by Tamar Myers
“You had just said something ridiculously untrue.”
“To the contrary, Ms. Yoder. My security guards are top notch, trained with the best—Israeli profiling methods, in fact. I’m afraid you have no case.”
“Case, shmase,” I said. “That’s not why I’m here. I’m here to help you discover the identity of those three men, and in order to do that, I need to review the security tape.”
“Uh—I’m afraid that’s impossible, Miss Yoder.”
“Why?”
“Well, uh—security reasons—yes, that’s it.”
“What? That doesn’t make a lick of sense.”
“Really, Miss Yoder, I’m not at liberty to talk about this further. But my final answer is no. N-O, no.”
I am a modest, God- fearing Mennonite woman, but it has recently occurred to me that the Good Lord in His wisdom had a plan when He created women with external mammary glands that are visible—and generally pleasing to the eye—the year around. We are, in fact, the only species of animal in which this phenomenon is found naturally. Even the cow has to be “freshened” (give birth) in order to have her nice, full udder. (Think about it: you don’t see virgin cats and dogs walking around with boobies, now do you?) My conclusion therefore is that human breasts were meant to be alluring, a definite asset in attracting a mate.
But since they didn’t come with owners’ manuals, one might be given a little latitude when it comes to using them, especially if the end justifies the means. That said, I undid the button at my throat—okay, I undid the next button as well. Even then one still couldn’t see the twin sisters, but my collar slumped a bit, causing a crease to form across the curvature of the left sister and drawing attention to its comely, although well-covered shape. One could argue that the effect was akin to showing an ankle back in “the day,” and that effect, I’m told, was exceedingly strong.
At any rate, desperate is as desperate does, so I waggled my bosoms at Pernicious Yoder III. Of course my sturdy Christian underwear prevented me from performing a truly Democratic liberal waggle; what transpired was more like a Republican joust.
“What’s wrong, Miss Yoder? Are you having a back spasm?”
This time I tried a provocative thrust of my bosom.
“Heart attack? I don’t know CPR, but I can get Ken from accounting.”
“Isn’t he the one who made it into the Guinness Book of World Records for having the most cold sores at one time?”
“No, it turns out that Guinness wasn’t willing to create that category.”
I buttoned my blouse all the way. “I have a right to see that tape since I’m on it.”
“Get out of my office, you tramp! Get out now, or this tape”—he pointed to the camera behind my head—“is going to be on the six o’clock news.”
4
Of course I hied my hinnie from the bank, but not without first making a couple of detours. Tramps are, after all, noted for their restless, wandering natures.
“Psst, Amy—over here. Behind the sickly ficus tree.”
She paid no attention to me.
I hefted the tree. It wasn’t sick at all; it was merely a very poorly made replica. Since there were still no customers to be seen, I picked up the faux ficus and walked it within whispering distance of the teller’s counter.
“Psst, Amy, it’s a miracle. Behold, thy tree speaketh.”
At least she had wit enough to giggle. “Miss Yoder, you’re going to get me into big trouble.”
“I’m not here, Amy. And if you get called on the carpet for speaking to a tree, then sue the bank for discrimination.”
“Just so you know, I’m not allowed to talk about the robbery.”
“Why, shiver me timbers! I haven’t even mentioned that. Who put you up to this?”
The poor girl glanced furtively around. “No one put me up to this—it’s just ever since the robbery, I’ve been under investigation, and I’m not allowed to talk about it. That’s all.”
“Who exactly gave that order? The police? The FBI?”
If I hadn’t been watching Amy’s face closely through the fake-ficus foliage, I would have missed the twitch in her left eyebrow that was just as informative, to anyone who knew her, as a red-lettered campaign poster.
“Your boss?” I mouthed silently.
“Bingo,” she answered.
Then again, if Amy was any less skilled in the silent-clue department than I, she might have thought I was asking if Kate Moss was the one giving orders. In that case, she might have decided to give me a nonsensical answer, such as the name of an Australian wild dog. Before I could retest her, one of the security guards approached.
“What’s going on?” he said.
“Nothing,” Amy said. It was a wise answer, one used by millions of teenagers every day. To be sure, some of them get away with it, so why not Amy?
“What’s this tree doing so close to the counter?” he said.
“Uh—well, sir, since I’m stuck inside all day, I kinda miss greenery, but when I look at this tree—even if it is fake—I feel better.”
“That ain’t a good excuse to be moving things around. Someone with bad intentions could sneak right up on you, and you wouldn’t see them coming. On account of that, this here tree is what we call an ‘unsafe situation.’ ”
“Yes, sir.”
“Now I’m going to move this tree back to the corner where it belongs, but before I do, I want you to tell me what I just said. What kind of situation do we call this?”
“An ‘unsafe situation,’ ” Amy said in a loud parrotlike voice.
“Good. Now let’s not let it happen again.”
“No, sir—I mean, yes, sir. Whatever, sir.”
As the guard picked up the tree, I jumped up and put my weight on the pot. I only did so because I didn’t know how fast he’d walk, and I didn’t want him to bowl me over with the canopy of cheap silk and badly formed leaves.
“Ugh,” he grunted, “this thing weighs a ton.”
“How rude!” I thought. Of course I said nothing.
“You know,” he said, obviously to himself, “this thing stinks. I really ought to take this piece of crap outside and give it a good hosing off.”
Believe me, it wasn’t the cheap tree that reeked, or even my purse; it was Johnny, the guard. I could see his name tag through the branches, all three of his chins, and the dark brown, almost black, ring around his collar. Both Johnny Ashton and his clothes needed a bath something awful.
Sometimes my mouth gets ahead of my brain. “Johnny, dear,” I heard myself say, “a good scrub in a tub wouldn’t hurt you either.”
“Ma! Ma, is that you?”
What in tarnation? Could this man possibly be more simple-minded than me? I’ve been known to hear the Good Lord’s voice emanating from all manner of objects, and I once mistook my sister for an angel, but this poor soul appeared to think that his mother’s voice was coming from a tree—really not much more than a large bush—with a middle-aged Mennonite woman clinging to one side of it.
“Yes, dear, it’s me,” I cooed, trying my best to throw my voice, although I knew darn well that ventriloquists don’t actually throw them, since voices aren’t objects one can physically grasp. Instead, it’s all about illusion, and focusing the attention on the dummy’s lips. In this case Johnny was the dummy.
“Oh, Johnny, you have a cold sore,” I said.
“I do?”
“I know you can’t see it, but your ouchy-ouch must really hurt.”
There isn’t a man alive who doesn’t like to have his ouchyouches and boo-boos validated by a sympathetic woman. It doesn’t even matter if he has them or not; he can always store up the sympathy for a later date, because he can never have enough sympathy.
Johnny traced his lips with his middle and ring fingers and then halfway around his mouth seemed to find a tender spot. “Yeah, it hurts like the dickens, but what can I do? I gotta come in to work, so I got no choice but to suck it up.”
&nb
sp; “That’s my John-boy!”
“Ma! I hate it when you call me that.”
“You do? I’m sorry, son. I forgot—you know with the excitement of seeing you again.”
“Ma, how come I can’t see you?”
“Now, think about that; where am I?” Oops, that was indeed a stupid question to have asked. Even George Bush might have thought to walk around my bush and would thus have exposed me.
“You’re in Heaven, Ma, aren’t ya?”
“Why, indeed, I am. Which is why you should be keeping your eyes on the ceiling, Johnny, because Heaven is up—unless, of course you live in New Zealand or Australia.”
“How come Heaven ain’t up for them as well, Mama?”
“Oh, my sweet son, where did I go wrong? Did I fail to send you to Sunday school?”
“No, ma’am, you sent me every Sunday—even when I was sicker than a dog.”
“Well, then, we know that Heaven is not above Sydney or Melbourne, because when the world ends, Jesus will come floating down to earth on a big white cloud that will be seen by Christians all over North America, but due to the curvature of the earth, the poor folks in the antipodes will not be able to see the cloud. That’s how we can deduce that Heaven is not located above them.”
“Ma, you always did talk so fancy. Can you see angels?”
“I most certainly can. In fact, I’m looking at one right now. She’s a very special angel who is allowed to come to earth on special assignments. In fact, she is going to pop into your bank at any moment and ask a very big favor of you.”
“But, Ma, I don’t want to birth no babies!”
“Hush up, John. Believe me, the last thing the Good Lord wants is for you to reproduce. My message to you today is that when that aforementioned angel—in the guise of a very comely woman—suddenly appears before you and asks you for that favor, you are to reply in the affirmative. Is that clear, Johnny? Answer me quickly, because my allotted time to speak to you is up and I must go.”
“But, Ma, if she looks like a woman, instead of an angel, how will I know if she’s the right one?”
“Because she’ll appear in the bush you’re clutching with both hands—as if it were a harbor buoy and you were a drowning man. Oh, oh, gotta go—good-bye, dear!”
For the first time Johnny Ashton began to see my bush and its many branches. At the same time I made a great show of shaking said bush and moaning, as if I had just fallen into it, before crashing out the other side. It was a pitiful performance, but by the same token, it was quite up to the performance level of my audience.
“Ah—unh—what a landing,” I groaned.
Young Amy raced to my side. “Are you all right? Let me help you up, Miss—Uh, what does one call an angel?”
“Your Flyness,” I said without missing a beat. I am, after all, known for being rather droll.
“Ma said you wouldn’t have any wings,” Johnny said, “but you really do look very humanlike. What do you eat?”
I pretended to recoil in horror. “Oh, Johnny, dear, what a horrible thought. We don’t eat! If we ate, then we’d have to eliminate. You wouldn’t want to have to imagine an angel on the potty now, would you?”
He blushed. “Sorry, ma’am. I ain’t such a good thinker.”
“That’s all right, dear. Did your ma tell you that I have a very special favor to ask and that you are obligated to say yes?”
He nodded vigorously. “Yes, Your Royal Flyness.”
“Good. I like your insertion of the word ‘Royal’ by the way. Now to the favor: I’ve come to get a copy of the security tape for the day the bank was robbed.”
“Which robbery would that be, Your Royal Flyness?”
“There’s been more than one?”
“Ma’am, Pennsylvania is the Keystone State, but when Mr. Yoder refers to us’ens as the Keystone Kops, I think he’s like making an illusion to something else.”
“Quite possibly so. Well, this would be the time, just a few months ago, when three Amish robbed it, and this pretty cashier here had a bullet graze her arm.”
“Oh, yeah, and there was an old lady and her grandson in here, and she like tripped and fell and nearly got them both killed on that account.”
“Listen, buster, in the first place she wasn’t old—” Oops, I had better watch my nonangelic mouth. “She was ancient, older than Methuselah. Oy, and such a klutz you never saw. Anyway, I’d like that tape, please.”
“Uh—I’m sorry, Your Royal Flyness. I know I promised Ma, and you oughtn’t to go back on your promises to the dead, but if I give you that tape, Mr. Yoder will kill me, and I’m not so sure I’m going to Heaven.”
“But that’s the easy part of being a Christian! We can all be assured of our salvation; all we need to do is to confess our sins and believe that Jesus is our Lord.”
“No offense, ma’am, but you ain’t seen my lists of sins. Besides, what you just said don’t seem very fair to me. Ain’t that an invitation for someone like me to go out and do all manner of sinning, and when they figure they’ve had enough under their belt, then come to Jesus? Meanwhile the poor fool who turns to Jesus right away has to miss out on all the fun.”
“Yes, but what if you got hit by a truck in the first five minutes of living your sinful life?”
“I’ll take my chances.” He gave me a manure-shoveling grin. “You know, you’re kind of pretty for an angel. You allowed going out on dates?”
“Verily methinks I desire naught but to retch.”
“Ma’am, I don’t speak that Bible talk, so you’re going to have to give it to me straight.”
“Give me the robbery tape and we’ll see.”
“I can’t.”
“Johnny, I didn’t want it to have to come to this, but it looks like I’m going to have to tell Ma.”
“I’m sorry, pretty angel, but I’m a man of my word, and you see this really big guy came in and made me and Mr. Yoder swear that we wouldn’t show nobody nothing, and besides, I ain’t in charge of the tapes.”
“Who changes them out?”
“I do, but I hand them all over to Mr. Yoder.”
“What’s this really big guy’s name?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“In that case I’m calling your ma right now.” I inhaled deeply, to get a lot of calling power, but unfortunately inhaled a lot of dust as well. “Mrs. Ash-choo! Achoo! Achoo!”
My sneezes always come in threes, but the third one in this case was particularly hard—hard enough to knock me out of the bush and onto the cold marble floor. I wasn’t seriously hurt, but my jig was up.
“You ain’t no angel,” Johnny roared.
“Johnny, angel,” I said repeatedly as I scrambled to my feet. Perhaps if I set the words to music I’d have the beginning of a hit rock-and-roll song.
“Get out now, before I call the police!”
I got. In more ways than one. As I hobbled through the rest of the lobby and out the foyer, I stuffed my purse with all manner of free brochures. I know, that was childish of me, and it was a very nongreen way of getting back at Mr. Yoder, and it certainly did nothing to retaliate against Johnny Ashton or the “really big guy,” but it obviously served a need in me at the time.
What’s more, after my fiasco of a visit to the bank, I began to truly let go and heal. Oh, what a blessing that was. Every morning I woke up with a smile on my face, and if there wasn’t already one on it, in fifteen minutes or less, the Babester could put one on that would last all day. Folks actually began to call me cheerful—and mean it!
But all that began to change the week that the three couples from New Jersey came to stay as guests of the inn. Need I say more?
5
Sea Turtles
Ingredients
12 ounces dry-roasted and salted macadamia nuts
1 cup flaked sweetened coconut
½ cup (1 stick) butter
1 cup brown sugar, packed
½ cup light corn syrup
1 cup
sweetened condensed milk
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
12 ounces bittersweet chocolate, coarsely chopped
sea salt, to taste
Cooking Directions
Preheat oven to 400°F. Line 2 baking sheets with parchment paper. Place macadamia nuts in 36 clusters of 4 to 7 nuts each, 2 inches apart; set aside.
Toast coconut in oven for about 5 minutes or until lightly browned. Pulse in food processor or chop into shorter strands.
Butter the inside of a heavy 3-quart saucepan. Melt ½ cup butter over low heat. Add sugar, corn syrup, and sweetened condensed milk; mix well. Increase heat to medium-high and bring mixture to a boil, stirring frequently. Reduce heat to medium and continue to boil, stirring frequently until mixture reaches 244°F on a candy thermometer.
Remove saucepan from heat, stir in vanilla and coconut. Cool slightly; spoon a tablespoon of coconut caramel over each nut cluster; cool completely.
Place chocolate in a microwave-safe dish. Microwave 30 seconds on high, stir and continue to microwave in 10- to 20-second intervals, stirring after each. Chocolate should be smooth, but not warm. Dip tops of caramel-nut clusters in chocolate and sprinkle with sea salt. Place in refrigerator to set chocolate. Store in an airtight container at room temperature, separating layers with wax paper for up to 1 week.
Tip: To prevent the formation of sugar crystals in the caramel, wash down the sides of the pan using a pastry brush dipped in water.
Courtesy http://www.eatwisconsincheese.com/
6
The three couples from the Garden State arrived together, but in separate cars, driving caravan style. I happened to be in the dining room at the time, which has a good view of the driveway, but I didn’t hear them until several of the doors slammed and the last of the folks had already piled out. By then it was already too late to see who had traveled in which car.
They say that couples grow to resemble each other over the years. I don’t know if that’s true or not, but for what it’s worth, Gabe still had his hair, teeth, and just one chin, and folks often said that we made a good couple. But the couples that spilled out of the expensive Jersey vehicles were an odd mix of shapes, sizes and ages, none of which seemed to go together.
