Brownie Points (12 page)

On Friday morning, Marni and I both rushed to the curb, rolling our trash bins, frantically hoping to beat the collection truck to our front doors. I had trouble getting to sleep the night before, finally nodding off around two. That morning, my alarm was the sound of the garbage truck chugging down our street. I bolted upright, threw on my terrycloth bathrobe and ran for the bins.

My sexy neighbor came out with tousled hair and a sated smile. It appeared that she haphazardly threw on a pair of soft pink Victoria’s Secret cotton pajama pants and a matching camisole, but didn’t have time to locate slippers.

As we both reached the curb with our trash bins, I waved eagerly. “Looks like we both overslept,” I shouted, hoping to start a conversation.

“Yeah,” she returned, friendly enough, but not matching my enthusiasm.

“I’m putting on a fresh pot of coffee. Do you want to stop in for a quick cup?”

“Oh, thanks, but I’m crazy busy today,” she said.

“Okay,” I said, trying not to show my disappointment. This was the third time I had invited Marni over, and the third time she was too busy. Never once did she ask for a rain check, or return the invitation.

For the rest of the day, I sketched ideas for my next sculpture series, pieces made from expired license plates that tie in with the states they’re from. My first would be the Statue of Liberty made from rolled New York plates followed by a Space Needle made from Washington tags. After weeks of inhaling fumes stinking up my guest room, I decided to rage against the machine and return to the open garage to work. By the end of September, I’d collected three CC&R violation citations and had two new ones for October. I began thinking about ways I could incorporate them in future pieces. Shellacking them to toilet seat covers and hanging them as wreaths seemed too obvious.

Soon it was time to head to school to help with the Girl Scout meeting. I told Michelle I’d finally help out, but truth be told, I wanted to stick around to see how the girls reacted to their newest member.

Rumors of Logan’s popularity were not exaggerated. The girls all seemed quite thrilled to have him in their ranks. Ashley, Bianca and Maya were quick to co-opt Logan into their group, giving him an appliqué for his denim jacket that simply read “Scout.” The three girls gave him their jackets and identical patches so he could sew them on, and they could all go to school matching.

Logan was not merely a seamstress to them, though. Reciprocity was the Girl Scout way. When the inevitable happened, and Max McDoyle cornered Logan in the boys’ bathroom and called him “Froot Loops,” Maya walked right in and demanded that he back off. She signaled for the other girls, who walked in and cornered Max against the sink.

“Do you know that I’m a brown belt in karate?” Maya said. “I could hurl a Thin Mint at you with such force it would have to be surgically removed!”

As the kids told me about this after school, I couldn’t help bursting into laughter. “I cannot believe you said that, Maya!”

Ashley and Bianca giggled along. “Neither could I!” Ashley, who inherited her mother’s ditsy sense of humor, added, “Where’s she going to find a Thin Mint this time of year? Cookie season doesn’t even start till spring.”

Thank you
, I mouthed to my daughter. She gave me a quick wink in return.

Chapter Twelve

November

Maya wasn’t the only one flexing her muscle about town these days. Jason came home one day with a set of red boxing gloves and shorts for Logan, and told him he’d enrolled them both at Dempsey’s gym. He told me his goal was to take Logan to the gym as often as he went to Girl Scout meetings. It would be their Saturday routine, he explained.

“Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee!” Logan boasted, holding his gloves over his head, as they returned from their first day at the gym. “I am the champion of the world.” He didn’t do a half-bad Ali imitation. As the three of us stood in the open garage, Jason gave me a quick kiss. “Good to see you working again.”

“I wish I could help myself,” I replied. “It’s not like anyone will ever see these.”

“Do it for you, baby.” Returning his attention to Logan, he said, “The boy’s got some moves. You should come down and watch him sometime.”

“I got moves you’ve never seen before,” Logan said, now sounding more like Eddie Murphy imitating James Brown. Jason smiled, which fueled Logan even more, “Yea-ayy! Moves you never thought of.” The door leading into the house opened and Maya, Bianca and Ashley popped their heads out.

“I told you it was him,” said Bianca.

“We’re about to fire up
Glee
,” said Maya. “You in?”

Logan placed his hand on his tilted head dramatically. “Ah, to be so adored,” he said before disappearing into the house with the girls.

“Well,” I said, nodding in wonderment. “That went well. Does he really, um --”

“Sting like a bee?” Jason asked.

“Yeah.”

“Baby, he’s the queen bee.” Jason pulled a chair beside mine. “He got hit in the face with a speed bag the first time, and his jump roping definitely needs some work, but the boy has got some talent. Know what else?” I raised my brows. “That kid is funny.”

“Really? Is that so?”

“He was cracking the guys up doing scenes from
Rocky
, and not just that ‘Adrian, Adrian’ bullshit everyone does either. And he can do a dead-on Clint from
Million Dollar Baby.
I’m telling you, the guys loved him.”

“Hmmm,” I said, smiling and returning to my work. “Hard to believe.” As I curled the edge of the cowboy hat I’d just made from Texas license plates, I laughed to myself. My son had found his niche at Girl Scouts and Dempsey’s boxing gym.

™˜

Logan had made it one full week as a Girl Scout without anyone noticing.

Then Michelle ran into Olivia at Target and proudly mentioned the troop’s newest member. Less than an hour later, both Jason and I were confronted by the McDoyles.

Jason coincidentally ran into Jim at the City Administration Building. The two had a brief conversation about it, which ended in Jim shrugging his shoulders. Jason was smart about it, dropping the names of several of Logan’s brawny fans. Jim knew better than to alienate Jason and make enemies that come in the form of one ton of solid muscle.

Olivia, however, was a different story.

I returned home and pressed the blinking light on my answering machine.

“Hi, you’ve reached the Taylors,” Maya’s recorded voice began. “If you don’t know what to do at the beep, there’s no hope for you. Sorry to break it to you, dude.” BEEP

Lisa, it’s Olivia and I think all that dieting is eating away Michelle’s brain cells because she just told me something that simply cannot be true. She said Logan joined the Girl Scouts, which would certainly be weird. I haven’t said anything to anyone yet because I wanted to see if it was true, but do call me back ASAP so we can discuss this.

I was dreaming if I thought my son joining the Girl Scouts was going to go unnoticed. I decided to drop by Olivia’s house that afternoon and try to do some spin control.

Walking to the McDoyles’, I noticed that the Utopians had stripped their lawns of Halloween décor and replaced it with the next holiday theme. Most were pretty tame, except for Marni who opted for a semi-pornographic display of Puritans in low-cut black and whites standing beside a Miles Standish who looked as if he just might whip it out and make the buxom Pocahontas really give thanks.

On Olivia’s front doors were two “wreaths” of brightly colored plush turkey heads mounted on silver platters. The heads were surrounded by velvet and felt potatoes, corn and pie slices. Before I could ring the bell, the door opened and I saw perhaps the ugliest man I’d ever laid eyes on. His bulbous nose and puffy cheeks had more broken capillaries than I thought could fit on one face. It was as if a child scrawled over his cheeks with a red ballpoint pen. A stingy portion of dyed black hair was freshly washed and combed back, forming rows that looked like racing stripes. The fat from his belly practically made a sloshing sound as he walked. At first, I thought he might be a leftover Halloween display, then I realized I’d seen him somewhere before.

It was Val’s husband, Dr. Monroe, who littered my mailbox regularly with four-color mailers advertising his plastic and reconstructive surgery services. In his mailers, Dr. Monroe points his latex-gloved index finger at the reader and proclaims, “I know where your beauty lies.” It was as if he thought his scalpel could pick the lock of women’s hidden beauty.

You could practically turn to stone from looking at this guy, and yet he had the unmitigated gall to tell women that we should pay him to slice us open and make modifications. Jason couldn’t understand why I was ranting when we first received the flyer in the mail. “So don’t get plastic surgery,” he said, shrugging his shoulders dismissively. It’s not that I had any huge issues with cosmetic surgery. Frankly, if a woman wants a face lift, more power to her. It was just the gross injustice of it all. Imagine watching a version of
Beauty and the Beast
in which that mutant gorilla has the nerve to tell Belle that she needs a tummy tuck! Or more galling, laser hair removal.

“Oh, hello Lisa,” said Olivia, startled at the door. She shifted her weight and smiled uncomfortably. “Do you know Dr. Monroe?”

“Pleasure to meet you,” he said, extending his hand while simultaneously appraising my face. “I’ve got to run, Mrs. McDoyle, but call my office.”

My eyes narrowed as he scurried toward his gold Lexus with a license plate that read “FACE DOC.”

Heal thyself, Dr. Beast!

“Well, now that you’re here,” Olivia said, gesturing that I could come in. “I would’ve thought you’d phone.”

“I thought it would be better to talk in person,” I said as we walked through her entryway. My God, did everyone use the same wallpaper pattern in this place? The paisley alone in Utopia was oppressive.

“So, why was Val’s husband at your house?”

Olivia turned to me and said, “I hate to be rude, but it really isn’t any of your business.” She extended her arm toward the kitchen, suggesting that I should go in and sit down.

“I find that very surprising,” I sat as I took a seat. She held a coffee mug and raised her brows, offering me a cup. “Thank you. I take it black.”

“Why would it surprise you, Lisa? Dr. Monroe’s visit is of no concern to you.” She placed the cup of coffee in front of me and set hers down at the place opposite me.

“Oh no, I meant it surprises me that you hate to be rude. As often as you do it, it seems you’d have to enjoy it just a little.”

“Well!” she huffed.

“Not even a little?” I poked, knowing that my catching her post-tryst gave me the upper hand in this negotiation.

“I thought you’d want to know that people are going to speak unkindly about Logan joining the Girl Scouts,” Olivia said. “Scone?”

“Thank you,” I replied. “I know the perfect way to stem the gossip about Logan.” Olivia looked as worried as she should have been. “People are much more inclined to talk about something juicier, like your affair with Val’s husband.”

Olivia looked down and didn’t utter a word. She looked like a carnival gypsy in a booth when the quarter expired. Suddenly her shoulder began heaving and she sobbed little hiccup-like squeaks. “If you must know, Dr. Monroe is doing my foot enhancement.”

“Foot enhancement?”

Olivia slipped off her shoe, revealing a knobby, bunion-laden monstrosity. Her toes were so long that they were practically tangled together.

“Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve worn sandals, Lisa?”

“We should host a telethon,” I said. They were quite ugly feet.

“It may be a joke to you, but this has been very painful for me. Do you have any idea how many cute sandals there are these days? It gets very hot wearing closed-toe shoes in the summer.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, solemnly. “I didn’t realize.” I was sorry, too. If Olivia and Beast weren’t having an affair, I had absolutely no leverage.

“At least it’s just my feet,” Olivia said, emboldened. “Ellie had vaginal rejuvenation last year.”

“Vaginal what?”

“Rejuvenation,” Olivia said. “They make everything look, you know, fresher down there.”

“She told you this?” I asked. I thought Ellie was Val’s friend, therefore natural enemies with Olivia.

“Dr. Monroe told me,” she said.

“Whatever happened to doctor-patient confidentiality?”

“
He
didn’t do the surgery,” Olivia explained.

Not wanting to hear any more about Ellie’s twat-lift, I decided to get our conversation back on track. “So, the reason you called.”

“The reason I called,” Olivia scanned her memory.

“My son?”

“Right, Logan! He’s not really joining the Girl Scout troop, is he?”

“He is,” I told her. “He joined last week.”

“But he’s a boy,” Olivia exclaimed.

“Why do you care? You don’t even have daughters.”

She perked up in her chair as if I’d just made her point for her. “Exactly! Which is why I can appreciate how much girls need a place to be girls and boys need a place to be boys without all the mixing.”