The phone rang, and it was Candy’s mother. The voice on the other end had that “I love you, but I am going to get my way, so don’t mess with me” whine that only Idaho mothers know how to do. It seemed that the cat was sick and Mom’s car was stuck in the driveway, and “since you know that nice young man at the feed store, what was his name? I was just thinking that maybe you could come on over and get Snuffy, and I’ll make you dinner.”
“Mom, I have to get this shipment out so I can bill Anne by the end of the week. I don’t want to end up staying up all night,” Candy protested halfheartedly.
She was already visualizing an uncomfortable evening watching Wheel and eating pork chops off TV trays while her Mom told stories about Candy’s early childhood to Buck Anderson. She couldn’t understand why, though her mother could not remember which button turned the TV on, she could remember every brilliant, cute or embarrassing moment of Candy’s life. Not that her mother seemed to have paid attention to any of Candy’s recent accomplishments. Her mom had ignored her ambition to be a jazz clarinetist, a cowboy, a veterinarian, a rabbi, an entomologist, and finally, an actress.
In some ways Candy blamed her Mom’s gooey eulogizing for scaring off Haines in the first place. When Haines had come over for raspberry pie that one night, Candy’s mom had spent at least 45 minutes telling him about Candy’s high school acting career.
“Candy played Hoss when Greenbelt did a musical production of Bonanza. She was the only one who tried out who didn’t have to stuff her Levis with pillows and she already had a ten gallon hat."
"She did a rap version of ‘Don’t fence me in’ for her audition, didn’t you Honey? I remember we were up half the night making shiny bib overalls to look like those baggy pants that one fellow liked to wear. What was his name, Hammertime? I bet you still remember that dance you did, don’t you Honey? You should do it here in the kitchen for Haines...”
On the other hand, Buck Anderson was a Greenbelt guy, so there wasn’t much fear of scaring him off. He drove a flatbed truck and wore size 32 long Wranglers. His idea of culture was swing dancing at the 5th Ace, which was actually a lot more fun than trying to act cool at the stupid parties that Haines had taken her to.
“What are you making?” Candy asked, her thoughts returning to the prospect of dining on something other than Rice Crispies. As long as sauerkraut would not be involved, she was willing to allow hunger to boost her level of feline philanthropy.
“I put a roast in the oven.” Her mom replied, evidence that she had intended to win this little battle of wills from the start.
“Okay, what time is Snuffy’s appointment?” Candy mumbled as she finished typing a letter to a double murderer in North Carolina state prison who wanted to know if Anne wanted to go out sometime after his parole date.
“Three thirty, so you should probably leave around 2:00. Those roads are pretty icy. I heard on the scanner that Marlon Kirchhoff went off the road on his way home from the milk route this morning. Does Bart have sand bags in his truck?”
Dear Mr. Edgely,
Thanks for writing.
It’s people like you that make it all worthwhile!
I appreciate that you must be very lonely, but right now I’m involved.
Snuffy, 3:30 Greenbelt Veterinary Clinic.
“No Mom, I’m sure we’ll both be killed. You know guys like Buck. They get a girl in their truck and they drive like maniacs. He’ll probably stop by the side of the road and ravage me in that snow berm right by your mailbox.”
Ravage me in a snow bank. Okay, see you soon.
The very best to you and yours, and remember,
“St. John’s Arms, bad things happen to people like you—weekdays at 10”
Luck, Love and Laughter,
Annie
Dr. Sylvia Bancroft
(Anne Johansen)
Okay, so it would be form letters for the rest of them, Candy thought, and then the satisfying moment of billing Anne. If I can only save the money this time, she thought.
A few minutes later Candy had the mail merge done for the form letters. She printed the labels for the envelopes, then sorted the piles by zip code. Ratting around in her pile of junk mail and bills, she found a rubber band and a large clip used to seal potato chip bags. She bundled up her lovely little letters, figuring this batch would bring in about 400 dollars. She’d be damned glad to have it. Hopefully Anne would pay promptly.
Candy threw on a quilted flannel jacket that her mom had gotten in a box of stuff at Jim Bagsly's estate auction. She had forced it on Candy with the rationale, “You might need this to keep warm. You never know when it might come in handy. You can leave it in your car just in case.”
Candy had taken a liking to the jacket one day when she had slipped it on and found a twenty-dollar bill in the breast pocket. She now considered it lucky.
She phoned Buck at the feed store. After a bit of haggling, she arranged for him to pick her up for the Snuffy-from-vet-car-unstuck-potroast mission after he got off work. Buck loved her mother’s home cooked meals, so it was not that difficult to get him to agree.
Candy would run her mail to the post office, get Snuffy and drop him at the vet. Then she and Buck could pick him up, do the car thing and have a home cooked meal with mom. Maybe afterwards they could play Scrabble or Boggle or some other word game. Last time they played he protested the use of her word “ormolu” and had lost big-time. Buck did not really like being soundly trounced at word games by Candy and her mom, but he was an awfully good sport.
---
Candy’s ’81 Datsun pickup rattled along the ice-packed dirt road from her mother’s with Snuffy neatly caged in a dilapidated apple box that her mother found in the garage. He was reaching his furry little paws out of the holes in a cute way. Candy tapped her fingers on the side of the box to make him do it again. Yow! The little puffball snagged her with a claw. She sucked on her bleeding scratch and returned her attention to trying to keep the Datsun on the washboards. While she was busily engaged in the simple act of driving and singing along with “Tempted by the Fruit of Another” on the radio, Snuffy quietly wormed his way between the interlocked flaps of the apple box and disappeared behind the passenger seat.
“Hoo! Hoo! Woo-oo-oo!”
Being a sexy backup singer in a Motown group was another of Candy’s frustrated career dreams. The main thing that prevented her from making a go of it (in addition to the handicap of her waspy little voice) was that she suffered from right/left confusion. Ever since she was a small child, she had noticed that all the other kids could find their way from one place to another and tell the difference between right and left by some chromosome level instinct. But Candy, although she was the brightest girl in the class, was reduced to moron status when it came to doing the hokey pokey.
In her Sophomore year, her guidance counselor had encouraged her to try out for the Greenbelt Hornets marching band. Candy beat the odds by turning the opposite direction from the rest of the clarinet section more than 70% of the time. The final debacle, when she actually knocked over the flute section (seven in one blow!) during the class C championship game, cemented Candy’s certainty that she was choreographically challenged.
Nonetheless, one summer she and her friends Nicki Sordahl and Jane Swendsen had worked up some songs by the Shirelles, complete with choreography, backed up by a motley group of boys from 9th grade band. Just before their single gig at the Greenbelt Savings 4th of July Ice Cream Social, Nicki had her front teeth kicked out by her evil 4-H sheep, and they had broken up.
As she maneuvered her truck along the glazed gravel, Candy began to remember the moves that Nicki (the most coordinated of the four) had dreamed up. “Tempted” was over now, so Candy turned off the radio and sang at the top of her lungs,
“Big John, won’t you come on home? When you gonna ma-arry me? Yeah! Yeah! Yeah-ah-ah...”
She had to use her knees to steady the steering wheel, which she managed quite deftly. Was it two shoops to the right and then a spin? Candy couldn’t remember. Besides, she obviously couldn’t spin around while driving. She was just cresting the top of Myer’s point when she remembered the big finale and hit the cow.
No comments:
Post a Comment