by Dana Mentink
Here I am, she thought. With a movie star locked in his trailer, a dog hunkered in the belly of a Sherman tank, and tourists streaming back onto the bus, leaving behind a store full of chocolates.
Tom bustled over. “Ms. Agnelli, the bus is leaving now. Please take your seat.”
“Thank you, Tom, but I’ll find my own way home.”
He frowned. “You’ve paid for a seat. It’s not refundable.”
“Nana,” Misty started. Her grandma was on a fixed income. Rather than reside with the Agnelli family in Sausalito, Nana lived in a tiny apartment in a retirement community in Berkeley, the city she’d adored for a lifetime. The Agnellis did their best to make sure she had some nice-to-haves, but Nana was a proud person who always insisted on paying her own way. She would have had to save to afford a bus tour.
Nana held up a hand. “Tom, this is my granddaughter, Misty Agnelli. She works on the film as Mr. Tucker’s assistant.”
Tom looked sympathetically at Nana. “I’m sure she’ll find another job.” And then he spun on his heel and walked away.
“What is he talking about?” Nana said. “Mr. Tucker is having a short time-out, that’s all. He’s a professional.”
“Nana…” Misty started again.
An actor wearing fatigues, a helmet, knee pads, and elbow pads and holding a broom waddled into view.
Nana stared. “What’s he supposed to be?” she whispered.
The man paused to straighten his helmet and then staggered toward the tank. Misty remembered his name was Larry.
“What are you doing, Larry?” Misty asked, a worrisome thought taking root.
“Wilson says I’m to get that dog out of the tank.”
“Oh, he’ll come out when he’s hungry,” she said hastily. “There’s no need for drastic measures.”
“The director said if I don’t get that dog out of that tank in ten minutes, he’s calling the police.”
The police? What exactly were they supposed to do? Send in a SWAT team?
Larry readied his broomstick and approached the tank.
“You aren’t going to hurt Jellybean, right?” Misty called.
“Hurt him? That dog nipped me right in the rear yesterday. This broomstick is for my own protection.”
Bill joined in, Fiona still on his shoulders. Misty introduced them to Nana Bett.
Fiona regarded the granny in pink with a shy smile.
“You know, I am sure I have a lollipop here in my purse. Let me look.” She began to rummage through her cavernous bag. Misty smiled. Nana was constantly picking up freebies from the bank and doctors’ offices. “In case I find someone who needs a blessing,” she would say.
Bill tracked Larry’s progress as he climbed toward the turret.
“How about if you open the escape hatch?” Bill called.
“How’s that?” Larry said, struggling to climb while holding on to the broomstick.
“The escape hatch.” Bill pointed. “It’s on the bottom. Maybe Jellybean will climb out on his own.”
Nana Bett momentarily stopped her rummaging. “Well, aren’t you clever to know about that.”
Bill chuckled. “Saw it on a TV program one time.”
“Clever,” Nana said. Misty thought there was a calculating arch to her brow.
Don’t get any ideas, she wanted to say. I’m. Leaving. This. Town. Immediately.
Larry nodded. “Oh, yeah. Good idea.”
Bill put Fiona down next to Nana Bett, who produced a red lollipop and pulled off the plastic. “Here you go, sweetie. I knew I had a treat in here for such a darling girl.”
Fiona took the candy and put it in her mouth while Bill crawled under the tank and waited for Larry to burrow down inside. Together they opened the escape hatch. Larry popped his head out of the hole.
“No sign of Jellybean, but I’m—Ouch!” he hollered. “It’s a surprise attack!” What followed was a loud clanking and rattling, a series of angry invectives, and one ominous clang. Larry scrambled out the escape hatch, his helmet askew, rubbing his shoulder.
“That’s it,” he yelled, throwing the helmet on the ground. “I don’t care if they have to send in the seventh fleet to get that mutt. He’s not biting me in the buns anymore, do you hear?”
Larry shook his fist at no one in particular and stomped away.
Misty had a sudden flash of inspiration.
She turned to her trailer. “Be back in a minute, Nana.” She returned with the violin. Standing close to the tank, she played the second movement of Mozart’s Fifth Violin Concerto.
Bill, Fiona, and Nana Bett stared at her. She didn’t have time to explain the dog’s strange fascination with music. It took no more than twenty measures for a wee canine head to peek cautiously out of the hatch.
“Come on out, Jellybean,” she said, still playing softly. “It’s time to end this skirmish.”
After another few bars, Jellybean slithered out, sitting under the body of the tank, listening with rapt attention.
“Bravo, Misty,” Bill called.
Part of her thrilled to hear him say it.
She stopped playing, transferred the bow and violin to one hand, and bent to grab Jellybean’s leash with the other.
With a quick swish of his tail, Jellybean shot from under the tank and beelined across the field, headed toward town.
Misty groaned. Not again. She handed the instrument to her grandmother and took off in pursuit.
“See that?” she heard Nana say as she raced away. “Misty is taking care of everything.”
Bill wanted to sprint after Misty, but he couldn’t leave Nana Bett and Fiona behind. Nana was eyeing him closely.
“So you’re a friend of Misty’s?” she asked.
“Yes. We just met two days ago.” He laughed. “Ironically, she showed up at my store looking for Jellybean.” He told her about his chocolate shop and his imperiled plans for a “grand opening,” trying not to let his disappointment show.
“Oh, I see,” she said. “And all your customers just drove away in the tour bus, didn’t they?”
He sighed. “Yeah.”
She pursed her lips. “You know, Bill, my husband, Nigel, was a singer and dancer. He was a smash eventually, but sometimes during the early years of our marriage, he would show up to perform and there would be no one there. Not a soul. You know what he did?”
“No, ma’am.”
“He sang and danced for the janitor or the cook, anyone in the building. ‘Never waste a stage,’ he’d say.”
“Sounds like quite a man.”
“He was. He was a brilliant entertainer, and he even did some movie work. Just when he really hit the big time, he was thrown from a horse and became a paraplegic.”
“I’m sorry.”
“There was a silver lining. The accident changed both our lives in ways we could never imagine and introduced us both to Jesus.” She winked. “I’ll tell you more about it sometime.”
Bill looked down at the tiny woman with the sparkling eyes and the jaunty pink hat. “Ma’am, I would love to hear more about your husband. Would you care to go to town and enjoy some premium chocolates while I help Misty find that dog?”
She crooked her arm in his. “I would be delighted, sir. Lead on.”
Bill found Larry, who was applying a carefully placed ice pack, and told him he needed some transportation. Then he helped himself to one of the three golf carts that sat idle outside Larry’s trailer. It didn’t seem like anyone would be inconvenienced if he borrowed one for a while. Besides, he was technically on movie business since they were going to assist in tracking down the star’s dog. He helped Nana Bett aboard and sandwiched Fiona between the two of them.
Fiona bounced up and down with excitement, and he had to admit, zooming along in the golf cart was more fun than he’d had in a long time. It wasn’t quite the same as riding horseback down a mountain trail, but it was close. Nana Bett clapped her hat on with one hand and chortled with every bump and lurch, which
made him seek out all the divots he could. There was no sign of Misty as they traversed the mile and a half back to town. She must have peeled off toward the beach or behind the hotel. He figured he’d get Nana settled in the chocolate shop with Gunther and head out to find Misty.
When they arrived at Chocolate Heaven, Gunther was sitting in a folding chair on the porch in a pool of sunshine, dozing. The balloons drifted in the wind, softly bonking him on the head.
“Minding the shop, I see,” Bill said.
Gunther opened one eye and yawned. “Nothing to mind. What happened to all these tourists we’ve been killing ourselves over?”
Bill shook his head. “They skipped town.”
“All except this one,” Nana Bett said, stepping forward and extending her hand. “I’m Bett Agnelli. I’m here to see this amazing chocolate.”
Gunther shook her hand. “Might as well. Isn’t exactly a crowd here today.” He led them into the shop and showed Bett the sweets in the glass case. “And this one here’s filled with dark chocolate mousse.”
Nana Bett exclaimed over each and every confection. Gunther warmed to his topic. “And that there is kind of a combo, you see, with the milk chocolate and the dark. Let me get you one to try.”
While she sat at a table and Gunther offered one treat after another, Fiona crept closer, book in hand.
Nana looked over. “Would you like me to read to you, Miss Fiona?”
Fiona looked down, suddenly shy.
“She doesn’t talk, but I know she would love a story,” Bill said.
Nana nodded. “I thought she was pretty quiet. When Misty was five, her daddy had a bad car accident, and Misty took it very hard. It was difficult to get her to say anything either.”
Bill wondered if that had kick-started Misty’s anxiety.
Bett confirmed his suspicion with her next words. “All that fear about her daddy sort of got stuck inside her, took away her confidence. She was always a shy child anyway, but after that…” Bett sighed. “Well, she had to be coaxed from the house. Still does.”
Fiona climbed up.
Nana Bett launched into the pig and the pony story, rendering every page with gusto. As Bill grabbed a jacket in preparation to help with the Jellybean search, he tried to listen closely so he could tell Fiona the story just the same way later when the child inevitably would want it of him. Nana Bett was a natural storyteller, and he knew he couldn’t do her rendition justice. Maybe he could get her to record it before she left.
As he seized the door to open it, Misty appeared, hair tousled and cheeks red.
“Hey,” Bill said.
“Hi.” She sucked in a breath and caught sight of her grandmother. “Oh, hi, Nana. How did you get here?”
“I had a thrilling ride in a golf cart with Bill and Fiona,” she said. “And now I’m stuffing myself full of chocolates and storybooks. Best day ever. Did you find Jellybean?”
“No,” Misty answered. “But I found this guy.”
A big dog waddled into the shop, panting hard, tongue unfurled like a fluttering flag.
Gunther did a double take. “Lunk? Just how did you get out this time?”
“I found him behind the hotel. Vivian said he was yours. He got into the garbage can and was eating dill pickles and a baguette.”
“A baguette?” Gunther snorted, grimacing at his dog. “You didn’t hear the doc say you’re getting chubby?”
Lunk licked his rubbery lips and collapsed with a wheeze onto the floor, immediately settling into a doze. “He’s become a regular Houdini the past few months.”
The phone rang, and Bill snatched it up. “Hello?” He listened to the ranting for a moment. “I understand. We’ll be right over.” He hung up.
“What?” Misty said, trying to read his expression. “You have a funny look. I can’t tell if it’s good news or bad.”
“That was Vivian Buckley over at the hotel. She says she knows where you can find Jellybean, and he’d better stay away from her Tinka.”
Gunther rubbed a hand over his cheeks. “This town is going to the dogs.”
“Literally,” Bill said.
Seven
Nana Bett had opted to stay in the shop and keep an eye on things while Gunther took Lunk back home and Misty, Bill, and Fiona headed to the Lady Bird.
“I used to run the till for a soda shop when I was a teen. It can’t have changed that much,” Nana said.
Misty was surprised to find she was right. Bill used an ancient cash register, which sat on the counter like a relic from a bygone age. He must have a device somewhere for taking credit cards. The idea of manually accepting money and making change seemed archaic. Didn’t he realize that payments could be done electronically now? She hadn’t set foot in her bank in a decade, and that was just fine by her. “Better to live through technology” was Misty’s motto.
With Nana installed behind the counter wearing a paper Chocolate Heaven hat, her head barely showing over the dinosaur of a cash register, they started for the hotel. Fiona stayed close to Bill, sucking on her red lollipop. Vivian met them in front, Tinka cradled in her arms.
“Of course the dog is incorrigible,” Vivian said, as if they arrived smack-dab in the middle of some sort of diatribe. “Look at the owner.”
Misty figured a direct approach was best. “Where’s Jellybean?”
Vivian’s eyes narrowed, cheeks framed by tendrils of hair that frizzed out from her braid. “Tinka’s been lethargic, so I thought some fresh air might help. I was walking her on the trail that borders the field where the film is shooting. It wasn’t because I wanted to see Lawrence or anyone else, of course. That’s just our route.”
“But where’s…” Misty started again.
“I’m not going to change things because of some celebrity visitors, even the high-and-mighty Lawrence Tucker.” She stroked the dog, running her fingers through her silky hair. “He might as well live in a castle now, but I’ll always know he’s just a foster kid from Fresno, and he can’t pretend that away as much as he tries.” Tinka licked her owner’s chin, and Vivian cuddled her close. “Acting is lying for a living, and Lawrence can’t recognize the truth anymore.”
“Vivian!” Misty said so loudly that the woman jumped. “Where’s Jellybean?”
She blinked. “As I said, I was walking along the field, and that horrible dog ran up, leash trailing. I shooed him away, even shouted at him, but he would not leave us alone. What choice did I have really?” She shook her head. “Lawrence never gave me choices. It was love me or don’t, but he was never the one who had to sacrifice.”
Misty opened her mouth to vent the frustration building in her belly when Bill stopped her with a hand on her forearm. She couldn’t fully interpret his expression, but she’d seen it before, and she knew it probably meant “Stop talking.” So she did.
Bill smiled at Vivian. “Lawrence is a piece of work, for sure. So Jellybean wouldn’t leave you and Tinka alone? So you did what with him exactly?”
“Took him to Lawrence’s trailer. I banged on that door for ten minutes. Lawrence shouted that he wasn’t coming out, that he needed time to center himself or some such drivel. I hollered loud enough to wake the dead. I told him to put on his big-boy, real-world pants and come get his disgusting dog, but he refused to open the door. Can you believe that?”
Misty could. Who wouldn’t want to stay in a nice, quiet trailer when a lady was hollering just outside the door?
“And you brought Jellybean back here,” Bill prompted.
“No.”
Misty could feel all her life juices turning to steam. Again, Bill squeezed her forearm.
“Then where’s the dog, Vivian?” he said.
“I tied him to the door of Lawrence’s trailer. Then I came back and called you.”
Misty exhaled her tension in a big whoosh of air. Without another word, she about-faced to start the long walk back to Lawrence’s trailer.
“How about we take the golf cart?” Bill said when he c
aught up to her.
She thought about it. Riding next to him meant making small talk, an activity that pained her. Finally, after struggling during the course of her relationship with Jack, she’d learned that small talk was invented merely to pass the time, and letting the conversation drift from topic to topic without reaching a specific answer or conclusion was okay. She’d always be grateful to Jack for helping her reach that epiphany. Still, she wasn’t good at it, and it was even harder when a handsome man was involved. “Um…I should walk. Good exercise.”
“You’ve had enough exercise. Let me drive you.” He gave her a wink. “I’ll just chitchat, and you don’t have to chime in. How about that?”
She started. How did he know? The wink would indicate a joke, but what if he really meant he would do all the talking and she could just listen? What would it be like simply to stay quiet and listen to the talk of the man with the electric eyes and boyish grin?
“Actually, this isn’t a hard decision. Come on.” He took Fiona’s hand again, and they walked back to the shop. Gunther had returned, and he and Nana Bett were chatting, so Bill filled them in before he guided Fiona and Misty into the golf cart.
Bill did indeed shoulder the whole conversation back to the field, she was delighted to discover.
“Vivian and Lawrence sure have some kind of prickly past,” he said in between giggles from Fiona as they hit a pothole that Misty suspected he had intentionally aimed for. He nodded conspiratorially at Misty. “Giggles are the only sound she makes, so I like to hear them.”
To hear them and, she suspected, to savor the sounds as if they were precious notes strung together. She remembered the first time her father had spoken after the tubes were finally removed, the frightening machines rolled away. The light of recognition in his eyes funneled into the one joyful syllable: “Here.”
I’m here. God brought me back. I love you. She’d heard it all in that single precious sound.
“Wonder what happened between Lawrence and Vivian.” Bill shot her a glance. “I know, not my concern. My mom tells me I should mind my own business, but being curious is the only way I’ve learned things in my life. Everything from how to reassemble an engine to the best way to chocolate dip a strawberry.” He laughed. “I guess curiosity is a good thing, to a degree.”
