Float the Goat

by Katerina Nikolas

  “And how do we explain this away?” Hattie demanded, scooping an oily feather out of the cure.

  “Use yous imagination,” Nitsa shouted, dashing out to the now vinegar free taxi, suddenly aware she was late for her secret assignation with Bald Yannis.

  “Malaka, I cant’s turn up looking like this,” Nitsa said to herself, practically sprinting back indoors to raid her wardrobe and indulge in a quick makeover.

  Chapter 6

  A Passion for Embroidery

  Evangelia gazed longingly at Melecretes, desperately wishing he would get up close and personal with her. He was much too engrossed in embroidering a fancy cushion to notice how fervently she craved his attention. Her fantasy of a steamy afternoon encounter was fast fizzling out as Melecretes expended all his passion on her sewing machine.

  It was three months since Evangelia had packed away her many framed photographs of her serial killers on death row pen-pals, convinced a budding romance was about to blossom with the manly moustached Melecretes. Mel had been so sympathetic when she’d revealed she was lonely, but whilst he was attentive in public they had never so much as canoodled in private even though he spent so much time in her apartment.

  Throwing caution to the wind Evangelia tossed her hair seductively, crying out to the back of his head, “Melecretes take me.”

  “I do wish yous would just call me Mel,” Melecretes replied, oblivious to her meaning. “Where do yous want me to take yous? I ‘ave to get this cushion finished.”

  Deftly changing the subject before she could reply he asked, “Now do yous think this is the right shade of violet thread for this bear’s breech I am embroidering? It’s important to get the colour just so for the national flower of Greece.”

  “What did I say?” he muttered as Evangelia flounced out with a pout, slamming the door behind her.

  Evangelia felt rather foolish when she realised she had just stormed out of her own apartment. She was beginning to suspect she’d read too much into her relationship with Melecretes. She had presumed his reluctance to return to Idaho was because he was developing feelings for her but she had to admit she was way down on his list of priorities. He was in his element living at Fotini’s house where the three old crones pampered his every whim. He had an important role as head of distribution in Fotini’s new business venture and since discovering his true passion was for embroidery rather than cooking pita gyros he had been consumed by his needlework. Inspired by Fotini starting a new business in her eighties Mel had shared with Evangelia his aspiration to start a business selling Greek themed decorative cushions, swearing her to secrecy.

  “Whatever’s the matter Evangelia?” mail order Masha asked, spotting her hairdresser slumped tearfully against the salon door. “Come, let’s go and sit down at the kafenion and yous can tell me all about it.”

  “It’s Mel,” Evangelia confided, batting a persistent wasp away. “I thought he was genuinely interested in me but the only thing he comes round to take advantage of is my sewing machine. It’s all my fault, ever since I told him about Marvin the Mincer’s obsession with stuffing embroidered pillows Mel has become addicted to embroidering cushions.”

  “Well yous only need to worry if he wants to stuff ‘em with hair from the salon. Still, it is an odd pastime for a manly moustached Greek, perhaps Mel isn’t so manly after all,” Masha snidely insinuated, raising her carefully plucked eyebrows suggestively.

  “His embroidery is for a business venture he’s planning,” Evangelia blurted out, indiscreetly disclosing Melecretes’ confidential cushion empire intentions. “I just don’t know how to win his affection Masha. It’s so long since a man who isn’t locked up was interested in me that I may have misread the signals.”

  “A man shows yous ‘ow he feels by showering yous with compliments and lavishing yous with jewels. ‘As Mel done that?” Masha asked.

  “Well he noticed when I bleached my moustache and he did bring me a present yesterday.”

  “Was it solid gold or a shabby imitation,” the gold-digging Russian questioned.

  “Actually it was a free bottle of ‘Granny’s Traditional Greek Cure All.’ He hoped it might ease the rash I got from bleaching my moustache. Oh, what am I doing wrong Masha?”

  “Well yous is never going to turn ‘eads in those flat lace-up shoes, yous ‘ave to make more of an effort Evangelia. A woman should always wear ‘eels. No man can resist a well turned ankle.”

  “But I’m on my feet all day and stilettos play havoc with my bunions.”

  “Po po, yous ‘ave to expect some discomfort in the name of glamour. Yous looks too prim and proper in that frumpy plain blouse buttoned up to yous chin and that drab knee-length skirt,” Masha advised. Ripping Evangelia’s blouse open to reveal her cleavage Masha said, “this will ‘ave to do for now till we can sort yous out a new wardrobe.”

  “Oh Masha, you’re so clever, I’ve let myself get too staid and frumpy. A new wardrobe could be just the thing to distract Mel from his embroidery and make him sit up and notice me. I’m so happy I confided in you, I’d got so set in my ways the next step would have been settling for a hideous old lady dress from the hardware shop.”

  “Perish the thought,” Masha shuddered. “We’ll go shopping tomorrow before I do the weather. Yous can leave Sofia to ‘andle the salon.”

  Chapter 7

  Done up Like a Dog’s Dinner

  “Where are yous off to all done up like a dog’s dinner? ‘Ave yous got a date with Fotis?” Fotini asked, eyeing up her friend’s ridiculously gaudy appearance. Nitsa’s stick thin legs were revealed in all their hairy glory, poking out from a pair of garish neon-orange Hawaiian shorts embellished with clashing pink hibiscus flowers. She had paired the offending shorts with a red sequin boob tube over a thermal vest and stuffed her heat-swollen feet into a pair of parrot-chewed black plimsolls. The only salvageable hair on Nitsa’s head, following the removal of the long blonde hair extensions, was her natural grey, cropped in an unbecoming short back and side’s style.

  “I ‘ave a secret assignation with Bald Yannis. He ‘as finally come to ‘is senses and realised he needs a real hot-blooded woman,” Nitsa revealed, liberally applying bronze blusher in a desperate attempt to disguise a scabby mosquito bite on her chin.

  “Why are you wearing Quentin’s shorts?” Hattie asked entering the bedroom, instantly recognizing her son’s unique style of summer clothing. “Did you steal them from his washing line?”

  “Po po, I’m not the elusive underwear thief, I just borrowed ‘em,” Nitsa retorted defensively. “It’s too hot to wear a normal dress an’ these looked nice an’ bright.”

  “She ‘as a hot date with the hardware shop man,” Fotini twitched in a botched parody of a wink.

  “Are you sure you have the right end of the stick Nitsa?” Hattie asked incredulously. Nitsa’s bizarre infatuation with the charmless Bald Yannis was a running joke. “Perhaps Bald Yannis needs a bottle of our ‘Cure’ to encourage hair growth.”

  “He phoned me an’ said he wants me to meet ‘im at the back door of the ‘ardware shop and to tell no one about it; it’s all hush hush top secret. He ‘as to be planning to seduce me,” Nitsa swooned with anticipation. “Help me find my other false eyelash, he wont’s be able to resist a bit of fluttering.”

  “’Appen he wants to get yous alone for nefarious purposes,” Fotini speculated. “I dont’s trust the malaka. Best if I come along and keep my eyes peeled, I couldn’t endure it if yous was kidnapped again.”

  “Po po, I wouldn’t complain if ‘andsome Bald Yannis stuffed me in his boot and tried to ravish me,” Nitsa giggled girlishly.

  “Eureka, I think this is your other eyelash,” Hattie shouted. Having mislaid her spectacles she was peering intently at a hairy black caterpillar that looked convincingly lash like. “Now, where did we put the superglue? Hold still Nitsa while I attach it.”

  “I still think it’s best if I come along,” Fotini insisted. “I can keep watch an’ m
ake sure no one disturbs yous an’ distract that plain lame wife of ‘is if she puts in an appearance.”

  “But can yous bear to leave the sickly parrot?” Nitsa asked.

  “I’ll bring it along, it seems much improved,” Fotini said, pulling the parrot out of the top of her hideous old lady dress where she’d been sheltering it against the warmth of her non-existent bosom. The parrot left an oily smear across the front of Fotini’s hideous old lady dress.

  “So that’s what that strange shape was, I thought yous ‘ad stolen one of the mail order trollop’s padded bras,” Nitsa laughed. “The parrot still looks a bit too peaky for an outing in the taxi.”

  “The bird will be ‘andily placed for the new doctor’s surgery if it ‘as a relapse,” Fotini argued, determined to play Nitsa’s sidekick, convinced Bald Yannis could not possibly have romantic intentions.

  “This false eyelash feels a bit knobbly Hattie,” Nitsa remarked.

  “I may have been a tad overgenerous with the rather lumpy superglue,” Hattie confessed. “It was difficult to see what I was doing without my glasses.”

  “Well it looks as though yous stuck a dead caterpillar on ‘er lid,” Fotini scoffed; clueless her observation was spot on.

  “Now for the finishing touch, Bald Yannis wont’s be able to resist me when he gets a whiff of my scent,” Nitsa preened, lavishly spraying herself with the contents of the nearest atomiser.

  The three old crones were immediately asphyxiated by the pungent smell of super strength fly killer and the parrot keeled over.

  “So much for ‘parrot safe bug spray’,” Hattie said reading the canister’s label, having discovered her glasses had been suspended from a string around her neck all the time.

  “It just needs some air,” Fotini insisted, frantically fanning the parrot with her pinny.

  “If yous is coming along ‘urry up,” Nitsa urged, rushing out to the old Mercedes taxi. “I dont’s want to be keeping a red-bloodied man waiting. The excitement might be too much for ‘im.”

  Chapter 8

  Springing a Meringue Surprise

  “I’m just off to the kafenion, my little bougatsa,” Toothless Tasos told Thea, sloping hurriedly out of the door.

  “Po po, the kafenion at this late ‘our. Does the eejit suppose he thinks I’ll fall for that red herring when I know how much he’s been wanting to find out who stole the canary in this compelling episode of ‘Seven Deadly Mothers-in-Law’?” Thea asked the turquoise cat.

  Leaving her favourite soap opera playing in the background Thea discreetly followed Tasos from the house. The suspicion that her fiancé was up to no good was confirmed when he walked past the kafenion without breaking his stride.

  Toothless Tasos stomped into the church, relieved it was free of worshippers as his mission was top secret. He hoped the Pappas had the paper confirming his ecclesiastical divorce from Stavroula at the ready. He was in no mood to endure one of the Pappas’ god bothering sermons.

  “’Ave yous got the orthodox divorce paper done yet?” Toothless Tasos demanded of the priest.

  “I should have it soon. You clearly don’t appreciate the complexity of obtaining this vital paper in such a tight time frame,” the Pappas stalled.

  “Yous ‘ave ‘ad three months,” an exasperated Tasos pointed out.

  “Even ecclesiastical wheels are slow to turn amid the stagnant pond of Greek bureaucracy, without the help of a little oil to grease the process,” the Pappas fired back with calculated precision.

  “Cut to the chase, ‘ow much does yous want?” Tasos snarled, curling his lip in disdain at the Pappas’ obvious attempt to extort an exorbitant brown envelope out of him.

  Opening his Bible the Pappas pointed to a figure pencilled in the margin of Corinthians, causing Toothless Tasos to whistle so shrilly he only narrowly avoided swallowing his upper row of dentures.

  “Po po, that’s a bit pricey. Dont’s forget I ‘ad to sort out a civil divorce paper and rummage through all Thea’s drawers to find copies of all ‘er dead ‘usbands death certificates too.”

  “You can’t put a price on true wedded bliss blessed by a churchly union,” the Pappas smirked. “Of course you can always carry on living in sin or settle for an ungodly paperwork ceremony at the Dimarcheio.”

  “Yous will ‘ave yous money tomorrow. Just make sure yous ‘ave the paper and don’t go blabbing. I want to surprise Thea with this wedding,” Tasos shouted, knocking over a display of lighted candles in his haste to leave.

  “Such a tight-wad,” the Pappas muttered, stamping on the hem of his long black clerical dress to put out the fire.

  “Perhaps I misjudged ‘im,” Thea said to herself watching her fiancé leave the church. “Maybe he’s got religion rather than another woman.”

  Thea’s hackles rose as she observed Tasos furtively looking around before cagily entering Tassia’s house. “Surely he can’t be carrying on with Tassia, a happily married pregnant woman,” she muttered, dismissing her suspicion as the product of a vivid imagination. Catching sight of Tassia’s husband Fat Christos behind the cheese counter in the supermarket Thea was once again consumed by the green-eyed monster. “Well she’s meeting my man behind ‘er husband’s back an’ there was all that talk about baby Andromeda’s father being Slick Socrates. They say there’s no smoke without fire. ‘Appen Tassia is an ‘usband stealing trollop.”

  “Did yous manage to find a wedding dress for my goddess?” Toothless Tasos asked Tassia who he’d roped into finding a white bridal gown for the secret wedding he was planning.

  “Oh yes, I brought it back from Paraliakos this morning, all big and puffy just like yous wanted. I wont’s show it to yous, it’s bad luck for the groom to see the dress before the big day,” Tassia said.

  Tassia wasn’t at all sure the frothy meringue confection would be to Thea’s elegant taste but Tasos had been quite adamant that nothing less than a fabulously frilly ball gown, at a knockdown price, would do for his beloved. She was reluctant to voice her doubts that Thea might be less than thrilled to have her own wedding sprung upon her without any opportunity to choose her own dress.

  “Look at me, look at me,” Andromeda demanded, throwing herself at Toothless Tasos. The vocal toddler tripped over the hemline of the flouncy flamingo pink flower girl dress she had refused to take off since leaving the bridal shop.

  “Oh dear, I’m afraid Andy has given the game away, her dress is an exact miniature replica of the wedding gown I chose for Thea,” Tassia revealed. “Except Thea’s dress isn’t that sickly pink.”

  “It’s very weddingy,” Tasos said, beginning to worry. He couldn’t imagine Thea ever choosing a dress like that and he wondered why he had been so set on springing a massive white meringue on her.

  “What’s that on yous ‘ead child?” he asked, hoping the bilious green furry bonnet resembling a well-worn bathmat wouldn’t be replicated as part of Thea’s bridal outfit.

  “It’s an ‘at made out of cuddly sip-lly,” Andy lisped, pirouetting pretentiously. Tasos signed with relief, realising the ugly child had concocted a hat from her much bedraggled cuddly syphilis educational soft toy. The stuffed microbe was by now a walking advert for the danger of germs, so grungy it was almost alive with unhygienic microorganisms. Andromeda had refused all requests to relinquish it to the washing machine since Fat Christos had bought it for her in the Museum of Clean on their recent visit to Idaho, throwing a tantrum every time Tassia suggested introducing it to soap.

  Tasos presumed Tassia would have sorted Thea out with a veil and wondered if it would be prudent to suggest a matching one for the child to conceal her hairy sideburns and recent acquisition of a stubbly chin. He could imagine the Pappas charging a fumigation fee if the child’s cuddly hat made an appearance in church.

  “Does yous really think Thea will like the dress?” he asked Tassia.

  “I’m sure she’ll love it,” Tassia lied, knowing the bridal shop had a strict ‘no returns’ policy on its bargain
basement priced sale stock.

  “Well I’d be much obliged if yous could ‘ide the dress ‘ere until the morning of the wedding an’ if yous could tell little Andromeda she ‘as to keep it secret.”

  “Who’s in the know?” Tassia asked.

  “Well the Pappas of course as we’ll be getting wed in church. Yous and Fat Christos, an’ Sofia ‘as been secretly helpin’ me to get suitably styled. She took me in hand sayin’ she wouldn’t ‘ave me showing her Nona up at the altar.”

  “I did notice yous hair had undergone a revamp.”

  “Aye, that was Sofia’s doing, she says I’m a natural model.”

  Tassia suppressed a sigh, being in on the secret that Sofia’s ambition was to style corpses in her uncle’s funeral parlour. The teenager was not above manipulatively flattering anyone who would agree to let her loose with her trainee scissors.

  “Taso, sit down an’ I’ll pour you an ouzo,” Tassia invited, wondering how best to broach the delicate subject. “Are yous sure yous is doin’ the right thing throwing Thea a surprise wedding? Yous is depriving ‘er of all the excitement.”

  “It was the most romantic gesture I could think of to sweep Thea off ‘er feet,” Tasos replied. “The only problem is I want all ‘er friends to be in the church, but if I invite ‘em it will let the cat out of the bag before the big day an’ then Thea is bound to ‘ear word on the gossip vine.”

  “You must get the Pappas to announce it through the church tannoy just before the service,” Tassia suggested.

  “Aye, that’s a good idea,” Toothless Tasos agreed, wondering how much extra the grasping priest would demand for this additional service.

  “And what about the wedding breakfast? You cant’s leave it to the last minute, catering takes advance planning.”

  “I was thinkin’ of asking Stavroula to whip up a spread of mezedes.”