“Oh, I completely forgot that you didn’t belong,” Joan said curtly.
There was a short but uncomfortable silence before Frank asked, “Honey, would you mind making me a martini?” He nodded toward Joan Roberts. “Perhaps Joan could use a drink, too?”
Joan eyed him, then the barbeque. “It’s a little early for Martini’s, how about a beer?”
Frank fanned at the smoke again. “Fine.”
Matt squeezed through the door as Joan opened it. He ran out and stood silently watching as Frank basted and turned the chicken.
“Look dad, they plump when you cook ‘em.”
“Yeah” Frank said as he glared at Joan Roberts’ backside as she walked back inside the house.
Joan returned shortly with another platter, this time it was steak kabobs. She set the platter down and handed Frank a bottle of beer.
“She had the nerve to tell me I used the wrong size macaroni in my salad.” Heat flashed from her eyes, and she huffed out a breath. She brought her hands up and pressed her knuckles to her hips. “She’s gone home to get a few folding chairs. She told me not to feel bad; she used to be very bad at planning parties, too.” Joan snatched Frank’s beer and took a long swig. “I think she could win an award for cramming the most insults into the least amount of time.” She took another gulp and handed the bottle back. “If they had such an award that is.” The heels of her sandals pounded the flagstone as she stomped her way back into the house.
Frank looked in and noticed that his boss had arrived carrying a bottle of wine. He watched as he gazed around the room wearing an expectant smile. He probably thought Frank had met his deadline. Now what?
“Matt? Go in and close the drapes for me will you?”
“But then no one can see you barbeque,” Matt replied.
“Exactly.”
Just before the drapes met in the middle of the sliding glass door, Frank got a glimpse of Tilly talking to Gene, and he waved his tongs to get her attention.
Chapter Twelve
“You have any luck with the jinx crossing?”
Frank turned to see Tilly standing behind him. He didn’t see her come through the door, and he hadn’t heard any footsteps.
He pinched a chicken leg with the tongs and turned the meat his shoulders hunched to dispel an unpleasant feeling from the back of his neck. “I don’t think we performed the ritual correctly,” Frank said.
“The book I sold you had specific instructions, step by step,” Tilly said with a coldness in her voice.
Frank glanced up from the grill. “We didn’t have the right bird but the dance and the trance went well, we just didn’t count on being interrupted.”
Tilly strolled out to the edge of the lawn and stooped down to poke at the grass. “Did you mix the dust with a spoonful of dirt from his footprint? Then did you sprinkle it where he will walk?”
“Yes,” Frank replied quickly. “But…”
“But what Mr. Beal?” She turned and glowered at him.
Frank pointed at her. “There! That’s the look he gave me this morning. I think he knows what we’re up to.”
Tilly nodded knowingly. “That is the evil eye, and you must act quickly to banish it.”
“Oh, no,” Frank held up a hand. “No more voodoo magic around here. I don’t believe in the stuff.”
“Tell me Mr. Beal, do you believe in this?” She stepped over to him carrying something in her hand. “Your grass is covered in them.”
Frank gazed down in disbelief at the snail she held in the palm of her hand. He rushed over to the aquarium and pulled off the tarp. It was empty, and every last bit of foliage was dryer than desert sand.
His forehead wrinkled in puzzlement. “What?” He searched madly for an escape hole. “How did they get out?” He ran to the lawn to see hundreds of snails languidly eating his grass.
“Now do you believe?” Tilly asked as she swiped her hands together, and the snail disappeared from her palm. “You are very fortunate. Like a good neighbor, Tilly is there. I can help you.”
Frank dashed back to the barbeque. Flames had begun to blaze up fueled by the grease dripping from the grill. He cussed as he sprayed at them with water from a plastic bottle. He waved an arm and choked back the smoke but it was Tilly’s air of mystery that smothered him more than the smoke from the barbeque. He piled the meat onto the two platters that Joan had left. The green was for chicken, and the blue was for the steak kabobs. Or was it the other way around?
Tilly proudly placed a charm around his neck. It was a bone of some kind threaded onto a leather band. She smiled. “This will bring you luck and help you to banish the evil eye.”
Frank sighed and stared at her. “If only it would help break my creative block,” he said wistfully. He stacked the last bit of smoking chicken onto the platter.
“First you must enter a mild trance,” Tilly instructed.
Frank smiled and held up his beer. “Working on it.” He drained what was left in the bottle.
“Then you must look around your house through slightly squinted eyes. If you see black specks flitting in the air, it is negativity sent from the evil eye.” Tilly’s dark eyes widened, and she nodded wisely. “You must light a stick of incense and waft the smoke around them while you say this … In the name of the powerful spirits, I bid you black specks of evil to begone! Never to return! Be sure to end the chant with a powerful scream.”
Frank took a step back, his left eyebrow rose in cynicism. He shook his head and picked up the platters and went into the kitchen through the back door. No way. He chuckled to himself. He was done with this crazy hoodoo stuff. But, out of curiosity, he squinted his eyes upon entering the house. Not only were there dark specks floating in the air but also there were chubby indefinable figures mingling around with the guests. Frank stood surprised and frozen in his squinty-eyed stance.
“I’ll take that,” Joan said and took the kabob platter and walked it to the dining room table.
Suddenly as if he planned it, without fear or intention, Frank raised the smoking chicken platter above his head. “In the name of the powerful spirits, I bid you black specks of evil to begone!” He walked forward and waved the chicken platter around the room, smoke curled from the charred pile of dead offerings as guests gazed curiously at him. He stopped and turned. “Never to return!” He stood face to face with his boss. The powerful scream he was instructed to let out sounded more like a rusty bedspring.
“Mr. Gladstone,” Frank stuttered. He lowered the platter in front of him. “Care for a piece of chicken?” He cleared his throat.
“I have to say Frank,” he gingerly removed a leg from the smoking pile and placed it on his plate. “One of the hardest parts of running an advertising firm is dealing with eccentric employees.” A slow grin spread across his face then out of the blue he threw his head back and laughed a deep belly laugh.
Frank smiled and shrugged. “We do chicken right.”
Gladstone took a bite of the chicken and licked at his fingers. “The only thing I’m interested in you doing right is the SP66 shoe polish jingle,” he said as he reached for the napkin he was holding under his arm and scrubbed it across his lips. “I hope you’ll be playing that for me today.”
“Uh, right sir.” Frank turned to take the chicken back to the table. “Be right back,” he said over his shoulder.
“Frank!” Joan rasped into his ear. “What the heck is going on with you?”
He shrugged and gazed around the room then made his way, weaving through the tangle of guests in the living room to the corner where Tilly stood.
“I commanded the evil specks to go,” he said as he approached. “Is that what was blocking my creativity?”
Tilly squinted her eyes and looked towards the middle of the room. “I still see some. Did you use the incense I told you to use?”
“I used a smoking dead chicken,” Frank said.
Tilly shook her head. “How do you expect the magic to work if you can’t fol
low the simple instructions that I give to you?”
“Will you make them go away? I just want everything to be perfect. Get rid of this block, and I’ll do anything, I’ll pay you what ever you want.”
“Of course you will pay me,” Tilly said with a serious stare. “How do you think I pay my bills? With mojo tonic?” She placed a hand on Frank’s shoulder then felt her way up the side of his neck and finally placed her hand on the top of his head. “This is worse than I thought; a very high level of hexing.” She cocked her head and waved a hand in front of the charm around his neck. “You need to sit over there.” She pointed toward his piano. “The best seat in the house for healing this ailment. I will say a magic chant that will make your wish come true. Now go.” She pushed him in the direction of his piano.
Frank walked to his instrument with great reluctance. What if he couldn’t play at all? He looked down to see his hands were shaking. He didn’t have the slightest idea of a shoe polish jingle. He stopped suddenly and gazed at his piano. It wasn’t a baby grand but the same old Sherman Clay upright. Not even a new bench.
“I made it myself,” Joan said from behind. “I know how much time you spend on it.”
His old bench had been covered with a thick cushion decorated with the design of the family crest. The colors were royal blue and red and depicted two knights face to face.
“Is it rude to sit on the family crest?” Frank asked as he lowered himself on the bench.
“You’ve been sitting on it for years,” Joan said with an impish smile.
“Thanks hon.” He said as he bounced gently on the cushion. “I love it.”
He cautiously placed his fingers on the keys and softly struck a minor chord. He tipped his head back and closed his eyes and began playing a smooth a rendition of ‘Smoke gets in Your Eyes.’
Applause came from the guests as they wandered toward him. He ended the song with a flourish of notes then smiled and looked around. His boss was approaching. Frank immediately segued into a torchy version of ‘At Last.’
“That was for my wife,” Frank said upon finishing. “For our sixteenth anniversary.”
Another round of applause filled the room.
“Do you take requests?” Mr. Gladstone asked over the clapping.
Frank smiled and nodded in tempo with the next song, ‘Route 66’. He smiled when he saw Matt pushing through the crowd to stand proudly next to him. Following a long introduction, words suddenly began to take form in his mind, and before he knew it he was singing them.
‘If you ever plan to look your best,
Use the polish that beats all the rest,
Get your kicks SP66
They’ll shine heel to toe all the way,
Shoes look bright all night and every day,
Get your kicks SP66
Now you go through a mud hole,
Scuffin up your arch sole,
And don’tcha know that loafer looks mighty gritty
You’ll see
Dirty insteps
That always forget to shine
Give yourself a shoeshine; buff them till they look fine,
Brown ones, black ones even navy blue kind.
Why don’t you get hip to this wing type tip?
And get the polish that’s slick, cool and hip,
Get your kicks SP66
Lickety spit SP66
Get your kicks SP66
Lickety spit SP66’
Mr. Gladstone slapped his forehead following a long and passionate applause.
“My God Frank, a parody, I love it! This isn’t just a radio jingle. I can envision television commercials, too!” His fleshy cheeks jiggled as he patted Frank hard on the shoulder. “What’s more, I know our client is going to love it.”
The timing of Tilly’s chant couldn’t have been better. And while Frank was as grateful as anyone could be, he hoped she wouldn’t charge him too much for her services. He knew she wasn’t an idiot. She was fully aware of the miracle she had just performed. He glanced over to see her face beaming with satisfaction. What the heck? He would pay her whatever she asked. It was worth having the anvil of deadline pressure off his shoulders.
Matt lightly tapped a finger on Frank’s shoulder. “You got that idea from me didn’t you dad? Especially the lickety spit part.” He grinned, and Frank could see a youthful version of himself mirrored back innocent and uncomplicated.
“Yeah Matt, I guess I did.”
Chapter Thirteen
Frank awoke to the smell of fresh coffee and bacon. A slow smile claimed his face. Joan hadn’t cooked breakfast on Saturday for months. He rolled onto his back and listened. Silence. The kids must be out with their friends, he couldn’t hear the usual weekend bickering.
The party had been a big success, the guests were well fed, and they had a good time. Gladstone was happy with his jingle. All that mumbo jumbo and Tilly’s good luck bone charm had really paid off. He reached over and took it from his nightstand. He turned it between his fingers and gazed at it in the morning sunlight. He tried to imagine what type of bone it was. It was small, only a couple of inches long. He turned it sideways. Cow? He dangled it from its leather strap. Chicken? It swung from side to side like a miniature pendulum. Shark? Suddenly a dark thought crossed his mind. It couldn’t be. He put it back on the nightstand and sat up. He shook his head as he threw his legs over the edge of the bed. No, it wasn’t a human bone. At least he refused to think it was.
He was shocked upon entering the kitchen. Melinda was frying the bacon and buttering a stack of wheat toast.
“Hi, Daddy, how do you want your eggs?”
“Melinda,” he stuttered. “I didn’t know you could cook?”
‘Oh, Daddy, just because I haven’t done it doesn’t mean I don’t know how.” She giggled. Her face was freshly washed free of all make-up tweaks and tricks and in her navy blue jeans and peasant top, she remarkably resembled his little girl again.
“Where is your mom?”
Melinda looked up from the toast and shrugged. “I think she’s out working in the yard.”
“In the yard?” Frank’s expression flashed from bewildered to fearful. “Oh no!” He ran to the back door and swung it open. Joan was on her way in carrying a mixed bouquet of perennials and roses.
“Good morning my darling husband,” she said cheerfully. She was wearing a pair of his jeans with large cuffs rolled up to her shins. The plaid flannel shirt gave her a country appearance, and she looked as beautiful and youthful as Melinda.
“Where have you been?” he asked nervously.
Joan frowned and turned to look behind her. “Just out to the yard, why?”
“Did you go to the side of the house where the Roberts’ live?”
Joan gave him a peculiar look. “Don’t worry, they sleep in on Saturday,” she said and took a vase from the top of the refrigerator. She dusted it with a dishtowel. “Did you see their new Cadillac convertible? It’s absolutely beautiful.”
“Do you feel okay?” Frank asked with panic rising in his voice. “Any headache? Shortness of breath? Fainting spells? Deafness? Blindness? Paralysis?” He took the vase from her hand and set it on the counter. With a hand on each of her shoulders he looked intently into her eyes. “Did you walk along the hedges where the properties meet? Let me see the soles of your shoes, do they have powder on them?”
Joan smiled sweetly and kissed him on the cheek. “Get out of your robe Frank, it’s making you paranoid.” She picked up the vase and ran some water.
“Were there a lot of snails in our yard?” Frank asked.
“None that I could see, would you mind asking Susan and Matt to come to breakfast?”
“Where are they?”
She smiled at him over her shoulder. “In the living room watching television.”
“Daddy, how do you want your eggs?” Melinda asked again.
“Just make me a squishy sandwich,” Frank replied and dashed toward the living room. As quiet as it was, one of the
m had to be bound and gagged or at least dead. He braced himself for the worst. He froze when he reached the living room. There they were, sitting quietly on the couch watching cartoons.
“What’s going on in here?” he asked suspiciously.
“Hi, Daddy,” Susan said cheerfully. She handed Matt the television guide. “Here, Matt, it’s your turn to pick what we watch.”
“That’s okay, Suse. I like what you pick,” Matt said and handed the guide back.
Frank was speechless. It was as if someone had kidnapped his family during the night and replaced them all with, well … perfect people. His imagination unspooled with terrifying images of Tito Tortuga carrying them off in gunnysacks one by one into the dark night then replacing them with impeccable duplicates.
“Come to breakfast,” Frank whispered.
Immediately Susan and Matt slipped from the couch, turned off the television and walked toward the kitchen.
It comforted Frank somewhat that they remembered the usual seating arrangement at the dining room table. Melinda brought a plate full of bacon. Joan followed with a stack of warm toast and a bowl of fluffy scrambled eggs.
“Here’s your squishy, Daddy, just the way you like it,” Melinda said as she set his plate in front of him. He watched her as she sat in the chair next to Joan, the one she had been sitting in for the last thirteen years.
“Do you want to say grace or shall I?” Joan asked Frank.
Frank sat down, a look of confusion permanently tattooed on his face. “Be my guest,” he replied and bowed his head.
“Lord,” Joan began, “bless this meal for which we are about to receive, through your bounty, Christ our Lord.”
Frank raised his head and gazed at his family with their heads still bowed.
“But most of all dear Lord,” Joan continued.
Frank’s head dropped again.
“Thank you for the wonderful man who provides this family with the security and comfort that can only come from fathomless love and devotion. He is a wonderful husband and dedicated father, and we are grateful to have him in our lives.”
“Amen,” they said in unison.
Frank looked up into his family’s smiling faces and felt a guilty shudder. Had he caused this? In his selfish quest to outdo the Roberts’ had he conjured up some devil-spawned evil? A mysterious enchantment that ensnared his chaotic home and turned it into a place of gratitude and serenity? Talk about high level hexing.
Mixed Nuts Page 8
