An Affair to Dismember (3 page)

“I was trying to get the owl,” I shouted down with as much dignity as I could muster.

“Get down immediately!”

“I can’t. I’m stuck on the metal doohickey.”

I was stuck. Stuck, and nothing was going to get me to move. I was sure any little movement would precipitate my plunge to earth. I sat on the metal ladder rungs, my legs wrapped around the pole in a death grip. My pants leg was punctured all the way through by the metal thing, my fear of heights had suddenly kicked in, and I was sweating so much that a nice slippery coat covered my body from head to toes.

I looked down at the policemen, who were deep in conversation. Four were in uniform, but one was dressed in plainclothes, an expensive suit.

A couple of minutes later I heard a siren and saw a giant hook and ladder fire truck come my way. Presto chango, they had a ladder against the pole, and a big fireman was climbing up to me.

“Don’t worry, miss. I’ll help you,” he said.

“I was trying to get the owl for the wildlife management department. They have budget cuts,” I told him.

“Happens all the time, miss. Come on. I got you.”

He put his arms around me and gave a little tug, and the ripping sound from my sweatpants could be heard across state lines. I pulled back, trying to minimize the tear, and my elastic waistband gave way as I fell upside down, my pants pulled down to my knees, my pink Victoria’s Secret special three-for-fifteen-dollars boy’s-cut underpants out for everyone to see.

I heard snickering from the group below, which now included not just the police and the firemen but the entire staff of Burger Boy. In a moment of lunacy, I waved to them.

The fireman carried me over his shoulder down the ladder. Once on firm ground, I pulled up my pants.

“You have to get the owl. It’s distressed and endangered,”
I told the fireman. He nodded and went back up to retrieve the bird.

The policeman in the suit approached me. He was tall. His thick, wavy dark brown hair was perfectly cut and combed, his chin was shaved down to the last whisker, and despite a manly Gerard Butler kind of face, he looked like he was not averse to using moisturizer and the occasional clay mask. He had largish dark blue eyes and thick eyebrows. He arched one of those eyebrows as if he had a question.

“Yes?” I prompted.

“Cinderella?” he asked, his mouth forming a smile, revealing white teeth.

“Excuse me?”

“I was thinking you must be Cinderella.” He held up my flip-flops. “I found these. They’re yours, right?”

I put my hand out, and he placed the flip-flops in it. “I guess that makes me Prince Charming,” he said.

Ew
. Who did he think he was? I had just had a near-death experience.

He stood with his hands on his hips. His suit jacket was pulled back a bit, and I could see his badge and gun.

“I was trying to save the owl. It wasn’t my idea. Wildlife management told me to do it,” I said.

He smiled and cocked his head to the side. “I don’t usually come out for these kinds of things, but I heard the call come out about a woman up a telephone pole and had to see for myself. I’m not complaining, though, and neither is anybody else. Sergeant Brody over there says you have the finest rear end he’s ever seen.”

“Well, I’m sorry I wasn’t up there longer to give everyone a better view.”

“Don’t worry about it. They all took photos with their cellphones,” he said.

A deep heat crawled up my face, and my ears burned.

He studied me a second. “Hey, don’t feel bad,” he said, a smirk growing on his perfectly shaved face. “The town has cut back our overtime allowance, so the men have been pretty down. You just made everyone’s day. I heard one guy say he hasn’t felt this alive in twenty years.”

One of the firemen approached us with the owl in his hands. “I got your owl,” he said. He tapped it, making a hollow sound. “Plastic. It was put up there to scare away the pigeons so they wouldn’t crap all over Burger Boy. I took it down so we don’t have to go through this again. Although”—he winked at me—“I wouldn’t mind the experience.”

“But it looked so real,” I moaned.

Prince Charming took the owl from the fireman. “Here,” he said, presenting it to me. “You should have it.”

“Thanks, but no thanks.” I walked to my car and opened the door with a loud creak. Prince Charming was on my heels. He threw the owl behind me onto the backseat.

“Think of it as a souvenir.”

I felt I needed to explain myself to him, and I hated myself for it. “I was just trying to be proactive.”

“You were being a Good Samaritan,” he said.

“I’m not like this normally.”

He gave me another annoying little smirk. “I’m thinking there isn’t much normally in your normally.”

I gave him a sufficiently snotty look back and started the car. “I don’t think you’re Prince Charming at all,” I said.

He smiled from ear to ear. “Nice car.”

The Cutlass chose that moment to let rip its biggest car fart ever. I tried to retain my dignity, although I was guessing it was a little late for that. Besides, how dare he make fun of my only means of transportation? I was
about to send back a zinger when he patted the roof and turned on his heel. “Bye, Pinkie,” he called, waving as he walked.

I took a long, healing breath. The day had been a big lesson for me. I would never wear elastic-waist pants again.

I DROVE toward home, and my stomach growled in protest. Damn, I didn’t get a single fry. Grandma was going to be upset, but I wasn’t about to attempt any more stops. There was some leftover chicken in the refrigerator and a bottle of mayonnaise. Grandma would have to be satisfied with a chicken salad sandwich.

I pulled into the driveway, careful not to hit Grandma, who stood waiting there, holding a plate piled high with chocolate chip cookies.

“Just the person I wanted to see,” she gushed.

As I grabbed one of the cookies, she looked me up and down, and her eyes grew enormous. “
Bubeleh
, what has happened to you? You’re a mess. Your pants are ripped to shreds. I can practically see to China.”

I glanced down at myself while cramming the cookie into my mouth. She was right: I was a mess. What could I do? I took another cookie.

“An owl got me,” I said, little bits of cookie flying out of my mouth as I spoke.

Grandma must have had experience with owls because this piece of information didn’t seem to faze her.

“I have wonderful news, Gladie. Just wonderful. The whale took the bait, and the house is sold, sold, sold. I wanted to tell you earlier, but I waited until it was all done.”

“What house?”

Grandma playfully punched me in the shoulder. “Oh, you. Always kidding around. The house next door, remember? Well, he bought it, and I really shouldn’t be telling you this, but he bought it for cash. Cash. Can you imagine?”

I couldn’t imagine. These days I wasn’t buying anything for cash. I was planning on paying my credit card bills with more credit cards. Grandma had offered me a salary as a matchmaker, but I didn’t want to take anything until I could contribute to the business with my own matches.

I grabbed another cookie and took a bite.

“That’s great, Grandma,” I said.

“That’s not all. The man is thirty-three years old and gorgeous.” She winked at me. “Never been married; no children, either.” She winked at me again. “And no, he’s not gay. I always know these things.”

She looked at me expectantly. “So, what do you think?”

I was about to tell her that I wasn’t looking to date, which was a big lie. I was going through a long dry spell. My hormones were oozing out of my skin, and I was just about ready to jump the next man who walked by.

“Don’t you think he would be absolutely perfect for your first match? He would be an easy one.” Grandma’s eyes twinkled with the brilliance of her idea.

“I guess so,” I said between mouthfuls. What I really wanted to say was:
What about me? What’s wrong with me?
I was single, and I would have loved a thirty-three-year-old straight, single rich guy. I looked down at my torn sweatpants, T-shirt, and once-flat abs—flat until I had moved in with Grandma three months before. Obviously Grandma thought I was out of the running, and I wasn’t sure I disagreed with her.

I took another cookie. Grandma stared over my shoulder, her attention riveted. I turned. Two cars drove up to the house across the street, the falling-down-roof house. A blonde jumped out of her sedan and stomped over to the man in the Porsche.

“You are an asshole! Ass! Hole!”

“Bitch!” he yelled back.

They screamed at each other while they walked up the path to the house.

“Not a one of them is worth their salt,” Grandma muttered.

“Are those Randy Terns’ kids?”

“Yep, the dead guy’s kids. The rest of them landed this morning. They’ve been skulking around, like they expect to find money in the walls or something. I wouldn’t be surprised if they rip out all the copper pipes to sell. And you want to hear the dumbest thing? They refuse to convince their mother to sell the house, when selling is clearly the best thing for her. They could sell that house in a heartbeat, and they would all be better
off.” Grandma’s eyes glazed over, and I was sure she was picturing the Sold sign being hammered into their front yard and new neighbors moving in who would fix the roof and plant something prizeworthy.

Grandma went back in the house, but I stood for a while in the driveway until the Porsche guy came out of the Ternses’ house and lit up a cigarette. He was dressed to the nines, and he looked impatient as he puffed on his cigarette. He reminded me of a hunter who had lost his prey. Something about him made me uncomfortable, like he was potentially dangerous to anyone within a relatively small radius.

He stomped out his cigarette and tipped his head toward me. He must have noticed me watching him. My day had been interesting enough, and I didn’t want it to get any more interesting. I willed my legs to get me inside fast, but I was rooted to the ground. He took a step toward me, just as a green Volkswagen Bug came barreling down the street. It honked twice and turned sharply into our driveway, making me jump out of the way.

“Oh, thank goodness you’re there. You can help me.” Bridget Donovan climbed out of the Volkswagen and opened up the backseat. “A lot of pigs died for these ribs,” she noted, gazing at me from behind her large hoot-owl glasses. “She got enough food for an army. Ribs, macaroni and cheese, sweet rolls. It’s amazing your grandmother didn’t drop dead years ago. Her arteries must be rock solid.”

I took a couple of bags of food. “What is all this? I was supposed to pick up lunch,” I said.

“Who knows? All I know is that Zelda called me three hours ago and told me to pick up her order at Bernie’s at one-thirty. She said something about you and burgers and bad karma. You know your grandma.”

Grandma had a way of knowing things that couldn’t be known.

“Anyway, here I am.” Bridget slammed the door shut with her hip and froze. “What happened to you? You look like you were attacked.”

“An owl got me when I was trying to buy lunch,” I said.

Bridget wasn’t any more shocked than Grandma at this news. “You want to go with me tomorrow to a demonstration in front of the elementary school? It’s time I gave them a piece of my mind.”

Bridget loved to demonstrate. She would protest just about anything. She was my grandmother’s accountant, and I had met her the first week after I moved in, when she was doing the books at the kitchen table. We had hit it off right away.

I told her about the new neighbor and my grandmother’s suggestion. Bridget caught me pouting. The lack of romance in my life was a familiar discussion between us. The attic and the sweatpants didn’t help matters.

“She didn’t think you were setup material, huh?”

“She told me that the perfect man was moving in next door and I should fix him up,” I said.

“That’s crazy. You’re the prettiest girl I know, Gladie.”

I swallowed. “I am?”

“You’re the only one who doesn’t think so. The other day, Maggie at the butcher shop was talking about how pretty you are. She said she would pay good money to have your nose and that she had searched everywhere for contacts the color of your eyes, but she couldn’t find that blue-green color.”