Tim Dorsey Collection #1 (20 page)

M
ARTHA DAVENPORT’S PARENTS WERE STAYING
the weekend, watching the kids.

“Can you zip me up?” she asked Jim in their bedroom.

“Sure thing.” Jim slipped on his jacket and helped Martha with her new dress.

Jim sniffed. “Jasmine?”

Martha nodded. “When are you going to let me know where we’re going?”

“I told you,” said Jim. “It’s a surprise.”

“I’m so excited. This isn’t like you.”

“
I’M NOT GOING
to wear that fucking thing!” yelled Sharon.

“Wear it or so help me God!” said Serge. He stood in front of his bedroom mirror, straightening his tux.

“This stupid dress is bad enough!”

“It’s just a corsage. It won’t kill you to try to look nice.”

“I don’t know how it works.”

“For the love of…!” Serge went over and pinned on Sharon’s corsage. “Now hurry up. Your pumpkin’s waiting.”

MARTHA’S EXCITEMENT WAS
getting the best of her as she and Jim sat in their living room, dressed and waiting.

“Give me a hint. Just a little one.”

There was a knock at the door. Martha popped out of her seat and answered it. It was a chauffeur. A white stretch limo sat at the curb.

“Oh Jim!” She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him, then clung to his arm as they strolled down the walkway. The chauffeur opened the back door and Martha climbed in.

“You know Sharon,” Serge said with a big smile, sitting in the opposite seat.

Martha looked back at Jim. “What’s going on?”

“Don’t worry. I’ve got it all planned.”

The chauffeur closed the door.

THE DON CESAR
Hotel opened in 1928 to much fanfare. The palatial resort combined Spanish architecture with Old World elegance on the Gulf of Mexico. Beach cabanas, poolside waiters. Presidents stayed there when they were in town. It was the finest hotel in Tampa Bay. You couldn’t miss it. It was big, and it was pink.

Martha thawed to a mild frost as the limo crossed St. Petersburg for the gulf. She had to admit she’d never seen Serge and Sharon like this. Serge had a fresh haircut and close shave, almost respectable in the tuxedo. And Sharon—she almost looked
too
good. Serge had spent eight hundred on the strapless white number, and another three hundred on her makeover and hair. He tipped the team of stylists heavily and kept Sharon in the chair with small amounts of cocaine. Her blond mane now elegantly curled off her shoulders, a sprig of baby’s breath over her right ear. She squirmed in her new dress like a Siamese cat in a wet suit.

The limo stopped, and the chauffeur opened the door. Martha gasped in delight.

“The Don Cesar! I’ve always wanted to come here!”

Bellmen open the doors, and the two couples strode inside. A man in tails played a grand piano in the cavernous Mediterranean lobby. Guests sipped cocktails and spritzers.

Jim led them through a door and up to the maître d’ stand. “Davenport. Reservations for four.”

“Right this way, sir.”

He seated them in the dim blue light of the saltwater aquariums that constituted the walls.

Sharon immediately excused herself for the ladies’ room.

Martha stood up. “I’ll go with you.”

Jim and Serge watched them leave.

“You’ve got quite a gal there,” said Jim.

“You’re joking, right?”

Jim didn’t know what to say.

“That woman is a fucking nightmare,” said Serge. “Any man is a fool to go within a hundred yards of her. She uses and abuses, thinks nothing of completely humiliating you in public, stomping your heart out and moving on to her next victim. She’s stolen money from my wallet for her drug addiction, cracked my ribs with a tire iron and once tried to stab me to death when she was high on cocaine!”

“My God!” said Jim. “I didn’t know!…Why are you still involved with her?”

Serge grinned sheepishly. “I think she’s kinda cute.”

Sharon lit a cigarette in the ladies’ room and checked her eyes in the mirror. She took an airline miniature of Jack Daniel’s from her purse.

“Want some?”

“No thanks,” said Martha.

“Whatever.” Sharon downed the bottle. She went in a stall and closed the door and began snorting.

Martha came back to the table alone.

“Something wrong?” asked Jim.

Martha leaned and whispered. “I’m not sure, but I think she’s doing cocaine.”

“I know,” Jim whispered. “Serge just told me. It’s a tragedy. He’s trying to get her help.”

Sharon came back to the table, now wearing sunglasses.

“Oh, great,” said Serge. He grabbed her wrist under the table and leaned over. “Don’t ruin this!”

“Let go!” She pulled away, and a glass of water went over. A waiter ran up with a towel.

Serge smiled at the Davenports. “Everything on the menu’s good.”

Sharon sniffled and played with her nose. “I’m going to the rest room.”

“No, you’re not!” said Serge.

Sharon stood up and Serge grabbed for her, but she jumped out of reach and took off. Serge held the large tassled menu in front of his face. He looked over the top at Jim and Martha. “Try the seafood.” Then ducked back behind the menu.

The bread basket arrived, looking like a floral arrangement.

Sharon came back with the jitters and sat down. She saw Jim looking at her. “What the fuck are you staring at!”

Jim lowered his eyes and buttered a roll.

It went that way through each course, soup to nuts, Sharon popping up and down from the table, back and forth to the rest room. Serge was ordering another bottle of wine when he felt something in his lap. Sharon had slipped off one of her shoes and was rubbing his crotch with her foot. Serge kept a poker face. He folded the wine list and handed it to the steward. “Try to find something in those heavy rain years in Burgundy during the 1880s. Surprise me.”

Sharon had a mischievous grin. She rubbed harder. Serge glanced to see if the Davenports were wise, but they were pointing at something in the aquarium.

“Stop it!” Serge whispered under his breath.

“Nope.”

The Davenports eventually realized something was amiss. Serge had both hands in his lap, wrestling with something under the tablecloth.

“Stop it! Right now!”

Sharon shook her head and wiggled her toes.

Serge grabbed the ankle and pulled hard, and Sharon went down in her chair, grabbing china on the way.

Waiters arrived at the table again.

Sharon stood up, grabbed a glass of Chablis and threw it in Serge’s face.

Serge smiled at the Davenports as the wine dripped down his nose. He ran his tongue around his mouth and smacked his lips. “Well-stated bouquet. Full-bodied yet uncomplicated.”

The maître d’ came over. He lowered his voice so only their table could hear. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

“But we haven’t had dessert yet,” said Serge.

The maître d’ looked around the table. “You three may stay, but
she
has to leave.”

“Oh, Sharon,” said Serge. “Don’t worry about her. Just a little feline distemper.”

“I’m sorry. We don’t serve people like her.”

“Come again?” said Serge. “I didn’t get that last part. For a second I thought you said, ‘people like
her.
’ ”

The waiter didn’t respond.

“She may be a little rough on Hints from Heloise, but
she’s still my date,” said Serge, standing and folding his napkin. “And you have insulted my lady’s honor.”

Serge discreetly snapped his knee up. The maître d’ doubled over with a groan, and Serge wrapped his arms around him, like he was helping. People at the other tables began staring.

“Nothing to worry about! Go back to your meals!” said Serge.

The maître d’ tried to say something, so Serge kneed him again, producing a louder groan.

Everyone was looking now.

“Just a little food poisoning,” said Serge. “You might want to lay off the seafood tonight and stick with the mad cow.”

A chorus of forks went down in plates. Jim and Martha jumped to their feet.

“You don’t want to try the chocolate mousse?” asked Serge.

“We have to leave.”

The Davenports quickly headed for the entrance and the waiting limo. Serge caught up from behind and grabbed Jim’s arm in the lobby. “I have to talk with you.”

“This is out of control, Serge. I can’t tell you how upset Martha is.”

“That’s what I want to talk to you about. Just take a second.”

“I’ll be right back,” Jim told Martha. She gave him the eye.

Serge and Jim huddled by the grand piano.

“What is it?” Jim said, impatient as he’d ever been in his life.

“I’m really sorry about tonight,” said Serge. “I don’t
know what I was thinking bringing Sharon. The whole thing was doomed right from the concept stage.”

“Your heart was in the right place,” said Jim. “Let’s call it a night.”

“I just had this fantasy,” said Serge. “I was thinking maybe I could have what you have. A stable family and a normal life. Instead, look what I have to go home to. You have the ideal nuclear family. I have the fucking Chernobyl family. My domestic partner is a femme fatale Lucille Ball meets Nancy Spungeon by way of Squeaky Fromme, and we have de facto foster custody of a colicky man-child from the Island of Misfit Toys.”

Serge pulled out a big roll of bills and began peeling off hundreds. “I’m going to make it up to you.”

“That’s not necessary.”

“I absolutely insist.”

Serge marched across the lobby and tossed money on the front desk. “We’d like the honeymoon suite.”

Jim ran up from behind. “Serge, really, stop…”

“You want sparks in your marriage? Here’s your sparks…” He jammed a couple more hundreds in Jim’s breast pocket. “That’s for the champagne.” Then he put an arm around Jim’s shoulder and whispered. When he was done he stepped back. “You can’t miss.”

“I don’t know about that last part,” said Jim. “I don’t think she’ll go for it.”

“That’s the most important facet of the plan,” said Serge. “You can buy one in the gift shop. Trust me. I know women.”

They walked back to Martha and Sharon.

“What’s going on?” asked Martha.

Serge just grabbed Sharon by the wrist—“C’mon
you!”—and yanked her out the front door toward the limo.

“Hey, that’s our ride!” said Martha.

“Doesn’t matter,” said Jim. He held up the key to the honeymoon suite.

SHARON DID MORE
coke in the limo on the way home.

Serge laid back in his seat and fiddled with some controls. “You ever think about having children?”

“Are you out of your mind!” said Sharon, sitting up with a rolled twenty-dollar-bill still hanging out her nose.

“I was thinking it might be kind of cool to settle down and maybe go straight for a while. I’ve been studying Jim…”

“Jim’s a dork!” said Sharon, leaning over again.

“He’s my new role model,” said Serge. “Takes guts to walk in his shoes.”

“And that’s what you want?”

Serge turned on the tiny TV set installed in the bar and changed channels. “It does have a certain appeal. I wouldn’t mind seeing what it’s like.”

“Boring! That’s what it’s like!”

“Maybe I
need
boring.”

A HALF MOON
reflected off the still Gulf of Mexico behind the Don Cesar. It was quiet in the honeymoon suite.

Martha sat at the edge of the bed on the verge of sobs. Jim sat next to her with his arm around her shoulders. He tried to console her, but Martha didn’t seem to want to be touched. He took his arm away.

“A flashlight!” said Martha. “What on earth were you thinking!”

“I’m not sure.”

“You had to be thinking something!”

“I guess I wanted to liven up the marriage.”

“You certainly accomplished that…But where did you ever get such a crazy idea?”

F
OUR PAIRS OF EYES BLINKED IN THE DARKNESS
.

Midnight in the retention pond. No sound except

frogs and crickets.

“I thought we’d be rescued by now,” said Eunice. “It’s been five days.”

“Nobody’s coming,” said Edith.

“They can’t see us down here,” said Ethel. “The weeds must be hiding us.”

The E-Team had survived so far on the contents of four purses, and the floorboards were littered with wrappers from Life Savers, Altoids, chewing gum, Rolaids, SweeTarts, Motrin, Maalox, Necco wafers, Ricola cough drops and Beano. They had fashioned a condensate funnel from a rain hat and attached it to the cattails just outside the driver’s window, channeling morning dew into a “World’s Greatest Grandma” travel mug. The Buick’s interior was hot and humid, and the women were down to their underwear.

A band of hobos camped in the woods on the side of the pond, and each night the woman could hear drunken revelry in the distance. They tried the horn, but it had shorted out in the water.

“Listen,” said Eunice, “you can hear ’em again.”

“Help! Help us!” yelled Ethel.

“They can’t hear you.”

“How long do you think we can last?” asked Edith, licking spearmint adhesive off a postage stamp.

“You’d be amazed,” said Eunice. “Mrs. Natofsky spent nine days with a broken hip in her shower before they found her.”

“How was she?”

“Dead.”

“Great,” said Edith. “Thanks for sharing that, Miss Sunshine…”

“The point is she lasted
eight
days.”

Edith noticed Edna was the only one not talking. “What do you have in your mouth?”

“Nothing.”

“You’ve got something.”

“No I don’t.”

“Grab her!”

“No!”

Eunice and Ethel scrambled over the headrests from the front seat and joined Edith, who already had Edna’s left arm twisted behind her back.

“Lemmo go! That hurts!”

“Check her mouth!” said Edith.

Edna clamped her jaw shut. Eunice and Ethel pried her lips apart with their fingers but weren’t having much luck with the clenched teeth. Edith pulled back with a fist and slugged her in the stomach.

“Aaaaahhh!” yelled Edna. The others briefly saw a tiny white oval on the back of her tongue before it disappeared toward her larynx.

“Tic Tacs!” yelled Edith. “She’s got Tic Tacs!”

The three woman tore through Edna’s purse, finding
something hidden in the lining. A plastic container with three pellets left.

“No!” said Edna. “I’m gonna die!”

“Survival of the fittest,” said Edith, and she and the others chewed up their breath mints.

Edith felt something else in the lining and slowly extracted an unending string of perforated foil packs from the Trojan plant.

“Girl, you are living in a serious fantasy world.”

“Just because you’re a wet rag…”

They began wrestling.

“Knock it off!” said Eunice. “We have to save our strength.”

Edith cleared her throat. “This is probably a bad time to bring this up, but there really is no good time. In situations like this people have to face it sooner or later. And it’s getting to be later.”

“Face what?”

“Cannibalism. How do you want to do this?”

“Shut up,” said Edna.

“I’m serious. This is a practical matter.”

“We’ve got a long time before we reach that point.”

“Not as long as you think.”

“I’m not sure I can take part,” said Ethel. “It might be against my religion.”

“You’re Jewish. You just can’t eat pork.”

“I think this would be a little worse,” said Ethel.

“I don’t think that’s it at all,” said Edith.

“What are you talking about?” said Ethel.

“I think I know what it really is. We’re not good enough for you.”

“What!”

“Yes, it’s all coming out now. The Chosen People…”

“You’re crazy!”

“Ethel’s right,” said Eunice. “You’re cracking up.”

“No, no, no!” said Edith. “I know exactly what I’m saying. I think her meaning’s perfectly clear.”

“I can’t believe what I’m hearing!” said Ethel. “You’re mad because I won’t eat you?”

“Look,” said Edna. “If it’ll make you happy,
I’ll
eat you.”

“You’re Presbyterian,” said Edith. “You’ll eat anything.”

“I don’t think I want to talk about this anymore,” said Ethel.

“I do!” snapped Edith.

“Ethel, for heaven’s sake, tell her you’ll eat her.”

“I’m waiting,” said Edith.

“This is the stupidest conversation I’ve ever had!” said Ethel.

“That’s why I want it to end,” said Eunice. “Just tell her and we can move on to another subject.”

“This is crazy!”

“Tell her! C’mon. She tastes like chicken.” Eunice clapped her hands quickly. “Let’s go. Goy—the other white meat.”

“This is nuts.”

“I’m still waiting!”

“Okay, okay, I’ll eat you.”

“Like hell you will!”

There was a rustling in the cattails.

“What is it?” said Ethel.

“A moose?” said Eunice.

Dark forms broke through the reeds. There was crash on the hood of the car. Two men wrestled on the windshield, Christ and the Antichrist.

“We’re saved!” said Edith.

The men pulled each other’s hair and gouged eyes. They rolled off the hood and fell in the swamp water. The four women watched the tops of the cattails thrash in the moonlight as the wrestling moved farther and farther from their car until it was still and quiet again.

“Shit.”