Ghouls Just Want to Have Fun (17 page)

"May I join you?" I asked, thinking I was being a really good role model.

"No. I was saving that seat for my friend Douglas," I heard, and turned to find the same mouthy little kid who'd accused me of cutting in line at the Dairee Freeze in the seat across from me.

"'Scuse me?"

"That seat's for my friend Doug," he repeated.

"Oh?" I checked out the food line and didn't see anybody who I thought would qualify as a Doug. "So where is he?"

The chubby child gave me a dirty look. "He's not here yet."

I nodded, wondering if Doug was real or fantasy. "How about I sit here and keep Doug's chair warm until he gets here?" I said. "Will that work?" I took a seat and held out a hand. "By the way, my name is Tressa."

The kid looked at my hand like I had held out a big hairy spider. Or a glass of vegetable juice.

He touched my fingertips briefly.

"Hi."

"He's Stewart," a blond girl two seats down from me said. "I'm Ginny." She motioned to a dark-haired girl beside her. "She's Sofia."

"Hey," I said.

"I saw you at the ice cream place the other day," Stewart said.

I nodded. "I work there sometimes," I admitted, hoping to head off an unpleasant confrontation regarding my cutting him in line.

"What kind of name is Tressa, anyway?" the blonde named Ginny asked.

I'd gone home from school and asked my mom the very same question myself the day Kelby Kennedy told me I didn't look like a Tressa. When I found out my mom had named me after a doll with a button on her tummy to grow hair and a keyhole in her back to wind it back up, I decided never to divulge the origin of my name to a soul. Now that my mom is a serious CPA type, I think she prefers we keep the subject of how she selected my name between the two of us as well. For some reason the idea of my mom playing beauty-shop Barbie embarrasses her, I guess for the same reason she doesn't want folks to know she vegges out in front of the tube with a two-pound bag of M&Ms and furry purple socks.

"It's a family name," I told the blonde.

"It's fun," she said, and I nodded.

"So are you all having fun during homecoming week?" I asked, trying to make conversation. "Excited about the game?"

"I hate football," Stewart said.

I looked back at the little butterball.

"Who hates football?" I said. Apart from Vikings fans, of course. "Besides, homecoming is more than just football," I told Stewart.

"Like what?"

I took a big bite of my sandwich. A glob of meat filling plopped onto my plate. "There are cheerleaders, parades, pep rallies and dances."

Stewart didn't look impressed.

I shoveled a couple of Doritos sideways into my mouth. "You've got popcorn, candy apples, walking tacos, and hot dogs," I said. "And don't forget, they throw tons of candy at the parade," I added, my mind automatically going to the gastronomical perks of the event.

"Are you calling me fat?" Stewart asked, his voice slightly raised.

"Huh?"

"Did you hear her? She just called me fat!" Stewart wailed.

"I did not!" I turned to Ginny and Sofia. "Did I, Ginny? Sofia?"

"Oh, Stewart. Get a life!" Ginny told him.

I looked at Stewart. His face was downcast as he stared at his plate. "Uh, Stewart, one thing you need to know about me--I like my food," I told him. "I tend to obsess over it."

Stewart looked up at me.

"Confession?" I said. "I only agreed to chaperone this evening when I found out they were having sloppy joes," I told him. "Am I pathetic or what?"

I caught a smile at the corner of Stewart's mouth.

"So you're not here because you enjoy hanging out with middle school kids?" Stewart asked.

"Are you kidding?" I told him. "It's all about the food, man."

I picked my sloppy joe up and took a humongus bite. More innards dripped onto my plate. "Ugh, I should have picked up a spoon," I said, looking down at the nummy meat filling on my plate.

"I'll go grab you one, Tressa," Stewart said, and jumped to his feet.

"Why, thank you, Stewart," I said. "What a gentleman," I told Sofia and Ginny. "If I was fifteen years younger--," I said, and left it at that. The girls looked at each other.

"Well, hello there, young ladies. Is there room for one more?"

I bristled at the sudden suave--and intrusive--tones of a ranger who had a lot to answer for. I looked over and caught Ginny and Sofia staring up at Rick Townsend, their tongues collecting more airtime than my pooches' did after a cross-country romp.

"One chaperone per table, Ranger Rick," I said between mouthfuls.

"Is that right, ladies?" he addressed the girls around me.

"No! You can sit with us!" Ginny said. "Please!"

"Sit here!" Sofia popped to her feet more quickly than I did when the microwave dinged to tell me my pizza rolls were ready.

"Well, if you're sure I'm not breaking any rules," Townsend said, taking the now open seat between Ginny and Sofia. "Everyone having a good time?"

"We were," I told him.

"So what did you two girls do? Sneak in here when no one was looking? You've got to be eighth-graders, right?" Townsend said, pouring on the charm thicker than I did maple syrup on the short stack at IHOP. Okay, so I don't normally get the short stack, but you get my point.

"We're sixth-graders," Sofia, the cute brunette, told him. "I'm Sofia. That's Ginny." She pointed to her friend. "And you're really good-looking."

I rolled my eyes. Trust the brunette to go from "hello" to "you're hot" more quickly than my car's temperature gauge hit the red in midsummer.

"No! You're kidding. I thought you both were much older."

I was, like, gonna be sick. And I still had my dessert to eat. Lousy ranger.

"Here's your spoon!" Stewart handed me a plastic utensil, took a look at what was sitting between Ginny and Sofia, and dropped into his seat, his full attention on his plate once again. Neither girl noticed he'd even returned.

"Thank you, Stewart," I said. "Ranger Townsend, this fine young man is Stewart." Stewart gave a nod in Townsend's direction.

"Hello, Stewart. Nice to meet you."

"Tell me, Stewart, what exactly do you do at mixers?" I asked. "Dance? Play games? Meet and mingle?"

He looked up at me. "Since this is a Halloween party, I think they have some games planned. And they usually give out prizes."

"Sounds like fun," I said. "I hope they let chaperones participate."

"They usually do. We sometimes compete against the chaperones."

"You mean I have to be on 'his' team?" I said, making an "uh, gross" face.

Stewart smiled.

"At least if we're on the same team, I won't beat you, Tressa," Townsend said. "I know you're a sore loser."

"Who says I'd lose?" I asked. "I seem to recall I won our last friendly little wager."

He grinned. "Ah, but this is a game. A sporting competition. Men are naturally better at athletic events."

I saw Sofia and Ginny look at each other, then send Townsend a dark look.

"Sofia won the free throw competition at the city rec center the last three years. She beat out a bunch of boys," Ginny said with a lift to her chin. "And I can run faster than all the boys in the sixth grade."

Rick held up his hands. "Hey, I was just giving Calamity a hard time over there. No offense intended, ladies," he said.

"Calamity?" For the first time, Stewart made eye contact with Townsend.

He nodded. "That's Tressa's nickname," he told the boy. "Calamity Jayne."

Stewart looked back at me. "You're Calamity Jayne? From the papers?"

I gave Townsend a withering look. "Uh, some rather unenlightened individuals have called me that on occasion," I admitted. "But I assure you that tales of my past exploits have been greatly exaggerated," I added.

"You're the one who found the body in the trunk?" Sofia's eyes were as big as the chocolate-chip cookie I hadn't had time to eat.

"You're forgetting the second body she found at the marina," Townsend supplied, and I was ready to dump my plate on his head, cookies and all.

"And there was all that excitement at the state fair," Ginny chimed in.

Stewart slowly got to his feet. "I'm homeschooled. My mom made me come tonight to improve my social skills," he said, picking up his plate. "I don't think this is what she had in mind," he added, and moved to a table so far away I needed binoculars to see him.

Townsend shook his head. "Scared another one off, huh?"

"I hope you're happy, Townsend," I said. "I was just getting Stewart there to open up. Now he's cowering in the corner like I'm a regular Lizzie Borden. Or a representative from that Biggest Loser weight-loss show recruiting for a new kids' version." I grabbed a cookie from my plate and bit off a big chunk. "You've got a lot to answer for, Townsend," I said, spraying cookie crumbs across the black paper tablecloths. "A lot."

"What? That kid? What'd I do?"

"Not Stewart," I hissed. "Grandma!"

Townsend sat back in his chair and cocked an arrogant eyebrow at me.

"Ah. Do I sense some difficulties adjusting to your new living arrangements?" he asked.

Adjust? I'd have more success adjusting if I moved into the new orangutan research facility south of Des Moines with the orangutans and bonobos.

"And why blame me? All I did was to extend a helping hand to a feeble old woman." Townsend put his hands out, palms up, in an I'm-an-open-book gesture.

"Ha. Try aiding and abetting," I replied.

"Oh, so your grandma moving in with you is criminal, huh?"

"No," I replied. "Not literally. But there ought to be a law. And you stepped over the line, bucko, when you helped her in the back door while I was going out the front," I told him. "I was scared to death when I came home and the house was lit up like center ring at the circus." Which, come to think of it, was a pretty accurate assessment as to what life would be like sharing digs with my grandma.

"Some of those fertility gods
were
pretty terrifying," Townsend acknowledged, and leaned across the table in my direction. "Not to mention some of them could cause inferiority issues in a man if he wasn't secure with himself," he added in a low tone.

I remembered the Homo erectus I'd performed a Lorena Bobbitt number on, and almost grinned. Until I remembered how many of those little treasures I'd be seeing daily in the weeks to come.

"Don't think this is over, Townsend," I told him. "As you so often feel the need to point out to me, actions have consequences. So I'd be keeping an eagle eye out for your consequences, Mr. Ranger, sir. Just think how you'd like it if your granddad moved in with you."

"I'd kill myself." Townsend sighed. "I see you're bent on taking your pound of flesh, T, so have at me," he said with a smile that had the preteen girls around him needing drool bibs. "Do your worst."

I stuffed the rest of my cookie into my mouth and stood.

"If you'll excuse me, I need to help with the cleanup." I picked my plate up and marched to the kitchen.

My worst? The fool ranger had no idea.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

It was time for the last game of the night. We'd bobbed for apples. Having the biggest mouth, I naturally won, but was disappointed that the prize was a basket of--you guessed it--apples. The sponsors, it seemed, were trying to incorporate a healthy element to the annual Halloween fun. Apparently, here in the breadbasket of the country, many of us are carrying some pretty disturbing breadbaskets of our own around our midsections, so I suppose the nutritious alternatives were a good thing. And hey, apples can always be dipped in peanut butter or caramel, and there's this really tasty fruit dip you can get at the grocery store that is to die for.

We had run sack races, performed charades, played
Jeopardy
with questions from the sixth-grade science, social studies, math and language arts curricula. (Kari had the teaching bug bad.) Wouldn't you know the prizes for
Jeopardy
were king-sized candy bars, and I was disqualified for repeatedly jumping out of my seat before buzzing in. Townsend was the game show host, and was an even better Alex Trebek than Alex Trebek. Funny, great-looking, witty, great-looking, clever. Have I mentioned great-looking? He even got Stewart in on the act, drafting him as his assistant and scorekeeper.

The last event of the evening was the apple race. I'm sure you know the one: Two teams of equal number line up one member behind another. The object of the race is to successfully pass the apple from one team member to the next by means of the chin and neck only. The apple is transferred neck-to-neck down the line. If the apple falls or if someone uses a body part other than the chin and neck, that team has to start over. The last person to receive the apple has to race--apple beneath chin--to the front of the room and drop the apple (still by means of the chin/neck maneuver) and drop it in a basket to be declared the winner.

Frankly, I wanted to sit out, but I didn't want to be seen as a party pooper. Besides, I really wanted to whip Townsend's butt. Figuratively, ladies. Figuratively. It's a children's get-together, remember?

We'd chosen teams and already completed a best-out-of-three competition. Townsend's team had beaten mine all three times. I'm not saying they cheated, understand, but when you get stuck with a kid on your team who doesn't actually have a neck--no, I won't be naming names--you have a wee bit of a handicap.

It was getting close to nine and the party was almost over, when the youngsters decided they wanted to have one last race--chaperones versus children. For bragging rights.

We lined up and I stuck myself at the end of the chaperone line. I figured the kids would probably be done way before the apple got to me, and I wouldn't even have to participate. I frowned when I noticed Townsend positioning himself in front of me.

"What do you think you're doing?" I asked him.

He turned around and looked at me. "I'm getting ready for the race," he said. "Is there a problem?"

I looked at his long, tanned neck, attached to a great chin. I'd lay odds that same neck and chin smelled wonderful, too. No way was I going anywhere near that neck and chin in public with a bunch of kids looking on. Nope. Wasn't gonna happen.

"You're nuts," I told Townsend. "That's the problem."

Townsend shrugged. "What's the matter, Calamity? Afraid you can't resist my charms? I understand. I'll move so you won't have to be tempted."

Oh, buddy, was it time to pull on the ol' hip waders or what? For sure, it was suddenly gettin' purty deep.

"You just stay right where you are, Mr. Ranger, sir," I said, pulling on the collar of his sweatshirt. "I wouldn't want it said the chaperones were stacking our team to gain an advantage. I'm pretty sure I can control myself where you're concerned," I told him. "You'd better hope I can," I added. "You better hope I can."

The whistle sounded, and the race was on. The city youth director was the first one to hand off--I mean chin off--the apple, to his wife, a short but chin-competent team member. She accepted the apple from her husband with little difficulty and turned to relay the Red Delicious to Kari's fiance, Brian. This exchange proved to be a little dicey due to the differences in height. At well over six feet, Brian had to bend almost double in order to snare the apple with his chin and secure it close to his neck.

I took a quick look at the kids' teams and saw that they were keeping pace with us.

"Come on, Brian! Move that apple!" I found myself cheering. "Move that apple!"

I saw Townsend shake his head, but ignored him. I sometimes get carried away in the heat of competition.

"Move that apple!" was now a loud war cry among the teams competing for first place.

Brian finally managed the transfer of the fruit from the diminutive team member and carefully turned to his fiance to bestow said fruit on her.

I frowned when Kari got this really dopey lovesick look on her face. I hoped she wasn't going to get distracted by her fiance's closeness and botch the subsequent transfer, so I yelled, "Move your apple, Kari!" so loudly that Townsend put a finger in his ear to clear his eardrum.

Short seconds later, it was obvious that Kari and Brian had a lot of experience neck nuzzling, as their handoff--uh, chinoff--was smooth, flawless and fast. Kari turned to deliver the goods to Townsend, and I checked out the other team's progress. Stewart's team was neck and neck--I've been waiting to use that phrase here!--with the chaperones'. Stewart would be the last to receive the apple for his team.

I looked at him. He stared back at me and to my surprise reached out and cracked his knuckles, then proceeded to rotate his head as if to pop any kinks out of his neck. Or out of where his neck should have been. Uh, oops. I wasn't going to name names, was I?

I looked back at Kari and Townsend struggling to perfect their technique to move the Red Delicious.

"Move that apple!" I chanted, my passion to win turning on me like a rabid squirrel. "Move that apple!"

Townsend finally turned to me, the red apple tucked between his chin and chest like a really enflamed goiter, and I hesitated. Could I really get that close to Townsend without one of us getting maimed? Or both of us going up in red-hot-definitely-not-for-younger-viewers ashes?

"Come on, Tressa!" Kari shouted. "Move that apple!"

I looked over and saw that Stewart had moved closer to Ginny and was in the process of wedging his chins into place to accept the fruit.

"Move that apple!"

"No fair!" I yelled. "Stewart's using chin flab. Is that allowed?"

"Move that apple!"

"What the heck," I said to Townsend, stepping into the circle of his long legs. "If Stewart can do it, so can I."

"Sweet talker," Townsend managed, and I shook my head.

"Don't you dare laugh and drop that apple," I told him, moving in to place the tip of my chin against the side of his neck. I sniffed. Dammit. He did smell good.

I shook the smell of good-looking guy, aftershave and sloppy joe out of my head and focused on the task at hand. I maneuvered my chin under Townsend's and latched on to the apple. Man, even Townsend's breath smelled good. He'd obviously thought to pop a Tic Tac. And he hadn't even eaten Doritos. I could only imagine what my breathed smelled like.

I felt Townsend's hands cup my waist, and I sucked my gut in to my sternum, hoping he wouldn't try the ol' pinch-an-inch trick on me when I couldn't defend myself. His fingers moved ever so seductively against my body, and I felt the heat of his thighs against mine like the electric blankey my gramma left plugged in on the sofa.

I figured I could probably remain in this position for, let's see, only about an hour or two longer. Townsend was one guy a girl didn't mind being this close to. And an apple beneath the chin was no real impediment to my enjoyment of the closeness. I sniffed his scent again.

"Do you have it?" Townsend managed to ask through clenched teeth.

"Have what? Oh, the apple," I mumbled, also afraid to move my jaw muscles for fear the fruit would fall. "Yes. I have it."

"Are you sure?" I could detect amusement in his voice.

"I think so," I said. "I'm almost positive I have it." I slid out just a hair from Townsend to test my hold on the apple. So far, so good.

"I think I've got it," I said carefully. "I think I've got it." I moved a step away from Townsend, and the apple remained in place. "I've got it!" I said, and turned to head for the basket and the winner's circle.

And bumped into a big, hard, black wall.

"Oooommphf!"

"Don't drop the apple!" I heard Kari call out.

I let my eyeballs slowly move up the expanse of black that filled my vision. Past a torso so broad a tailor would need two tape measures to measure the width. Up, up, up to a neck that I couldn't span with three hands.

"Hey! They got an extra team member!" some kid shouted.

"And he looks like The Rock!" another child added. A boy, I thought.

I finally made the trip up to the face of the surprise team member, and my startled gaze came to rest on dark eyes and a chiseled face.

"Hey, Barbie doll," my now-and-again acquaintance Manny Dishman--or is that Manny DeMarco--said. "Got fruit?"

The apple slipped from its place between my chin and breastbone and plummeted downward. I shut my eyes and waited for it to hit the floor.

Instead I heard a crunching sound. You know, kind of like you make when you bite into an apple. I opened my eyes. Just like you make when you bite into an apple.

Manny held the apple--minus one man-sized bite--in one extra large-sized hand. He looked down at me, chewing slowly.

"Barbie trying to tempt Manny with an apple?" he asked. " 'Cause Manny just bit."

"We win! We win!" yelled Stewart's team as he successfully released his apple into the basket with considerable fanfare.

I watched a tiny bit of apple juice spill out of the corner of Manny's nicely shaped mouth and felt this totally crazy desire to reach up and wipe it away.

Blame it on that old black magic.

The party was over. The kids had all gone home. Once Kari got a look at a certain tattoo on Manny's rather massive triceps muscle, she instructed me to "get him out of here before a parent sees him!"

Townsend was giving off unmistakable don't-do-it-Tressa vibes, characterized by the repetitive shake of his head, eyebrows that met in the middle of his face, and tightly crossed arms.

I performed a wide-eyed what-can-I-do? number, grabbed Manny's paw of a hand and dragged him out to the parking lot.

"What in the world are you doing here?" I asked, pulling him over by my car. "The last time I saw you, you were behind bars and giving false names to cops. I gotta tell ya, man, I hardly think a Halloween youth mixer is your scene."

"Manny came to find you."

I frowned. "How did you know where I was?"

"Hannah told me."

Damn. That was the last time I did the responsible thing and left my roomie a note telling her where I'd be.

"Manny needs a favor."

Have I mentioned that Manny is built like a pro wrestler, has skin so dark he makes me look anemic and travels in some, uh, pretty rough circles? He also likes to refer to himself in the third person. I know. At first it weirded me out, too, but now I'm pretty much used to it.

I frowned up at him with a narrow look. "What kind of favor?"

Back when I discovered that stiff in my trunk Manny had been of particular assistance to me--in exchange for bailing him out of the Knox County Jail, I should add. We'd kept in touch from time to time, the latest being at the Iowa State Fair. Manny was one of those fellows you have a hard time saying no to.

"Piece-of-cake favor, Barbie," Manny said. "Take about half an hour. In and out. No big deal."

Did I also mention that Manny is a man of few words?

"You don't want me to, like, rob a convenience store or be a lookout, or anything, do you?" I asked, adding a laugh just to make it seem like I was joking. And I was. Wasn't I?

Manny leaned on the hood of my car, and the car groaned and dropped down a good foot. I wouldn't have been surprised to hear the undercarriage scrape the concrete.

"Barbie. Always good for a laugh," he said, but I noticed he wasn't laughing.

"So what is this favor you need?" I asked. "And remember, I'm a good girl, I am," I added.

Manny smiled. His teeth were very white amid the tan of his face, and the darkness of the night that surrounded us.

"It's like this, Barbie. Manny's great-aunt Marguerite is dying."

My first reaction, naturally, was one of sympathy. After all, I am a very caring individual. Most of the time, anyway.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, Manny," I said. My next reaction was one of surprise at hearing Manny talk about his Great-
ahnt
Marguerite. He sounded like someone who belonged in the Hamptons, not in the heartland. "Are you close to your aaahhnt?" I asked.

Manny nodded. "Aunt Mo raised Manny. Gave Manny a home when his mom died. Manny owes her."

I nodded. "I can imagine. I'm sorry. I'm sure you have to be hurting. But what does this have to do with me and the favor you need?"

Manny moved off the hood of the car. Was it my imagination, or did the Plymouth not have the clearance it did before he'd sat down?

"Manny wants to make Aunt Mo's last days happy ones," Manny said. "Give her something she's been wantin'."

I found myself really touched by the big man's obvious love and concern for his great-ahntie Mo. I put a hand on Manny's arm.

"That's sweet," I said, patting an arm as hard and solid as our farm pond during a long, cold winter. "What can I do to help?"

Manny gave me a long look. "Marry Manny," he said.