know what I mean,” he whispered as he closed the space between them and continued to plant hot kisses down her throat.
“Frank, do you think I’m old?”
He kissed his way up to her ear knowing when he arrived he had to be very careful with his words. But he didn’t want to use words. He wanted to show her that she excited him just as much now as she did eighteen years ago when they were making out at the drive in movies. He smiled, cupped her face in his hands and put his mouth on hers.
Embers that had merely glowed in his gut jumped into flames. His kisses went from sweet to searing, and he gathered her close hoping to evoke the same feelings in her.
Joan pulled back. “Well do you?”
“No!” he yelled without meaning to.
“Shh!” She put a hand over his mouth, and they both held their breath for a moment. “Don’t wake the kids,” she whispered.
Frank reached up and pulled her hand away from his mouth to release a smile. “You’re so young and beautiful, and I love you so,” he said as he leaned forward to kiss her cheek. “So fill these lonely arms of mine, and kiss me tenderly.” He kissed her other cheek. “And you’ll be forever young and beautiful to me.”
“Don’t think I don’t recognize one of Elvis Presley’s songs when I hear it,” she said with a playful slap on his shoulder.
“But it’s how I feel,” he said caressing her hip. “And Elvis said it so well.”
Joan softly chuckled. “The least you could do is sing it to me.”
“Dad!” a small voice came from down the hall. “I’m thirsty! Can I have some water?”
Frank sighed. “Why won’t he get up to get a glass of water for himself?”
“He thinks the boogey man lives in the hallway.”
“But we leave the light on. Doesn’t Matt know by now that the boogey man can’t withstand the light?”
“You say that as if you believe it, too.”
Frank sighed and got out of bed. “I’ll be right back, save my place for me.” He shrugged on his robe and shuffled into the bathroom. Frank took a big gulp of water before refilling the glass for Matt.
Halfway down the hall, he found his bare feet grinding over the sharp points of a handful of jacks. “Aaah!” He hobbled around another group trying not to spill. How many times did he have to tell Susan not to leave them on the floor? As safety conscious as she was about household hazards, it was amazing how oblivious she was to her own carelessness. He shook his head and continued to Matt’s room. He opened the door.
“Hi dad,” Matt was propped up on his elbows squinting back the light.
“Hey sport,” Frank said as he sat down on the edge of Matt’s bed and handed him the glass. “Here’s your water.”
“Thanks,” he said and brought the glass to his lips making sucking and gulping sounds as he drained half the glass. He handed the glass back. “I’m done.”
“Matt?”
“Yeah dad?” He squirmed back under his covers.
“You know there’s no such thing as the boogey man don’t you?”
“Sure dad.” He snuggled into his pillow and was fast asleep before Frank could say another word. Frank set the glass on his nightstand and stepped lightly to the door.
On his way back through the hallway, Frank picked up the jacks and shook them in his hand. Susan would have to ask to get them back this time. He smiled. Maybe he would show her how to play marbles. They were a whole lot easier to step on barefooted. She wouldn’t find a better teacher. Back in Indiana, he was Rolley-Hole champion for five years, and he would have stayed that way if one of the old Thompson brothers hadn’t stolen his lucky Agate.
Frank stood at the bedroom door and scrubbed a hand over his jaw. He needed a shave. Joan hated beard stubble. For a moment he considered going back into the bathroom to shave. It would take the ‘ouch’ out of her grouch. He shrugged and shook his head when he realized it would take too long. No, he would just have to be careful.
A soft snore greeted him as he stood next to the bed. Joan was curled up in her usual sleeping position on her right side. Frank held the jacks a few inches above the nightstand and dropped them. They clattered loudly against the polished wood but Joan didn’t stir. Not one little flinch.
Frank sighed and tossed his robe on the foot of the bed before crawling under the covers. He fidgeted, hoping to wake Joan from her coma. He traced his finger over the silhouette of her shoulder and watched her sleep. He fell back onto his pillow and waited until his disappointment subsided then drifted into a deep sleep.
Chapter Seven
Shrill screams woke Frank, and he sat up as rigid as a tombstone.
“What is it?” he yelled as he threw his legs over the side of the bed and ran down the stairs taking two at a time.
Joan, Melinda and Susan were standing at the open front door. They screamed again in unison.
“Whoa, whoa, what’s the matter?” Frank scowled.
“Look!” Susan pointed to something hanging on the outside of the door.
Frank blinked to clear the sleep from his eyes. He nudged them aside to get a look at what was upsetting them. He squinted and rubbed his eyes. He never saw anything like it. Who would do such a thing?
Gene shuffled in wearing his wrinkled kilt and shirt. “What’s going on?” he asked as he kneaded knuckles into his eyes. His fine dark hair stood out all over his head resembling feathers floating this way and that as he walked.
“I was going to take the kids to school,” Joan explained. “I opened the door, Matt ran out to get in
the car and that’s when I saw this!”
“Get rid of it, Daddy!” Susan cried.
“Okay sweetie,” Frank said and gave her a hug. “It will be gone when you get home from school.” He smiled to reassure them. “Run along, all of you.” He gave Joan a quick kiss on the cheek and guided her out by placing a hand on the small of her back.
Matt came running up the walkway to the porch. “What’s taking you guys so long?” He stopped cold when his eyes focused on the front door.
“Neato!” he said as he cocked his head stared at it.
“Get back in the car,” Joan said nervously. “Let’s go now or we’re going to be late.”
Frank accompanied them out to the car and watched as they backed out of the driveway then drove away. He walked a few feet over to the Roberts’ house. Nothing unusual. Just a single long-stemmed sunflower decorated the front door. He looked across the street at the MacCormacks’, everything was in its place, quiet and serene. He shrugged and gazed down the row of pastel ranch style homes with manicured lawns and maple trees situated in the earth as carefully as acupuncture needles. This just didn’t make sense he thought as he walked up the path of his own yellow house. Or did it?
Gene was examining the oddity. “Quite a piece of work isn’t it?” he asked as he reached into his pocket for his glasses.
“I think I know who did this,” Frank said with a faint curve curving up one corner of his mouth.
“Who?”
“Tito Tortuga,” Frank said flatly.
Gene gave him a quirky look. “Sounds like an amusement park ride. What is a Tito Tortuga?”
“It’s not a what…” Frank stepped up to the door. “…it’s a who. The guy I told you about last night.”
“I’m going to throw on some clothes,” Frank said. “We need to find someone who knows about this stuff.”
“Where are we going to find someone like that?” Gene showed him a goofy smile.
“In the phone book, where else?”
Frank pulled the book down from the top of the refrigerator and set it on the counter. He rolled his eyes to the ceiling and frowned. What would he look under? He threw a look at Gene then wondered if it looked like the ‘help me’ look Matt had demonstrated for him.
Mixed Nuts Page 4
