The Merchant of Menace (2 page)

“What's he retired from?”

Jane shrugged. "No idea. Making moonshine?”

As if she'd made a cosmic announcement, her last word was followed by a trumpet blast of Biblical proportions that shook the windows.

Billy Joe Johnson ran out the front door and down the sidewalk to where his wife Tiffany was standing. Once again, she had her hair in pin curls, but with a woolen scarf on her head, peasant-style. She was wearing jeans, a lumberjack shirt, and a light jacket she was trying to keep overlapped in the front and cover her ears at the same time. She didn't have enough hands for both.

“Ain't it great, Tiff?" Billy Johnson shouted over the music. The raucous noise had resolved itself into a brass band recording of "Hark! the Herald Angels Sing.”

Tiffany cupped her ear. "What? I can't hear you!”

Jane and Shelley came out onto Jane's front porch and Billy Joe waved cheerfully at them. Jane raised a limp hand in response as she and Shelley minced down the front steps to get a better look at the Johnsons' house. It was almost buried in Christmas decorations.

Four-foot-high lighted candy canes lined thedriveway. A life-sized Santa in a sleigh with two extremely lifelike reindeer were to the left of the sidewalk, and a coven of evil-looking plastic elves even more revolting than Jane's cookie elves disported themselves to the right of the yard. Every window in the house had a lighted snowman, angel, or star shining from it and was outlined with twinkling lights on the outside. In fact, the entire structure of the house was strung with lights. The bushes were a psychedelic nightmare, flashing and pulsating in red and green lights.

Jane and Shelley exchanged horrified looks. Tiffany cupped both hands and bellowed into Billy Joe's ear, "TURN OFF THE MUSIC!”

He bounced off to the house to do her bidding and a moment later the sound was abruptly cut off, mid-trumpet. It was suddenly so relatively silent that Jane could hear her pulse in her ears. Or maybe she'd gone suddenly deaf, she thought, and that's all she'd ever hear again. Her own heartbeat.

She tested her voice. "Shelley? Why didn't you tell me about this?”

Shelley was shaking her head, as if to clear it. "I've been inside all day and came from my kitchen door across the driveway to your kitchen door. I had no idea! He must have been working on this all day long."

“It's—" Jane fumbled for a single word that would describe the Johnsons' house. " — amazing! Horrible and amazing.”

Jane's front door flew open and two of her children came barreling out. Katie, Jane's sixteenyear-old daughter, came to a sudden stop and said, "Holy sh— oops. Sorry, Mom." Her eyes were as big as saucers as she stared at the sight next door. "'I was on the phone with Jenny and there was this awful noise. ." Her voice trailed off.

Todd, in seventh grade and just inching past his sister in height, came out behind her, looked at the house, and grinned. "Awesome!" he said.

Jane glanced down the street. Here and there porch lights had come on, and people were standing on their front steps, huddled in sweaters and coats, staring at the Johnsons' house. Somebody pointed to the roof, and Jane looked up, then clutched Shelley's arm. "Shelley, the roof—”

Atop the house, set up between the two front dormers, was an entire life-sized crèche. Joseph, Mary, baby Jesus, wise men, shepherds, two sheep, and a smallish camel who looked like he came from a different set. The figures were brilliantly hued plastic, lighted from inside. It was, beyond any doubt, the most ghastly thing Jane had ever seen.

Several cars had stopped in front of the house and their passengers were gawking at the display.

Billy Joe was gesturing at Jane and Shelley. "Y'all come take a look from the front," he bellowed.

It would have been surly to refuse. But they didn't hurry. As they reached the couple, Billy Joe reached out to shake Shelley's hand. He pumped it like a slot machine handle. "I'm Billy Joe Johnson and this here is my wife Tiffany Ann. Tiff to her friends."

“How do you do?" Shelley said, trying to gently extricate herself from his grip. "I'm—" She paused as if attempting to gather her wits and remember her own name. "I'm Shelley Nowack. I live on the other side of Jane."

“Leggo her hand, Billy Joe," Tiffany said. "Pleased to meetcha, Shelley. What do you think?"

“About what?" Shelley asked.

Tiffany laughed merrily. "Why, of the house, of course. Isn't it just the best thing?”

Shelley's mouth moved but no words came out. Jane stepped into the breach. "It's certainly — impressive. So many — things. And music, too. Oh, my.

It was a feeble attempt at courtesy, but Billy Joe and Tiffany accepted it as a compliment and beamed at each other.

A police car pulled into the Johnsons' driveway and the officer, a young woman with sleek blond hair in a tidy chignon at the back of her neck, got out and stared, bewildered, at the house for a long moment before approaching Billy Joe. "Hello there, folks," she said, her smile huge and astonished. "We got a call about a noise at this address.”

Billy Joe introduced himself and the others and said, "That was just my sound system. I guess I had it set too loud. I'm a little deaf myself, so I didn't notice. But Tiff says I damned near blew out her circuits!" He laughed uproarishly at this witticism. "Don't it look great?”

Jane felt a sudden engulfing tide of something like tenderness. These people really thought they'd created a work of art. They were proud of it and expected everyone else to like it. "I think it's wonderful," Jane said in a sudden, well-intentioned burst of mendacity. "Just wonderful.”

Billy Joe swelled with pride. Tiffany simpered. Shelley looked at Jane as if she were seeing her for the first time and was not able to quite take in the sight.

“Just keep the noise level down if you would, Mr. Johnson," the police officer said. "Merry Christmas, everybody." She got in her car and backed out of the driveway, shaking her head and smiling.

Billy Joe invited Jane and Shelley inside for some holiday punch. "And bring the young 'uns, too."

“I really can't," Jane said. "I have cookies in the oven that have probably burned up by now. And Shelley's helping me with the icing. Maybe tomorrow?”

When they got back to Jane's front door, Katie had disappeared, but Todd was still standing and muttering, "Awesome."

“Don't even think about it, Todd," Jane said. "We're not doing anything like that. A Christmas tree, a tasteful wreath or two, maybe a few lights on the tree outside. That's it!"

“But Mom, old thing, just think if there were two houses in a row just like it. And maybe Mrs. Nowack would make a third one." He cackled with laughter. "Super!”

They came inside and he bounded up the steps, yelling at Katie to get off the phone so he could call his friend Elliott to come over and look.

“You think it's 'wonderful'?" Shelley quoted in a voice of doom.

“No, it's hideous, but they were so proud of it," Jane said, shivering. "And I suddenly felt like a mother duck trying to console two ugly ducklings. Oh, Shelley, what if they decide to live here forever? It's a rental house, but sometimes renters stick around for a long, long time.”

Shelley considered the question for a moment. "We'll either have to kill them — or ourselves — or move away. Might be time to start thinking about condos.”

Jane was rummaging in the fridge, trying to find something to fix for dinner, when the doorbell rang. She found a neighbor, Sharon Wilhite, standing on the porch. "Just wondered if you needed some help getting ready for your parties," Sharon said. "How did you get conned into giving two of them back-to-back?"

“I'm still trying to figure it out, Sharon. Come in and tell me what to fix for dinner," Jane said.

“No good on that, I'm afraid. I almost never cook," Sharon said, shedding her coat and following Jane to the kitchen. She was a short blond, a bit on the buxom side, but very stylish and meticulously neat. Jane would have guessed her age to be about thirty.

Sharon looked around the kitchen as if it were foreign territory. "I don't have the time or skill for cooking and usually eat out, but I'm good with drinks."

“Drinks!" Jane exclaimed. "I haven't thought beyond coffee!"

“I'll bring along some wine, then.”

Jane didn't know Sharon well, in spite of several years of living a few doors away, but liked her anyway. She was one of the few independent, single, childless women in the neighborhood. She was an attorney who specialized in property law and commuted to work in Chicago, so she wasn't around a lot. Her income permitted her to have cleaning help, yard workers, and driveway shovelers in the winter. But she made an effort to be part of the small community, singing in the church choir and volunteering time for the city council when their concerns touched on her expertise.

“Stay for dinner?" Jane offered. "Nothing spectacular.”

Sharon shook her head. "I've got Chinese carryout ordered. In fact, I better get home and watch for it. Sure you don't need napkins, tablecloths, silverware, or something else I don't have to cook?”

When Sharon had gone, Jane fixed the kids and herself sandwiches and macaroni and cheese for dinner, went on with her baking, and started the first of many loads of washing that needed to be done. Todd put a new bag in the vacuum cleaner, which he insisted on calling "the Big Suck," in preparation for a marathon session of cleaning the next morning. Katie pitched in by devoting a full phone-free hour to cleaning every inch of the guest bathroom. This kind of cooperation and thoroughness was so astonishing to Jane that she was tempted to stand and admire the miracle of it.

Jane's mother had once told her that daughters don't get to be a pleasure to have arounduntil it's almost time to lose them and Jane was starting to see the truth in that. After a couple years of constant tears, arguments, and raging hormones, Katie was gradually turning into a very nice young woman. And in less than two years, she'd be going off to college.

Pull yourself together, you sap,
Jane told herself briskly.
You always turn into a blubbering wimp at Christmastime.

It didn't help that Billy Joe Johnson had his music back on. The volume wasn't nearly so deafening, although Jane could hear every lyric distinctly inside her house and suspected that outdoors it was probably intolerable. Still, she hummed along with the familiar melodies as she finished up the last batch of date-roll cookies and started packing the day's culinary output into lidded plastic containers that were intended for shoes and sweaters but were perfect for cookie storage. The floor was still sticky. She had inadvertently added some flour to the icing in her hair.

About nine there was a knock on the kitchen door. Shelley's special knock. Jane opened the door and Shelley nearly fell in. "Paul's sister Constanza is on her way over to our house. May I hide here?"

“Sure, but I was getting ready to take a shower."

“Take a shower. Take a long soaky bath if you want. God knows you need it. I'll eat cookies, watch television, and let myself out when I see her leave."

“So you didn't come for my scintillating companionship?"

“You're kidding, right?" Shelley said, shed-
I
ding her coat and boots. "Go bathe. Please!”

Jane took Shelley's advice and soaked luxuriously, using up a good deal of some expensive jasmine-scented bath salts she'd been saving for a special occasion. Today hadn't been special in any good way, but she needed a treat.

When she came back downstairs half an hour later, Shelley was gone and the kitchen was spotlessly clean. The floor shone, the appliances glittered, everything was put away and the dishwasher was humming along. Jane laughed out loud. Shelley just couldn't stand a mess, not even someone else's mess. A note on the small blackboard on the refrigerator door said,
You need more dishwasher soap and tile cleaner. I stole a dozen cookies. S.

Jane drifted into the living room, combed out her hair while watching television, and nearly fell asleep on the sofa. It had been a long day. Tomorrow would be even longer. She dragged herself upstairs and cuddled down into her freshly washed sheets. After trying to read for a few minutes, she gave up and turned off the light.

But the room didn't get dark.

She sat back up, confused. Then she realized that one of her bedroom windows was on the Johnson side of the house and the blaze of light from their decorations illuminated her room as if it were broad daylight. She staggered over and pulled down the shade. Not much help. She dragged the drapes across the window. That was a little better. She'd have to get new ones tomorrow that were heavily lined. Great. One y to keep track a to hire of all her boring, a secretaryneces- r sary errands.

Back in bed, Jane dropped off into sleep halfway through "O
Come
All Ye Faithful.”

Jane was up
early the
next morning and got a little more cleaning done before even waking Todd and Katie. The clouds had cleared and it was a brilliantly sunny day.
Rats,
she thought. This meant she had to let Katie drive to school. Katie had her learner's permit now and was mad to get her hands on a steering wheel at every opportunity, but the rule, so far, was that she could only drive on dry streets. Jane wasn't up to teaching her the rigors of snow or rain driving yet. Teaching Katie, however, was easier than it had been to teach Mike. For one thing, Jane had anticipated it with Katie. With Mike she'd always assumed his father would take this duty, but her husband had been killed in a car accident before driving lessons had been necessary.

Mike had been a curb-hugger, nearly nipping off a number of mailboxes and joggers before he learned where the car should be. Katie got the car in the right place on the road and didn't seem to have any urge to speed. But she complained constantly and bitterly about the car itself. Jane couldn't really blame her. The beat-up old station wagon really was a disgrace. It was ten years old now and had spent those years hauling innumerable car pools — little kids bouncing all over the backseat, bigger ones who dropped potato chips and gum on the carpet and periodically spilled soft drinks. The exterior hadn't fared much better and although Jane was pretty good at avoiding falling in the pothole at the end of the driveway, the pothole was turning into an ever-widening chasm that occasionally snagged the undercarriage. Jane was wondering if it might not be cheaper to buy mufflers by the dozen.