Charmed Life (13 page)

Bobby turned to Craig. “She’s not that big, Craig. Not everyone knows her.” Bobby returned to Grace. “Cara Mia Benson is B movie queen.”

“Excuse me?” Grace asked with some insult.

“Yeah,” Bobby continued. “She’s not very good and her movies suck.”

Grace gasped.

Craig added. “No, they don’t suck. Bag Lady Betty was decent. Monsters from Maui just came out on video; I’m in line to rent it next.”

“Bag Lady Betty?” Bobby laughed. “Sucked.”

Grace’s chin dropped further.

Bobby continued. “How about that scene where she grabs her feet and cries about her big toe.”

Craig laughed. “Yeah, but she’s hot.”

Grace smiled.

Bobby waved out his hand. “If you like those types.”

The smile fell from Grace’s face.

“Anyhow,” Craig said. “You ought to check her out, Grace. You look like her.”

Bobby gave hard look to Grace. “Nah, I don’t see it at all.”

“It was nice meeting you, Grace.” Craig shook her hand. “See you guys around.”

Bobby was smiling and changed expression when he saw that Grace wasn’t. “What’s wrong?”

“You’re so mean about that actress. How do you know she isn’t good and the movies just were bad?”

“Monsters from Maui.”

“How would you feel if people were running around your back saying your art sucked.”

Bobby hesitated in drinking his beer. “You got a point.”

“Thank you.” Grace grabbed her beer.

“Are you Jewish?”

Again, Grace choked and spit out. “You keep making me do that.”

“I’m sorry. Did that offend you? I was just wondering, because my mom said you were Jewish.”

“No. I’m not Jewish, my last name is. It’s Berkowitz, but I’m not Jewish.”

“Good. Not that it mattered; it’s just that my mom has this thing about me getting a nice Catholic girl.”

“That’s me.” Grace raised her hand. “Born and bred.”

“Grace Berkowitz the nice Catholic girl.”

“Yep.”

“Grace!” Came a male voice, bright and upbeat.

Grace turned her head. Chip and a woman were approaching the table. “Shit.”

“What?” Bobby asked.

Chip walked to the table. “Nice to see you out and are you one a date?”

“Yes,” Grace answered. “First date. This is Bobby. Bobby this is Chip, my manger at Bargain-Mart.”

“Nice to meet you, Bobby.” Chip shook his hand. “Grace and Freddy are quite the addition to the store. This is my wife, Catherine.”

Catherine was petite and pleasant. A semi attractive woman with dark, big hair. “How do you do?”

Chip spoke, “Grace here is the one I was telling you about Dear.”

“Oh. Oh.” She grinned. “Very nice to meet you.”

“Thank you.”

“Chip, sweetie,” Catherine said. “Let’s let them get back to their first date.”

“Sure thing,” Chip said. “Have a good time.”

Just as she walked away, Catherine stopped. “Oh, shoot, Grace, forgot. Chip says you told him you were Jewish and wanting to meet other Jewish woman. I’m here. If you wanna go to the Synagogue with me, just let me know, I’ll take you and introduce you to the rabbi.”

Grace gave a thumbs up. “Thanks.”

Bobby stared, and after they had left ear distance, faced Grace. “I thought you said you were Catholic.”

“I am.”

“But you told them you were Jewish.”

“It’s a new thing,” Grace said.

“A new thing?”

“Yes.” Then Grace proceeded to do what she always did, rambled fast. “I’m a Christian Jew. Jewish Christian. One day I believe Jesus was the son of God, the next day I don’t. Probably why I can write my book. It goes back and forth. Jesus is God, Jesus is not. There’s a special church for folks like us. Best of both worlds. Whoever I date is in luck, I celebrate Hanukah and Christmas.” She flashed a smile.

“Yeah.” Bobby chuckled in disbelief, shaking his head. He looked at Grace, chuckled again. “As I said, you’re funny.” He grabbed his beer.

+++

Numerous artists had recorded the song, but Alfonzo enjoyed the version by Jay and the Americans, recorded in 1965.

Cara Mia

The song which started out with a slow tempo, picked p with a swing, and the vocals held emotional punch.

Probably not as much of an emotional punch that Lou wanted to give his son.

Al played the song over and over.

The song ended, and then it started again. The repeat button was pressed, and Lou shut off the music the second he walked into Alfonzo’s living room.

“You’re fucking sick and twisted,” Lou said. “Holy fuck. Get over this.”

“I can’t. I can’t.” Alfonzo downed his drink. “This is the first women I have loved heart and soul and I want her back.”

“Al, I’m not sure it’s gonna work between you two.”

“Why?”

“Why?” Lou chuckled. “You kill people. She doesn’t. That can be a damper.”

“Small problem. She loves the lifestyle so much, she can over look it.”

“You may have a point. Buy Cara Mia her very own Starbucks store and she’ll be yours forever.”

“I believe that,” Al said.

“I’m joking.” Lou sat down on the couch. “Any luck?”

“No. Not at all. They’re still looking for the woman in Honolulu.” Al sighed out. “I know I’ll hear something soon.”

“What are you gonna do once you find her?” Lou asked.

“Hold her. Kiss her …”

Lou cringed. “After that. I mean about what she saw. You gonna bring it up. You have to still deal with the queer.”

“I know. Right now I can’t think about that.”

“You need to think about that. People in the organization need answers. Enquiring minds want to know.”

Suddenly Alfonzo looked up to his father. “Say that again.”

“People in the organization …”

“Further.”

“Enquiring minds want to know?”

“Bingo. That’s it.” Al stood up. “Pop! That’s it!”

“What’s it?”

“The way to find her.

“I’m lost.” Lou tossed up his hands, watching Alfonzo pick up the phone. “What are you doing?”

“Starting the search process.”

“Who are you calling?”

“Who else?” Alfonzo smiled. “The National Enquirer.”

+++

Freddy wanted to feel brave. He wanted to feel macho. Even though he hated that movie he saw in the afternoon, he still loved the machoism portrayed by the lead actor.

What better way to learn to be a bit more macho than to watch a John Wayne or Clint Eastwood movie. He picked up several from the video store, and none grabbed his fancy.

A summer storm kicked up and the branches of the tree outside the window scraped occasionally against the pane of glass. The howling wind and pattering of rain beat loudly against the trailer home.

It dawned on Freddy. A horror movie.

He ran the movies back down to the video store before they closed and asked the clerk what he thought the scariest new movie was around.

He handed him Amityville Horror.

Freddy didn’t recall seeing the original so it was perfect. He could relate. Small town horror drama.

Thirty minutes into the film, Freddy wasn’t just scared he was down right frightened. He cuddled to the corner of the couch, remote in hand, shutting off the movie, turning it back on.

Finally, he subdued enough and drew up the bravery within him to leave it on.

A quiet portion.

Quiet.

Ding-Dong.

The doorbell caused Freddy to scream from his skin. Nervously he paused the movie, and looked at the time. Midnight.

He opened the front door.

Bobby stood on the porch with Grace draped over his shoulder.

Freddy screamed and slammed the door. He raced for the phone.

The door opened, “Freddy, what hell?” Bobby asked. “It’s raining out there.”

“What did you do to my friend, you masculine beast.”

“Huh?” Bobby asked. “Oh she passed out drunk. Where is her bedroom?”

“Down the hall. Don’t think of doing anything funny, like dressing her in weird clothing or something.”

“I won’t.” Bobby chuckled.

“Because I’m gonna do that after you leave.”

Bobby’s body shook as he carried Grace down the hall. “The room with the pink bedspread?” he called out.

“No, that’s mine, the blue spread.”

“Got it.”

A few second later, Bobby returned. “I covered her, but she is still accessible for you to play a practical joke.”

“When did she pass out?”

“As soon as the fresh air hit her, she said her head was spinning, she started giggling, we got in the truck and out she went,” Bobby said. “I tried to wake her, but she wouldn’t budge.”

“How much did she drink?”

“That’s what I don’t get. She must be a lightweight. She only drank like two and a half beers.”

Freddy gasped dramatically.

“What?” Bobby asked.

“She’s allergic to yeast. Not hives allergic. Or deathly allergic. Not even breathing problem allergic, she won’t die in her sleep. But we have to watch how much yeasts she consumes. She gets this neurological relation, like … like she’s drunk. Add alcohol …” Freddy whistled.

“If she’s allergic to yeast, why did she get beer?”

“She probably doesn’t have a clue that there’s even yeast in beer. Poor thing.”

Bobby chuckled. “If you can get her up in a bit, make her drink some water so she doesn’t get hung over.”

“Sure thing.” Freddy walked Bobby to the door. “So what are you doing right now?”

“Why?”

“Well, I want to finish watching my movie but I’m scared. Just a tad. I thought if you could do a masculine thing and watch it with me; I’ll let you help me play the practical joke on Grace.”

“What movie are you watching?”