Gene cleared his throat and gave Frank a quirky look. He wiggled like a golfer getting ready to tee off. He cleared his throat again and brought the book up.
“Come on,” Frank snapped. “I only have so much light in these hands.”
“Holy, holy water of life,” Gene said then cleared his throat loudly. “May all it touches be cleansed right through?” He frowned. “That doesn’t even rhyme. Aren’t spells supposed to rhyme?”
“This isn’t a spell,” Frank said as he imagined squeezing out the last ray of light from his hands. He brushed them together and shook them at the top of the bowl. “Now we can cleanse the magical tools.” He hesitated and looked down. “We need to cleanse the bird too, but first we need to enter a trancelike state.”
“What kind of state?” Gene asked.
“We have to enter a trance by doing a skeleton dance,” Frank insisted.
“Now that rhymes!” Gene cackled.
Frank straightened his spine and closed his eyes. “Okay, imagine your skeleton.”
“Wait! Nobody said anything about dancing,” Gene complained. “Why don’t you do the dance, and I’ll do the trance.”
“It doesn’t work that way.” Frank gave Gene a serious look. “Come on, we can’t let some Brazilian gardener get the best of us.”
“Okay,” Gene said reluctantly then struck a ballet pose.
“Okay, start with imagining the bones in your toes and work your way up both legs at once. Flow into the pelvis.” Frank began to rotate his pelvis in an Elvis Presley kind of way. “Shoot up the spine.” His knees rose higher and higher with each kick. “Across the ribs and down the arms, up the neck to the skull and into the center of the brain.” By the time he had finished guiding Gene into the dance, they were both spinning and jumping around the alter. With arms flailing and legs kicking, they imagined themselves great Voodoo priests unleashing their magical powers with the impressive force of a hurricane. Frank stopped long enough to light the candles then continued to dance like he was avoiding a floor full of fire ants.
Gene dipped his fingers in the bowl of water and bent down to open the door of the peacock cage enough to flick water on him. The foul took his chance and blasted like a missile out the door, flew three feet and landed on the couch.
“Pee Caaah!”
Suddenly the front door opened. Joan and the kids stood gaping and dumb struck upon seeing Frank and Gene chasing the peacock around the room.
Chapter Nine
Frank slowly unclenched, muscle by muscle. How could he know that dancing the skeleton dance and chasing a peacock would make him so sore? He yawned and rubbed knuckles into the corners of his eyes.
“Dad!” Matt stormed into the bedroom. “Are you awake?”
“I am now,” Frank said.
“Did you see that bird yesterday?”
“I seem to recall chasing him around the house,” Frank said as he rolled his head in circles to loosen the muscles in his neck. “Too bad we couldn’t catch him.”
“Uncle Gene got the closest to him.” Matt stood up on the bed and flopped back down causing the bed to shake. “At least until he ran out the door and down the street.” He stood again.
Frank reached up and pulled Matt down slowly. “Don’t jump Matt, my back can’t take it.”
Matt giggled. “He just kept going and going and going…”
Frank smiled. “Yes, he certainly did.”
“Pee Caaah!”
Frank and Matt looked at each other. “You hear that?” Frank asked.
“He’s close,” Matt said and got up to go to the window. He pushed his pudgy fingers against the glass and left the print of his nose in the center of the pane. “Mom says to come down for breakfast.”
Frank groaned. Orange juice, pancakes and a piping hot lecture coming up.
He threw on his robe and slid his feet into his fur-lined slippers. Matt thumped behind him one step at a time as he went down the stairs. By the time he reached the kitchen table he was one big nerve ending.
Frank stopped dead and could practically see the sparks generating from the electrical gaze Joan pinned on him.
“Morning,” he mumbled then went to the cupboard to get a glass. He poured a half glass of orange juice and shuffled to the table to sit down.
Joan banged a plate of scrambled eggs and bacon in front of him. He watched the plate gyrate like a spun coin until it rested in silence a moment later.
“Isn’t anyone else eating?” Frank asked looking around.
“We already ate,” Joan announced as she poured a cup of coffee. She poured some half and half into the cup and set it in front of Frank.
“Thanks,” he said avoiding her eyes. He thought of the Greek myth, Medusa, a terrifying character with snakes for hair and a fiery gaze. If you looked her in the eye, you would be turned to stone. He was beginning to wonder whether the notion of selling your soul to the Devil is more a metaphor than a real pact.
“How could you?” Joan finally said.
“Hmm?” Frank looked up innocently.
“You let your brother bring a farm animal into this house,” she blamed.
“Joan,” Frank said before putting on his most composed expression. “A peacock is hardly a farm animal.”
“What were you doing with it anyway?” She waited for an answer with her knuckles pushed against her waist.
Frank stood and toyed with the tips of her shoes with his bare toes. “You look pretty this morning,” he said cheerfully. “Did you do something different with your hair?” He smiled and playfully stroked her hair.
“Don’t change the subject!” Joan glared.
Frank blew out a breath plopped back down into the chair. “Look, it was just a silly notion brought on by that Brazilian gardener.”
“More like your crazy brother,” Joan corrected.
“I asked him to help me,” Frank explained. “It just got a little out of hand. We didn’t expect the peacock to get out of his cage the way he did. And we didn’t think he would run out the front door so quickly.”
Joan shook her head and pursed her lips. “How late were you out last night?”
Frank took another swig of his orange juice. “We chased him until midnight then gave up.”
Susan came to the table and stood next to Frank. “Daddy,” she said with her customary official tone. “There’s a man in a uniform at the door.”
“A policeman?” he asked.
Susan frowned. “No, I don’t think so. He looks more official than that.”
Frank grimaced as he stood. He reached down and took the last swallow of his orange juice.
“Aaah, a day without orange juice is like a day without sunshine,” he said as he made his way to the front door. Matt and Susan followed.
“May I help you?” he asked the visitor.
“My name is Frank Gillis from the department of animal control,” he began.
“Hey! My name is Frank, too!”
The man stared at him with half-lidded eyes. “Some of your neighbors have reported that you have a peacock on the premises.”
“That’s absurd,” Frank replied.
Susan stepped forward. “It escaped from our living room yesterday.” She adjusted her hard hat after looking up at Frank. “Daddy and Uncle Gene were trying to teach it to dance.”
Officer Gillis blinked at Frank. “This neighborhood is not zoned for these types of animals,” he informed him. “I’m going to have to give you a citation. You will also need to relocate the fowl.”
“I think he’s already relocated himself,” Frank said while running a hand down the back of his neck. “We haven’t seen him since yesterday afternoon.”
“Pee Caaah!”
They looked toward the sound to see the peacock standing peacefully on the front lawn. The iridescent blue-green sheen of his long neck sparkled in the sun as he pecked at the dichondra grass laden with morning dew. The officer turned back to give Frank a dubious stare.
“You have until this time tomorrow to relocate the bird.” He ripped the top form from his citation pad and handed it to Frank. “See you tomorrow.” He turned on his heel and walked to his truck.
Frank closed the door and turned to face Joan. Stone. The expression in her eyes could have melted iron.
“That’s not the only thing you have to relocate,” she finally said. “Gene let that dirty black cat out of his cage, and I’m sure he has fleas!” She pointed to the couch where Gene was sleeping with the cat curled up on his stomach.
“Dad?”
“Yes Matt.”
“What’s a fowl?”
Frank slipped an arm around Matt’s shoulders. “Son,” he began, “that can be a lot of things. It could be a violation in the rules of a particular sport, unfavorable weather conditions or something that’s offensive to the senses.” He flicked Joan a look. “But if you simply change the ‘U’ to a ‘W’ it becomes a bird.”
“Was the man talking about our peacock when he said the word fowl?” Matt asked.
Frank patted Matt’s shoulder. “I suppose he was.”
“Can I stay home from school and help you catch him?” He looked up at Frank with a buoyant expression. His grin exposed his budding adult front teeth. “I can run faster than you can.”
“Absolutely not, young man!” Joan said as she went to the coat closet to get her jacket.
Frank gave Matt an expression of agreement and shrugged.
“Your father has all the help he needs.” Joan looked distastefully toward the couch.
“Now run to the kitchen, and get your lunch box or you’ll be late for school.” She shrugged on her jacket. “Susan, get your sister out of the bathroom, and get your things, we have to leave.” Joan walked to the door then stopped suddenly as if an invisible shield dropped down from the ceiling. She turned to face Frank.
“I’ve invited some neighbors and friends for a barbeque on Friday night. I hope you’ll have everything back to normal by then.”
Frank’s dark eyebrows met over his nose. “What?”
“In case you forgot, and I know you have, it’s our sixteenth anniversary.” Joan cocked her head and gave him a cheeky smile.
“I guess that’s something you’ll never know,” he said defiantly and smiled back then leaned forward and kissed her cheek.
Of course he had forgotten. Somewhere between writer’s block, entertaining his kilt-wearing brother and skeleton dancing to ward off black magic voodoo spells, the occasion had completely eluded him.
“Look Joan, couldn’t we postpone our celebration for one week? The deadline for my ad is Friday, and you know what will happen if I don’t meet it.”
Joan opened the door and let the children file out. She removed Susan’s hard hat as she passed and tossed it to Frank.
“Yes I do,” she said and blew him a kiss. “That’s why they call it a deadline Frank.”
The door closed, and the house was nearly silent except for the sound of Gene’s particular brand of snoring. A long breath wheezed in, and then several short bursts went out of his toothless mouth propelling his lips to flap like the ragged door of a pup tent in the wind.
Frank stared at his brother. “Look Ma, no cavities,” he mumbled to himself as he dropped Susan’s hard hat and headed to the kitchen for a cup of coffee.
“Pee Caaah!” Came the sound from the side of the house.
Frank shook his head as he poured half and half into his coffee. He walked over and eased down onto one of the yellow vinyl kitchen chairs. It hissed dispassionately as air escaped from the cushion. Frank stared. His jingle was the farthest thing from his mind. Damn. The old idea of running away and joining the circus reared its ugly head once again. Which circus though? Barnum and Bailey wouldn’t hire him without excellent circus skills so he would be forced to join a less reputable carnival troupe, one that he couldn’t brag about. No, he was happy with who he was, a successful jingle writer. Jingle writers are clever, he thought, but they do not come up with a masterpiece all on their own. They take their cue from real life, and normally Frank had enough material to draw from right in his own back yard.
“Pee Caaah!”
Frank shot up from his chair and rushed to the closet. He squatted down and started tossing things out.
“Good morning,” Gene said from behind.
Frank’s head jerked around to see his brother’s legs clad in pants, familiar looking ones.
“Hope you don’t mind me borrowing a pair of your jeans.” He patted the loose fitting waistline. “You got a belt?”
“Are you all out of kilts?” Frank asked sarcastically.
“Don’t need ‘em anymore.” He beamed. “That woman was right, the rash is completely gone. Guess I’ll be going back to pay her fee.” He squatted down eye level with Frank. “What are you looking for?”
“A BB gun or something to anesthetize that peacock with.”
“You mean we’re not going to use him to ward off the voodoo spell?” Gene asked incredulously. “After we went to all this trouble?”
Frank stopped yanking things out of the closet and became quiet. “There was an officer here this morning from the department of animal control. I got a ticket and a warning to get rid of the bird by tomorrow.”
The black cat jumped off the couch, sauntered over, rubbed his side along Frank’s back and purred. Frank turned to look at him. “And that’s another thing. You have to take that cat back to wherever you got him from. Joan doesn’t want fleas in the house.”
“I can’t.” Gene’s face became grim. “If I take him back, they’ll put him to sleep.”
Gene gave Frank his best earnest look. “Take him back, dead. Keep him here, not dead.”
Frank sighed. “Let me put it this way Gene.” He sat back and put a hand on each knee. “Keep him here, I’m dead.”
“Wait!” Gene’s face brightened. “I have an idea!”
Chapter Ten
Frank was buffing so hard, he didn’t hear Matt come into the den.
“Dad.”
Frank’s head snapped up. “Oh, hi Matt.”
“How do you spell relief?” Matt asked then suddenly noticed what Frank was doing. “Yuck, why are you spitting on your shoe?”
“It’s called a spit shine son; I used to do this in the army.”
Matt watched silently with interest. “Why don’t you use shoe polish?”
Frank smiled and lifted the can of SP66 so Matt could see the culprit of his currently stymied ad campaign. “I’m just adding the missing ingredient.”
“Can I help?” Matt asked as he bent to pick up the shoe from the floor.
“Sure,” Frank said as he twisted around to get another cloth from his kit. Before he turned back, Matt had slowly licked half way up the side of the shoe on his way to the toe. Frank had to hold his breath to keep from laughing out loud.
“Betcha can’t eat just one,” he said handing Matt the soft cloth.
Matt’s face held a sour expression as he smacked his lips and ran his parched tongue over his lips. He smiled weakly and took the cloth from Frank.
“Now what did you ask? How to spell relief?” Frank asked. “Are you doing your spelling homework?” He spit on the toe of his shoe and buffed again.
Matt nodded, “Yep, my teacher says an idle mind is the devil’s workplace.” He held the shoe under his chin and spit forcefully. It shot over the toe and onto the carpet. Frank looked at him from the top of his eyes and smiled warmly. “Your teacher’s right, but I thought it was idle hands being the devil’s workshop.” He rubbed the moisture into the rug with the toe of his sock. “My dad always said busy hands are happy hands.”
Matt grinned and shrugged then he rubbed the shoe from side to side with the cloth.
“Mom said you and Uncle Gene were doing a voodoo spell, is that true?”
“Yes it’s true,” Susan interrupted. She was standing at the door, clipboard in hand with her back straightened in an authoritative stance. �
�It’s all a myth you know,” she said dramatically. “It’s ridiculous to see modern intelligent people actually attempting to practice Voodoo sorcery to acquire personal power or turn someone into a walking dead zombie.”
Frank frowned and shook his head. “I wasn’t turning anyone into a walking dead zombie.” Although it was a constructive suggestion definitely worth some added research. “It was sort of a ritual for protection,” he explained.
Susan sighed and put her hard hat on. “My homework for tonight is to design an emergency evacuation plan for the family in case of fire.” She held up the clipboard. Frank squinted at the crudely drawn map of the house with red arrows marking an escape route.
“Can we have a rehearsal after dinner?”
Frank spit on his shoe again and buffed. “Sure honey.”
“Mom says dinner is ready.” She spun around on her heel and walked away.
Frank cleared his throat as he sat down at the dining room table.
Joan glared at him as he spread his napkin over his lap.
“Where is your brother?”
“He won’t be coming to dinner,” Frank said and took a roll and passed the plate to Melinda.
“Where is Uncle Gene?” Matt asked looking around.
Frank put a slice of meat loaf on his plate. “I’m going to pick him up in the morning. Boy, this meat loaf smells great, I love Thursday.” He felt Joan staring at him. He looked up. “What?”
“Where is he?”
Frank waved a hand. “It’s a long story; we can talk about it later.”
Forks and spoons tapped against the blue flower patterns of the dinner plates as they dished out roasted potatoes and carrots and buttered their rolls.
“Did you get rid of that bird?” Joan asked as she animatedly mashed her potatoes with the back of her fork. She tapped it loudly on the edge of her plate and snatched the butter to slice a pat.
Frank wiped his mouth with his napkin and nodded as he swallowed a large bite of meat loaf. He looked down at his fork and swirled another bite around in a puddle of ketchup. “Yep. Gene devised an ingenious plan and snared him this afternoon.”
Mixed Nuts Page 6
