by Deany Ray
“You got to take care of yourself in this world.” She touched the Glock-shaped bulge that was straining the flower-and-butterfly pattern of the fabric. “And I don’t call this a weapon. That’s such an ugly word.” She looked at me and whispered, “Sometimes a girl just needs an instrument of persuasion to keep things rolling along.”
Then I thought of something else. “And how come you told me earlier there was no crime in Springston? This town’s a scary place.”
Marge smiled. “Because we like you, honey!” She gave my arm a pat. “We didn’t want to scare your pretty self away.”
“Well, I believe that’s enough excitement for one day, girls.” Celeste put her hand up to stifle a yawn. “I say we head on back. And tomorrow we can have a little visit with this Mickey.”
“But should we go visit him?” I asked. “What if Elkins warns him that we’re on the way? Then he might move his operation, find another place to do…whatever it is he does.” Not that I was anxious to start this graveyard search.
Celeste looked at Marge and smiled. “I think the dude will let it be. So the waitress avenger of Springston won’t pay him another call.”
It was hard to argue with that. Marge was pretty fierce.
“We’re on your team now, hon,” Marge told me as we walked toward her car. “If anything seems fishy, if you get another note, you know who to get in touch with.”
I nodded. “If something ever scares me, you’ll be the first one that I call.” And that conversation would give a whole new meaning to that most common of reminders – “Don’t forget your purse.”
“Hey!” Celeste said. “What about your car? We can drop you off, but you need to find somebody to put on some new tires.”
“Sore subject,” I told them. “Money’s kind of tight.” But it wasn’t like a set of tires was a little luxury I could go without. “Know anybody here in town who might give me a good deal?”
“Oh, yeah. I know a guy.” Celeste took out her cell. After a moment, I heard her say “Hey, Gil. Are you busy?”
“Who’s that?” I whispered to Marge as we passed a vacant shopping center with windows busted out in several places.
“Some guy. Owns a chop shop.”
A chop shop? Really? Sheesh.
“Okay, what the heck?” I asked. “How does she know this guy?” Wouldn’t this make a fine excuse to give the captain about why I wasn’t back? I was waiting on the chop shop to set me up with a set of stolen tires. And I ran into a little trouble earlier, but everything’s okay. Because my friend pulled out her Glock.
“I can’t get my tires put on at a chop shop! I work for the police!” I hissed underneath my breath. Jitterbugging Jellybeans.
“Yes, you do!” Marge beamed. “And I am so impressed.”
“And it wouldn’t be the most professional thing to roll on back to Boston with a set of stolen tires.”
“Oh, it’s fine.” Marge waved her arm dismissively. “Gil isn’t in the business of making deals with thieves. It’s just a chop shop in the sense that Gil likes to chop the price.” She giggled. “Isn’t that kind of cute? He chops the price so it’s a chop shop?”
Sheesh.
“He’s not like some others from around here who like to rip a person off,” Marge continued. “So they can take fancy trips and act all highfalutin.”
“Okay…” I believed her. Celeste and Marge were not the types to save a buck or two off the backs of losers like me who’d had car parts ripped off.
“If there’s anything at all you need, we know a guy…or gal,” Marge said with a proud smile. “Everyone around here knows Celeste and Marge. We’ve owned little businesses around town; we’ve owned quite a few. And working at the diner? Well, that’s just our little way of keeping the green stuff coming in until our next big great idea.”
That’s how you made your life work, I decided as I watched the way they walked with confidence down that deserted, scary street. Don’t whine because there aren’t any perfect jobs out there; you need to make it happen for yourself. And know that you are tough enough to deal with anything that might get in your way: angry druggie criminals or a car in need of cheap tires really quick.
Except, who was I kidding? I wasn’t tough like they were. And if I got in trouble back in Boston, I wouldn’t know a guy.
Celeste put the phone back in her purse. “Everything’s cool. We’ll give you a ride home. And then when you wake up in the morning, your car will be parked in front of your parents’ house.”
“You two are amazing. Thank you, thank you, thank you. You’ll have to tell me where to find this Gil. So I can go and pay him.”
“Oh, we’ll work the deal out, him and me,” Celeste pushed a stray hair back into her tower of hair. “I’ve helped him out a time or two. The tires aren’t that big a deal.”
From what I remembered from the last time I had to buy a tire, even one of the stupid things was a pretty major deal to someone who was almost broke like me.
“Well, let me know,” I said. “And I’ll write Gil a check.”
***
Once we were safely in the car heading back toward town, I asked about the businesses they’d owned.
“My favorite was the nail place.” Marge turned toward me in the backseat. Please watch the road, I thought. Because of, you know…stop signs, other cars. Beside her, Celeste stared ahead intently and looked poised to grab the wheel in case of emergency.
“We had all the colors!” Marge said excitedly. “We had an ice-cream-colors section and one for nature colors. We called that one Jungle Zone.” She giggled at the thought. “And we let all the girls start off with a special quiz. They answered questions about what movies they liked best, their ultimate dream vacation, all kinds of things like that. And the quiz picked their perfect color!”
“That sounds like a lot of fun,” I said.
“Till the discount beauty place opened in the mall.” Celeste finished the story for her. “And they gave free manicures for every two you’d buy. When gals can save a buck, they don’t care about a quiz. They don’t worry that two coats of blushing pink might be incompatible with their love for The Hangover Part III.”
“Bummer,” I said as more familiar sites came into view and my surrounding felt safer at last.
“Before that,” Celeste said, “we had a Laundromat. But more and more people started to get washers and dryers in their homes. And some of the apartments started adding nicer laundry rooms. Bigger machines and better chairs, nicer TV sets.”
“Good for them, bad for us,” Marge said, speeding around a curve.
“Any ideas for something new?”
“I want to start a daycare,” Marge said.
“That’s because none of her grownup friends will play Candy Mulberry Garden with her.” Celeste let out a laugh that could only be described as a kind of joyful honk. I’d never heard her laugh before.
“And what do you want to do?” I asked Celeste.
Celeste turned serious again. “I’m studying up the situation. Somewhere there’s a sweet spot. You know, something that everyone would pay to have, something they can’t get their hands on somewhere else.”
“Well, I know Dad’s glad to have you working at the diner while you figure out what’s next. How long have you worked there?”
“About six months,” Marge said. “Your father is a doll. It gets crazy in that place. But just when you’re really frazzled, your old man will let loose with one of his practical jokes.”
“I didn’t appreciate the fake roach in the kitchen,” Celeste said. But then she let out another hoot. So all was forgiven, I guessed.
“Or the six fake hundred-dollar bills he snuck onto my table one night,” Marge said. “It seemed like the best tip ever for a single dinner special that didn’t even cost six dollars.”
“Yeah, in her head she’d already spent the money,” Celeste gave Marge a playful shoulder squeeze. “In her head, she’d bought a purse and a weekend getaway a
nd was deciding what to pack before he told her what he’d done.” She let out a hoot again, and soon we all were laughing.
“You can just imagine my life growing up,” I said when we’d caught our breath. I never knew when he might put rubber eggs on my breakfast plate and laugh at my confusion when I tried to cut them with a fork. And the town still talks about the night of my slumber party when I turned sweet sixteen. When my dad peeped into the basement in a mask that made him look like Justin Timberlake, the neighbors four houses down most likely heard the screams. Man, that thing looked real. When my friend Shannon fainted, my mother made it worse by running around in circles to cleanse the energy and bring Shannon back to health. And so my secret was out: my parents were both nuts.
Celeste turned to look at me. “In your daddy’s world, the only thing finer than a good joke is his little girl. When he has to work the tables, every person in the room knows who Charlie Cooper is before they’ve even had the chance to take the first bite of their food.” She smiled. “And now here she is in person: the famous Charlie Cooper who works in Boston for the cops.” She looked out the window, lost in thought. “It always makes me wish that I had a father. My old man left when I was seven. We never heard from him again.”
Marge turned to look at me. “And it always made me wish that I was you. A big city girl, with a cool job…”
I blushed. “No way. You’re the coolest. You’re just better with a gun than with a steering wheel.”
Celeste held onto her hair as Marge ran over a curb. Then Marge slammed the brakes down hard when she came to a four-way stop. Good thing Celeste could get deals at a chop shop.
“No need to envy me,” I said. “Before this drug case came along, I was just a secretary.” But at least I was taking baby steps to get the kind of life I wanted.
And I had a clearer picture of what that life would be. I wanted to be like Marge, I thought. And also like Celeste. I’d like to own a business, create something new. And maybe – this one was my favorite – just every now and then, I would really love to be a ninja with a Glock.
Soon we had arrived at the front of my parents’ house.
“We’ve got the afternoon shift tomorrow,” Celeste said. “So why don’t we meet at the graveyard in the morning? Does nine sound good to you?”
Is any time a good time to go poking around a cemetery looking for a felon? One who won’t be very happy to see he’s not alone?
“Works for me,” I said.
And I felt okay about it. Marge would be tougher than Mickey, I guessed. I’d put my bet on Marge every single time.
***
As soon as I walked in, I smelled my mom’s lasagna: a wonderful aroma of garlic, tomato sauce, and cheese. I’d actually dreamed about that smell on lonely nights in Boston after one too many frozen entrees that were just gross. The curse of the single, half-broke girl: meals that tasted more like the box than the picture on the outside, with a side of – take your pick – an apple or lots of crackers.
My mother looked up from the salad she was tossing. The bright red tomatoes made a colorful picture against the bright green of the romaine. Summer in my mind tasted like a tomato from the garden my father tended with great care in our big backyard. Or at least some summers had that juicy taste, the summers when my father won and not the “thieving interloping fools’ which is what he called the squirrels.
“There you are!” my mother said. Her smile looked especially bright. She slapped away Brad’s hand as he reached for a slice of tomato from the bowl. Sam was there as well, leaning against the fridge, drinking a light beer and laughing at some joke my father had just told.
“Charlie, this is Donald Binder.” My mom turned toward a thin young man with stringy hair that fell into his eyes. Who the heck was this? In my excitement over dinner, I hadn’t even noticed this stranger in our midst.
“Donald is Ira Binder’s grandson,” my mother chirped happily. “Charlie, you know Ira. Ira from Pilates!”
My heart sank. I could smell a fix-up. My mom beamed at me as if it were quite a wonder to have such a creature in our kitchen. He had a hawkish nose, thick black glasses, and a physique that made me worry he might bend in two and break.
And he was Ira’s Binder grandson! Which my mom seemed to think made him a special catch. I did remember Ira. How could I forget stepping out onto the porch with my morning coffee and finding an elderly man spread out in the front yard with his legs lifted high up to the sun while my mother merrily shouted: “Find your center, Ira!”
Donald stared at me eagerly, rubbing his hands together. “This is such a pleasure,” he said.
Sheesh. Could I just eat my lasagna, please? Without this overeager version of Prince Not-So-Very Charming?
Behind my mom’s back, Sam grinned. What was my mother thinking? That her daughter was so pitiful that she had to have her mama dig up a dude like this? Over my mother’s shoulder, Brad made a kissy face. My dad acted out a swoon.
My mother pushed me so hard toward this very unsuitable suitor that I almost collided into the guy.
“Um, nice to meet you, Donald.” Why couldn’t I have gone to a movie with the girls? Bowling, a colonoscopy…anything would do.
I wondered if this would make the hall of fame of bad fix-ups by my mother. There was the guy who insisted that his dry cleaner was a refugee newly arrived from Saturn. (The rings were poisoning the planet. So the guy had to make a run for it and make a new life pressing shirts on Earth). Perhaps the very worst was the guy who went to the men’s room during the salad course at the all-night pizza buffet. I waited thirty minutes before I understood that he had left the joint. Talk about an awkward phone call. Please come get me, mommy.
We sat at the table and I tried to concentrate on gooey, melted cheese and tune out Donald’s constant chatter. Had no one ever told the guy that not every topic in the world is appropriate for dinner? I didn’t care to know that he had practically lived in the bathroom the week before because of a stomach virus. I was creeped out by the details of the astounding collection of insect specimens that he kept framed above his bed.
“You’ll have to see it sometime,” he told me with a leering glance.
Astounding was indeed a good word to describe this conversation. I took a bite of salad.
“Donald brought me the most wonderful jars of jams tonight,” my mother trilled merrily as if her little fix-up wasn’t veering toward disaster.
“Very nice,” I said.
“My favorite is raspberry,” he turned to me. “What kind of jam do you prefer?” To turn this even more into an absolute dinner from hell, the guy wasn’t only dull; he was also a close talker. “Grape is also nice,” he said.
Gee, man. Get a mint.
“So new jam means more cookies.” My mother smiled at me. “Tomorrow we should have a good old-fashioned baking day. Charlie, did you know that Donald used to be in the insurance field?”
“Life and casualty,” he said. He leaned even closer.
I leaned further back.
My father took a second helping of lasagna. “Charlie, did you know that Donald has his utensil drawer organized just so? Forks in one bin, spoons in another and so on. It’s a thing of beauty. He was describing it to your mother as she set the table.”
My mother beamed at Donald, absolutely clueless that my father’s comments were a joke. Brad by then was almost losing the battle not to laugh out loud.
My mother picked up her glass of wine. “The ability to organize has a certain kind of sex appeal. Would you not say so, Charlie?”
Both my brothers had to leave the room.
My father leaned over to give my mother a kiss. “Well, if you think that’s sexy, let’s go upstairs and dim the lights and gaze at my sock drawer. You wear something slinky; I’ll divide my blue socks from my black ones.”
She giggled and ruffled his hair. “Isn’t your father the most adorable man that you’ve ever seen?”
I looked down at my lasagna whe
re the cheese was melting onto the pasta and the spicy sausage. It was an extraordinary dish, almost good enough to keep me at the table. But then Donald leaned in close again, and I leaned back so far I almost fell onto my back. So I made my excuses.
“Mom, this is fabulous,” I said. “And Donald, it was lovely meeting you. And I would love to hear more about…insurance and bugs.” I was trying hard to be polite. “And more about knives and spoons as well.” Please don’t let that come true. “But that virus that you mentioned, it must be going around in Springston. I need to be excused.”
I passed Sam and Brad in the hallway. “Thanks a lot,” I said underneath my breath. “It’s nice to have brothers who have your back.”
Quietly, so those in the kitchen couldn’t hear, Sam hummed the wedding march.
“You hush up,” I told him. “Or I’ll tell Mom that you’re so lonely and that she should fix you up.” That was the magic sentence to make both brothers disappear.
I tried to read a little before I fell asleep, but I was exhausted. It had been a long day with four slashed tires, a confrontation with a lowlife crook, and a close talking dinner guest whose breath could blow a person clear across the room.
And tomorrow was the graveyard. I was almost scared to wonder what might happen next.
Chapter Ten
The next morning, as promised, my car was waiting outside my front door sporting brand new tires. I’d glanced out the window to check before I even got my coffee. Someone had even washed my car. I couldn’t remember ever seeing it so clean. Thank you, Celeste! I thought. Maybe fairy godmothers were real after all. Only mine wore fake nails and scowled and knew all the dinner specials at Springston’s favorite diner.
My mother saw me looking and came over to glance out the kitchen window with me. “Why is your car parked on the street?”
“Oh, I had to have some work done. So the girls just brought me home. Celeste told me that she knew a guy. And, well, things are good as new.”
