Merlot (14 page)

“It’s my phone, Mom. I’d better take this,
excuse me, it’s probably work.” He replied, not disguising the
relief in his voice.

“How do you get anything accomplished,
Anthony, with all these interruptions you have in your life? Now
don’t you go anywhere, I’m not finished!”

“Tony?”

“Speaking.”

“It’s Cindy,” she said waiting for a
moment.

“Hi Cindy, how’s it going?”

His Mother’s ears perked up as she ironed the
crease in his jeans.

“Oh God, it’s been one of those days. I never
thought it would end. Did you ever have a day like that? It just
keeps getting worse.”

“Yeah, I think I can identify with that,” he
said, glancing at his mother.

Cindy waited a moment for him to say
something else.

“Look, I just wanted to apologize, again,
that’s all, for the other night. I’m really sorry. Anyway, I just
hope you’re doing okay, and I guess I’m interrupting something,”
She thought he was probably on a date with some woman who won’t
throw up.

“Oh no, I’m just at my Mom’s. I’ll call you
later, when I’m free to talk.”

“Great,” she said.

“Who was that, Anthony? Anyone I know? What can’t you
say in front of your own mother?” Ironing the same crease for the
sixth or seventh time.

“You don’t know her.”

“Well, I can only hope she’s the good woman
I’ve been praying for all this time. My God, what has been my crime
in life?”

“Yeah sure, maybe, Mom,” he said, picking up
the folded jeans, placing them on top of his shirts and the home
made cookies.

“Be a good boy. I’m praying for you, Anthony,
and I’m praying for a good woman,” she called out the door after
him.

He nodded, waved, quickly jumped into his car
and sped away. Thinking Cindy, maybe he could still end this
completely horseshit day on an upbeat note.

* * *

T.J. looked at his watch and then put down
his book,
The Survivalist’s Field Manual
. He had
been trying to read and steal furtive glances at Miss Suzie Q for
the past two hours. Eventually his glances had turned to
stares.

It was a little after 9:45 and he always
drove past the OK Corral then returned home and climbed into
bed.

“I’m going down to the Corral, Suzie,” he
sighed, bending to kiss her on the forehead.

“Be careful, baby,” she called vacantly, not
leaving her show. They were cleaning a former fatty’s teeth right
before giving her a complete makeover, including tummy tuck.

God damn mindless shows the woman watches he
thought, pulling into the empty Corral parking lot. He enjoyed this
time. It gave him a chance to get the GTO out, go for a short ride,
listen to the engine hum, and not worry about other fools on the
road. The car boasted twenty-two coats of lacquer shimmering over
the diamond blue finish, and it was his pride and joy, next to
Suzie Q that is, a four-speed, posi-traction GTO.

He circled the building twice, like he did
every night, then drove home.

* * *

Merlot had stopped at work, slow even for a
Monday. He hadn’t set two feet in the door before Tommy announced
his entry, “live from the Viking’s Game, I give you Merlot!”

For once he was glad there were only four or
five people in the place, and he quickly made a beeline for his
office, turned off his computer and ducked out the back door to go
home. He had tried calling Cindy twice, both times getting dumped
into her message service. He left a message the second time.

He was camped in front of the History
Channel. The Marines had just begun landing on Tarawa when his
phone rang.

“Hello,” he answered, half distracted as he
watched black-and-white footage of marines working a flamethrower
in the jungle.

“Hi, Tony?”

“Oh hi, Cindy.”

“Sorry, I was on the phone with Karen. She
said she saw you.”

“Really, where?” he asked absently, watching
Marines roasting a section of jungle, and naively stepping into his
own personal ambush.

“Well I guess you’re really famous. I had no
idea, you…”

He bolted upright, tuned out the Marines for
a moment, thought, fucking Dickie! Then dreamed of an appropriate
punishment.

“… so you were right about that, I guess. You
know I actually feel better telling you this, I mean, it’s like an
incredible weight off my shoulders.”

Tuning back in, he had absolutely no idea
what she was talking about. Apparently he had managed to do
something right, hard as it was to believe.

“So, enough about me and my dirty little
secret. You sounded like you were having a bad day when we talked
earlier,” she giggled.

“Sounded like you were taking a bit of a
pounding, too.”

“Oh God, with the fair of course we’re
jammed. Then I get this gross little man who brings these things on
a stick that look like dog poop soaked in grease. Oh, it was just
disgusting. Then he smears his nose on the glass and tells me he
saw me leaving your place Sunday morning. Gee, I guess that was
just yesterday, but it seems weeks ago.”

“I’d give anything to be weeks away from
Sunday,” he replied.

Cindy gave a nervous laugh, but didn’t go any
further with that particular line of discussion, afraid he was
referring to her unforgettable performance.

“Look, I sort of feel like I still owe you a
dinner,” he said.

“Oh, no, no, you shouldn’t feel that way. I
owe you a dinner and, and more.”

He filed the “and more” comment.

“Well, what I was going to suggest was that
we meet somewhere, another restaurant, you know where I’m not
jumping up and down putting out fires. Not my office. And, we just
have dinner. That way if you don’t like the conversation or the
company you can just leave.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t do that, I promise. I think I
owe you for being so nice and the more I get to know you the more I
enjoy your company,” she said.

The Marines were in a night defensive
position and all hell was about to break loose, but her last
comment, which he selectively heard as “I owe you more, I promise,”
jerked him back to the present.

“You know Vesco Vino, down on Selby. They’ve
got an outside patio area, nice food. I could make a reservation
tomorrow night for 8:00, if that’s okay.”

“That would be wonderful, and I promise not
to throw up in their bathroom. If you promise not to moon anyone,”
she laughed.

He cringed, once again thought that fucking
Dickie.

“Yeah, I promise. Good night.”

“Tomorrow night at 8:00, see you there,” she
said.

Interesting, he thought, then panicked when
it struck him. He was supposed to rob the bank, not date a
teller.

Otto woke at his usual 5:00 a.m. The weather
station forecast cloudless and hot, with humidity right around the
beastly range.

He scratched his face in the mirror before
stepping into the shower, noticed he’d forgotten to remove the zinc
white from his nose when he’d come home just five hours
earlier.

He looked around the tub as he showered and
thought of that bank teller. This place could use a bit of a
woman’s touch; clean the shower, the tiles, get the floors looking
nice, dust, scrub, and vacuum. No telling how much a hard-working
woman could transform this place after cleaning for a few days.

Just before 6 a.m. he found himself waiting
at the same light across the street from DiMento’s. There was no
sign of her this morning. He continued to think of her while he
loaded his truck. How nice it would be to have help.

By ten he had gotten the first load of ice
delivered to his stands, and he was walking to his truck with his
deposits stuffed securely in his briefcase. He was wearing a Twins
baseball cap and tucked under the back of the hat hung a white
handkerchief shielding the back of his blistered neck from the
unrelenting sun. His face was a different matter. He had slathered
his skin with level fifty sunscreen, added a white layer of zinc
oxide on his nose, lips and cheeks for additional protection.

He glistened as he walked in camouflage cut
offs and a bright orange T-shirt touting the benefits of
Gatorade.

He waited in her line at the bank, nodding at
the not-so-subtle looks he was getting from people around him.

“What’s that smell?” a little boy asked his
friend. They were standing with their mother in the line directly
next to Otto.

“You farted,” exclaimed the friend.

“No I didn’t, you farted!”

“Be quiet, both of you.” The mother yanked
her son’s arm before glancing nervously in Otto’s direction.

“But he farted,” her son protested.

“Another word and we’re leaving, do you two
hear me?”

“But he farted, Jeremy farted, and I can
still smell it,” he giggled.

“You smell,” Jeremy giggled back.

“All right come on, both of you. If we can’t
behave we won’t stay, come on. I’m so sorry, you know kids,” she
said to Otto then quickly herded the boys out the door.

Otto hadn’t really noticed that no one was
lining up directly behind him. He had been busily working out how
this first conversation of the day would go with her.

She attempted to take her time with the two
customers ahead of him. But there was only so much she could do to
move slowly and none of it seemed to be working. Eventually he
stood before her. She seemed afraid to look him in the eye.

He placed his briefcase on the counter and
snapped it open.

God, thought Cindy, if he hauls out more of
that dog poop on a stick I’m going to scream.

He pushed two large, grease-stained paper
bags stuffed with currency through the cash well. Then slid a hand
underneath the glass into the teller area. Kept it there, atop the
cash, wiggling his fingers, so she knew it was all right to touch
him.

She looked at the grease stained paper bags,
pink glistening fingers wiggled on top of them. She moved the Lysol
a little closer.

He kept his hands under the glass as the
moment grew painfully long. Finally pulling them back, reluctantly.
God, she was really shy.

Cindy snatched the bags in a motion so quick
it was virtually unseen and began counting furiously, twenty,
forty, sixty, eighty, one, twenty, forty… concentrating for all she
was worth. Working to just get this pink little man with the clown
face and the sweat encrusted T-shirt away from her window as
quickly as possible.

“How’d you like that Cajun Bar-B-Que style?
It’s my newest,” he asked.

“Mmm-mmm” nodded Cindy, twenty, forty, sixty…
She could feel the germs jumping off the bills and running up her
arms. She would Lysol her body when this ordeal was all over, maybe
spend an hour or two in a scalding shower, and then burn her
clothes.

He dropped his hand to his waist, raised his
right eyebrow, ready to catch her glance, give the little lady a
slight nod. Let her know she was safe while Sheriff Otto was in
town, packing his trusty forty-five. He leaned his left arm on the
counter, kept the eyebrow raised, waited for her to look up so he
could give her the nod. The Otto okay. Eventually his right eyebrow
began to ache, his left cheek began to twitch. He cleared his
throat and faced her full front.

“Thank you,” she said, slipping his deposit
slip in the cash well and quickly withdrawing her hand in the
direction of the Lysol can. She forced herself to look at him,
swallowed hard and mumbled. “Is, is there anything else?” praying
he would just go away taking the stench of rancid bacon and sweat
with him.

“Which one was your favorite?” he asked.

“What?”

“Your favorite? Which one you like the most?
You know, yesterday, all them I dropped off for you. Did you take
‘em home? Almost like taking a part of me home with you, don’t you
think?”

Cindy had taken them immediately to the
trash.

“I liked them all about the same,” she
replied meekly, meaning she wouldn’t touch any of them if her life
depended on it.

Otto nodded knowingly, tossed her his
two-fingered salute, snapped his briefcase shut and strutted
away.

“Hey, what’s that smell out here? It’s like
rotten eggs or something worse,” the man waiting in line behind
Otto asked.

* * *

“Shit! Will you look at that.” Lucerne spat
as another woman entered the liquor store.

“God damn it, I’m telling ya, we go round
this block much more I’m gonna get dizzy,” Mendel growled.

“Maybe just go in there and get it over
with,” Lucerne suggested.

“Now there’s just one hell of an idea, me and
Elvis armed with a damn note! You got the note, Elvis?” Mendel
looked over his shoulder at Elvis stretched out on the backseat,
licking a pencil tip, focusing his good eye as he wrote on the back
of an envelope.

“Getting her done right now.”

“What’s it say?” asked Lucerne.

“Sez no funny stuff, just the money, and
nobody gets hurt, please. I figure short and sweet’s all we’re
gonna need here.”

“All right, I’m tired of dickin around, lets
just get it done,” hissed Mendel.

He was out of the car before it stopped.
Elvis had to scramble to catch up.

Once inside they nodded at the kid behind the
cash register then walked down a couple of aisles trying to get the
lay of the place. They grabbed a bottle of root beer flavored
schnapps, a bottle of Wild Turkey, then raced to the checkout
counter when the only other customer exited the store.

“This all for you guys?” the kid asked, not
sounding surprised at the combination.

“Just one more thing,” Mendel said, then
turned to nod at Elvis.

For his part Elvis began slapping the pockets
of his jeans, desperately searching for his recently composed
note.

“Think I dropped it outside,” he said to
Mendel.