Austin and Emily

by Frank Turner Hollon

  Emily said, “I like mine with honey mustard.”

  “Do you find it extraordinary that I would ask you, after meeting only minutes earlier, to pack up and leave with me?”

  “Yes,” Emily said.

  “Do you find it extraordinary that you would accept?”

  “Yes,” Emily said.

  Silence set in. Austin always second-guessed himself. Emily never did. Austin was uncomfortable with long stretches of silence, even his own. Emily honestly didn’t notice.

  “I shall deliver my resignation announcement directly to the company president, Mr. Lemule. I understand it will cause some temporary chaos, however, under the circumstances, I don’t think it’s possible for us to delay our journey for the customary two-week notice period. Do you?”

  Emily’s hands were folded together in her lap. Her skirt was particularly short and red. It was her favorite, and it was no coincidence she wore her favorite outfit on such an important day. Things just seemed to be working out for her.

  Emily said, “Well, I don’t want you to get in any trouble.”

  “Trouble,” Austin scoffed. “That’s nonsense. Lemule won’t give me a problem. Do you know what Lemule means in French?”

  “What?”

  “The mule. Can you believe that? His name is Alvin the mule.”

  Emily asked, “What does McAdoo mean in French?”

  Austin gripped the steering wheel and wondered why he’d never thought of such a thing. Inside Emily’s head she put together the names Emily McAdoo. The weight of Austin’s body caused his overstuffed wallet to wedge uncomfortably between the car seat and his ass cheek, forcing the wallet to actually embed. He shifted slightly to the left and gained relief.

  Emily hummed a song. The hum rolled into a few words until Emily was singing softly to herself. She didn’t wait for an answer to her last question, and she felt no shame. Austin listened. He watched her from the corner of his eye, afraid if she saw him she might stop. But she didn’t see him, and it wouldn’t have mattered anyway. They drove along for hours and hours, speaking and not speaking, and Austin began to feel the gravitational pull of destiny take hold, like he was losing control and didn’t mind the idea.

  “Do you think we could have Chinese for lunch?” Emily asked. “I love Chinese. Everything’s so little and cute, mix and match.”

  Austin had been hungry for quite some time and had managed to remain silent on the issue. He didn’t want Emily to think of him as gluttonous, at least not so soon in their courtship. Fifteen minutes earlier, on a lonely stretch of interstate, Austin envisioned a hamburger steak drenched in brown gravy floating on a bed of white rice, with cornbread, and hot peach cobbler.

  “Yes, Chinese would be good,” he lied. For many, such a lie would be insignificant. But Austin McAdoo had never been one to speak little pleasant lies. Of course, he’d never run away with a beautiful twenty-three-year-old former stripper to travel the country. And he’d never let a cat in his car. And he’d never been sprayed with mace. And he’d never felt like this before, not once, not ever.

  They walked into the Chinese restaurant and sat down. The buffet exploded with culinary delights and brightly colored sauces. Emily decorated her plate with Asian delicacies while Austin focused on more American selections such as crispy chicken wings and vanilla pudding. They laughed and ate until the fortune cookies arrived. Emily Dooley changed her tone.

  “This is very important, you know?” she whispered.

  Austin leaned in, “What?”

  “Our first fortune cookies together, silly.”

  Austin wasn’t sure he understood, but he didn’t ask again. He watched Emily gently open the cellophane wrapper and then break the brittle cookie. She stopped and said, “We have to open at the same time.”

  Austin put down his fork and opened his cookie. He pulled out the small piece of white paper.

  “What does it say?” Emily asked.

  Austin squinted and read. “A grand and glorious adventure awaits you.”

  “Oh my God,” Emily said, “that’s a good one. That’s a really good one.”

  She nervously pulled the white paper from her cookie. She read the words out loud, “You will get new shoes.”

  They looked at each other. Emily shoved the white paper fortune into her mouth. As she chewed she said, “Eat it. Eat it quick. It won’t come true unless you swallow it down.”

  Austin was puzzled. She was serious. He’d never heard of such a ritual.

  “I cannot,” Austin uttered.

  “You have to,” Emily said. “A grand and glorious adventure awaits you. You can’t throw it away.”

  “The edges of the paper will cut my intestines to shreds. I’ll be dead long before my grand and glorious adventure begins, internal bleeding, and God knows the damage to my rectum upon expulsion.”

  “Please,” Emily begged, “please eat it. I’ve eaten thousands of them. Nothing’s happened to me. If you don’t eat it, and something goes wrong, we’ll always wonder.”

  “This is insane,” Austin said.

  Emily’s face became hard. She hadn’t wanted him to see it yet, so soon in their relationship, but when it came, it came. Her voice deepened, and her eyes changed. There was an anger in her gaze Austin thought not possible.

  Sternly, Emily said, “Eat it, now.”

  They stared at one another. Austin felt his hand move slowly toward his mouth and the paper touch his tongue. He chewed, and chewed, and while they stared, Austin forced the wet balled-up white paper fortune down his throat to his waiting gastrointestinal system.

  Emily’s face changed again, just as rapidly as before, and she smiled a pretty and satisfied smile. She paid the check with one dollar bills, and Austin took a few minutes to consider what he had seen. He feared the possibility of ink poison in his blood and imagined dirty little Chinese fingers cutting the white paper, black dirt under their fingernails, and squeezing each fortune through the cookie cracks.

  In the car they closed their doors simultaneously, and Emily leaned up and over to give Austin McAdoo a kiss on his billowing cheek.

  “Sorry,” she said, and straightened her skirt. Austin diverted his eyes.

  “We are off to the headquarters of the Dixie Deluxe Canned Ham Company in Pensacola, Florida, but first, perhaps you should allow Ulysses and Glenn a little walkaround. I sense a hostility from Glenn especially.”

  The rest of the ride to Pensacola was uneventful. Austin told Emily his theory of airborne sperm as the alternative explanation for the immaculate conception.

  “You’ve seen those magnified images of the sperm with the tails, well now they know some of the tiny sperms have wings, much like the wings on a gnat. They can literally fly miles with a decent tailwind and navigate through undergarment fabrics.”

  Emily crossed her legs. She’d never known a man so smart. It seemed there was almost nothing he didn’t know.

  It was late afternoon when they arrived in Pensacola. Austin pulled into the parking lot of the Dixie Deluxe Canned Ham Company, a big gray building that reminded Emily of a factory.

  “Perhaps it is best for you to remain in the car. I’ll try not to be long. I expect Lemule will attempt to talk me out of leaving, but I will be steadfast and resolute.”

  “Think about the Grand Canyon,” Emily said with a big smile.

  “Yes, I will think of the Grand Canyon,” Austin repeated as he began the process of removing himself from the car.

  Austin made his way up the outside stairs. Behind the desk in the lobby sat Lucy Suarez. She and Austin had exchanged unpleasant words on the telephone on at least three occasions. She watched the gargantuan man lumber up the steps, pull open the glass door, and stand before her. Austin stood silent for a moment, soaking up the cool air-conditioned breeze from the vent above.

  “I must see Mr. Lemule.”

  Lucy didn’t answer.

  Austin asked, “Do you speak English?”

  Lucy was unable to h
old her tongue. “Yes, you idiot, I speak English. And no, you can’t see Mr. Lemule. He’s busy.”

  Austin countered, “I shall have you fired for that remark.”

  Lucy shook her head and gritted her teeth.

  At that exact moment, Alvin “Buckshot” Lemule, the owner and founder of the Dixie Deluxe Canned Ham Company, turned the corner of Lucy’s desk walking from the conference room back to his luxurious office. He was a self-made man, an entrepreneurial cowboy, short in stature, with a bushy gray mustache, snakeskin boots, a brown suit, and two hundred fifty thousand dollars in cash buried in a large glass jar in his backyard under a kumquat tree. Buckshot Lemule heard his name called.

  “Mr. Lemule.”

  He turned to see the large figure of Austin McAdoo, sweat still on his forehead from the trek up the cement steps.

  “What can I do you for?” Lemule asked. It was a question he’d been saying to folks for thirty years.

  Austin began, “I’m sorry, but I must inform you of my resignation. I am aware of the professional courtesy of granting two weeks notice, however, things have changed rather rapidly, and I am required to travel west immediately. In fact, we are leaving directly from here to travel to Birmingham, and then from Birmingham westward.” Austin thought of the Grand Canyon.

  Buckshot Lemule squinted up his face as if he were trying to read very small words written on Austin’s sweaty forehead.

  “Who the hell are you, son?” he asked.

  “Sir, I am Austin McAdoo, southeast territory.”

  They stared at each other a moment, Lucy Suarez watching it all.

  Lemule said, “As far as I’m concerned, you’ve never been employed here. You can take your resignation and shove it up your Yankee ass.”

  Austin said, “I expected you’d be angry. My mind is made up, so don’t bother trying to lure me back. Did you say Yankee?”

  Lucy Suarez interrupted with a giggle.

  Austin continued, “There is the matter, however, of my final check. Where shall I pick it up?”

  Buckshot Lemule shot back with an angry smile, “Where shall you pick it up? Well hell, there it is on the floor at your feet. Bend over and get it, and I’ll put this size eight boot up your ass for a bonus.”

  Austin looked down at his feet. “Mr. Lemule, there’s no sense being hostile. Turn over my check or face legal consequences and a federal investigation.”

  Lemule turned to Lucy Suarez. “Lucy, if this man is still in the building thirty seconds from now,” and Lemule looked at his watch, “call the police, Sgt. Russell, and have his fat ass thrown in jail for trespassing.”

  Buckshot Lemule turned and walked through the lobby, boot heels clicking loudly on the hardwood floors. Lucy Suarez smiled, turned to look at the clock behind her on the wall, and began counting down the seconds. “Thirty, twenty-nine, twenty-eight…”

  Austin McAdoo had an idea.

  “I shall leave now,” he said as Lucy counted. “Perhaps you will receive a visit from a representative of the immigration department.”

  Lucy spun around, stood, and threw her ink pen end over end at the back of Austin McAdoo striking the glass door loudly.

  Austin said, “It’s foreigners like you that ruin it for the hard-working families who come to his country through legal means.”

  Back at the car, Emily waited patiently as she watched her man make his way down the steps and through the parking lot.

  “How’d it go?” she asked.

  “Quite well,” Austin answered. “Much smoother than I thought. Lemule even offered me a bonus. It’ll only take a minute.”

  They rode around the back of the big gray building to the loading dock. Austin spotted Woody and called him over to the car.

  “How are you, Woody?”

  “Mighty fine.”

  Austin said, “Boss says I need more samples before I hit the road.”

  “Sure,” Woody said and smiled a snaggletooth yellow smile.

  Austin popped the trunk, and Woody brought over a box. He wedged the box in the only available space.

  “Might need more than that, Woody. I expect I’ll be on the road a few weeks.”

  Woody brought a second box and put it in the backseat.

  “How do, Ma’am?” he said to Emily. “You got some cats here in the back.”

  “Yes, we’re aware, Woody,” Austin said. He was anxious to leave the Dixie Deluxe Canned Ham Company before word of his unemployment reached the loading dock.

  “Good luck, Mr. McAdoo,” Woody said.

  “Good luck, Woody,” Austin reluctantly added, and drove away.

  Emily said, “That was nice of Mr. Lemule to give us so much ham for our trip. Should we call your mother and let her know we’re coming to visit?”

  “Oh no, that’s not a good idea. I pray she will be asleep upon our arrival, and we can avoid her altogether. My mother is a freakish woman, best left undisturbed.”

  The thought of his mother caused pressure in Austin’s abdomen. Then he remembered the swallowed fortune. He felt a sharp pain, non-existent, but sharp nonetheless, as he imagined the razor-thin paper slicing through tissue.

  Emily said, “I think Glenn might have an ulcer. He always has such a sour look on his little face.”

  “Glenn is a flesh eater. I hesitated to tell you earlier, but little Glenn has attacked me.”

  Emily laughed light and free. The sound filled the car and sailed out the open window into the bright blue sky. Austin was both frustrated and enamored by the lightness. He wished to be taken seriously, yet at the same time, Emily’s laugh left him weaker than usual.

  She said, “He’s just playing with you. It means he likes you. It means he recognizes you as the alpha-male.”

  Austin cocked his head. He liked being the alpha-male. He didn’t care for needle-like cat fangs in his leg flesh, but he liked the alpha-male title. In the rearview mirror Austin caught eyes with his furry nemesis. They stayed that way until Austin was forced to look at the road ahead.

  Later, Emily asked, “Are you sad about your job? You seemed to really like selling ham in cans.”

  “No. It wasn’t my favorite.”

  “What was your favorite job ever?”

  “Well, let me think. I’ve had a variety of careers. I like to think of myself as versatile.”

  Austin locked himself in thought. “My favorite job?” he said. “It was probably the summer I worked for Coca-Cola, the summer after my second year of community college. I enjoyed the job. They put me in charge of lawn maintenance. I developed a unique hedge arrangement around the executive parking area. It had never been done before to my knowledge. Never.”

  “Wow, that sounds exciting.”

  Austin continued, “Yes, exciting it was for a time. It ended on a bad note, however.”

  “What happened?”

  “My supervisor was dull and misguided. We had a disagreement, and the next day I was accused of criminal mischief.”

  Emily looked surprised. “Criminal mischief?”

  “I was not guilty, of course, but unfortunately, the cretin supervisor did not believe my story.”

  Emily was genuinely interested. “I don’t understand.”

  “Well, the day after our disagreement, a row of hedges was cut to the ground. They were the very hedges we argued about. Mr. Triola believed I cut them out of spite, but it simply wasn’t true. It was early in the morning. I hadn’t slept well the night before, tossing and turning over the semantics of our dispute. I was on the riding lawnmower, cutting the south lawn. I guess I dozed off. The next thing I knew I’d plowed through the godforsaken hedges, nearly colliding with the vice-president’s maroon BMW. It was purely accidental, I say. How stupid would I be to destroy the very hedges I loved?”

  Emily had gotten worked up into a small frenzy. “That Mr. Triola, whatever his name is, sounds dumb to me. He sounds like maybe he was jealous of your ideas.”

  Austin craned his neck to see her. “That’s exactl
y what I told my mother. She, of course, sided with the Coca-Cola company, and I went back to community college shortly thereafter.”

  There was quiet, and then Emily began to sing softly again, a different song this time. They drove for hours, the sun setting on the driver’s side, the little red car chugging to Birmingham, Alabama. They stopped for gas outside the city. Emily paid with one dollar bills. Austin bought a cold Yoo-Hoo and a bag of bar-b-que pork rinds. They were crunchy. Austin was clearly stalling.

  “My mother usually goes to her room about eleven. I thought we’d drive around a few minutes. I’ll show you the sights of the city.”

  “What time is it?” Emily asked.

  Austin answered, “As we’ve discussed, I’m unsure.”

  Emily suggested, “Why don’t we just go to your mom’s. I’m really tired, the boys are tired, and I’m nervous about meeting your mother. I want to get it over with.”

  Austin turned right. Glenn released a pent-up howl appropriate to the mood. Finally they arrived in the driveway of a small white house in a subdivision of small white houses. Austin brought the car to a quiet stop and turned off the lights quickly. He still held hope of a painless entry and exit, sneak in, have a shower, go to sleep, pack a few things, sneak out the next morning. It didn’t seem like too much to ask.

  “I must warn you,” Austin whispered, “my mother has a dog. It’s a hideous, dirty white poodle named Lafitte. He is the son of the devil. If a frog has been run over in the road outside the house, he will roll in it with orgasmic exuberance until the stench has attached to his curly fur. I’ve watched him do it more times than I wish to recall.”

  Emily laughed softly. “That doesn’t mean he’s the devil. It means he’s marking his territory, that’s all. It’s normal.”

  “It’s not normal for me,” Austin replied. “Stay here. I will scout the entrance.”

  He crept slowly to the unlighted door. All was quiet. Austin returned to the car, pulled the suitcases out with all his might, and shoved one canned ham under his arm. Emily held the cats.

  The door was unlocked. The house was dark. Austin and Emily stood just inside waiting for their eyes to adjust. Out of the darkness came a series of barks in rapid succession, like a machine gun. Glenn flew from Emily’s arms and landed on a stack of magazines, tipping the stack and scattering in all directions. Ulysses barely opened an eye.