You Can Lead a Horse to Water (But You Can't Make It Scuba Dive)

by Robert Bruce Cormack

  “Nobody’s trying to kill you, Otis.”

  “Starve me, then poison me. There’s only so much a man can take, woman.”

  “His eyes are rolling back again.”

  “What the hell do you expect? That big ape poisoned me!”

  “Nobody poisoned you, old man. You ate too many brownies, that’s all.”

  “Get my gun, Max. I’m gonna shoot that big ape.”

  “You don’t have a gun, Otis.”

  “I used to have a gun.”

  “You traded it for some Isaac Hayes.”

  “Dammit to hell.”

  We take Otis through the kitchen and out to the car. He tries to grab a brownie on the way out.

  Chapter 11

  They pumped Otis’s stomach last night. His sugar levels were through the roof. It’s a wonder he’s still alive, considering he’s overweight, undernourished and, for the most part, an asshole. He got delirious at one point, talking about the injustices of the public school system, then the benefits of neutering squirrels. They gave him a sedative and he drifted off. Ruby stuck around in case he woke up and started abusing the staff. Max went back to the house to do Otis’s show. Muller and I went straight to bed as soon as we got home.

  This morning, Mary wakes me up, telling me it’s after ten. The sun is shining, sprinklers are going, the old man falls off his bike.

  “Where’s Judy and Muller?” I ask her.

  “In the back yard. Muller’s doing jumping jacks.”

  Out the kitchen window, Muller’s in an old track suit, hands going up and down, Judy watching from a lawn chair. Meek and Beek flap around their cage on the back porch. From the computer, I can hear Max say, “That was Sam Cooke singing ‘You Send Me.’ We’ll be working our way to number one, so stick around. This is all music, all the time, straight from The Rec Room of Sound.”

  Max is working two old turntables. Behind him, there’s a couch stacked with laundry.

  “Muller put it on earlier,” Mary says. “I like the songs.”

  “The Rec Room of Sound?”

  “Max is pretty good, Sam. Ruby’s around somewhere.”

  Max shifts around in Otis’s chair. “I’m gonna leave you for a minute, folks,” Max says. “Ruby’s filling in while I’m gone. She’s in between loads of laundry, anyway.”

  Ruby appears with a cigarette in the corner of her mouth. “Hi, folks,” she says. “Max is getting Otis some Epsom salts. He was in the hospital last night, but he’s making a speedy recovery. He’ll be back with you as soon as he takes a bath. Meanwhile, I’ve got a few of my favorites I’d like to play. Just before I do that, if any of you need some painting done, I’m a good hand with a brush and roller. So’s Max. We’re trying to get our painting business going, so give us a call or e-mail us.” She holds up a card with the phone number and email address. “Now I’ll play you something I found in my collection upstairs. It’s not R&B, but I think you’ll like it just the same. You all know Bruce Springsteen from that ‘Born in the USA’ stuff, but Max’s dad and I used to slow mo’ to this one. It’s called, ‘Racing in the Streets,’ and it’s a real tear jerker.”

  The music starts, and Bruce is singing about his sixty-nine Chevy, a great car in its day, but it took me a long time to realize he was saying Fuelie heads, not furry heads. It made all those years of trying to sound like Springsteen in the shower seem ridiculous now.

  “Sam,” I hear Mary say. “Are you listening to me?”

  “What?”

  “I said, has Muller mentioned anything about having a baby?”

  “Not in any detail. Why?”

  “Judy’s worried he’s distracted.”

  “Maybe that’s a good thing.”

  “How’s that a good thing? Judy wants a baby, Sam.”

  “Muller’s not exactly baby-making material.”

  “Why?”

  “The man sleeps with an oxygen tank, Mary.”

  “He has sleep apnea. Besides, why would an oxygen tank interfere with having a baby?”

  “I’m just saying he’s a bit of a hypochondriac.”

  “He’s down on his luck, that’s all. Look at you, for God’s sake. You fall down in a supermarket at the drop of a hat.”

  “Maybe this isn’t the right time for a baby. Maybe he’ll be fine once they’re back to Seattle. Familiar surroundings, you know.”

  “Judy thinks it’s more than that. I want you to talk to him.”

  “I’ve tried talking to him. He keeps telling me about his stiffy.”

  “So?”

  “I don’t want to hear about his stiffy.”

  “Did he say anything else?”

  “He mentioned something about Judy being critical.”

  “Did you ever think he might be opening up to you?”

  “I don’t need to hear about his stiffies. He’ll be discussing positions next. I’m just trying to be a good father here, Mary.”

  “So what do you suggest?”

  “Maybe he should talk to Krupsky.”

  “Krupsky? I don’t understand him half the time.”

  “What do you want me to do?”

  “I want you to have a frank discussion with him, Sam. He respects you. Give him some pointers. Tell him how we had Judy.”

  “I don’t remember how we had Judy. Besides, if he can’t get a stiffy, what’s the point?”

  “That’s a terrible thing to say.”

  “Just an observation.”

  “Look, Sam, Judy wants to get pregnant, preferably before they leave.”

  “She’s got a schedule now? No wonder he can’t get it up. Why don’t you talk to him? You’re his mother-in-law. Don’t sons listen to their mothers more than their fathers?”

  “You’re evading, Sam.”

  “So I’m evading. Let nature take its course. If he gets it up, he gets it up. I can’t do anything about it.”

  “I think those panic attacks have diminished your compassion.”

  “I’ve got plenty of compassion.”

  Mary takes the laptop into the sunroom and turns up the volume.

  “That was ‘Racing in the Streets’, folks,” Ruby is saying. “Hope you didn’t mind me straying from Otis’s format. That song just turns me to jelly. Thanks, Bruce. You paint a good picture.”

  Fast cars and a girl waiting on the porch. I’ll bet Bruce never had a problem with stiffies.

  Chapter 12

  Muller’s cutting the grass while Judy meditates in the sunroom. I’m sitting at the computer watching Max and Ruby guide Otis into frame. He’s wearing suspenders over a tank top. Pieces of toilet paper hang from his ear. At least his eyes aren’t rolling around anymore.

  “I’d like to send this one out to all the girls—” Otis starts off and a hand smacks him across the head. “Ouch! Okay, women out there who have known some level of sadness in their lives. This is from the early days of Stax Records. It’s by Isaac Hayes and David Porter called, ‘When Something is Wrong with My Baby.’” The needle makes a popping noise. “I remember Sam and Dave singing this at the Lyceum,” he says. “Imagine those boys in their prime. They sure knew how to build up a sweat.” He sits back, closing his eyes.

  Ruby goes to the laundry room and turns on the washing machine. “Ruby, cut it out!” Otis yells. “I got laundry to do, Otis,” Ruby yells back. “Tell your listeners this is a working household. We got chores like everybody else.”

  She comes out and pulls a shirt over his head. The record pops and hisses to the end, then Otis goes straight into Little Milton’s, “Baby I Love You.” Ruby’s folding towels in the background. When the song ends, Otis cues up another. “Here’s one for Ruby,” he says, grabbing her by the hand. It’s The Stylistics and Ruby is noticeably touched but still tries squirming away.

  “Cut it out, Otis,” she says. “I’m try to fold here. Lay off.”

  “You’re my everything, Ruby,” he says.

  “Damn you, Otis.”

  They disappear out of fra
me, making enough racket to bring Max downstairs. “For crying out loud,” he says, as Ruby squeals and Otis bangs his head. Max steps over them and sits in Otis’s chair.

  “Pardon my folks,” Max says. “They’ve had some setbacks these past few months. I guess they’re ready to kiss and make up. I just wish they wouldn’t do it here.”

  Ruby lets out another squeal. Max quickly tilts the computer screen up showing the acoustical ceiling with watermarks.

  “I’m leaving if you’re going to do that,” Max says to them. “Seriously. I mean it, you guys. Knock it off.”

  “I want to make a request,” Otis calls out.

  “Make it a short one,” Ruby says. “I got a cake in the oven.”

  A shirt is flung through the air. “I just ironed that, Otis,” Ruby says.

  “That’s why I took it off.”

  “I’m out of here,” Max says.

  “Put Wee Willie Walker on the other turntable, Max.”

  “Put it on yourself, old man.”

  “I’m busy here.”

  Max goes back, finds Wee Willie Walker, and cues it up.

  Chapter 13

  I’m back at the agency, walking down the hall past Nick’s office. Dewey’s in there, talking away. Margot’s further down the corridor at the Xerox machine. I hear Frank on the phone in the distance telling some client to fuck off. Margot appears in my office with a photo of Joey, her Mynah bird. He’s in his yellow coffin, claws crossed. “He was the best friend I ever had, Sam,” she says and starts to cry.

  I wake up feeling terrible. I must have groaned because Mary tells me to go back to sleep. I close my eyes, but I keep thinking about Margot. The last time we were together, she said, “All I want to do now is Sudoku puzzles.” It’s her one true addiction. “Outside of my poor Joey,” she said. “Bless his little heart.”

  When I wake up again, it’s morning, and I hear Muller in the bathtub. Judy is in the sunroom with the paper on her lap. Meek and Beek jump around nibbling at each other. Mary must be downstairs trying to straighten the frame on Muller’s cot. As I walk by the computer, I see Max filling in for Otis again. “. . . and that was Little Johnnie Taylor with ‘Honey Lou’ . . .”

  “Hey, sweetie,” I say to Judy, kissing her on the forehead. “Do you know anything about Mynah birds?”

  “Why Mynah birds?”

  “Friend of mine lost hers a few years ago. We worked together for a long time. She was here at one of our Christmas parties. Do you remember Margot?”

  “Aunt Margot?”

  “That’s right, you used to call her Auntie Margot.”

  “You told me to call her Auntie Margot.”

  “I probably did.”

  “She brought me a book of puzzles. She still alive?”

  “We think so, sweetie. Hard to say. Thing is, Margot had her Mynah quite a few years—”

  “She never shut up about it.”

  “That’s true. People get like that sometimes. One day your mom and I will be eating through straws. Anyway, Auntie Margot is all alone now. I thought I’d buy her another Mynah.”

  “That’s sweet, Daddy. Love birds are nicer, though.”

  “I think Margot’s got a thing for Mynahs.”

  “Okay. Do you want me to go with you to the pet store?”

  “I’d like that. Where’s your mother?”

  “Downstairs changing Muller’s sheets.”

  “Why don’t you and I go to the store now? Give Mary and Muller a chance to bond.”

  “That would be great, Daddy.”

  “Could you get your love muffin out of the tub? Daddy wants to shave and brush his teeth.”

  “Sure.”

  She goes down the hall, knocking on the bathroom door. Muller comes out. “Washroom’s free, Daddy,” she calls out. Muller’s wet footprints are everywhere. I shave, brush my teeth, and step around Muller’s puddles. When I come out again, I find Mary in the kitchen. “I’m taking Judy to look for a Mynah bird,” I say.

  “Why does she need a Mynah bird?”

  “It’s not for her. I’m getting one for Margot. I had a dream about her last night. She lost Joey a few years ago.”

  “That’s a sweet gesture, Sam.”

  “You don’t mind me taking Judy, do you?”

  “Of course not. She’s your daughter, for God’s sake.”

  I hear Max on The Rec Room of Sound. He’s saying Otis is still in bed. “. . . I’ll be with you until he gets up. Here’s Percy Sledge’s ‘When a Man Loves a Woman,’ going out to my parents who kept me up half the night with their frickin’ noise. Thanks for that, folks.”

  Judy is giggling in the bedroom.

  “We won’t be long,” I say to Mary. “You’ll be okay here alone with the love muffin?” Mary swats me with a dishtowel. “Anything you need at the store?” I say.

  “Oh, walnuts. Muller says he’s going to reveal the special ingredients of those brownies of his. What’s wrong? You went all pale there for a second. You’re not having another panic attack, are you?”

  “No, no, I’m fine. You enjoy your day with Muller. Judy and I will get your walnuts.”

  Judy comes out with her arm around Muller’s waist. His hair is plastered across his forehead. “Ready, Daddy,” she says. “Muller and Mom are making soufflé.”

  “That’s nice, honey. Let’s go.”

  She gives Muller a big sloppy kiss. “Bye, Big Bear,” she says to him.

  “Off we go,” I say, pushing Judy out the door. “And, Muller,” I say. “Let’s not give away too many of your culinary secrets.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Mary says.

  “Just saying he shouldn’t give everything away. Every chef needs to leave a bit to the imagination.”

  “Do you know what he’s talking about?” Mary asks Muller.

  Muller just stands there like a dummy.

  “Honestly, Sam,” Mary says. “Go find your Mynah.”

  There’s still a milk stain around Muller’s crotch. You’d think Judy would notice these things. Maybe that’s what love’s all about, ignoring the obvious, tolerating the stupid. We’re blinded, we accept, we find lip-smacking and jaw-grinding cute and endearing.

  We’re all pretty sick when you think about it.

  Chapter 14

  “They’re highly imitative birds,” the pet store guy is saying. We’re in the back where parakeets carry on like a church social. An orange-billed black Mynah sits in a large cage. It walks back and forth, making a strange squawking sound. Then it rises up on it haunches and bobs. “Mynahs have very strong feet,” the guy says. They look like something you’d find on a trapeze artist.

  “What’s his name?” Judy asks.

  “Bisquick,” the guy says. “No idea why. He’s clever as hell, though. Ask him if he wants a sauna.”

  Judy goes close to the cage. “Do you want a sauna, Bisquick?” she asks. Bisquick squawks.

  “He can imitate sixteen consonants and four vowels,” the guy says.

  “Is that good?” I ask.

  “Better than some pet owners.” He opens the cage and Bisquick hops out on his arm. “They’re common as anything in Malaysia and India,” he says. “Not like the Bali Mynah. This is a Hill Mynah.” He strokes the bird’s chest. “Tell them you want a sauna,” he says.

  “Mango,” Bisquick replies.

  “You want a sauna first. Sau-u-una. Sauna.”

  “Sauna,” Bisquick says.

  Judy laughs and Bisquick jumps over on her shoulder. “You might want to be careful,” the guy says.

  “Why?” Judy says.

  “He’s got a bad habit. That’s why I’m not charging a lot. These birds can run up to twelve thousand dollars.”

  “What are you charging?” I ask.

  “One thousand.”

  “Why the discount?”

  Bisquick plunges his head down and goes for Judy’s right breast. “Nipple grabber,” the guys says.

  “Ouch,” Judy says
.

  “Can’t get him to stop.”

  “Auntie Margot isn’t going to like that.”

  “I might come down to eight hundred,” the guy says.

  “Fuck, suck, fuck,” Bisquick says.

  “Five hundred’s the best I can do.”

  “Are you sure Margot wants a Mynah that swears, Daddy?”

  “She’ll be fine, sweetie.”

  Margot swears worse than that on a good day, anyway.

  Chapter 15

  Margot lives in one of the older high-rises just off North Kingsbury. It was an exclusive area once, but now there’s a feeling of a bygone era. Coming off the elevator, I put Bisquick’s cage behind my back. Judy knocks on Margot’s door. There’s shuffling around inside, then Margot answers with her bifocals down her nose. Bisquick lets out a squawk.

  “What have you got there?” Margot says.

  “Ta da,” I say, pulling the cover off Bisquick’s cage.

  “Tatas, tits,” Bisquick squawks.

  Margot pushes up her bifocals and examines Bisquick. “That’s a mighty fine bird.”

  “Ask him if he wants a sauna,” I say.

  “Get in here before the neighbors start looking out their peepholes,” Margot says to us. “What’s the bird’s name?”

  “Bisquick,” Judy says.

  “This is my daughter, Margot. You remember Judy.”

  “Of course I remember Judy. I’m not senile. How are ya, Judy? You’ve grown up to be a fine looking young woman.”

  “I’m in my thirties.”

  “I’m in my sixties. Take the compliment.”

  Margot clears a space for the cage on the dining table. Every square inch is covered with newspapers and Sudoku puzzles. Out on the balcony, Margot has three plastic owls wired to the railing. She opens the cage door and Bisquick hops out. The place is adequate in his opinion. He gives the owls and pigeons equal consideration. “Sit down,” Margot says to us. “You want coffee or anything?”

  “We’re fine,” I say. “We just came over to surprise you.”

  “What made you think I wanted a bird?”

  “Daddy saw you in a dream.”

  “A dream?”

  “I dreamt of the office last night,” I say. “You were showing me a picture of Joey. I thought you might be missing him.”