Crazy Little Thing (16 page)

Oscar Speaks

Oscar sat on the bed looking at the camera. He
tilted his head like the RCA dog looking at a phonograph for the first time. He
whined then yipped once.

Dogs can’t speak human talk, but they can
communicate in a myriad of other ways. If you were to watch Oscar’s tail, his
nose, his posture, interpret his whines, growls and barks, you would find that
Oscar can communicate as well if not better than any human.

The following is a transcript of what Oscar would
say if he could speak human:

“I am Oscar. I am dog. My pack is Ollie, G-Ray, EZ
and Claire. Ollie is food-giver. Ollie is ear-scratcher. Claire smells good.
Claire’s butt smells good. Ollie loves Claire. Claire loves Ollie. Claire does
not know she loves Ollie. G-Ray has man smell. G-Ray needs mate. Oscar loves
Meyer. Oscar licks Claire’s face when she cries. Claire tastes salty.”

Oscar turned three times and lay down with his chin
on his paws.

The camera turned off.

Pumpkin Or Pecan?

Two weeks had passed since the Clap On – Clap Off debacle.
Ollie and Claire went about their business in an extremely civil manner. In
fact, they were so civil that neither one spoke to the other. When they
absolutely had to speak to each other, they used EZ or G-Ray as a go-between.

Ollie poured silk milk over organic granola and sat
down at the kitchen table across from Claire. EZ sat in between them drinking
her fortieth or fiftieth cup of coffee. EZ had been awake for three days and
was trying like hell not to go back to sleep. The past thirty-six hours of no
sleep were beginning to take their toll. She had black bags under her eyes and
even her hair looked tired. She teetered on her chair like a drunken sailor.

“EZ,” Ollie said, “will you kindly remind Claire
that we have an appointment today with Dr. Secaule, the marriage counselor?”

EZ’s gaze bobbed over to Claire. She slurred
sleepily, “Ollie’s getting married to a sea cow.”

Claire helped herself to a bowl of granola and silk
milk. “EZ, please tell Ollie that I will attend the counseling session because
it is mandatory, but not to expect any miracles.”

EZ’s neck swiveled to Ollie, but before she could
say anything, Ollie said, “EZ, tell Claire it would take more than a miracle to
make me give a damn.”

At that moment, the neighbor lady came through the back
door, tapping her cane. They’d  gotten used to her coming in to feed the cats
that no longer existed, so she barely registered a blip on their radar screen.
Since there were no cats to be fed, Ollie had taken it upon herself to empty
the cat bowl each day after the neighbor lady left. That way the lady would
have an empty bowl to refill the next morning. Even Meyer’s prodigious appetite
couldn’t keep up with the bowl filling.

Claire munched on her granola. Ollie crunched her
granola. The neighbor lady poured kibble. Finally, Ollie said, “EZ, please
inform Claire that I went grocery shopping. I have filled our cupboards with
all the healthy food items she likes. For instance, the granola she is now
eating. And the silk milk. I also bought dried fruit and rice cakes for
snacks.”

Before EZ could speak, Claire said, “EZ, ask Ollie
how much I owe her.”

“EZ, tell Claire the bill is on the fridge alongside
an envelope. The total can be divided by four and placed into said envelope.”

“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” muttered the neighbor
lady.

Claire and Ollie looked at each other.

“Did she say something?” they both said at the same
time.

The neighbor lady tapped her way out the back door.
The door slammed behind her.

Claire continued her conversation with Ollie via EZ.
“EZ, Thanksgiving is in two weeks. My fiancé, Scarlet, is coming up to visit
over the holiday.”

Ollie inhaled a chunk of granola and went into a
coughing fit. EZ slapped her on the back until she was able to breathe again.
“Wrong tube,” Ollie said hoarsely.

“As I was saying, EZ,” Claire said, “Scarlet will be
coming to visit and I would like everyone to be on their best behavior.”

Ollie set the last half of her granola on the floor.
Oscar and Meyer happily ate from the same bowl, making loud slurping noises.

“And by best behavior I mean I would prefer the
animals not be fed people food straight from the table,” Claire said.

Ollie harrumphed and crossed her arms over her
chest. “EZ, tell Claire if she has a bone to pick with me to do it to my face.”

Claire addressed EZ again, “Speaking of bones, I was
trying to decide what we would have for Thanksgiving dinner. Ham or turkey?
What do you think?”

“Turkey,” Ollie said.

“Ham it is,” Claire said, rising. She walked to the
sink and rinsed out her cereal bowl. Unseen by Claire, EZ pushed back her chair
and left the room.

With her back to the table, Claire asked, “What
about dessert, EZ? Pumpkin pie or pecan pie?”

Ollie said, “Pecan pie.”

“Pumpkin it is,” Claire said.

Ollie jumped up from her chair and said, “Aha! I tricked
you. I really wanted pumpkin pie! I knew what you were going to say.”

When Claire turned around, she saw that EZ wasn’t in
the room. She cupped her hands around her mouth and yelled through the doorway,
“EZ! Tell Ollie I knew that she knew and I knew that she would say pecan when
she really wanted pumpkin and that’s why we’re having apple pie.” Claire looked
over her shoulder at Ollie, and raised one eyebrow in a ‘so there’ expression.

Ollie squinted. “Evil. Pure, diabolical evil,” she
muttered.

“Oh, and I knew you wanted ham so we’re having
turkey.” Claire flounced out of the room.

Sea Cow

Dr. Secaule was a big German woman. She was six feet
tall and almost as wide. She was wearing a Nazi officer’s uniform, complete
with shiny black knee-high boots and cap. She held a riding crop in one hand
and a cigarette in a long holder in the other. Her right eye appeared to be
twice as big as her left eye, but that was probably due to the magnifying
effect of the monocle she wore.

Dr. Secaule sat at a big wooden desk. Ollie and
Claire sat in matching wingback chairs on the other side of the desk. Dr.
Secaule stared at Ollie and Claire with her big magnified eye. Ollie had the
distinct impression that the doctor was calculating their measurements. Maybe
she was planning on making a lampshade out of their skin, or an ashtray out of
their skulls.

Ollie kept waiting for Alan Funt to jump out of the
closet and yell, “Smile, you’re on Candid Camera!” That was the only
explanation Ollie could come up with for being in the same room as a woman
dressed in a Nazi uniform. Unless, she had accidentally found a wormhole in
time and been transported back to WWII. Or maybe it was Halloween and she
didn’t know it.

Claire scooched back and forth in the chair. Ollie
knew what Claire was doing. She was scratching her itchy butt…again.

Dr. Secaule blew out a long stream of smoke, cleared
her throat and began to talk in a thick, clipped German accent reminiscent of
Dr. Ruth, “Zee judge sends me bwoken couples.” The doctor mimed snapping a twig
in half. “I fix.” She mimed sticking the twig back together.

Ollie giggled nervously. Claire glared at her.

Ollie smiled at the doctor like how one smiles at a
ferocious attack dog. “Dr. Sea Cow, might I ask a question?”

“Secaule,” the doctor said.

“Sea cow, that’s what I said.”

“Se…caule,” the doctor slowly pronounced. She
wrapped one hand in a loose fist around the riding crop and stroked it in a
slow up and down motion. “Seeeee. Cauuuule,” the doctor said again, grinning lasciviously.

Ollie tried her best not to look at the whip
stroking. She said slowly, “Seeeeaaaa Cooooowwwww. Dr. Sea Cow, I want to know…”

Abruptly, the doctor stood and cracked her riding
crop on the top of the table, shouting, “Secaule! You are thick numbskool! It
is Secaule!” She cracked the whip again.

Ollie and Claire recoiled, sliding halfway down in
their seats. “Okay, okay, okay,” Ollie whimpered with her hands in front of her
face. “Please don’t hurt us.”

Dr. Secaule clicked her boot heels together, sat
back down and took a heavy drag off her cigarette. She blew the stream of smoke
out both nostrils.

Claire cleared her throat. “Are you a kickboxer? I
see your trophies.” She gestured to a glass case that contained upwards of a
hundred trophies. “That’s wonderful. I love kickboxing.”

“Since when?” Ollie asked.

Under the table, where the doctor couldn’t see,
Claire kicked Ollie in the shin. “Ow!” Ollie exclaimed.

Dr. Secaule leaned her big bulk across the table and
peered deep into Ollie’s eyes. “You are here because you vant a diworce.” She
tapped Ollie on the shoulder with the tip of her riding crop. “Cowwect?”

Ollie gave a tiny, fearful nod. “Correct.”

“You are here because zee judge commanded you to be
here.” She poked Ollie in the chest with the riding crop. “Cowwect?”

“Correct.”

Dr. Secaule waved the tip of the crop in Ollie’s
face as she said, “I do not enjoy offering counseling to people who do not vant
my counseling. So, you vill not appwoach counseling as such.” She tapped Ollie
on the nose with the crop. “Cowwect?”

“Correct,” Ollie said.

Dr. Secaule switched her unblinking gaze to Claire
and poked her in the nipple with the tip of the crop. “Cowwect?”

“Cowwect,” Claire said. Ollie kicked her under the
table. “I mean, correct,” Claire said quickly.

Dr. Secaule sat back in her chair and eyed them,
waving the riding crop slowly back and forth between them like it was a sword.
Ollie covered her nose with her hand. Claire covered her nipples with her
hands.

“I must haf your complete dewotion to zee tasks I
gif you,” Dr. Secaule intoned. She stood and paced. “You must do zee task
wholeheartedly and vif enthusiasm.” She cracked the whip on the floor –
Crack!
“After you haf successfully completed zee task, I vill sign your leettle shit
of paper and you vill be fwee to diworce,” again she made the breaking a twig
motion, “or not,” she made the sticking back together motion. “Are you clear?”

Ollie and Claire bobbed their heads in unison.

Dr. Secaule bent at the waist until she was on their
eye level. She spoke with her cigarette holder clenched between her teeth.
“Your first task is to pwoduce a shit of paper and on this shit of paper, I
vant you to write everyzing you like about the other person.”

“Everything?” Claire asked.

“Everyzing!” the doctor shouted. “Everyzing!” 

Ollie and Claire recoiled.

“Are you clear?” Dr. Secaule intoned. Her giant
right eye glared at them behind the monocle.

Ollie and Claire nodded.

“Goot,” Dr. Secaule said. “Come back next week with
shit of paper.” When neither Ollie nor Claire moved, the doctor cracked her
riding crop on top of the table, shouting, “Shoo, Scram Scat!”

Ollie and Claire tumbled over each other in their
mad race to the door.

Zombie Lab

G-Ray and EZ were waiting in the lobby. G-Ray was
wearing what was quickly becoming his Iowa uniform – longjohns under shorts and
a T-shirt with a plaid leisure-suit jacket. He also had his helmet cam on. EZ
was dressed Flashdance style – shorts, leg warmers, and a sweatshirt with the
neck cut out. EZ still hadn’t slept. She was starting to look like the walking
dead.

Ollie and Claire rushed out of the elevator like it
was on fire. They ran through the lobby, past G-Ray and EZ, and didn’t stop
until they reached the street. G-Ray and EZ followed them out the double doors
of the building. They had to run to catch up.

“Doods!” G-Ray exclaimed. “What’s the 911?”

“What’s a 911?” EZ asked. Everyone ignored her.

Ollie and Claire continued moving at a pretty good
clip down the sidewalk intent on putting as much distance between themselves
and the doctor as possible.

“Where’s the van?” Claire panted, jogging backwards.

G-Ray pointed in the direction they were headed.
“That way. Why are we hurrying?”

“You won’t believe this,” Ollie said, “but Dr. Sea
Cow is a Nazi dominatrix and she almost whipped us to death.”

G-Ray and EZ laughed.

“No, seriously,” Claire said. “She had this Elmer
Fudd accent and everyzing.”

“And a monocle,” Ollie added.

“And big black boots,” Claire said.

“And a whip! She’s bat-shit crazy,” Ollie said.

G-Ray and EZ exchanged a look between them that said
maybe it was Ollie and Claire who were the bat-shit crazy ones.

“So you’re not going back?” EZ asked.

“Oh, we’re going back,” Claire said, trying to catch
her breath. “We’re definitely going back.”

“We are?” Ollie asked.

“Of course we are.” Claire slowed to a walk. “We’re
going to do our assignments and then we’re going to get divorced,” Claire said.
She rubbed her temples, saying, “I have a monstrous headache. Does anybody have
any chocolate on them?”

“I have a melted Jolly Rancher in my pocket. You can
have that if you want,” EZ offered.

“No, thanks,” Claire said.  She opened her purse and
dug around until she came out with two little blue pills. She tossed them into
her mouth and dry-swallowed.

“What were those pills?” Ollie asked, alarmed.

“None of your business,” Claire answered.

“They looked like Ex-Lax,” Ollie said. “Do you have
a problem pooping? Is that why you’re cranky?”

Claire wheeled on her. “No, I do not have a problem
pooping! And even if I did, I wouldn’t announce my pooping problem on the
streets of Des Moines for everybody to hear! They were only Advil, okay?” She
turned back around and marched down the sidewalk.

“Wow,” G-Ray muttered. He sidled up to Ollie.
“Aire-Clay eems-say a ittle-lay it-bay ostile-hay.”

Claire turned back around. “I can speak Pig Latin,
G-Ray. I may be a little hostile, but I’m not stupid.”

“Look!” EZ said, grabbing Ollie by the arm. “It’s a
restaurant for Zombies.”

Sure enough, they were walking right by The Zombie
Burger and Drink Lab Restaurant. “Let’s get something to eat,” Ollie said. “My
morning granola has worn off already.”

Claire looked through the plate glass window of the
restaurant. She saw Elvis walk by. He looked at her and smiled. She smiled
back. He turned and walked away.

Claire exhaled a long shaky breath. She smiled at
the rest of her group and said, “A milkshake does sound good.” She strode
through the front doors of the Zombie Restaurant.

“Wow, man,” G-Ray said. “Her emotions are all over
the place. It must be her time of

the…”

Before he could finish the sentence, both Ollie and
EZ punched him in the arm.