Down in the basement, Margot rants away, telling listeners to grow up. “Clean up your act, for God’s sake,” she says to one person. “The world doesn’t owe you any favors. Tina who texted earlier? You want a baby? Get married first. I don’t care who the hell you marry. Just stop saying your mother will help you out. What if she drops dead tomorrow? Where will you be then, young lady?”
The more Margot gives people shit, the more her message board fills up. She’s got three computer screens going now. Radio and television stations have to screen their callers. Margot takes all calls, telling the slackers they’re either a nincompoop or a tire biter. Some even send notes of appreciation. Maybe it’s Margot’s voice. When she says, “Get your act in gear,” people pull up their socks. One of her latest inventions is the “I Cleaned Up My Act” board. People blog and tell others how they changed their lives. The numbers keep growing. These people are proud of themselves, and Margot’s proud of them.
The rest are still nincompoops.
Chapter 53
The Feminist Mothers for Breastfeeding wants Margot speaking at an outdoor protest this Thursday. Someone in the mayor’s office took exception to a woman nursing her baby in one of the corridors. It’s an outrage, as far as the feminists are concerned. Over Margot’s speakerphone, you can hear the women using words like “subjugation” and “alienation”, which drives Margot nuts. “Listen, Lilly,” she says to one of them, “how you can use subjugation and alienation in the same sentence is beyond me. I got my own thoughts on breastfeeding in public. They may not be the same as yours. Keep that in mind. When is this hootenanny?”
Lilly gives her the time and says she needs an answer as soon as possible. Margot says she’ll get back to her. She hangs up and says, “You can’t sneeze without those girls getting on their high horse.”
“You should tell them that, Margot,” Ruby says. She’s folding towels on the couch.
“They’ll probably string me up.”
“No they won’t,” Max says. “You’ll have them eating out of your hand. Take Ruby with you. She can be your bodyguard.”
“When did I become the muscle around here?” Ruby says.
Otis is starting another song. “Here’s one from The Velvet Bulldozer, Albert King, doing “Don’t Throw Your Love on Me So Strong.” It’s from The Big Blues album, 1961. I’m sending this out to Ruby, my wife and bodyguard.”
“Ass kisser,” Max says from the couch.
Ruby pushes his legs out of the way. “Move it, Max,” she says. “I got a big load of towels and duvet covers.”
“What do you think, Ruby?” Margot says.
“Sure, I’ll go with you. Should be a hoot.”
“Hey, Otis,” Margot says. “Turn down the music. I gotta make a call.” She gets back on the phone to Lilly. “I don’t mind showing up,” she says, “but don’t expect any party line. You want my opinion, that’s what you’re going to get.”
“You tell her, Margot,” Max says. He’s trying to get Bisquick to open a peanut shell. After a few tries, he does it himself and eats the peanut. Bisquick gives him the skunk eye. “It’s your own damn fault, Bisquick. I gave you a chance.”
Ruby has our painter pants fresh out of the dryer. “We’ll be rooting for you on Thursday,” I say to Margot. “Mary might have gone along if we didn’t have our dance class.”
“How’s the dancing working for you?” Margot says.
“I still can’t tango worth a shit.”
“You’re doing okay, Sam,” Muller says.
“Thanks,” I say. “Don’t forget the brownies.”
Otis swings around in his chair. “What about the brownies?”
“We have to take some back for my neighbor.”
“Tell him to make his own brownies.”
“He’s our only source for grass right now.”
“Your neighbor’s our source?”
“Open your mouth on air and I’ll brain you.”
“How many you giving him?”
“Never mind how many he’s giving him,” Ruby says.
“I asked a simple question.” Bisquick starts pecking at the record on the turntable.
“That’s a mint album,” Otis yells, and Margot blasts him with the cattle caller. “Fucking hell, Margot! Not so close.”
Max laughs, saying, “Serves you right, old man.”
“You see where my dentures went?” Bisquick flies upstairs with a set of uppers in his beak. “Grab that bird,” Otis yells.
We head for the door as Otis chases Bisquick behind the couch.
Chapter 54
The house on Cedar is almost done, except for the garage, which needs a second coat of paint. On the way home, Muller sits with the brownies on his lap. “Are we working tomorrow?” he asks, and I tell him it’ll just be the morning. Ruby has a dental appointment. Max is meeting with another potential supplier up on Western. Every so often, Muller lifts the tin foil, smelling the brownies. I never saw the allure of grass before now. I was always more of a drinker. Frank could put away half a fifth of whiskey before a meeting. Some of them were hellish affairs, with Frank dragging me out afterwards to a bar. I’d arrive home in a taxi with Mary waiting, arms crossed.
I’d always be up in the morning, slipping out before Mary could say anything. On the upside, I kept bringing home a paycheck. The braces were paid for, the car, the new stove, the riding lawnmower. I don’t have it anymore. I’d rather walk around, getting some exercise.
Muller’s been taking over the lawn duties lately. He misses spots and scalps the garden edges. Judy thinks it’s cute the way his tongue sticks out the side of his mouth. Mary thinks Muller’s low sperm count is just an excuse for not performing. “It’s all in his head,” she says. I tell her Muller isn’t that brainy. “Well, it’s something,” she says. She gave Muller The Road Less Traveled and The Power of Thought and Your Body. Scott Peck’s okay, but the other guy is one of those “can do” types. I hate people who write books saying you can do anything. Some people can, some can’t. I don’t think Frank ever thought he couldn’t do anything. Even when it was obvious he couldn’t, he’d just say, “Screw it, I didn’t want that account, anyway.”
With Muller, you put a fry pan in his hand and he’s off to the races. Tell him to have a baby and he’s a shrinking violet. “He tends to fizzle,” Mary says.
“What do you expect me to do about it?” I say.
“Talk to him, Sam. Give him some encouragement. And do it before he runs the lawnmower into that hedgerow.”
I go outside for a cigarette. Muller finishes, rolls up the cord, slams the garage door behind him. “My balls hurt,” Muller says.
“What does Krupsky say?”
Muller shrugs, blowing smoke out his nose. “He’s says it takes time, Sam. It could be a couple of months. Maybe years.”
“Years? We’ll be in a senior’s home. Fucking Krupsky.”
“He’s a nice man.”
“He’s a horse’s ass. And he can’t twist worth a shit.”
Chapter 55
Iris started her treatments this week. Mary says she’s doing well so far, but it’s early. She and Judy are going over there tonight with some of Muller’s squash and coconut soup. Muller and I do the dishes, then go out back. The lights are on in Riley’s cabana. As soon as the girls leave, we take the brownies over to Riley’s fence. I give the only birdcall I know. I think it’s a swallow.
Riley’s head pops up. We pass the tray over and hear him and Pam munching away. “Delicious, Muller,” Pam says. “Come over for a swim.” We get our trunks and end up in the shallow end, drinking daiquiris. Pam does lengths while Riley sips away. Muller’s bathing suit keeps inflating.
“I had a thought,” Riley says. “We’re throwing a party on the twenty-fifth. You interested in catering, Muller?”
“Catering or making brownies?” I say.
“Straight catering, Sam. I wouldn’t be opposed to some brownies. We all smoke pot. What do you th
ink, Muller? Ever do any catering?”
“A few small functions.” He pushes the air out of his bathing suit leg.
“Can you handle forty or fifty people?”
“What sort of menu?”
“Up to you.”
“I could do Mexican. Quesadillas, that sort of thing.”
Pam swims over. “What are you guys talking about?”
“Muller’s going to cater our party,” Riley says. “He’s thinking Mexican.”
“Wonderful. We’ll give everyone sombreros.”
“That’s a lot of people, Muller,” I say.
“Nonsense,” Riley says.
“I’m going to start the guest list,” Pam says. She gets out of the pool, pulling at the seat of her bathing suit.
“Don’t forget that couple we met in Cancun,” Riley says. “Craziest bastards you’ve ever met. Drank half the bar, then supercharged three joints. Oh, and the Andretti’s, Pam.”
“Sam,” she says. “Make sure Mary knows it’s the twenty-fifth.”
Going back to the house later, I grab Muller, “I got a bad feeling about this. Forty people stoned out of their gourds?”
“So?”
“What if Riley blabs to Mary about the brownies? You saw what she was like when she found the whiskey.”
“What if I make the brownies without grass?”
“I’ve already stripped two of his plants, for chrissake.”
Muller starts banging his ear again.
“You’re going to give yourself a concussion.”
“I think I got it out.”
“Terrific. Bully for you.”
Chapter 56
Muller begs off sick again, the big baby. Judy puts him to bed with some hot lemon juice. I drive to Otis’s place on my own, letting myself in the back door. They’re all in the kitchen having coffee. “Muller’s not feeling well,” I say.
My cell phone rings. It’s Mary on the other end. “Muller just told us about the catering job,” she says. “This so exciting. It’s exactly what he needs right now.”
I can hear Judy in the background, asking Muller why he didn’t tell them before. “You’ve got a gig! You’ve got a gig!”
“Nice going, Sam,” Mary says. “We’re sorting the menu out now.”
“I thought he was sick?”
“He’s feeling better. What do you want for dinner?”
“Anything but Mexican.”
“Judy and Muller are starting a catering business.”
“Where?”
“Here, of course.”
“Why can’t they do it back in Seattle?”
“This is the first time we’ve seen Judy in five years.”
“They live in Seattle, Mary. That’s all I’m saying. What about their house? Aren’t Meek and Beek going to miss the Space Needle?”
“I think you’re seriously regressing, Sam.” She hangs up. I help Max take paint cans to the truck.
All the way over to Cedar Avenue, I’m thinking about Judy and Muller. What if they stay in Chicago? Then there’s this stupid party coming up on the twenty-fifth. Margot was practically catatonic on her first brownie. She tried scrambling eggs on the heat register.
I start thinking of different scenarios in my mind. I could take out Muller. Maybe push him off a ladder. It’s extreme, and he’s already survived one fall, but that could stop the brownies. The only other option is to get rid of Riley’s plants. Chicago’s short on grass right now. Where are they going to get more on such short notice?
We work until noon, then head home. On the way, we stop by the video store and pick up a movie. I grab The Pink Panther. Muller says he hasn’t seen it. I don’t know what they do in Seattle. Who hasn’t seen The Pink Panther? Later that night, I put it on, and we all curl up on the couch. Muller starts to fade around ten o’clock. Judy finally puts him to bed. I do a lot of yawning, hoping it’ll put Mary to sleep. She finally stands up. “I’m turning in,” she says. “Are you coming?”
“I’m not tired,” I say. “I think I’ll watch the news.”
“Okay,” she says. “Don’t stay up too late.”
I wait until everyone’s asleep, then I grab some garbage bags. The pool lights are off next door. I climb over the fence. The pot leaves stick out like scissor blades in the moonlight. I start pulling them out by the roots, getting my hands all sticky. It’s a messy job pulling up pot plants. The stems punch holes in the bags and the leaves stick out in all directions.
As soon as the plants are bagged, I climb back over the fence. A shadow comes out from behind a tree. “What are you doing?” Muller says.
“Damn it, Muller, you scared the shit out of me.”
“Why are you stealing Riley’s pot plants?”
“Just shut up and help me get these bags in the car.” We drag the garbage bags across the back yard to the garage. The smell is terrible. As soon as we get them in my trunk, we slip back across the lawn, making sure we haven’t left a trail of leaves.
“Now get in the car,” I say to Muller. We start driving towards the Lakeshore. “It’s the only way I could think of,” I say. “No grass, no grass brownies. Makes sense, right?”
“Why didn’t you ask me to help you earlier?”
“Because you’d probably fall in the pool.”
“I’m not an idiot, Sam.”
“What were you doing up, anyway?”
“I was hungry. You left the back door open.”
“I thought I closed it.”
“Where are you dumping the plants?”
“I haven’t figure that out yet.”
“There’s a garbage bin behind Krupsky’s office.”
“You remember that, but not him twisting?”
“I don’t think he was twisting, Sam.” Muller rubs his eyes.
Then it hits me. “Hold on a second,” I say.
“What?”
“Look, Riley’s party is the problem, right?”
“I guess so.”
“But we still need the grass. I mean, we don’t have to get rid of it. We just need to stash it somewhere.”
“Otis’s?”
“That’d start a feeding frenzy. No, somewhere else.”
“I feel bad about this, Sam. Aren’t we stealing?”
“Look, Max will have a new supplier in a couple of weeks. We’ll give Riley a bunch of brownies, everyone’s happy.”
“So where are we stashing the bags?”
“I know a spot.”
I drive down Kingsbury, looking in my rearview, imagining sirens and flashing lights. When we get to the office, I pull around to the alley, park near the loading dock and open the trunk.
I point to the wiener van parked by the far wall. “There.”
“It’s a giant hot dog, Sam.”
“I know what it is.”
Chapter 57
We’re learning Tango Nuevo tonight. Silvio told us last week it combines the Argentine embrace with American hip-rubbing. All Mary needs is more hip-rubbing. She called Margot earlier, wishing her luck at the protest rally. Ruby’s taking a video camera.
We get to the dance studio early, practicing our steps. Then everyone arrives and we start to Tango Nuevo. It’s all grinding as far as I’m concerned. Muller finds it easy. The steps come naturally to him, the step, the glide, and the dip. By the time Silvio claps his hands, telling us that’s it for the night, I’m sweating like a bastard.
Mary calls Margot when we get home. “Turn on the television,” Mary calls out. “Margot’s on the news.”
The announcer is describing the scene of mayhem earlier. “Things got out of hand outside City Hall earlier this evening when Margot Simmons, star of Reality Check, a big hit on the web, showed up as a main speaker. Known for her ‘take no prisoners’ style, Simmons wasted little time giving everybody a healthy dose of reality.”
The camera zooms in on Margot standing at a podium. “I’m not supporting anybody here,” Margot says. “As far as I’m concerned, you�
�re all a bunch of ninnies. In my day, you took your baby in the washroom if you wanted to breastfeed. Why are you dangling your knockers out in the open, anyway?” Boos erupt. Placards bump into each other.
“Oh, get off your high horses,” Margot says. One of the feminists starts shouting, “Subjugation! Subjugation! We won’t be denied our rights!”
“Young lady,” Margot shouts back, “someone needs to subjugate you. Tits belong in your blouses, girls. That’s not subjugation; it’s called decency. Why don’t you fight for something worthwhile? Like daycare. The mayor’s doing diddley in that department.”
They cut back to the announcer, a stiff little blonde. “Well, you can’t say Margot Simmons doesn’t speak her mind.”
Mary’s still on the phone. Muller goes around the channels, finding similar updates. Then there’s the mayor, caught walking to his car. “What do you think of Margot Simmons?” the reporter asks. “Have you seen or heard her show?”
“Haven’t, no.”
He’s whisked away as the feminists chant in the background. A woman keeps asking Margot what she knows about breastfeeding. “For goodness sake,” Margot says. “You feed, you burp, you check for a pantful. Stop making a production out of it.”
“Margot’s right,” Mary says.
“You can’t win with that bunch,” I say. “What’s Margot doing now?”
“She’s going on in a minute.”
We crowd around Mary’s computer in the sunroom. Otis is spinning records, slurping a milkshake. Bisquick pecks at the remains of Otis’s hamburger. Margot appears in frame. She shoves Otis out of the chair and pulls the stylus off with one motion.
You Can Lead a Horse to Water (But You Can't Make It Scuba Dive) Page 16
