Calamity Jayne Rides Again (6 page)

CHAPTER 6

Cleanup took a little longer than it had the night before, mainly because I did it with a clothespin pinching my nostrils
and had to stop and release the pressure every so often. Aunt Reggie had the insurance agent on the phone, had a claim filed,
and had arranged for a new shipment of frozen ice cream treats and hot dogs before the polish on Gram's toes had dried, all
while covering the Emporium. I stand in awe of such organization. Most days I have trouble finding two socks that match.

While Uncle Frank helped unload the new inventory, I ran a damp mop over the floor for the ninth time. We were back in business
shortly before the lunch rush.

I was sitting on a stool letting the fan blow on me while reading the latest copy of
People
and the article "What Were They Thinking?" that featured the worst dresses worn to the Emmy Awards (female category) and
wondering how Oprah continued to keep the weight off for this long when I caught a whiff of something good and greasy.

"You like egg roll? Nice and hot. Fresh from cooker. No peanut oil. Veggie oil."

I looked up and recognized the short, slight, Oriental gentleman from Li's Asian Express booth, which was located down by
the john. He waved a small cardboard container of egg rolls in my face. "Hot and fresh. No gristle. You take. Eat."

I smiled and started to shake my head, and then realized that, despite the donuts, hot dog, root beer float, and chocolate
chip cookie ice cream sandwich I'd consumed, I was still hungry. And this little guy knew it.

The egg rolls passed by my nose again and Mr. Asian Express smiled, displaying two missing teeth. "Going once. Going twice,"
he said. "G—!" I grabbed an egg roll in midair and gobbled half of it before he could say "Egg roll gone." Grease dribbled
from the corner of my mouth and I dabbed at it with a napkin. Mmmm. Good egg roll.

"You like," he said; not a question, but an affirmation. "You like."

"I like," I managed through the cabbage and pork in my mouth. "I like a lot. Thanks. You in the mood for a root beer?" I offered.
Comping was a way of life for fair concessionaires. We all sampled each other's wares free of charge. I just sampled more,
uh, robustly than most. "Root beer?" I asked again and picked up a tall foam cup and jiggled it. "Nice and cold. No peanut
oil," I added.

He laughed but shook his head. "Flat," he said, and I blinked.

"Egg roll today. Tomorrow crab rangoon. Full of crab. Lots of cream cheese. Hot and good."

I could feel my mouth watering already. Stop it, Tressa, I scolded myself. At the rate I was eating, they'd need a rendering
truck to haul my carcass out of the campground in two weeks.

"That's okay, Mr. Li," I said. "I'm on a diet."

He slapped the counter and gave a long laugh. "Diet. Good one," he said. "You like working fair, serving the customers the
ice cream from tiny shack?" he asked out of the blue. My brain struggled to process the quick subject change.

I shrugged. "Sure. Yeah. Why not? I love the fair."

"And Uncle Frank? He love fair? Like to sell the ice cream?"

I scratched my forehead. I wasn't sure if Uncle Frank loved the fair or not. I'd never thought to ask. For that matter, I
had no clue if he enjoyed his job, period. In a family business, one didn't always have a say in their career track. I thought
about that for a second and felt my brow crinkle. I'd never even considered whether Uncle Frank felt fulfilled at what he
did for a living or if he liked his work. Heck, who likes work? Now I had to wonder if Uncle Frank had been given any choice
in the matter and, if not, how that factored into the father/son dynamic currently playing out.

"Uncle Frank's not one to share his innermost thoughts," I said. "But I guess if he didn't like the fair and the ice cream
business, he'd sell."

Mr. Li's eyes grew big. "Uncle Frank sell? No more Dairee Freeze? No more hot dog? No more takey business? I buy! I buy! Be
on main drag! No more smell of toilet. No customer hold noses in line. I buy! I buy!"

I winced and shook my head. Geez, the little guy was jiggling up and down like I did after I'd polished off two large gulps
of diet cola from the Get'n'Go.

I stood. "I didn't say Uncle Frank was selling, Mr. Li. I said if he wasn't happy, he would probably sell. As far as I know,
he's content with his business." If not with his only child.

"I buy! I make good offer. I pay! I give egg rolls and crab rangoon for life!"

My eyes widened. "Lo mein, too?" I heard myself saying.

Mr. Li laughed, and a torrent of speech in an unrecognizable dialect poured out. He pumped my hand and jogged away, his short,
skinny legs barely touching the ground.

I frowned. I didn't just sell the Dairee Freeze. Did I?

"Still no sign of Frankfurter?" Gram sat across from me at a round umbrella-topped table, gnawing on a super-sized turkey
leg. "That boy ought to be strung up by his Buster Browns," she said. "The family is in an uproar. Why, poor Regina is worried
sick."

I nodded, still too full from my earlier overindul-gences to consider a leg of anything. "She did look a bit tense when she
relieved me," I said. "I wish there was something I could do to help."

"Kids these days are spoiled," Gram went on. "All this crap about how spanking is bad for the child and damages their self-esteem:
hogwash. I had my share of lickin's growing up, and I turned out just fine," Gram said. "And I got plenty of self-esteem."

"And some to spare," I teased.

"Kids are coddled too much," she went on. "In my day there was none of that how-does-that-make-you-feel bull hockey. Nobody
gave a damn how you felt. We were too busy trying to survive, to make enough money to squeak through another day."

"Your father was the police chief, Gram. Your uncle ran the hardware store and Paw Paw Will worked for him."

"Times were hard, missy, and no mistaking that. A person had to be tough. Resilient. We aren't doing these kids any favors
these days by smoothing all the bumps in the road for them. They need to stub a toe now and then, fall flat on their faces,
pick up a few splinters in their tongues and see what the view is like from floor level. That's the only way they can learn
to pick themselves up and get moving again."

I had to admit, Gram was a tough old bird. She'd surprised me numerous times over the years with her pluckiness and determination.
And while she'd adapted with the times, she'd never changed her opinion when it came to personal responsibility. Or Lawrence
Welk, whom she still considered a hottie.

"Frankie's not a kid anymore, Gram," I pointed out. "He's an adult."

"Exactly. And he needs to start acting like one. Get a backbone or quit moping, that's my advice to Frankie. And that's what
I plan to tell him first thing if he ever shows his face again."

I watched as Gram ripped into her turkey leg. No fatted calf for this prodigal son's return, I thought, with a twinge of sympathy.
Frankie would be lucky if he merited a complimentary corn dog.

"So, did Taylor make it up okay?" I asked.

"Taylor? She's around. Saw her over at the DNR exhibit earlier. I think she was helping Rick with his serpents."

Despite the heat of the late afternoon, I shivered. Assisting the ranger with his snake collection was not something I could
ever volunteer to do. Never ever. Not even if I spent several hours and tons of money I didn't have imbibing in the beer tent
could I ingest enough liquid courage to handle Ranger Rick's legless lovelies. But apparently my little sister was up to the
task. Of course, Taylor had never interacted with the species up close and personal as I often did during hay-baling season.
I was fairly certain she'd never experienced the sensation of having a surprise visitor slither out between her legs while
she rested on a square bale.

Gram dropped her poultry leg on her plate and looked over at me. "You plannin' to be an old maid all your life?" she asked
suddenly, a barbecue-sauce mustache making it hard to take her seriously. "Some shriveled-up old lady like Abigail Winegardner?"

Abigail Winegardner was Joe Townsend's neighbor and, according to Joe, Miss Winegardner had it bad for him. I'd sampled many
of the goodies she'd prepared for Joe, and I had to say, she seemed like a keeper to me.

"Times have changed, Gram," I said. "Women who don't marry aren't considered old maids anymore."

"No, they're just considered lesbians," Gram countered with her usual directness.

"I'm not gay, Gram," I said. "I'm just selective."

"We aren't talking about choosing a pot roast at the meat counter at the Meat Market," Gram said. "We're talking about a life
partner, girl. Someone to share the good times and the bad with. Someone to be there for you through thick and thin. Someone
to have safe sex with on a regular basis!"

I heard a throat clear and looked up to find Rick Townsend holding a turkey leg in a large white napkin in one hand and a
soda in the other, grinning down at me.

"Well, fan me with a brick, Rick! We were just talking about you!" Gram said, and I wanted to kick her under the table—but
I remembered Gram kicked back. Hard.

"No we weren't, Grammy," I said. "We were talking about Frankie."

Townsend set his food on the table and pulled up a chair beside me. Even in his kaa-kaa—I mean, khaki— uniform shirt, he looked
way too sexy for his own good. And mine.

"So, who is Frankie not having safe sex with these days?" Ranger Rick asked with a teasing twinkle in his eye.

"Don't people think girls without boyfriends are lesbians?" Gram asked in a too-loud voice for the subject matter. "It's just
a fact."

"Old Lady Winegardner never married, and no one thinks she's gay," I pointed out. "You say she's been after Joe for years."

"That's 'cause she's a slut," Gram said matter-of-factly.

Townsend coughed and soda sprayed the table. He wiped it up with his napkin and chuckled. "You slay me, Hannah," he said.
"You shoulda been a stand-up comedienne. You could have been famous."

"Maybe I will be yet," she said with a lift to her chin. "Maybe I'll go on one of them reality TV shows where they pick the
next great comic or superstar. Maybe even
Big Brother
. Why, I'd be a shoo-in on
Big Brother
if they didn't have the women wear them skimpy outfits and bathing suits all the time. Now, in my day, I'da put them all
to shame. Now? Well, now I'd just put them into a fit of laughter. Or have them running for an available toilet. But believe
me, fifty years ago I would have given these young actresses a run for their money and you, young man, you'da been standing
there with your tongue hanging out like all the rest."

Rick patted Gram's hand. "I believe you, Hannah. Pops tells me you were one foxy chick. And he has the photos to prove it."

Gram beamed, and in that moment I saw a glimpse of the girl she used to be on the outside and apparently still felt like on
the inside. Growing old really sucks.

"He still has pictures of me?" Gram asked, putting a hand to her head and patting her blue curls. "I had no idea."

I smiled. Right.

"Where is your grandfather, by the way?" Gram asked and I marveled at how she looked like she could care less. I'm not one
of those tell-us-how-you-really-feel-Tressa people, I'm afraid. My feelings are easier to read than a
See Jane Run
book.

"I thought for sure Joe would be at Dottie's first thing this morning," Gram went on, "but I was late getting there. Chipped
a couple of toenails and had to reapply my polish." She held up a hot-pink flip-flop to show off her newly polished tootsies.

"I think he stopped over at the first-aid station to have his blood pressure checked."

"Blood pressure?" Townsend had Grain's full attention now. "He's not having difficulty, is he?"

Townsend pulled off a length of turkey meat and popped it in his mouth, then shook his head. "Naw. There's a volunteer up
there he likes to visit first thing every year," he said, washing his turkey down with a swig of pop. "I guess she's newly
widowed or something, and he just wanted to pop in and check up on her."

Gram shot to her feet faster than the Space Shot ride on the midway. "I've been needing my blood pressure checked, too," she
said, hitching up her hot-pink fanny pack and light pink shorts. "I think I'll mosey up that way just to make sure I'm in
the normal range."

I grinned, thinking that if she was in the normal range, it would be a first. "You want some company?" I offered.

"Don't be silly." She waved me off. "You stay and visit with Rick. If I hurry, I can just catch the next shuttle up the hill.
Toodles," she said, and was gone, a pink splotch of color in a jungle of whites and blues and greens.

"Oh, you are sooo bad," I said to Townsend, doing the naughty-naughty sign with my index fingers.

"What?" he responded with his palms up. "What did I do?"

I shook my head. "You manipulated my Grammy, that's what. Shame on you, Townsend. She's a frail, feeble old woman."

"Frail, my fanny," Townsend chuckled. "I've come up against seasoned, serious poachers who aren't nearly as crafty or feisty
as Hannah Turner," he replied.

I nodded, then slid Gram's unfinished turkey leg across the table, picked it up, and began to eat. I can't stand to see good
food go to waste.

"So, I hear there was some more excitement at Frank's concession stand last night," Townsend said. "Something about the freezers
being unplugged."

"I didn't do it!" I yelled before he asked the obvious. With my background, folks tend to assume a lot of things about me.
Okay, so sometimes those assumptions are accurate. Except in this case, I was innocent. Blameless. Not gonna be the fall gal.

"I know, I know. Sounds like a deliberate act," Townsend said, wiping his mouth and throwing his napkin on the table. "Very
cold and calculating. Designed to hit Frank where it hurts. In other words ... personal."

I stopped chewing and set my—Gram's—drumstick down. "You don't think it was Frankie, too, do you?" I asked. "Whoever roached
the emporium and nuked our ice cream inventory had to be desperate—" I stopped and chewed my lip. How desperate was Frankie?
How hopeless did he feel about his life? About his future? Just how angry was he with Uncle Frank for expecting him to follow
lockstep in the family soft-serve business with nary a whimper of dissent? I sighed. If someone had told me I was expected
to follow after my mother in her accounting and tax business, I'd have let loose with a whole lot more than a collection of
cockroaches!