Lucky Stuff (Jane Wheel Mysteries) (6 page)

“Nellie,” said Lucky, “Nellie!” He tried to give her a hug, but she ducked out and grabbed a glass with her Lucky Duck concoction doing its best to imitate pond water.

“So, you know what I do when somebody tries to cheat somebody, right?” said Nellie, handing him the drink.

Jane was surprised that Don was letting Nellie get away with so much trash talk to a celebrity who was bringing so much business to the EZ Way Inn at dinnertime on a Wednesday night. Don, however, didn’t look disapproving at all. Instead, he was doing all he could to stop himself from laughing.

“Got it all,” said the cameraman.

“Jeez, Nellie, you’re great! You’re a natural,” said Lucky. “I was pretty scared.”

“See, your mother was supposed to go on the attack when he came in the door. Like she didn’t know who he was or she didn’t like him as a kid or something. She made that all up herself,” said Don.

“That was an improv?” asked Jane.

Don nodded, although he didn’t look completely comfortable with the term. “It was a bit,” he said. “They call it a bit.”

Jane looked at her mother, who was now pouring pond water for the camera crew. Lucky had moved over to a table where they were going to film him tasting each of the Lucky Ducks.

Jane walked over to her mother and patted her shoulder.

“That was great, Mom. You got me,” said Jane.

“Yeah.”

“I mean, Boing Boing? How did you make that up?”

“I didn’t make it up,” said Nellie.

“What’s in your Lucky Duck?” asked Brenda. “Lucky has some allergies.”

“Secret recipe,” said Nellie.

Brenda whispered something in Lucky’s ear.

“Any peanuts in this drink?” asked Lucky.

“Nope,” said Nellie.

“Who the hell would put peanuts in a drink?” said Nellie to Jane. “These people are idiots.”

“So Lucky really did steal Boing Boing’s lunch money?”

Nellie looked at her daughter as if she had never seen her before.

“What are you talking about, Jane?”

“The story, the improv you just did. You said it was true.”

“Lucky Miller only lived in Kankakee for a few years. He didn’t know his ass from a hole in the ground then, and he doesn’t now.

“What about Boing Boing?”

Jane would have to find out later. Two chairs toppled over as Brenda jumped up and ran for her purse. “Call 911, Lucky’s having a reaction. Where’s the goddamn EpiPen?” Brenda found what she was looking for ran back and jabbed Lucky. He began breathing regularly and his red face calmed slightly.

“Damn it,” said Nellie. “Now your dad’s going to say his Lucky Duck won.”

4

Lucky refused to go to the hospital.

“Let’s not overreact, everybody,” he said, replacing the cigar in his mouth.

Don brought water to the table and scanned the adjoining tables for any open bags of cashews or beer nuts. He apologized and pointed out that he had removed the snack rack entirely after receiving the advance memo that Lucky’s production team had sent out.

“Cashews are no problem, buddy, don’t be so spooked about this,” said Lucky. “Everything’s good. We got me sipping the drink, right? Now I’ll just sip the orange crap. No need to change the bit,” said Lucky to the production assistant, who was leaning over him, whispering.

“What the hell?” asked Don.

Jane thought her father might be reacting to his concoction being referred to less than respectfully, but Don hadn’t heard the remark.

“Why can he eat cashews?” asked Don.

“Tree nuts,” said Nellie.

Jane and Don both looked at Nellie, who had watched the scene unfold from a few feet away, her arms folded and her eyes still trained on Lucky Miller.

“What?” asked Don.

“Cashews are tree nuts and peanuts aren’t nuts at all,” said Jane.

Don shook his head in admiration for his wife. Jane, too, was admiring and, she had to admit to herself, shocked. How did Nellie know half the stuff she did? She hadn’t graduated from high school, she had gone out to work as soon as she was able, and Jane had never seen her mother read a book. What was her secret?

The camera rolled as Lucky, patted down and powdered, raised Don’s Lucky Duck to his lips. Jane winced as the comedian licked the salt off the rim with a wink and a kind of leer at one of the lighting techs. Was there anything more disgusting than an overage lech?

Nellie remained where she was, staring at Lucky, as the crew packed up their gear to move on to the next bar where Lucky would taste a drink invented in his honor. Lucky finally looked up from the notes thrust under his nose by an eager writer—not Malcolm, Jane noted—and saw Nellie staring at him.

“Still thinking about Boing Boing, Nellie?” asked Lucky. “Convince yourself I really did bully some guy you knew?”

“Nope,” said Nellie. “I know for a fact you didn’t.”

Lucky took a few steps closer to Nellie, slipping one arm back into his leather jacket. “So why you giving me the fish-eye? Something’s on your mind.”

People were ordering drinks fast and furious since the Lucky crew was getting ready to leave and one more free drink would have to be poured and served pretty quick to make it onto the TV show tab. Don was bouncing back and forth behind the bar, but Nellie stayed where she was, eyeball to eyeball with Lucky. Only Jane paid attention to their conversation.

“We didn’t even start calling him Boing Boing until he … until after seventh grade,” said Nellie. “And we were doing it behind his back.” Nellie waited to add that piece of information until Lucky was almost finished putting on his jacket.

“What’d you call him before that?” said Lucky. He was no longer paying close attention to Nellie, just continuing the conversation halfheartedly, as his assistants gathered up bags and briefcases and props for their next stop. Although just two steps away from her, Lucky turned his back to Nellie, not expecting her to answer and began waving toward the customers at the bar who were raising their glasses. Jane noted that Lucky looked hale and hearty for a man who had recently been struggling for breath on the floor of the EZ Way Inn.

“We just called him his name. Dickie,” said Nellie. “Dickie Boynton.”

Lucky was a pro and he didn’t stop waving or smiling while the camera was running, but Jane saw his shoulders go back and his head move slightly to one side when he heard Nellie say the name. No peanuts in sight but at the mention of Dickie Boynton, Lucky Miller appeared to be a man who had trouble trying to catch his breath,

“I’m sure I’ll see you all again,” said Lucky. “Won’t be able to resist stopping back at the EZ Way Inn for a nightcap. Thanks for the Lucky Duck, Don.” Lucky turned and faced Nellie. “Sure there weren’t any peanuts in that drink, Nellie?”

“Not this time,” said Nellie.

And just like that, with the slam of the screen door in the kitchen leading out to the parking lot, all the glitz and glamour of baseball caps and sunglasses and free drinks for all were out the door and on their way to the next saloon where the owners and bartenders were vying to become the inventor of the Lucky Miller–sanctioned Lucky Duck cocktail.

And now,
Jane thought,
time to get to the bottom of all of this Lucky Miller stuff.

Nellie placed her jars and bottles of secret ingredients along with a fifth of Jack Daniel’s on a vintage high-rimmed metal beer tray that Jane recognized as a bar collectible she had given to Don last Father’s Day. She threw a clean dish towel over what she called the “fixings” and placed it on a low shelf in the back room off the kitchen.

“I told you, Janie, it was a bit. I was making up a fight with Lucky, just like that skinny producer told me to do.”

“Yeah, but that Boing Boing stuff? Seemed real to me,” said Jane.

“I’m a hell of an actress,” said Nellie.

Jane decided to work this story from another angle. Nellie wasn’t going to spill the beans until she was good and ready, so Jane would have to play a “just the facts, Ma’am” game as well as her mother did. And was that possible? Not in a million years. No one defined “need to know basis” as well as Nellie. Even when Jane used to ask her what the family was having for dinner, Nellie would give her a look.

“Who wants to know?”

So Jane decided to take her questions into the barroom while her mother cleaned up in the kitchen.

“Dad, what exactly is going on with all the banners downtown and what just happened here?” Jane made herself comfortable on one of the padded bar stools and out of habit Don placed a cardboard coaster down in front of her. Jane knew her dad didn’t carry Grey Goose vodka, so she nodded toward the tap and Don drew a textbook glass of beer—frosted mug, perfect amount of foam and icy cold. The snack rack was back, so Jane grabbed a pack of beer nuts and tore it open, offering the bag first to her dad, then to Francis on her right. Both shook their heads.

“I thought your mom told you all about this. Pretty exciting for everyone. Lucky Miller grew up here … at least until sixth or seventh grade. His family lived over near Saint Stan’s. He hit it big as a comedian and now they’re doing a comedy special, like one of those dinners where everybody insults the guy who’s being honored, and he’s filming it here in Kankakee.”

Don crossed to the other side of the bar to draw a beer for Bobby, one of the lingering few who didn’t disappear for dinner when the free drinks ended. Francis nudged Jane and nodded.

“Pretty exciting, Janie.”

“How can they be shooting everything here?” asked Jane. “Where is there a studio or a soundstage or a—”

“They’re fixing up the old stone factory over there on Water Street. Making it just like a New York loft,” said Francis.

“Francis,” yelled Nellie from the kitchen, “what’s a loft?”

“Mmmm-mm-mm,” (Kankakeean for I don’t know) muttered Francis, reverting to his native tongue.

“What I thought,” said Nellie, still working in the kitchen.

“Yup,” added Don. “That factory’s been empty for thirty years and now it’s getting some life again. I heard they got the rental for nothing, just a promise of cleanup and bring the electrical up to code.”

Jane sipped her beer. Now that beer had become the new wine, everybody rattled off special brands and brews and labels and batches, and discussed hops and barley and malt the way they used to talk about nose and fruitiness and cru and clarity. Last time Jane had met some of her old advertising colleagues in Chicago, they had pressed upon her red ales and Michigan breweries and seemed to really know the difference between lagers and IPAs. Everyone now seemed to know the difference between hoppy and
very
hoppy. Jane wished she could just treat all the new beer afficionados to a perfectly drawn ice cold American lager from Don’s immaculately clean tap system.

“Perfect, Dad,” Jane said, holding up her glass and toasting her father. “I’m still not sure I get all the fuss about Lucky Miller, though. I’ve never heard of him.”

“Aha! Finally! An honest citizen of Kankakee!” The writer who Lucky had called Malcolm slid over from the dark corner near the cigarette machine. Jane figured all of the out-of-towners left when Lucky and his followers sashayed out the back door, but apparently, Malcolm had chosen to remain behind and, hidden behind the bulk of Bobby on the bar stool to his right, he had been drinking and listening. Now, it seemed, he was ready to talk.

“I bat cleanup for Lucky and the crew,” said Malcolm, dipping his head in an introductory bow. “Correct American baseball reference, right? I make sure that the bills get signed, or in this case, paid, and the talk stays positive after he’s come in to mark his territory, so to speak.”

Malcolm held up his glass and waggled it for a refill. Don reached under the bar for the whiskey and poured another shot while Malcolm took a quick peek at his phone, which was vibrating steadily. He shrugged off whatever message was buzzing in and turned his full attention on Jane.

“Tell me everything you don’t know about Lucky Miller, you gorgeous woman.”

Jane smiled, not at the gorgeous line, although those lines are almost always nice to hear, but rather at Malcolm’s obvious delight that someone in Kankakee wasn’t fawning over Lucky.

“I’m not a big television watcher,” said Jane, “but I keep my hand in. I used to work in advertising; I supervised the production of several commercial campaigns for a big agency and we looked at talent all the time. I knew TV lineups and names from casts, even if I didn’t exactly follow sit-com plot lines. And before my professional life, there was college life and I was a theater major. Even if we didn’t watch television, everyone knew someone who knew someone in the business and was hoping to get a leg up in New York or L.A. I know a ton of names of B- and C-list actors and comedians, even if I might not know everything about their work. I have a great memory for names. And, finally, I grew up in Kankakee where we try as hard as the next guy to claim celebrity connections.…”

“Fred MacMurray was born here,” said Francis.

“Do you kids know who Fred MacMurray is?” asked Don.

Jane smiled at her dad, thinking that Malcolm might not realize that anyone near his daughter’s age was a kid to Don.

She and Malcolm answered at the same time, respectively.

“
Double Indemnity
!”

“
The Shaggy Dog!
”

“
Son of Flubber,
” they then shouted together.

“Yeah, Fred MacMurray was born in Kankakee, but his folks were just passing through,” yelled Nellie from the kitchen.

Jane turned back to Malcolm. “So you can see, I know my celebrity trivia, past and present, but I have never heard of Lucky Miller.”

“He’s a Las Vegas act,” said Bobby from across the bar.

“You’ve never been west of the VA hospital in Quincy,” shouted Nellie. “What do you know about Las Vegas?”

“I saw him on the
Love Boat
once,” said Don.

“Bingo!” said Malcolm. “A true Lucky fun fact!”

“I remember because there was an article in the paper about him being from Kankakee and having a guest-star part on the show.”

“I shall educate you,” said Malcolm. “I will tell you the Lucky Miller story in a nutshell. Lucky, born Herman Mullet, in Lima, Ohio, was the son of a salesman who moved around a great deal. The family never remained in any town more than two years and Herman, also known as Hermie, spent his sixth and seventh grade years in Kankakee, where he made few friends and, as far as I’ve been able to determine, left absolutely no lasting impression on anyone.”