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| Martin tossing his fluids in the dough |
Scandal of Lindsey's frolic hoisted the cross from Martin's shoulder like a derrick after his Palm Sunday fiasco, and blurred the reality of the open coffin in the living room. He and Motsie even stifled some undignified giggles and encouraged Vincent's story with "I betcha" supplements. It didn't hurt Martin's mood that all the banter about Lindsey conjured fond images of her in a halter and hot-pants, Cottondale's teeny-bopper version of Stevie Nicks, on graduation night with the Five Points' version of Cher, standing next to him now. Motsie's laughter tickling his neck hairs whet Martin's thirst, and he fished for more, baiting the hook with jail-life tidbits about sharing cigarettes with a carney, giving his cornbread to a stabber and sleeping on the top bunk right above a goat raper, all lies, but Motsie and Vincent were instantly enthralled, having no idea until this very moment that Martin had spent even one moment behind bars.
"No, I'm not kidding, I really did. I only got home like an hour ago, and then I had to, y'know," he gestured to his clean suit and fluffed the back of his hair, still a little damp, "get ready for all this company."
Motsie was the first to unslacken her jaw and ask, "Well, what the hell were you arrested for?"
"Not for what I'd expected it would be for," Martin winced and looked around, "which was on Saturday night at PTA. Old man Faulkner ordered me to soil a pizza. I felt like it was the wrong thing to do, but..."
Motsie interrupted, "Soiled? A Pizza? Did you sprinkle ant poison on it? Why?" Martin saw she was fascinated and let her swim with it a little so he could stare at her face from very close.
"No, I had just taken an order for the Manager's Special for one of the Kurtz brothers, only I just called it out as 'nickel-bag deluxe for Kurtz,' and that's when Faulkner went ballistic. I didn't want to, but, well, he's the boss, and all, so..."
"Do what, Martin? What did he make you do?" Motsie had the hook, but Martin wasn't ready to yank the line.
"Faulkner said Kurtz owed him for a nickel bag from last month, and he was going to get even with him, 'the usual way,' he said, 'plus some extra,' he yelled, and he looked meaner than usual, grinding one of his fists into the other palm." He looked over at Motsie who was just standing there, mesmerized, and thought it was worth waiting for another minute.
"See, we had a standard procedure we called 'the usual way,' for carefuly hiding one pubic hair under each pepperoni, but the 'extra?' Well, Faulkner sent me to the wash room with a Pixie cup and ordered me to fill it up, and I was pretty sure that part was illegal."
"Oh my Lord, Martin, no!" It was Vincent who took the hook. Motsie was still on the line, though.
"I got inside, and hollered through the door how much of my specimen he really needed, and he yelled back 'not so much the dough won't rise, but enough to get the message to Kurtz he can't rip PTA off for a pizza and nickel bag without repercussions,' Then he made me knead my own, you know, fluids into the ball o' dough and flip it around in the window like nothing was the matter with it, like nobody walkin' by was gonna smell it. I kept thinkin' a person might die from that, and it would be my fault, and Faulkner would sell me right down the river."
"That's just gross, Martin." Lindsey stepped away from him, and he figured he'd given too much line, and needed to tighten up just a little.
"But y'all know how bad I've needed my job, especially since... you know..." His eyes went to the coffin area where all the ladies were comforting Mrs. McCrary, and Batboy was standing on one foot, uselessly scraping at the corner of the coffin near his daddy's feet. Martin felt Motsie's sigh on his collar, and yanked the rod.
"After the pizza went out, Faulkner looked at the order and realized it was the wrong Kurtz, and blamed me for being, get this, 'ambiguous!' He sent me home, and all the way I was sure the cops were coming for me.
"When I got here, Daddy was breathing his last breaths. You'll never guess the very last thing he ever said to me." He looked only at Motsie but he could plainly feel Vincent's eyes burning into the side of his head. Motsie's eyes brimmed and Martin figured now he could reel her right on in.
"Oh, it's too painful to repeat," he exclaimed, slumping towards Motsie, who consoled him with a long hug.
"And now I'm a convict!" Martin sobbed into Motsie's neck as Vincent patted his back assuring him that everything would be fine, Vincent would always stand by his friend, and Martin tried to flick Vincent's hand off his back without breaking free of Motsie's hug.
"No, honey, you're no convict. You're our best friend, right Vincent? And it'll be fine, sugar. So, did old man Faulkner call the law on you, sweetie?" Oh wasn't she getting mellifluous on him now! Hook, line and sinker!
"No no no. I had stopped at Cow Drive-thru on the way and got a six-pack to share with daddy. It was about the only thing he could still bother to enjoy. When I got home, he wasn't in the Lay-Z-Boy where he'd spent the last few months, y'know, since he couldn't breathe right if he laid down flat. Batboy had found a hospital bed by the dumpster behind Saint Mary's, and put it in the kitchen, and that's where he was. I cranked him up we had a Schlitz. Well I had one. And then... he asked me to please look after my little brother." Martin stepped aside and wiped his face with both hands. "I had another beer, and didn't go anywhere, didn't call anybody in, until after I'd had all the beer. He wasn't breathing anymore.
"When the church wagon got here I ran back for his quilt, and then I got in with him and covered him up so he wouldn't be cold. I wanted to ride with 'im over to the funerarium, and they wanted me the hell out. They started pulling me out by the feet, so I got all bowed up and kicked that driver in the face. I think I broke his nose. I know I knocked his front tooth out, 'cause it says that on the warrant.
"They had to call the law on me, and I wouldn't get out until they told me they had their guns drawn and I had to. That other fella was all covered in blood, getting into the ambulance when they were handcuffin' me and puttin' me in the patrol car. I don't know who ended up drivin' daddy in the church wagon. Maybe Batboy. I'm not even allowed over there by the open coffin, they gave me a restraining order keepin me at a distance of ten feet from that casket til whenever it's closed, and two car-lengths from the church wagon whenever we go to the burial."
"Oh, well believe me, Martin, there's really no need to get any closer to any coffin than where we are right here." Vincent sounded very convincing.
"Honey, your daddy knows you're near and you'd be right next to him if you could. We could go get my ouija board if you wanna tell him so right quick before he all the way in heaven and caint talk back?"
Vincent was dead set against the ouija in spite of Martin's wanting to try it in time, so Motsie made a different suggestion. "Wouldn't you like Vincent to drive us around for a smoke, then? Maybe just thirty minutes? You'll feel a whole lot better, sugar. Maybe over to the bamboo or Galilee Orphanage?" And then she touched his hair as though a lock of it might have been out of place, and called him by the name they both knew melted him into submission every time; "You pick, cousin Martin, for old times' sake."
