Doing Dangerously Well (42 page)

“Together? Strategize together? Me and you? Wow! You and your corporate-speak.” A crooked smile of reverence rifled across Astro’s delicate features. “Tell you what—I’ll bring some smokes.” He adjusted his Alice band. “That should calm us all down, man.”

“Your ideas just get better and better.” The look on her mother’s face would be worth the trauma of a visit, as would her father’s chest seizure. “Perhaps you could wear your dress while you’re at it.”

“Aw, I don’t want to shock them, Bing. They seem a tad conservative.”

“A ‘tad’? Do you know how huge a tad can be?”

Astro planted hardier winter flowers on the roof of his Volvo and plugged in some twinkling Christmas lights. With almost two hours to spare, he ushered Barbara into the passenger seat and took off at a crawl, pulsing the accelerator as he drove. He insisted on total silence so he could concentrate.

He had spent a lot of time preparing for this meeting, assuming a more formal mien. He scraped his hair back into a tight bun and shaved the light stubble on his chin. He donned an orange tie, then wrapped himself in several layers of mismatched clothing, topping it with a powder pink hat with earflaps and a bobble. In solidarity, Barbara had matched her clothing to his, employing an array of items from the highest reaches of Tibet to the barest regions of the Sahara. Noting the severity of his coiffure, she had also swept her hair from her shoulders, rolling it in a French twist held, to some extent, by two chopsticks.

They pulled into the driveway fifteen minutes early. Barbara noticed that her parents had not had their windows cleaned. They must be feeling the pinch of the new water rates.

The front door opened, her father behind it holding a pan of roast potatoes and wearing a frilly apron. He stood at its threshold in an uncomfortable silence and scrutinized them both. “Well-well-well-well-well. Our terrorist seems to have lost weight.” His oven mitts needed cleaning. “Ah—and who is this? I thought you were bringing a boyfriend.”

Astro threw himself at Barbara’s father and drew him into a deep embrace. “Hey, Dad. Great to meet you!” There were tears in his eyes.

Father’s eyes popped out of his skull. “This is your boyfriend?” Trapped within Astro’s clinch, the pan of potatoes forced Father into a posture of crucifixion. “This is a … Where’s your mother? Catherine!”

Barbara’s mother steered her square features to the front path, barging in front of Father to block any unwelcome visitors. “Barbara—what the hell are you wearing? Take those clothes off immediately!”

“Hey, Mom!” Astro threw himself at her boxy frame. “It’s so great to meet you, man.” His bottom lip trembled with emotion.

“What’s this?” Mother, hands pinned to her sides, rolled her eyes towards Barbara.

“Astroturf.” Barbara’s eyes sparkled with pride. “My boyfriend.”

Two pairs of eyes bulged with incomprehension. They glanced down at the creature’s trousers for confirmation.

“Hey, Mom, Dad! Great place.” Astro wiped his eyes. He walked into the house and placed his sandals neatly next to each other. As he bent down, Barbara noticed a tear in the thin fabric of his Middle Eastern pants, through which his gender could be clearly identified.

Mother stiffened. She had obviously seen the evidence too. “Dinner will be ready in approximately twenty minutes.”

They entered the drawing room to find Mary standing by the
drinks cabinet, her stick frame thinner than usual. “Astro, this is my sister. Mary, this is Astro—my boyfriend.”

“Your what?”

“Hey, Sis!” Astro smothered her in an earnest hug. “Great to finally meet you.”

“Get it off me!” Mary yelled, backing towards the sitting room, her globe eyes bulging out, putting her on par with any nocturnal creature.

“Hey!” Astro put his arms around both sisters, creating a small huddle. He looked down at both of them. “C’mon now, guys. You’re sisters! We’re family.”

Mary squirmed out of his arms, shuddering. “Don’t you even think of touching me again or I’ll call the police.”

“Could someone turn the heating up, please?” Astro asked the curtains, yellow eyes enquiring under his pink cap flaps. “Bit chilly in here.”

“Astro?” Barbara moved into the living room. “This is Grandma.”

A tiny, innocent face looked up at them.

“Awesome. Hey, Granny!” He tickled her as if she were a small child. “How [poke] are [poke] things [poke] with [poke] you [poke]? I bet you could tell me all kinds of secrets about this family.”

Grandma giggled. No one in the family paid this much attention to her. “I sure could, young lady. I sure could.”

Barbara’s family froze at −273°C—absolute zero, the freezing point of all liquids—their deeply hidden secrets rendering them glacial for the briefest of moments, glaring at Grandma, each pair of eyes holding different threats and entreaties. Barbara was the only family member who remained at room temperature.

Astroturf broke the spell. “Well,” he said, looking around at his guests, “I’ll light one up before lunch.” He took his bong and
a bag of marijuana out of a voluminous pocket. “Hey, Ern,” he turned to Father, “care to join? Sis? You look like you could do with some. Gran?”

“We can only smoke outside, Miss Turf,” said Grandma, levering herself out of her chair.

Mother’s mouth hung open, mercury fillings reflecting the flashing colours of the Christmas tree lights.

“Drugs?” Father gasped. “Certainly not.” Then, returning to his role as host, “Drink, Astro?”

In the dining room, each place setting was arranged with prickly attention to detail. The crystal glasses shot off sharp, disapproving glints; the silverware yawned with superiority. Although the candlesticks and vase of flowers framing the centre of the table initially appeared welcoming, once the guests sat down they loomed, obscuring the view.

Lying in the table’s epicentre, the carcass of a turkey sat as a glorious centrepiece on a platter of sculpted silver. And, as a tribute to the magnificence of this kill, no vegetable, no starch or sauce shared this triumphant staging, save for some sprigs of parsley to underscore the bird’s vast dimensions.

After pulling a firecracker which lay by his place setting, Astro excused himself and returned with a picnic basket. Following British tradition, he put on his paper hat with the rest of the family, and, against tradition, began to unload the basket.

“Oh, doesn’t she look adorable with her hat on?” Grandma smiled in Astro’s direction.

“She sure does,” Mary murmured.

Barbara shot a look at Mary. She felt like stapling the paper hat to Mary’s head.

“What have you got there?” Mother asked, confusion clouding features that otherwise questioned very little in life.

“I’ve brought our dinner, Mom,” Astro replied, laying out buttermilk curd, tabbouleh salad and unleavened flatbreads from Ethiopia. “As you know, Babs and I are ‘vegetarian.’” He enunciated clearly as he quote-marked the air. “That means we don’t eat meat.” He looked at her to see if she had understood.

Blood collected around Mother’s multiple chins as gunpowder grey eyes stared at him, unblinking.

Dissatisfied with her response, he continued. “That means we don’t eat turkey,” he pointed at the bird lying on the side table, legs akimbo, “which is what you have sitting there. A turkey.” He checked her again for signs of comprehension. She blinked. Now satisfied, he forged ahead. “Don’t worry, though. I’ve brought enough for all of us.” He placed some sprouted moong dal salad on the table.

As Father carved and placed body parts on plates, Astro served fufu from West Africa, okra and dishes made from pungent unripened cheese. Before Father could offer his guests red wine, Astro topped up their glasses with boza—a drink of fermented millet.

The rest of the Glass family looked at their plates as if dead rats lay upon them. Sifting through the vegetarian fare, they picked at their turkey. Only Grandma, her olfactory senses severely dulled by age, tucked in with pleasure.

“How are you doing, hun?” Grandma looked at Barbara with concern.

“She’s doing fine, thanks,” Astro replied, still exercising authority over his ward.

“You still feeling a bit down?” Gran asked, glancing from Barbara to Astro and back again, unsure as to whom this query should be addressed.

“She’s getting stronger every day,” Astro replied.

“Walking should do the trick.” Grandma now looked directly at Astro for all matters concerning Barbara’s welfare.

“Don’t worry. I’ve got that covered.” Astro flicked his serviette open with self-assurance. “We’re on a programme. A structured programme.”

“Oh!” Grandma seemed impressed.

“So,” Father turned to Astro and commenced the interrogation, “what do you do?”

“I work with plants, Dad,” said Astro. “I can see that someone here works with them too!” Mother flushed with pride, then stiffened back into disapproval.

“So, you’re a gardener?” Father continued.

“No, I work with plants, Ern.”

A note of bafflement. “And where do you live?”

“Just outside DC, Earl.” Astro’s paper hat quivered as he spoke. “Babu and I met in the same yoga class.”

“Really? Well, you must be very flexible, then.”

“Sure am, Ed.”

“That must come in handy.” Father took a loud gulp of his wine.

“Sure does. Barbara can be quite demanding, despite her age.”

Father almost spilled his wine. He cleared his throat. Mother actually stopped eating.

“You ever tried yoga, Millie?” Astro turned to face Mary. “You should. You’d really get a kick out of it. Loosen you up a bit.” He reached over and ruffled her hair. “I say that with all due respect there, Sis.”

Mary sat stupefied, not knowing what to do now that her perfect bob was in utter disarray. Barbara closed her eyes, thanking the universe for the great joy that had descended upon her.

“Dad,” Mary stared at her father through the mess of bangs that stuck into her eyes, “why don’t you tell Barbara about
your heart?” She emphasized the last two words, prompting her father.

“Oh, uh, yes, Barbara,” Father replied, sucking on a bone. “I’ve seen a doctor recently.”

“Really?” Barbara munched her kale. “Dad, could you please stop snarfling? So, what did the doctor say?”

“Barbie,” Mother put down her fork for a microsecond, “your father is in very poor health. You’ve caused us a great deal of worry.”

Astro stared at Mother, yellow eyes burning with query. “Is that why you didn’t phone Babu for so long?” he asked. “Aw, I see it all now, man.” He turned to Barbara. “I knew they couldn’t be that heartless.”

Mother fired off a look of buckshot grey in Astro’s direction. “The doctor says he may not have much longer. We know how much your job means to you, but he needs you here.”

Barbara almost dropped her kamut bread. “Dad!” she gasped. “What is it? Is it diabetes? Your liver? Cirrhosis?”

“What? How dare you! Certainly not!” He thundered, placing his wineglass back down on the table. “It’s the old ticker.” He placed his hand over his right lung, looking frail. “It could go any day now.”

“Really?” Grandma butted in. “You didn’t tell me—”

“We haven’t wanted to worry you,” Mary intervened, patting her grandmother’s hand with her consoling spindles.

“Sorry, E.” Astro spoke up with some authority—the authority of a near paramedic. “Babs has been pretty worn out herself. She’s under my care. What’s this?” He pointed both index fingers at his face. “This is where the buck stops. And this here isn’t planning to let her down.” Yellow eyes looked around the table with autocratic command. “Meanwhile, perhaps Marnie can help you out.”

“Mary?” Father yelled. “Absolutely not! She’s working!”

“Well, I’m sure they’ll let her take a few months off whatever it is she does, right, Millie?” Astro spread some baba ghanouj over a kelp cracker and handed it to Barbara.

“My name’s Mary,” her lips tightened, disappearing altogether, “and I’m Associate Director of Acquisitions—”

Astro pointed a finger gun at her. “Middle management, right? I could tell. You know how?” He leaned forward. “The longer the title, the less important someone is. As you get higher up, the titles get shorter, till you get to one word—‘president’—or just letters—‘CEO.’” Think about it, man!”

“How dare you!” Mary detonated.

“You’ll be able to get someone to cover for you. Piece of cake.” Astro reached for his glass and held the boza to the light of the chandelier. “I’d like to propose a toast.”

Father gulped back the last dregs of his wine and refilled his glass. Mother curled her fat paws around the delicate crystal, sniffing the boza within. Mary sat, arms crossed. Grandma smiled, waiting for Astro’s pronouncement.

“I don’t know if you guys are aware,” Astro began, “but we’ve got a VIP among us.”

Grandma gasped. “Really? Who?”

Astro turned to beam at Barbara, suffused with admiration. “Someone we all know as Barbara Glass, the woman who has pretty much brought an evil regime to its knees!” A tear escaped. “Her name’ll be in the history books. Guaranteed.”

“Barbie?” Father’s body perked up a bit. “History books? How?” His eyebrows shot up in an admiring query, eyes fixed with blurry pride on Barbara as he sipped his wine.

“History books?” Mary interrupted. “You must be joking! This brain-on-a-budget? She doesn’t even know she didn’t organize a bombing!”

“Right now, Molly, is not the best time to depress her!” Lips rigid with disapproval, Astro discharged his sternest look.

“Femi Jegede,” Mary turned to Barbara, “wasn’t involved in the killings, you imbecile.”

“Not involved?” Barbara choked on her boza. “You mean … ?”

Again Astro intervened: he catapulted another look of fierce censure at Mary, then returned his attention to Barbara. “I’m really sorry, Bang-Bang.” Astro dabbed at her mouth with gentle solicitude. “No one likes failure, but it’s part of life. Accept it.”

“Failure?” Barbara announced gustily. “Not on my watch!”

Astro gazed at her again in adulation. “I’ve seen a big change in her since she came back. She sat next to chimpanzees on the bus and everything. They get to go half-price as they don’t share one hundred percent of human DNA.”