by Elise Sax
I leaned over her shoulder. Rockwell was lying on the floor in a fetal position. His suitcase was in the doorway. It looked like Rockwell had returned early.
“Oh my God, I killed the man I love,” Matilda cried.
“He’s not dead. You just stunned him a little. I’ve done it a million times. He’ll forgive you. Spencer’s always forgiven me.”
“Are you sure he’s alive?”
Rockwell clutched at his stomach and moaned.
“See? Alive,” I said, pointing at him. “In these cases, I like to say it’s not my fault. We should blame someone else.”
But Matilda was more honest than I was. She fessed up immediately. “I’m so sorry, sweetie. I thought someone was breaking in. I didn’t know it was you. You came home early. Not that I’m upset that you came home early. I’m so happy you came home early. Early is good. Early is really good. I’m so glad you’re home.”
I put my hand on Matilda’s shoulder. “I think he gets it. You’re happy he’s home.”
We helped Rockwell up and sat him down on the couch. “Why is it dark in here?” he asked after a while, when he could breathe again. “Am I blind? Did I go blind?”
Matilda and I exchanged a look, and I knew right there and then that she was going to tell him everything. She was going to tell him that the lights were off so we could spy better. She was going to tell him about Fanta and Chris. Stupid woman. She didn’t know a thing about the importance of lying and keeping secrets. Sure, she had tried, but she was a real amateur.
So, she told him everything. About watching Fanta and her husband. About Fanta killing her husband, and about metal boxes and the dolly.
Rockwell was quiet for a long time, as he took in all of the new information. Then, he shook his head, sadly, as if he was upset about the sad state of affairs in politics today.
“Not this, again,” he moaned.
“What do you mean?” I asked. “Has Fanta killed before?”
“No, of course she hasn’t. Nobody’s been murdered. This is just Matilda’s newest thing. I don’t know why she’s had all of these troubles. But she obviously needs help. Matilda, I’ve been begging you for a long time that you need professional help, and now it’s urgent. Please say you’ll get help.”
This was a new one for me. I was used to Spencer being angry and upset at me, but he always believed me. Even if he thought I would be better off taking antipsychotic medications and making a visit to the rubber room, he never once mentioned it.
But there was no anger in Rockwell. He wasn’t yelling or getting upset. He was sad. Sad that the woman he loved had gone off the deep end. I felt like I needed to come to her defense and help him out at the same time.
“There really is something suspicious going on over there,” I told him.
“Did you actually see something?” He asked me.
“There are boxes. And the shades are drawn.” I realized immediately how stupid I sounded. Boxes? The shades are drawn? That wasn’t very suspicious. Was Rockwell right about Matilda, and had I gotten sucked into her delusions?
“Please, Rockwell. Go check. If I’m wrong, then I’ll go see whoever you want. Promise,” Matilda urged him. Rockwell gave her a sweet kiss on her lips.
“I love you, Matilda,” he said. “Okay. I’ll check for you. I’ll go to Fanta’s and find out what happened to Chris. I’ll get to the bottom of this.”
We watched the window, waiting for Rockwell’s entrance into Fanta’s apartment. We saw Fanta walk out of the living room, but we couldn’t see the actual conversation between her and Rockwell since the hallway and the front door were out of our line of sight.
“This is frustrating,” I noted.
“Rockwell will get to the bottom of it,” Matilda said. “He’s very good with people and knows what questions to ask.”
About fifteen minutes later, Rockwell returned. He sat down on the couch next to Matilda and took her hands in his.
“Matilda, Chris is fine. He’s at his mother’s house in Phoenix. Fanta even let me talk to him on the phone.”
“But…” Matilda started.
“What about the boxes?” I asked.
“Books. She’s donating them to the library.”
“Are you sure it was really Chris on the phone?” Matilda asked.
“Yes. I recognized his voice, and frankly, why would he lie? Now, my sweet dear, will you get the help you need?”
A tear ran down Matilda’s cheek. “Yes. I’ll go to anyone you say. I’ll be the best patient, ever. I promise.”
Rockwell turned to me. “Matilda always tries her best at everything. Whatever she takes up, she works the hardest at it. I know she’ll get better soon and come back to me.”
They held each other in a loving embrace, and I realized that it was my time to leave and give them some privacy. By the time I got home, I was completely exhausted. I checked on my grandmother, and she was sleeping soundly in her bed. Spencer was in our bed in a deep sleep, snoring softly. He had fallen asleep with the TV on. I turned it off, went to pee, and dropped into bed with my clothes on. I was asleep the second my head hit the pillow.
The next morning, I woke up to my grandmother sitting on the bed and nudging my shoulder. “How’d it go with Matilda?” Grandma asked.
“They looked really happy to me, Grandma. In love. But Matilda is going to get some therapy. That’s probably what you felt. She turns on the oven and forgets about it,” I explained.
My grandmother nodded, but she didn’t look entirely convinced. “I think my third eye is on the fritz. I’m getting all kinds of weird signals today. I can’t make heads or tails of them. Like, I keep seeing you in the army. You’re not planning on joining the army, are you?”
“No, the army makes you get up too early in the morning. Speaking of that, what time is it?”
“Early. Six-thirty. The mayor’s downstairs talking to Spencer. Something about the dictator. Actually, now I understand about the army thing. I’ll go down and make coffee while you talk to them.”
“They want to talk to me?” I asked, but my grandmother had already left the room and was heading downstairs.
I hadn’t gotten much sleep, and I felt like hell. Today I was supposed to be the best man at Fred’s wedding and I was going to be puffy. Just my luck.
I found Spencer and the mayor standing in the entranceway. Spencer was barefoot, wearing sweatpants and no shirt. His hands were on his hips and his head was cocked to the side, as if he was trying to make out what the moron mayor was trying to say.
The mayor, on the other hand, was wearing a dapper suit. He smiled when he saw me and greeted me with a bear hug.
“Oops,” he said, pushing me away. “I didn’t mean to hug you. Me, too. Me, too. Right? Me, too. Anyway, I’m so glad you’re here and looking great, Gladie. You know, today’s Founders Day.”
“It’s July Fourth,” I said.
“And Founders Day. You know how important Founders Day is, right?”
“Do you mind if we move this into the kitchen, Mayor? My grandmother’s making coffee, and I probably need some before I hear about Founders Day.”
“Coffee sounds great. You know, our founders loved coffee.”
Grandma was toasting bagels in the kitchen. I poured myself a cup of coffee and opened the refrigerator to take out the milk.
“The founders weren’t too crazy about milk, though,” the mayor said. “Just coffee. But even though it’s Founders Day and I’m the most patriotic Cannes citizen, I think that I’ll take a little milk in my coffee this morning, Gladie.”
I didn’t point out that the founders didn’t have running water, either.
The mayor sat down at the table and waited to be served. I rolled my eyes and poured another cup of coffee and handed it to him with the carton of milk. I helped Grandma with the bagels and took a seat, too. Spencer was leaning up against the wall with his arms crossed. It was hard to focus when Spencer wasn’t wearing a shirt. I would’ve thought I
would’ve gotten used to it by now, but there was something about his barrel chest and washboard abs that prevented me from focusing on pretty much anything except for him.
“As you know, miners founded our beautiful town,” the mayor said and took a sip of his coffee. “They were rough and ready and preferred dungarees over slacks. You know, I don’t like dungarees. I think that you should make an effort to look your best. I don’t know why young people continue to wear dungarees.”
“That’s very interesting, Mayor,” my grandmother said. “Now as you were saying about Founders Day?”
I took a bite of my bagel and washed it down with some coffee.
“Yes, yes, Zelda,” he said. “You’re right. Time is of the essence. It’s going to be a big day, and we need to get right down to it. As I was saying, the founders of our town were miners. As you know, they discovered gold in the mine in town, which has been closed for over one hundred years. You can see the outside of it, but the liability insurance was way too much for us to allow tourists to go inside. Anywho, the miners found their gold and made their money, some of which went to build this house. Isn’t that right, Zelda?”
Zelda nodded with her mouth full.
“Then the gold died down, and it was like that show, The Lottery Ruined My Life. Lots of drama. But I guess we could talk about that another day. Anyway, there’s a lot to be thankful for on our Founders Day, especially because it comes on the Fourth of July. Not only are we patriotic townspeople, but we’re also patriotic Americans. You could say that today is the holiest of holy days.”
“Hallelujah,” Spencer said.
The mayor leaned forward. “Between you and me, I think that the Founders Day - July Fourth combination rivals Christmas and Easter for its holiness.”
“I do like a picnic,” my grandmother said. “I haven’t been to one in years. I’m looking forward to today.”
“It’s going to be a humdinger, Zelda,” the mayor said, excitedly. “A humdinger. I mean, if Gladie does what she’s supposed to do.”
I put my coffee cup down, and my head shot up. “What am I supposed to do?”
Since I had moved to Cannes, I was always supposed to be doing one thing or another. Usually, I either forgot about doing it or made a mess of it. I was terrible about responsibilities.
“Well, that’s what I was talking to the Chief about,” the mayor answered. “Last night I made a deal with the maniac dictator. You know, my spies had informed me that he was planning to desecrate our wonderful celebrations today. Desecrate, Gladie. Desecrate, Zelda. Desecrate. Can you imagine?”
If I had known what the word desecrate meant, I would’ve probably been able to imagine it, but it was way too early in the morning to learn new vocabulary words, and I was only half through with my cup of coffee.
“He won’t do anything,” Spencer said. “I’ll make sure of that. Founders Day and July Fourth will go off without a hitch.”
As he finished speaking, Spencer shot me a look. I knew what it meant. Nothing in Cannes went without a hitch, no matter how good Spencer was as a police chief.
“I appreciate law enforcement’s cooperation, as usual,” the mayor said. “But I’d like to hedge my bets. The maniac has agreed to a sit-down between the offending donkey stealers and himself. Zelda, you make the best coffee in town. Do you have any whole wheat toast? My doctor wants me to consume more whole grains. You know, whole grains prevent rectal cancer. I don’t want rectal cancer. I like my rectum exactly how it is. I would hate for it to be abused.”
Spencer thought that the mayor was an idiot. He pulled me out of the kitchen and told me that no good would come from us sitting down and talking to the maniac. But the mayor explained that the maniac dictator was going to drop all charges against Lucy, Bridget, and me, and that sounded great to me. I didn’t mind talking to a crazy man if it meant that I wasn’t going to have to share a communal toilet in jail.
That’s how I wound up in the land of Fussia with my two best friends, my fiancé, and the mayor.
Spencer and I waited for Bridget and Lucy out front by the razor wire fence. Bridget had her baby strapped to her chest with a Scandinavian device that was supposed to aid in bonding. Lucy was wearing a peach-colored dress that went just below her knees and showed a little bit of cleavage.
“Harry said that he could finish this with two phone calls and a box of Cuban cigars, but I decided to go the civilized route,” Lucy told me before we walked in. “But if this goes south, I’ll give him a call, and he’ll clear this up. Even if it’s a little messy.”
The maniac dictator came out and unlocked the gate. “Welcome to Fussia,” he announced. “I will dispense with the usual necessary paperwork and the six-hundred-dollar visitor tax, because this is an international state diplomatic trip. But please note my exceptional generosity in this manner.”
It was seven in the morning, but it was already hotter than hell. I didn’t know how the maniac managed in his thick, wool uniform, laden with phony metals and ribbons, epaulets, and cap. But he was wearing it, despite sweating like crazy.
I was comfortable in my shorts and tank top. Fred and Julie were having a very casual wedding later, and I planned on wearing a light skirt and a no-sleeve frilly top. Even though it was going to be hot, there would be a nice breeze off of the lake, and I was actually looking forward to the afternoon. Now, I was being promised that the threat of prison was going to be off of me. So the day was looking pretty good, as far as I was concerned.
The maniac dictator had prepared for our visit. At the far side of the room was a large desk and a throne. Folding chairs, enough for all of us, were organized around the desk.
“Welcome to Fussia,” he said. “Please look at some of the other notable personalities that have come to greet me and share diplomatic ties with me.”
He passed around a series of highly Photoshopped photos. There was one of him with the Queen of England, another with Ronald Reagan, and two with Kanye West.
“Our plans for the post office are coming right along,” he continued.
“We’ll see about that,” the mayor mumbled under his breath.
“And the bank,” the maniac continued. “We have a lot of interest in our bank from a very nice family in Uzbekistan.”
“Jesus, you can’t make this shit up,” Spencer whispered to me.
“This is a wonderful lesson for Jonathan about the decline and fall of democracy,” Bridget said, happily.
“I’ve got Harry on speed dial,” Lucy announced.
“You’re dropping the charges, right?” I asked, proud of myself to stay on the subject.
“Yes,” the maniac dictator said, surprising me. This was great news. I had been sure that there was going to be some kind of hitch and I was going to be tossed in jail or sent to Siberia or worse. “I have agreed with your mayor to drop all charges when Gladys Burger accepts her role as a member of my Cabinet.”
“What did he say?” Spencer asked me.
“I think he wants me to do something in his kitchen,” I said.
“Oh, darlin’, I don’t think it’s that kind of cabinet,” Lucy said.
The maniac dictator stood and walked to a utility closet, where he pulled out another wool uniform. This one looked a lot like his, but it didn’t have metals or ribbons on it.
“My cabinet member. Congratulations, Gladys Burger. You’ve been named Minister of the Coin and my closest and only cabinet member.”
“Are you kidding me?” Spencer said.
In the end, it was Spencer who convinced me to take the deal. It turned out that my term would only last for three days, during which I would go around town and sing the praises of the country of Fussia and hand out special coins with the maniac dictator’s face on it.
“But I don’t look good in green,” I whined.
“It’s three days, Pinky, and then you’re in the clear.”
“I don’t think it’s good for Jonathan to have a mother in prison,” Bridget said. “Bes
ides, there’re far too few women in government. You would be a change for the positive. You could be the Hillary we never had.”
Peer pressure. It’s a bitch.
CHAPTER 11
Sometimes you get all the green lights. Sometimes you get all the red lights. Don’t read too much into it, bubbeleh.
Lesson 135, Matchmaking advice from your
Grandma Zelda
I was going to die. I was going to melt. I was going to ignite into flames. They were going to find a hot gelatinous mound, and it was going to be me.
I was going to be a hot gelatinous mound.
The uniform was worse than I thought. Not only was it heavy and hotter than hell, but it itched, too. And the cap was doing terrible things to my hair. And forget about the color. I looked like I was a corpse in the green.
“I’m going to be in Fred and Julie’s wedding photos forever looking like this,” I moaned, putting on the uniform in my bedroom about an hour after we left the meeting with the maniac dictator.
“The photos aren’t going to come out, dolly,” my grandmother told me, helping me put the uniform on. “Fred’s cousin is going to take the pictures, but he’s terrible with technology.”
At least there was that. There would be no evidence. But I was still going to have to be seen by everyone in town dressed as a mini-me dictator. First, they saw me naked, and now they were going to see me like this. I didn’t know which was worse.
I walked downstairs. Spencer was leaving for work. He was organizing the security for the day’s events. I was going to the lake early, in order to help Ruth set up for the wedding. She wanted to get a good spot, but the lake was going to be packed with picnickers. In order to stake out a good vantage point for the fireworks, they had to get there early. Ruth was determined to get a prime spot by the shore, big enough for the entire wedding party.
“I used to think that I was attracted to women in uniform,” Spencer said as he was about to leave the house. “But I might’ve been too hasty in that assessment.”
“Thanks a lot. How are you going to explain this to your parents? Your mother’s going to freak. Anybody’s mother would freak. I’m going to freak.”
