ACUMEN OF DESIDERATUM
by
Phaedra Weldon
SMASHWORDS EDITION
* * * * *
PUBLISHED BY:
Caldwell Press on Smashwords
Acumen Of Desideratum
Copyright © 2010 by Phaedra Weldon
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ACUMEN OF DESIDERATUM
by
Phaedra Weldon
Psst. Hey. Mike.
"Can I help…" Mike Ross straightened up from behind the counter of Crystal Reveries in Roswell, Georgia, to answer whomever called his name, only to find himself alone. "You?"
No customers waited at the antique cash register or anywhere else in the shop.
So who called his name?
An eerie stillness wrapped itself around his ankles, traveled up his legs in a clockwise motion and then pushed the hairs on his arms outward. A miasma of colored rocks glinted at him beneath the fluorescent lights as ceramic angels and corpulent cherubs spun round in motionless glee on the shelves near the front window. Bayberry incense smoke spun and curled in the air almost in rhythm to the silken sounds of Enya's "On Your Shore." Outside the wonderland of crystals, candles, and new age pomp, cars sat in two perfect rows along Alpharetta Street as the evening traffic reached its zenith in the January chill.
Convincing himself the sound of his name was nothing but his overactive imagination, Mike knelt back down behind the counter and continued to search for his divorce papers. He remembered tossing them here in a fit of disgust after arguing with his soon-to-be ex-wife over the ongoing custody battle of their daughter, Brendi. The papers had landed somewhere among the day's receipts, layaway items, stereo and dirty coffee mugs. He'd been shocked as well as leery when Teresa, the soon-to-be ex, phoned later on and asked—in a voice reminding him of sweet, pastel, butter mints—for a meeting. A day ago they couldn't stand the sight of one another. Now she wanted to talk things over in the loft of The Livery Bar and Restaurant, a local fine dinning establishment a few blocks down the road.
His hands were shaking as he shuffled through the mess. He wasn't going to let that woman take his daughter away from him.
Never.
Teresa took the house, the bank accounts, the car, the boat...and most importantly, his heart. Brendi was all he had left. Besides the crystal shop. And even that couldn't compare to the companionship of his only child. She was the one good thing to come out of their marriage. To lose her would mean to lose a part of him.
Hey you, behind the counter. The voice was nasal with a Trenton, New Jersey accent.
Mike slowly looked over the counter until nothing but his forehead, eyes, nose and shaggy mass of brown hair was visible. He turned the music down. "Hello?"
Psst. Idiot, I'm over here, the voice said behind him.
The counter sat in the center of the shop, giving Mike an excellent view of every item. Behind him sat white painted wooden shelves, laden with wood and ceramic icons of Egyptian Gods, Greek Goddesses, African fertility dolls and a wide variety of Jesus figures.
Beside a well-endowed African fertility god sat the doll a young man had left on the counter a week ago after attempting to convince Mike to buy it from him, claiming it was a genuine Anima Cozen, whatever that was. Made of molded tan plastic, bendable arms and legs, the doll stood seven inches high, with starched dread-locks that stuck straight out from the round head as if juiced with a thousand volts plus. A cherubic face held black plastic eyes, the sort that closed when the doll was on its back, opened when the doll was propped up as it was now. A long pointy nose with wide nostrils dipped down to ruby red lips accenting its gold, green and red dashiki top and pajama bottom pants. Beside the glitter of crystals, gems and delicate ceramic painted angels, it was easily the ugliest thing in the store.
The doll raised its right hand and gave a stiff wave. Here, stupid. Or are you blind as well as audibly impaired?
Mike's hip slammed painfully into the corner of the cash register as he stepped back. The doll's mouth had not moved yet the voice echoed inside the store walls. He knuckled his eyes and peered at the doll again. Had the stress from the custody battle finally snapped his sanity to the point of breaking?
Look, are you going to step over here, or should I come to you?
With no customers about to see him make a fool out of himself, Mike swallowed and held his hands up in front of him in a defensive posture. "Um...are you talking to me?"
The doll cocked its head to the right, assuming the pose Teresa took when she was about to let him know she thought he'd said something stupid. Well bright boy, I'm not talking to those little cherubed faced, fat naked babies you got hanging from the ceiling.
Mike glanced up at the five inch ceramic angels fastened to the ceiling with fishing wire swaying in short circles, pushed along by the heat from a nearby vent. "Dolls don't talk."
Really? Someone forgot to inform me of that little tidbit. Will you please step over here? It's really a pain to have to broadcast myself into that cerebral mess you call a mind.
Unclear of what else one was supposed to do when confronted with a talking doll, Mike strode hesitantly to the shelf that stood at chin height, bringing the doll at eye-level. "Better?"
The doll bobbed its head up and down twice as the plastic made a popping sound like snapping bubble-wrap. Much. I'm called Acumen of Desideratum. But call me Acki.
Mike blinked. Acki was good. He'd never remember that first mouth full of words.
Acki stood and hesitated at the shelf's edge as he peered down at the floor. Apparently coming to the conclusion he wouldn't fall, he sat down and dangled his legs over the side. And you're Mike. Store proprietor and father and general do-gooder. Now, my purpose is to ask you what you want.
"What I want?"
Yeah. What's up, what's the problem? I did hear that harridan yelling at you yesterday over the phone. You know, when that long-haired freak was in here eye-balling me.
The smell of bayberry fluctuated as Mike rubbed the edge of his prominent nose. The long-haired freak mentioned had to be his friend Dags McConnell who had stopped by yesterday to visit before going to work. Dags had taken a special interest in the little doll while they talked, asking all sorts of questions about it of which Mike had no answers. "If you heard me and Teresa arguing, then you already know my problems."
Lay 'em on me anyway.
Tell a doll his problems? Hell, why not? Maybe the talking doll was his stress giving him a way out so he wouldn't blow a cork at the loft later. "I'm in the middle of a divorce. I have one daughter named Brendi who I am completely devoted too. Her mother is threatening to take full custody. She called me today and wants to talk about something very important over desserts tonight."
Acki nodded, two head-bobs, popping plastic. And you're afraid she's going to tell you what?
Mike blinked. He had really admitted to himself what was bothering him. He thought a few seconds before answering. "I'm afraid she'll win, and worse, that Brendi would rather be with her mother. I've already had to endure Teresa's rejection...I'm not sure I could handle Brendi's."
Acki bent his left arm, the elbow flattening like a folded straw. Then I see my services are definitely needed.
"What services?"
I'm the answer to your pr
oblem. I will give you one wish.
A slow nod crept up Mike's lower neck and he too bobbed his head up and down. "Uh-huh. What's the catch?"
Oooh. Smart one. Good. The catch is you have to kiss me.
The laugh began somewhere around Mike's midsection, shook his stomach then exploded outward. "Kiss you? You have got to be kidding. I'm not kissing a doll. That's somehow...I don't know. Perverted."
The doll shrugged. That's the deal. You make a wish, you kiss me.
"What do you get?"
Let's just say it's something I'm missing.
Mike's first instinct was to close shop and call it a day. This was too weird. But curiosity was a trait born in most humans. Through the enforced patterns of behavior in school, the social mistakes of college, compounded by the stress of the work-a-day world, the trait was usually pounded flat. The Ross family had never fit in with conventional thinking. Mike's curiosity was sometimes catalogued as a character flaw and it was roused. "So...how does this work?"
Make your wish.
"Just like that?"
Sighing, Acki smacked his tiny palms down on his knees with a sharp tap. Plastic on plastic. You want a map?
"I don't know...there's so much I could use." Money being the key factor in most of his troubles. Money for lawyers, money for a house, money to eat. The shop was a mediocre success at best, and though it did keep a roof over his head, he wanted more for his daughter's future. If the court saw him as unable to provide, he didn't stand a chance. It was Teresa that made all the money.
Acki sighed. I can give you a hint. Wish that she wasn't leaving town and taking your daughter with her.
Mike backed up a step. "What? Leaving town?"
She's taking little Brendi away. You should wish for her to give you full custody before she just takes off. Acki tilted his head. It looked as if it might pop off. Why else would she set up some secret, serious meeting and be all nicey-pooh?
"How is it possible you know this?"
Hello. You're talking to a doll.
Mike turned and looked at the counter, at the cash register. Take Brendi away? Teresa wouldn't do that, would she? There had been that job offering in Virginia; the one she'd applied for a week ago. Was it possible it had come through?
The thought of Brendi living in Virginia caused a very large lump to tumble in his stomach, as if someone had punched him from the inside out. He'd be so lost without his little girl. It was one thing for Teresa to have custody and be in the same state...but Virginia? How could he spend any time with Brendi?
What harm could making a silly wish cause? If Teresa left Brendi with him, then she'd be free to pursue that all-important art career of hers. He looked back at Acki. "Okay. Do I just ask it as if making a wish at a well?" When Acki nodded, Mike inhaled deeply, taking in the bayberry, feeling the dry heat from the overhead vent as it ruffled his bangs against his forehead. "I wish...I wish that Teresa would..."
Yes? Acki leaned forward.
"I wish Teresa would give me custody of Brendi." There. Done. He didn't know if he truly believed the wish would work, but sometimes when natural means for accomplishing a task fell into the gutters of life's interstates, it was time to take the more super-natural back roads.
Acki raised his hands. Nothing extraordinary happened.
The moment passed. "Is that it?"
What? You wanted big brass bands, confetti and neon lights? Not that kind of doll. You'll get your wish when you kiss me.
Mike glanced around. The store was empty. What could be a better time than now? No one would see him make a fool out of himself. Mike reached out to grasp the doll in his hands. "Then come here."
Acki scrambled backward, kicked its molded bare feet at his hands. Hey, hey, hey! Watch that. He snatched up a three inch wooden wand with elegant runes burned into the wood surface and a sharp quartz crystal mounted with silver wire on the end pointed at Mike's face. Acki wielded it like a javelin. You'll kiss me when I say so.
Spying a similar metal wand on the second shelf, Mike snatched it up, aimed it at the doll's belly. "Don't you point that thing–"
The phone rang. It rang again, but Mike and Acki stood completely still, facing each other, holding their perspective weapons at the ready.
Acki nodded at Mike. You gonna get that?
With a grunt Mike backed up to the counter, keeping his gaze and his wand zeroed in on Acki. It might be Teresa. Or even Brendi. He picked up the receiver. "What?"
"Mike?" It was Dags. "You sound tense. Look, Teresa said you guys were coming up here for drinks." Dags worked as the bartender at the The Livery Bar and Restaurant.
"Yeah. Seven-thirty. Um, I'm a bit busy right now, so if you don't mind–"
"Sorry, sorry," Dags' voice was deep and full of mirth. "I've got some information on that butt-ugly doll in there. The Cozen? Do you know what that translates into?"
"No...Dags, this is not a good time. Tell me when I get there."
"Sure. But listen...I'm not sure what's going on, but Teresa said she had some heavy stuff to lay on you. As a friend, I'm suggesting you hear her out first, before jumping to any conclusions."
Mike sighed. Yeah. Right. Too late.
Acki snickered. Just sit there and let her tell you she's taking your kid away? Oh yeah. Big help that freako is.
"Will you shut up?" Mike hissed.
"What?" Dags' voice dropped a note.
"Not you." Mike looked at the ceiling in frustration. "Look, I'll see you in a little bit, okay?"
"Sure. Right. But that doll, you're not going to believe what it does."
"Oh yes I do."
"Mike, Cozen means–"
Mike hung the phone up. "Now, about that kiss."
Take me with you.
Mike lowered his wand hand. "What?"
Acki dropped his wand as well. It clattered on the wood shelf. Take me with you. That way I can grant your wish and everything will be–
Mike waved his hands in the air, the wand catching the light of the overhead fluorescents. "Oh, so you want me to take you with me so you can make me kiss you in the middle of a crowded restaurant? "
Sure. Stow me in your backpack.
Mike crossed his arms over his chest. "No."
Yes.
"No."
Yes.
"No."
Acki stood straight up. Fine. You'll loose Brendi without my help. They'll move to California, or worse, Canada. She'll learn to be French Canadian, she'll never speak English to you and you'll...ack!
Mike grabbed the doll in midsentence, bent beneath the counter and stuffed it in his brown canvas backpack. The decision came fast. Mike would do anything to keep Brendi here with him. Short of murder. He'd even kiss a butt-ugly doll in a crowded restaurant full of Roswell's richest patrons if it meant he could raise his daughter.
He never did find those divorce papers.
#
The Livery's piano loft was a small room, half the length and width of the restaurant that was once home to a funeral parlor at the turn of the century. On white painted brick walls hung a myriad of historical photographs of the town in frames dating back a hundred years. Opposite a five by five balcony overlooking the dinning room sat a small fireplace with a copper hood and wood mantel. By the top stair was a black shiny baby-grand piano. The bar sat in majestic grandeur along the back wall, a masterpiece of wood and brass.
Teresa wasn't there yet so Mike made his way around the scattering of postage-sized tables, each decorated with tiny flickering candles. At the bar he found several empty stools. It was still early and there were few patrons seated by the fireplace and a couple at the bar. "Evening Dags. Sorry I hung up on you like that. I had a...situation developing."
Dags gave Mike what the customers at the Crystal shop called his trademark 'dazzling smile,' then followed it with a smirk and a sharp arched eyebrow. The two had met several months after Dags started at the Livery Bar and Restaurant. Mike and Teresa had had a pretty bad fight. The bar
had been about to close, but Mike had insisted he needed a drink, and Dags had been there, plying him with Irish Coffee and an ear to listen.
Dags was a young man in his late twenties with waist length dark hair pulled back in a neat ponytail. He was small compared to Mike's six-foot frame. Dressed in a crisp white shirt and black bow-tie, he held Mike in his dark gaze and put his hands palm down on the bar. "What will you have, Mike. The usual?"
Not in the mood for Dewers and water, Mike shook his head. "How about wine tonight. Your choice. I see you've shaved the mustache and goatee."
Dags nodded as he grabbed a glass from the rack of sparkling polished wine glasses above them. "Yeah. When one of the patron's daughters said I looked like Satan last night, I knew it had to go." He poured a glass of deep red wine and set it in front of Mike. "I'm buying if things go crappy. Got the tennis shoes warm to walk you home."
Mike sipped the wine, a fruity brand that sat uncomfortably on his stomach as he eyed Dags and set the glass on the bar. If Teresa said no to giving him custody, or even mentioned leaving the state, Mike was sure he'd split a synapse. Perhaps even two. And he wasn't sure the bartender would be prepared for that. "Do you know what she wants to talk about?"
"Dunno. But take my advice. Listen to her first. Don't jump to conclusions, okay? You're good at that."
Mike set the backpack on the floor beside his stool, leaned his elbows on the polyurethane wood surface. "I think she's going to tell me she's taking Brendi far away. Like to Canada or something."
Dags' eyes widened. "Why do you think that?"
"I...I just do." He glanced down at the backpack.
"What if it's not? Then you'll have gotten yourself all worked up over nothing."
Mike sipped his wine, averted his gaze from Dags. The backpack tapped the toe of his loafers. Should he tell Dags about the doll? Yeah. Right. And have his closest friend laugh him right out of the restaurant.
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