You ask, \"What about his three granddaughters in nearby Sinking Springs?\" Werner was still on the fence about whether the girls would need a college education if they were just going to get married and have children anyway. When Dorothy saw Werner striding up the slope of her front lawn, she stood up, slipped her pruning shears into the holster pocket of her colorful canvas gardening apron, and removed her leather gloves. \"Beautiful day. Isn't it?\" Werner commented, looking up at the sky. \"Sure is.\" Dorothy agreed with a nod and wiped the hair out of her eyes with her sleeve. \"Looks like you sold Ernest's Skylark today. Congratulations!\" \"Thanks,\" Dorothy responded. Werner was puzzled by the curt answer and the poker-faced expression on the face of his usually congenial and talkative neighbor. He waited a few moments expecting more detail, but none was forthcoming. Then, just as Werner opened his mouth to press her for more information, Dorothy exclaimed, \"Oh no, I think I left something cooking on the stove. Sorry Werner, let's talk later.\" She then turned and hurried into the house. While walking towards his front door, Werner thought, That sounded like a lie. …I wonder why? Once inside, Werner announced loudly, \"I'm home.” He took off his trilby and hung it on the antique barbershop hat rack, but not before looking in the mirror and admiring how much it made him look like Frank Sinatra. It was a guilty conceit of his. Then he set his briefcase in its usual spot on the floor next to the oak sideboard and perused the stack of mail Elsie had placed on the marble top. The aroma of rouladen with onions, carrots, and rotkohl wafted out from the kitchen. Werner called out to his wife, Elsie, who presumably was in the kitchen preparing dinner. \"Something smells delicious.\" 101
Elsie, indeed in the kitchen, called back to him, \"Be there in a minute.\" Werner was puzzled by a clean, neatly rolled pair of Travis's socks laying oddly out-of-place on the floor against the baseboard between the hat rack and the front door. That was an unlikely location to find a pair of socks, entirely outside the path his wife Elsie always took carrying the clothes basket from the basement laundry room up the stairs to the second-floor bedrooms. He made a mental note to ask Elsie how the socks got there and tell her to pick them up. The thought never crossed his mind that he could pick the pair of socks up off the floor himself. In case you were wondering, the socks had fallen, unnoticed, out of Travis's unzipped travel bag earlier that morning when Elsie ran outside with it before he took off with his Pop-Pop in the Roadmaster. Werner paused to listen up the stairs, expecting to hear Travis playing that godawful rock and roll music in his bedroom. But all was quiet up there. Werner thought, Maybe Travis is actually reading a book for a change, but decided that was a stretch-too-far. He's probably pretending to take a nap so he won't have to come downstairs and apologize to me like I told him to do. I'll wait until he comes down for dinner. Werner went into the living room, loosened his tie, sat in his favorite armchair, and put his feet up on the hassock. He started reading the Friday edition of the Reading Eagle newspaper that his wife had thoughtfully placed on the side table next to his chair. Elsie popped into the living room from the kitchen, wearing an apron and holding a serving spoon in her hand. She scolded Werner, \"Don't sit down. Dinner is ready. Come eat.\" Moving to the dining room, Werner took his seat at the head of the dinner table and realized that Travis's place wasn't set. He frowned and demanded, \"Isn't Travis coming down to eat?\" \"Oh, Travis is not here,\" Elsie responded as nonchalantly as she could manage. \"What!\" 102
\"Now, don't get upset by what I am about to tell you.\" But just her saying that triggered Werner to get hot under the collar. He stiffened in his chair, and his expression transformed from a frown into a full-on scowl. Using the carefully modulated, honest-sounding tone she had rehearsed earlier, Elsie explained, \"After you left for work this morning, Travis was so upset that he asked if he could visit his mother for his birthday present. So I agreed to buy him a ticket and take him to the station to catch the bus to New York.\" Elsie cringed the moment the lie came out of her mouth. Hell's bells! She meant to say, \"I agreed to pay for two tickets so Luke could take Travis to the station to catch the bus to New York.\" Even though she had rehearsed the words, they came out wrong when she spoke them. At that, Elsie was overcome by a wave of anxiety and guilt. Even as a little girl fibbing had not been in her nature, and now as an adult, the shame she felt afterward always dissuaded her. And this was not some innocent mendacity blurted out by a furtive cherub but an elaborate deception intentionally concocted by her and Charlie Mann over the telephone that morning. Once released from its box of deceit, the prevarication took on a life of its own. Werner blew his top. \"What in God's name, Elsie! I said he was on restriction. How could you undermine my authority like that.\" Despite Dorothy's recent pep talks, Elsie could not summon the resolve and self-respect required to stand up to her domineering husband. Instead, as she always did, and hating herself for it, she cowered under Werner's authority and asked for his forgiveness -- for something that wasn't even true. \"Werner, please forgive me. When Travis asked me if he could go to visit his mother for his birthday, I completely forgot that you had put him on restriction.\" Werner furrowed his brow skeptically, thinking, How could she forget that? She was the one who confronted me about it when I left for work this morning. 103
-- What a mess. From now on, Travis will think he can get around my decisions by appealing to his Oma. He then wondered aloud, \"Who chaperoned Travis to New York? Isn't Luke at the beach with his girlfriend? Uh Oh! Elsie froze like a deer caught in the headlights. She wasn't aware that Werner knew Luke had gone to Ocean City, New Jersey, for a week with his fiancée, Amy Henderson. Usually, Werner was totally obtuse about things like that. He had immediately seized upon the weakest link in her big lie. Oh, my gosh, Elsie thought, trying hard not to betray how nervous she felt. What am I to do now? Werner waited impatiently on an answer while she sat there looking positively dumbfounded. He was perplexed. Have I missed something? Luke can't be in two places at the same time. Which is it, at the beach with Amy or in New York with Travis? Elsie scrambled desperately for something, anything believable to say in response. The silence was deafening -- One-one-thousand -- two-one-thousand -- three-one-thousand. Suddenly, almost startling the two of them right out of their seats, the Aristocrat multi-note long chimes doorbell in the foyer chimed the tones of Irving Berlin's 'The Near Future,' otherwise known as the musical parody \"How Dry I am.\" Just a note here about the doorbell: The pretentiousness of Werner's coveted Aristocrat multi-note long chimes doorbell had always annoyed Elsie, and its loud chime often made her jump right out of her socks. She always said, \"Give me a simple old-fashioned brass door knocker. At least it sounds like an everyday person is at the door, not a visiting dignitary like the Queen of England.\" Besides, it made Werner livid when Travis, with his pals, Debbie and Mike, goofed around by repeatedly ringing the chiming doorbell 104
and singing along to the tune with their silly rendition. \"How dry I am, how wet I'll be if I don't find the bathroom keeeeiieey!\" But this time, Elsie was positively thrilled to hear the Aristocrat multi-note long chimes doorbell. \"I'll get it!\" she exclaimed, springing out of her chair and bolting from the room to answer the front door. Saved by the bell, she thought with a sense of relief and surmised, it's probably Dorothy coming over to give me some moral support. The doorbell chimed for a second time. Elsie called out, \"Coming, coming!\" But surprise, surprise, it wasn't Dorothy waiting for her outside on the front stoop. She was flabbergasted to find Luke Desilva standing there instead. Oh, my god! Luke's fiancée, Amy, was looking on from the car parked at the curb. She gave a broad smile and waved. Elsie sputtered, \"Luke. What are you doing here? I thought you were at the beach.\" Luke responded cheerfully, \"Hi, Mrs. Tannenbaum. Yeah, we had to come back early. I have a job interview for an adjunct professor position at Penn State tomorrow! Isn't that great?\" \"Yes, that's, um, wonderful, Luke. But I mean, what are you doing here?\" Elsie looked over her shoulder to see Werner standing in the hall behind her with arms crossed and a surly look on his face. Damn, Elsie cursed silently. I did not see this coming. Luke inquired quizzically, \"I heard you were trying to reach me. Something about Travis going to see his mother in New York -- on short notice -- for his birthday?\" Luke noticed Werner standing behind Elsie in the hallway. \"Hey, Mr. Tannenbaum. I got a job interview with Penn State.\" \"Yes, I heard. Congratulations,\" Werner responded flatly as he glared at Elsie. His accusatory stare clearly communicated. You lied to me, Elsie. 105
Sometimes, there is a point when a person who is unhappy or has been mistreated declares to themselves, \"No more! I am not going to let that happen to me again.\" A term for that is found in the Glossary of Enigmatic Phenomena rolled up and tied with a ribbon in the bottom drawer of the mahogany desk in Estella's library at Chestnut Point. The term is the 'point of nomorement,' which is the moment in which one finally takes a stand and refuses to endure any further physical, verbal, or psychological ill-treatment. That's what Elsie experienced as Werner's judgmental expression disdainfully convicted her of being a liar. It was the last straw! After all, she was a grown woman and should be able to make her own decisions. Who the hell does he think he is -- my keeper? So, in that moment of profound awakening, that 'point of nomorement,' Elsie resolved never to be subjugated by any man again or made to feel that she had to keep the truth about anything hidden, especially from her own husband. Now back to our story. Luke stood in the open doorway, looking expectantly back at Elsie. She apologized. \"I am sorry to have bothered you, Luke. It's all taken care of now. Travis isn't going to visit his mother after all.\" Then pulling a smile, she continued, \"Congratulations on the job interview. I don't have to say this because I'm sure you will do fine, but good luck anyway. Let us know how it goes. Okay?\" \"Sure thing,\" Luke responded, \"Thanks, Mrs. Tannenbaum, I will …,\" but before he could finish the sentence, Elsie practically slammed the door in his face, \"… do that.\" For three seconds, Luke stood there on the steps, confused. -- One- one-thousand -- two-one-thousand -- three-one-thousand. He almost knocked on the door again to get some clarification but thought the better of it. 106
Oh, well, he shrugged, turned around, and walked back to his car, where his fiancée Amy was waiting for him. \"What was that all about?\" she asked as Luke opened the door and slid into the driver's seat. \"I have absolutely no idea,\" Luke answered, starting the car and pulling away from the curb to head home. After abruptly closing the door on Luke, Elsie turned around to face the music. Oddly, the only emotion she felt was anger. Werner snarled, \"Explain yourself. Where did you allow Travis to go, and who is he with?\" And then, spotting the pair of socks laying against the baseboard of the foyer wall, he demanded in a nasty tone of voice, \"and what is that pair of socks doing there? Pick them up.\" Elsie bristled and let him have it straight, \"Whether you like it or not, I called Charlie Mann and asked him to come here to buy Earnest's car for Travis's sixteenth birthday present. Because you wouldn't let Travis have his own money to buy it himself, I gave Travis permission to go away for a few days to have some fun with his Pop-Pop, who loves him and shows that he loves him, unlike you, who is just plain mean. And, pick up the God-damn socks yourself!\" With that, Elsie tuned her back on Werner, marched slowly up the stairs, turned left, entered the guest room, and loudly slammed the door behind her. \"I’m going to the police and have Charlie Mann arrested for kidnapping!\" Werner yelled up the stairwell after her. Elsie re-opened the door to the guestroom and yelled back at him, \"Good luck with that. I'll tell them that I permitted Travis to go.\" \"But you don't have any say in the matter,\" Werner yelled back, \"I am his legal guardian, not you.\" No longer yelling but saying it loud enough so that Werner could hear, Elsie quoted Charlie Mann, \"Jawohl Mein Führer, whatever das 107
Fuhrer wants.\" With that, she firmly re-closed the guest room door and locked it behind her. Werner angrily picked up Travis's socks and threw them up the stairs towards her, even though it was the bathroom at the top of the stairs, not the guest room. Then, while putting his hat on and heading out through the front door to go to the police station, Werner shouted, \"We'll address this when I return.\" Elsie re-opened the guest room door and snarked back at him, \"We'll see about that.\" Then seeing the folded pair of socks lying on the carpet in front of the bathroom door, she laughed crazily and got in the last words, \"And pick up the socks you threw on the floor when you come back.\" This time it was Werner who slammed the door behind him. And while all that was happening, the delicious smelling rouladen and rotkohl dinner on the dining room table got cold. Part 10 of our story is next. See you there. ♦♦♦ 108
220822-D A Chestnut Point Story **** As told by the storyteller Jack Chapman, and written down word for word by Curt Kaltsukis ___ 1963 - When Pop-Pop and Travis Went Treasure Hunting Part 10 Marla, the nineteen-year-old Cecil College sophomore, and part- time waitress, whipped around the side of the Esso Servicecenter Diner in her brand-new Bahama blue VW Beetle. Riding nervously in the passenger seat, fifty-four-year-old Jackie Jean Osterman grabbed a hold of the Jesus bar built into the dashboard above the glove compartment. The hit song by The Kingsmen, \"Louie, Louie,\" blared out from the Radio Shack eight-track tape player and custom speakers installed by the leading candidate to be Marla’s boyfriend. Both waitresses were forty-five minutes late for the weekday dinner shift because Jackie Jean’s pickup truck had broken down on the way to work, and Marla had gone to get her. The instant Marla came to a stop, shifted into neutral, and put on the parking brake at the rear kitchen entrance of the diner, Jackie Jean hurried out of the car to go inside. Becky, the head waitress during the day, had reluctantly stayed past the shift change even though she would be late picking up her daughter from daycare and charged extra because of it. That was typical for the waitresses employed at the diner. Though it wasn’t the best place in the world to work, they all looked out for each other and had a camaraderie that made the job bearable. Marla lingered in her VW singing along to the last rousing chorus of \"Louie Louie\" before turning off the engine: 109
Me see Jamaica, the moon above It won't be long me see me love Me take her in my arms and then I tell her I'll never leave again Louie, Louie, oh no, me gotta go, Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, baby Louie, Louie, oh baby, me gotta go I said me gotta go now Let's hustle on out of here Let's go! Marla followed Jackie Jean to go inside, but after just five steps, stopped abruptly in her tracks. “Whoops!” and went back to the Bug. She had forgotten her most recent fashion find, a ‘really happening’ Inid Collins canvas handbag decorated with whimsically painted flowers adorned with sequins, mirrors, and rhinestones. Retracing her steps with the glitzy bag in hand, Marla waved hello to Pete, the short, wiry, tattooed, ex-con busboy leaning back with his right foot up against the wall, taking a cigarette break. Pete returned Marla’s greeting with a half-hearted “Hi-ya,” then rested the back of his head against the wall and puffed out a smoke ring. After that momentary distraction, he drifted back into his daydream of buying a fishing boat and starting his own charter business. It wasn’t going to happen with the skimpy money he made at the diner, for sure. So, Pete began flirting around with various ideas for some not-so-legal means to achieve that end. Marla punched the time clock and hastily tied her apron around her waist as she joined Jackie Jean for a change-of-shift update from Becky. During the quick conference, Becky inadvertently blurted out that an old acquaintance of Jackie Jean’s was at table #14, waiting for her to arrive. Taking the order pad from her apron pocket, Becky opened it to the check for that table, handed it to Jackie Jean, and added, “He’s here 110
with a teenage boy. And by the way, I already took their order and served them while waiting for you to show up. They should be about finished eating now.” Jackie Jean took the order pad from Becky with a nod of appreciation. “I’ll make sure you get the tip,” she said. Immediately, all three women went to the large porthole window of the double-swing kitchen door to curiously peer out at table #14. “I’ll be damned! If it isn’t Charlie Mann,” Jackie Jean exclaimed. Despite not seeing him for twenty-nine years, she immediately recognized who it was. “Who’s Charlie Mann?” Becky and Marla asked in unison. Jackie Jean chortled, “Let’s just say he was more than just a casual acquaintance when I was young like Marla and worked at the Graw Racetrack.” “Ooooohhhh!” they responded with raised eyebrows, then giggled. Pete, who’d come inside after his smoke break, joined them at the window. Puzzled, he asked, “What are we looking at?” Becky and Marla singsonged, “Jackie Jean’s old boyfriend.” “Who?” Together, they pointed to Charlie sitting at table #14. “Him?” Pete asked quizzically, looking over at Jackie Jean. “And you?” “It was a long time ago, Pete. Why are you so surprised?” “Just wondering, is all,” he mumbled. “I better get back to work.” “Yeah,” Jackie Jean said. “We all better get to work and let Becky go home.” She put her hand on Becky’s shoulder and thanked her for staying on so Marla could come to get her. “You owe me big time,” Becky half-joked as she took her apron off, punched the time clock, and grabbed her purse from her employee locker. On her way out the back door, Becky teased Jackie Jean. “Best not keep your boyfriend at #14 waiting. He’s been on pins and needles to see you this whole time.” Before entering the dining area, Jackie Jean stood alone gazing 111
through the porthole window at Charlie and the teenager sitting across from him in the booth. He looked like the same one-and-only Charlie Mann, with whom she once had a torrid love affair. Besides being a lot older, he didn’t seem that different from how she remembered him back in her racetrack days at the Graw. Charlie was thirteen years older than her. Jackie Jean did the calculation and realized he was now sixty-seven. He retained his trim physique and thick, dark, unruly mop of hair, though it was now streaked with silver. His chiseled buckskin features, exotic hazel eyes, and infectious smile that had attracted her to him in the first place also remained. Jackie Jean took a step back to evaluate her own reflection in the glass. She had weathered considerably since she was the Graw Racetrack poster girl and leading lady in many of the Havre de Grace Theater productions. At least she hadn’t gotten heavy or out-of-shape as many other middle-aged women she knew. But her blonde hair now had a touch of grey. And her complexion was no longer as soft and glowing as when she was younger because of all the physical work she did around the family farm when she wasn’t waitressing at the diner. One thing, unfortunately, marred the formerly exquisite features of her lovely face, which had made her, at the time, ‘the most beautiful girl in Havre de Grace.’ Her nose had been broken by that asshole, her late husband Martin Cooley Jr., before he was sent to federal prison. The disfigurement, though not extreme, had forever changed how others looked at her and, subsequently, her sense of self-worth. Some said it added character to the way she looked and, interestingly, had changed the types of roles she played in the little theater. Oh, well. What can you do? It is what it is. Jackie Jean thought as she pushed through the swinging door into the dining area toward table #14, where Charlie was sitting. Interestingly, table #14 would have been #13, except when numbering the tables for reference, the kitchen staff skipped over #13 because of the traditional restaurant triskaidekaphobia -- superstition 112
associated with that number. By then, Charlie and Travis had polished off their meals and set the dinnerware aside out of the way under the booth’s coin-operated mini- jukebox. They unfolded the Maryland roadmap and smoothed it out on the table between them so Charlie could use it to tell Travis about the history of the Patuxent River Mann family and the story of the lost Spanish silver of Benedict Town. It was something he’d neglected to do while Travis was living at Chestnut Point with him and his sister Jenny a few years before. At that age, Travis wasn’t interested in that kind of thing. Instead, he focused on comic books, horseback riding, and his budding love of rock’n’roll. Suddenly, in his peripheral vision, Travis caught a glimpse of a waitress zigzagging through the dining area tables. He looked up from the map. She was an attractive middle-aged woman, about average height, with blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail. The elegant symmetry of her face was marred by a crooked nose, enlarged a bit at the bridge and jutting slightly off to one side. Travis was reminded of Mr. Calabrese’s nose, which had been broken while playing college lacrosse at Loyola in Baltimore. He was the Italian Catholic father of his pal Debbi in West Reading. Travis checked out the rectangular tag on the waitress’ uniform as she arrived at their table. Engraved on it was the name Jackie Jean. Glancing back and forth between her and his Pop-Pop, he realized that she was woman he had been talking about all day. Charlie returned Jackie Jean’s gaze with an expression of unrestrained joy. The moment their eyes met, Charlie’s concern that she would no longer recognize him was dispelled. Jackie Jean put a hand on her hip, looked directly into Charlie’s eyes, and asserted with an amused smile, “Well, well, well, Mister- Charlie-Mann, so you think I’m the most beautiful woman in the world.” With feigned contrition, Charlie admitted, “Guilty as charged,” and 113
after a pause, said, “So, you’ve seen my personal notices in the paper?” “Indeed I have. Every single year on my birthday,” she assured him, then with wide-open arms demanded, “Get up, you crazy, sweet man, and give me a hug.” Charlie slid to the end of the padded Naugahyde seat and stood up. Awkwardly at first, he wrapped his arms around Jackie Jean. Then, sighing, he rested his cheek against hers and closed his eyes in contentment. For Charlie, three decades of yearning had been distilled into that one moment of pure happiness. And if he had his wish, it would have lasted forever. But, as they tend to do, the moment evaporated into thin air. “Jackie Jean, crab cakes & coleslaw! Fried chicken & mash potatoes! Table eleven!” the good-natured cook called out to Jackie Jean from the pass-through window behind the lunch counter. She responded, “Okay, Terrence, I hear you!” “I’ve got to get that,” Jackie Jean said to Charlie, then gave him a quick peck on the lips with the assurance, “I’ll be right back.” Marla, who’d been listening in on the conversation while serving another customer nearby, thoughtfully volunteered to take it instead, “I’ll get that one for you. Okay?” “Thanks, Marla. I appreciate it,” she answered. Then with arms still around Charlie, Jackie Jean leaned back and asked, “How long are you here for?” “Just passing through,” Charlie told her. “My grandson and I are driving from Reading down to Charles County. I figured it would be a good opportunity to stop by and see you on the way. I called out to the farm, but your dad said you were at work. So now, here I am.” Jackie Jean ribbed Charlie, “Your timing was always terrible. She touched Travis’s shoulder and asked, “Who is this handsome young man?” “This is my grandson, Travis.” Charlie said, “Today is his birthday.” “Well, Happy Birthday, Travis! How old are you?” “Sixteen,” Travis answered. 114
Charlie added his two cents, “And never been kissed.” Travis blushed and mumbled, “I’ve been kissed.” And a lot more than that, he finished the sentence in his head. “Wow, sixteen years old!” Jackie Jean affirmed the milestone. “So, what are you doing to celebrate?” “We’re taking a trip in the car that Pop-Pop gave me for my birthday.” Travis pointed out the window toward the Buick Skylark Road Master convertible parked outside. “Nice present!” Jackie Jean marveled. “And Pop-Pop is taking me treasure hunting.” Charlie sat back down but, before doing so, whispered into Jackie Jean’s ear, “Bring out some birthday cake. Okay?” Jackie Jean winked surreptitiously, then looking down at the roadmap on the table, she started to laugh. “Charlie Mann, you still talking about that silly treasure?” adding in a low theatrical whisper, \"The lost Spanish Silver of Benedict Town.’” Charlie snorted. “It’s there, and I’m going to find it.” “Okay, I’m sure you are,” Jackie Jean kidded him. Turning towards Travis, she asked, “How was everything?” “There wasn’t any catsup.” Jackie Jean glanced mischievously at Charlie and stated, “Tell this young man we serve ketchup here in Havre de Grace, not catsup.” Unaware that the catsup-ketchup distinction had been a running bone of contention between Jackie Jean and his Pop-Pop back in the old days, Travis looked confused. A little touchy at being teased about the lost Spanish silver, Charlie said, “How about you bring us one bottle of ketchup and one bottle of catsup. We’ll see which one tastes better.” Jackie Jean chuckled. Turning to Charlie, she eyeballed his empty plate. “Let me guess what you ordered -- cheese and pickle sandwich on buttered bread, chips, coffee straight, no cream, no sugar.” She looked to Travis and asked, “Am I right?” Travis nodded in amused agreement. The waitress had it exactly 115
right. “Knew it!” Jackie Jean laughed. “Same old Charlie.” “Oh, yeah?! I bet you still can’t remember any jokes or know what direction north is.” Jackie Jean pretended to be offended and pointed towards the west, “That way.” “Wrong.” Charlie laughed and pointed in the right direction. “North is that way.” As if it was just yesterday, Charlie and Jackie Jean had slipped right back into their old familiar banter. Travis watched and listened with amazement, feeling for a moment as if he were left out of the conversation, and thought, two’s company, three’s a crowd. Obviously, there was a lot he did not know about Pop- Pop. “Alright, is there anything else I can get for you, gentleman?” Jackie Jean asked. “Okay then, hang tight. I’ll take my break early tonight, in just a little bit, so we can visit for a while and get caught up.” “I’d like that,” Charlie responded. As Jackie Jean walked away, he marveled at what a shapely figure she had for a woman in her fifties. Wistfully, Charlie reminisced about their assignations at the Chesapeake Hotel in Havre de Grace in the early ’30s. He and Jackie Jean had sometimes made such an amorous commotion that the other guests, annoyed and unable to sleep, banged on the walls and floors to get them to stop. Charlie thought, C’est la vie. All good things must come to an end. However, good things don’t often end as dramatically as did their love affair. Using her forearm, Jackie Jean pushed through the double-swing door to enter the kitchen. To her surprise, on the stainless steel prep table in the center of the room, she saw a birthday cake crowned with sixteen unlit candles on a ceramic serving plate. Standing proudly 116
beside it was Marla, who looked like the first-place winner at the State Fair, awaiting the presentation of her blue award ribbon. It figured -- because not only was Marla a nosy busybody, but she absolutely loved a good party. So, when she overheard that it was the teenage boy Travis’s sixteenth birthday, she took it upon herself to make a special celebration for him. The cake she chose was not any of the perfectly-frosted, bakery- made ones gracing the spotlight of the rotating dessert display. It was not a chocolate cake, a carrot cake, a coconut-sprinkle cake, or a cherry-vanilla cake with little cherry bits in the frosting. It was not particularly beautiful, large, cleverly frosted, or expensive. It wasn’t even bakery-made. But rather, it was the most out-of-this-world nine, thin, moist, delectable layers of yellow cake and chocolate icing that any lucky customer of the Esso Servicecenter Diner could ever put a dessert fork into. It was a Smith Island Cake! Hand-baked with care, using a secret family recipe in the Crisfield home-kitchen of Betts Tyler, and carefully delivered inside a large cooler-chest by her waterman husband Zeke in his 1960 Ford refrigerated box truck along with the Esso Diner’s three- times-a-week consignment of Chesapeake Bay crabs & oysters in bushel baskets, and fish packed in ice-filled wooden crates. Seeing Marla’s selection, Jackie Jean thought, she must have been reading my mind. I would have just picked a regular chocolate cake. But this is one heck of a great choice! After hurrying to finish their tasks to fit in a break, Terrence and Pete joined Jackie Jean and Marla at the prep table. Marla had gone all out. Not only had she picked out one of the two remaining Smith Island Cakes, but she’d also assembled an assortment of party favors. Did we mention that Marla loved parties? Sitting beside the cake were six shiny foil cone hats with under-the- chin elastic strings and brightly dyed feathers protruding from the tops. With them were a couple of hypnotic-spiral pinhole eyeglasses and a 117
dozen party horns, the kind with the paper tube that unrolled and made a tooting sound. Terrence licked his lips and said, “Yum, Smith Island Cake. I’d love to have a piece of that.” Looking over at Marla, he asked, “Was that the last one in the display case?” “No, there’s another one left.” At that, Terrence raised his eyebrows. “Mmmm,” was his only comment, but you could see the gears turning in his head. Marla picked up a party horn and said, “Let me give these blow ticklers a little test run. She blew into the plastic mouthpiece. Out came the shrill wail of a goose being strangled as the rolled-up paper tube shot out like a long lizard tongue and retracted quickly into its original curl with a sharp snap! Jackie Jean laughed and put a finger to her lips, “Shhhhh. You’re going to ruin the surprise.” Like a mischievous child, Terrence ignored her and scoffed, “That’s not a ‘blow tickler,’ that’s a ‘tooty-tooter.’ He picked one up and gave it a playful toot. “Okay, okay,” Jackie Jean asserted. “I think we can do without the party horns, blow ticklers, tooty-tooters, or whatever you call them. Marla’s reaction to that was, “Oh, come on. Don’t be a party pooper.” But she could tell Jackie Jean wouldn’t be swayed, so she asked, “But the party hats are great, right?” Before Jackie Jean could answer, Terrence, who on occasion revealed his goofy side, voluntarily donned a shiny green cone topped with a sherbet-orange-dyed feather. “I like it!” he said admiringly. “It makes me look quite debonair. Don’t you agree, Marla?” Marla took a step back with a critical expression on her face. “Hmm, I don’t know. I think it needs a little something. Here, let me do this.” Marla reached up to adjust the hat, so it sat on his head at a comical angle. She examined her handiwork like a famous fashion designer stroking her chin with a discerning squint. Then, acting all 118
hoity-toity, she pronounced judgment, “Yes, Yes. That will do very nicely.” Jackie Jean was cracking up at their antics. But Pete just stood there glowering, arms crossed. You could practically see the thought bubble coming out of his brain. There is no way I will wear one of those stupid hats. But Marla was not to be deterred. She gleefully selected the blue cone hat with the pink feather at the top for Pete to wear and proceeded to wrestle it onto his head. Protesting, with a grimace, “Nah-Nah-Nah-Nah,” he recoiled as if she were trying to brand him with a hot poker. Marla stopped and looked for Jackie Jean to referee. Jackie Jean was into it now. All she had to do was hold her hand up to her ear like she was making a telephone call for Pete to cease struggling and stand silently rigid, like a condemned man waiting for the noose to be put around his neck. By making that gesture, Jackie Jean reminded Pete subtly about when she caught him picking the lock of the day manager's office to make a personal long-distance call. All of that was a long-winded way of explaining why, just by raising her hand to her ear like she was making a phone call, Jackie Jean could get Pete to do whatever she wanted. She could tell him to jump, and he would ask, “How high?” So, even though he was unhappy, Pete allowed Marla to put the silly hat on his head. But, he did demand, “Don’t mess up my hair.” “Don’t worry. I won’t mess up your beautiful coif,” Marla cooed soothingly, stretching the elastic band under his chin and gently setting the shiny blue cone with the bright pink feather atop his Elvis Presley haircut. Marla asked the others for their opinion, “Pete looks great, don’t you think?” Terrence and Jackie Jean, already wearing cone hats, couldn’t agree more. 119
Pete’s response was to let out a disgusted, “Pffppffffwwwhhh,” through pursed lips, pick up the cake plates, napkins, dessert forks, and a knife to cut the cake with, and insist, “Let’s get this shindig over with.” “Wait a minute,” Jackie Jean said, “I need to light the candles first.” The three gathered around Jackie Jean to watch as she ceremoniously struck a match. But, as she held the flame up to the first candlewick, Jackie Jean suddenly realized that the open candle boxes on the prep table next to the cake were festively illustrated with Asian flower designs, and the brand names were printed in Japanese characters. Oh no, she groused to herself. Those are the trick re-igniting candles I’ve been saving for Terrence’s birthday next week. Even though Jackie Jean had explicitly told Marla about the planned surprise party, her mind had been elsewhere instead of paying close attention. You see, Marla had a bit of an attention deficit problem due to her constant preoccupation with her competing boyfriends, her challenging fashion statements, late-night partying, and, last but definitely least, her college schoolwork. Unfortunately, the surprise trick-candle gag meant for Terrence was ruined. But instead of confronting Marla with the error, Jackie Jean decided to let it go because now it was time to have some fun. So, after lighting the sixteenth candle, Jackie Jean picked up the cake and, with her face and torso awash in the illuminating glow, led the ad- hoc quartet in song to table #14. Part 11 of our story is coming up next. See you there. ♦♦♦ 120
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