Calamity Jayne Goes to College (17 page)

I looked at her. "That's amazingly nice of you, Dixie," I said. "What can I do to repay you?"

She looked at me. "Help me get the fuck down.

Dixie and I watched as Frankie and Patrick took their turn at the obstacle course. Patrick had finished, joined us, and polished
off a power drink while Frankie was still trying to make it up the wall. He'd gotten tied up in the rope obstacle, tripped
up in the tire obstacle, gotten three blisters from the monkey bars, waterlogged in the water obstacle, and was now making
his seventh run at the fence. And he'd only had to stop and suck on his inhaler twice. It was not a pretty sight.

"He's not gonna make it, is he?" I asked Patrick as we watched Frankie's long legs, slip, slide, and then dangle along the
rope.

"It doesn't look good," he said.

"Do me a favor," I asked Dawkins. "Don't tell him yet. Let him live the dream for a while longer."

Patrick nodded. "Done," he said.

CHAPTER 14

Once we'd finished the obstacle debacle, I left Frankie and Dixie reflecting on what they had each collectively learned, and
headed for Grandville. I wasn't sure what my obstacle course article would say, but the photos would grab lots of attention,
especially the ones of me in my humiliating worm-on-a-hook pose.

My clothes were damp, but thanks to the coveralls the scum and algae hadn't gotten to them. My first order of business was
to check in on the welfare of the bride-to-be--if she was still a bride-to-be, that is. And still on speaking terms with me.

Kari had taken a few days off from teaching to get ready for the wedding. The honeymoon would take place over spring break.
J drove straight to her apartment. She opened the door when I knocked, saw me, and promptly shut the door in my face.

I knocked again. "Kari! Open up! Please?"

I waited. "Come on, Kari. At least give me a chance to explain."

She finally opened the door. She stood there with her arms folded and raised one eyebrow.

"You have two minutes," she said, and I winced. I couldn't get my name out in that amount of time.

"At least let me come in," I said. When she didn't comply I added, "Okay, whatever, if you don't care that your neighbors
hear all the gory details about our evening at Big Burl's strip club, I don't mind."

She reached out and hauled me into her apartment.

"Okay. Two minutes. Starting now," she said, looking at her watch.

"Listen, Kari, I'm really sorry about what happened," I said. "I had no idea what kind of establishment Big Burl's was. And
I did suggest we leave and go elsewhere if you'll recall. It's just that I've been trying really, really hard to do really,
really good in college, and with the jobs and critters and Gram and stuff, I really, really need a great grade on my journalism
project. That's why we went to Big Burl's. I was trying to get information from a source." I was thinking I sounded very journalistic.

She looked at me. "I have never seen Brian so upset," she said. "When he leaped onstage like that, I thought 'this fat guy's
given his first and last performance.'"

"Thank God," I said. "Er, Brian wasn't arrested, was he?"

She shook her head. "As a matter of fact, Big Burl was so grateful to Brian for putting the fear of God into Tubbo T. Twinkletoes
and hauling his blinding white bulk offstage that he offered to donate entertainment for the wedding reception," she said.

"I trust you declined," I replied.

"Of course. Brian accepted a couple of free kegs of beer instead," she said.

"So the wedding is still on?" I asked with more than a little relief.

"As far as I'm concerned," she said. "But not without a lot of drama and angst. Brian was just so shocked at finding me there,"
she added.

"Well, I'm sure you were equally shocked to see him," I replied. "What were he and the rat pack doing there anyway?"

Kari got this weird look on her face. She looked at me for a minute or two and suddenly dropped into a chair across from me.

"Oh my gosh. In all the excitement and the mortification of being discovered there, I totally forgot to ask what brought
him
to that raunchy strip club," she said. Her look turned scary. It was like my mother's, when people bring in cocktail napkins
with writing on them and want to use them as receipts for business expenses.

"I think my future husband has a little explaining of his own to do," she declared.

I winced. What was good for the hen, it appeared, was about to be good for the rooster. Cocka-freakin'-doodle-doo.

I left Kari after making three very foolish promises. One, to be able to fit into my maid of honor dress. Two, to make it
to the church on time. Three, to "abjure" the cocktail weenies. Now that Kari is a language arts teacher she loves to use
big words. I thought the first two promises would probably be easier to keep than the third. I can't help it. Give me a little
smokie on a toothpick dipped in barbecue sauce and I go wild.

From Kari's I headed over to the newspaper office to touch base with Stan, and then I planned to go straight home, shower,
work on my article and go to bed.

I checked out the notes on my table--I refuse to call that piece of furniture a "desk"--and did quick follow-ups on various
items. I wrote up a short article and caption to go with the pictures from the obstacle course and ran up front to pick up
my messages. Two were from Aunt Mo, asking me to give her a call. Crap. I was just about to sneak out the back door when Stan
called my name.

I sighed and headed to his office.

"You lost?" he said. " 'Cause that's got to be the reason you're here. Not the fact that I allegedly employ you," he added.
"You write something up on Mr. and Mrs. Smith yet?"

I grinned. "Yes, sir! Written and filed, sir!" I said, snapping to attention.

"And this investigative article of yours? How's it coming along?"

"Super dooper. I think we're really on to something there. The story has something for everyone. Sex. Revenge. Violence. A
human interest angle. All the makings of a thriller, complete with a compelling cast of characters," I told him.

"This isn't a screenplay, Turner," he pointed out. "Stick to reporting the facts. Let the readers decide how they want to
see things."

"Got it," I said. "Just the facts, ma'am."

Raised voices from out front got my attention, and I looked up to see Manny's aunt Mo standing out at the front counter.

I surveyed the distance to the back door and, calculating that I'd never make it without being seen, I sprinted behind Stan's
desk, shoved his chair to the side, and dove beneath the massive piece of furniture.

"What the hell?" Stan said just seconds before a loud bang sounded, signaling his door had been opened with some force.

"I tried to stop her!" Lucy, the
Gazette
receptionist-secretary-bookkeeper-cashier, apologized. She'd had to recite these words a time or two to Stan where I was
concerned not all that long ago. Stan glanced down at me with a puzzled look on his face.

"I demand service!" I heard Aunt Mo declare, followed by a smack on the desktop.

"What can I help you with today--Mrs. Dishman, isn't it?" I heard Stan say, his right knee uncomfortably close to my nose.

"Same thing as yesterday and the day before," she said. "I'm here to see Tressa Turner. She works here. Right?"

"Rumor has it," I heard Stan say, and I resisted the temptation to pinch his fleshy calf.

"Rumor has it? That's good. Every time I drop by, she's out," Aunt Mo replied. "Which desk is hers?" she asked, and Stan pointed
out my little corner of
Gazette
real estate.

"Over there."

"That little table? It looks like something you'd find at Goodwill. Or in preschool. And that computer belongs in a museum."
Ah, bless you, Aunt Mo.

"You're welcome to leave a message," Stan said.

"I've already left two," she complained. "She never called me back. I'm beginnin' to think she's avoiding me."

"I know the feeling. Perhaps if you tell me what you want with Miss Turner, I can pass it along when I see her and urge her
to get in touch with you," Stan the Stickinsky said. I reached over and untied his shoelaces.

"You tell Tressa she needs to get a hold of me so we can talk about the wedding," she said.

"Wedding? What wedding?" Stan asked.

I wanted to bang my head on the desk but couldn't risk revealing myself.

"Her wedding.
Their
wedding," Aunt Mo said.

"Whose?" Stan asked, clearly confused.

"Tressa and Manny's."

"Manny?"

"My nephew, Manny. Manny DeMarco."

"Your nephew is Manny DeMarco?"

"That's right. Sweet, sweet boy."

"And Tressa Turner is engaged to your nephew, Manny DeMarco?"

"Came as a shock to me, too," she said. "I think it was one of those hurry-up deals," she said.

I could only imagine what Stan must be thinking.

"Tressa Turner and Manny DeMarco," Stan said, and I could picture him chewing the heck out of his cigar. "Interesting."

"They got engaged just before I left for Arizona," Aunt Mo said. "I got a trailer down near Scottsdale and winter there every
year," she added. "Iowa winters got to be too much for me. I have a heart condition, you know. I've been trying to hook up
with Tressa ever since I got back but I just keep missin' her. We've got plans to make," she said.

My plan was to get the heck out of this invented engagement, hopefully without eliminating poor ol' Aunt Mo in the process.

"I apologize, Mrs. Dishman, that an employee of mine has been so rude and neglectful," Stan said. "I'll personally make sure
she gets in touch," he added.

I tied his shoelaces together.

"Thank you, Mr. Rodgers. Thank you."

Chair wheels squeaked and rolled as Stan got to his feet. "Believe me, it was my pleasure, Mrs. Dishman," he said and took
a step back. He got a funny look on his face when the other foot wouldn't follow and he fell back into his chair. I covered
my mouth with both hands to stifle the giggles. "Uh, thanks again for coming in," he said. "And congratulations to the happy
couple!" he yelled.

I waited until I heard the little bell over the front door chime before I crawled out from under the desk. "That was close,"
I said. "Thanks for not ratting me out, boss."

"What the hell else could I do?" he snarled. "How in God's name would I explain you being underneath my desk? And I'd just
as soon Manny DeMarco not get the idea that there's any office hanky panky going on between his fiancee and her boss." He
held his bound feet out in my direction. "Do you mind?" he snapped, and I quickly unfastened and then retied his shoes.

"Sorry about that," I said.

"Prewedding nerves, I suppose," he guessed, and I shook my head.

"Pre-breakup jitters," I corrected, and explained the fairy-tale engagement to Stan. "In other words, a good deed gone
sooo
bad," I summed up.

"A recurring theme," Stan observed. I sighed.

"I'm just going to am-scray now. And remember," I told him with a finger to my lips, "I was never here."

I slipped out, but not before I heard "Good ol' Calamity," followed by a hearty chuckle. Damn.

I was puppy-dog tired by the time I drove into my-- uh, our family--driveway. I'd picked up a pizza with the works from Thunder
Rolls, our local bowling alley. Thunder Rolls has the absolute best pizza in a three-county radius. I was looking forward
to a hot slice and a cold beer and the opportunity to put my feet up and watch mindless, brain-numbing television.

I also had chores to do and pooches to pamper. I decided to do the chores first so I could spend the remainder of the night
relaxing.

I entered the house, hounded by the optimistic noses of Butch and Sundance. The house was dark. I switched the light on and
called out to Gram but no one yelled back. I put the pizza on the kitchen table and ran back outdoors and called my little
herd into the barn for chow, fed them and visited a wee bit, then clowned around with the doggies in the barnyard till dusk.
By this time I was so hungry their Mighty Meal began to sound good, so I made my way back to the house. Joe's car was in the
driveway. Just what I needed.

I filled the dog bowls and headed to the house, as much drool falling from my lips as from my two pets', thinking about the
pizza and beer waiting for me.

The house was still dark when I entered. I walked into the living room.

"Luuucy, I'm hoooome!" I called out as I flipped on the light. There on the couch, wrapped in a passionate embrace, were my
gammy and Joe Townsend.

"Eeewww!" rushed out of me involuntarily. My appetite shriveled. The two slowly broke apart.

"Hello, dear," my grandma greeted me. No embarrassed, awkward moments here. At least, not on my gammy's part.

"Hey," I responded, thinking there was a good possibility I might be scarred for life by what I'd just witnessed. "Glad to
see your party crashing and near incarceration the other night didn't wear you out too much."

"On the contrary," Joe said. "We were still rarin' to go when Rick hauled us out of there. By the way, where did you run off
to?"

"I was cowering behind the bar," I lied.

"Rick was fit to be tied when you disappeared. He almost got himself arrested when he refused to leave."

My appetite shrank even more. "He did?"

"He thought you might be in danger. Someone swore they'd seen you carried out the back by a big bear. Guess they had too much
to drink, huh?" Joe said. From the speculative glint in his eyes, it was clear Joe thought there was more to this story than
I was sharing.

I'd never tell.

"So, I guess he was pretty angry," I said.

"It was kind of hard to tell," Gramma replied.

I had to ask. "Oh? How come?"

"He didn't say a civil word all the way home."

I frowned at Gram. "I thought you had foe's car," I said. "Why'd Rick drive you home?"

"He didn't want me to drive all that way at night, so he had one of his buddies take his pickup," Joe explained.

"So... he wasn't chatty. That could just mean he was tired, not ticked."

"We didn't say he didn't speak. We said he wasn't civil. He sure had enough to say, but it was all in the form of expletives,
if you get my drift. And when he wasn't swearing, he was calling your cell every two minutes," Joe said. "Ended up sacking
out on your sofa all night."

This was worse than I thought.

"It was hard to watch," Gram said. "That poor young man. Pacing the floor in the dark waiting for you. Checking his watch.
Dialing your number. And what do you do? You don't call. You don't answer your phone. You don't come home at all." She paused.
"And now you show up today in the same clothes you had on yesterday," she said. "All I can think of to say at a time like
this is, 'Details, Tressa! Details!'"

I shook my head. "Not on an empty stomach, I don't," I said, going to take a quick shower and change out of clothes I never
wanted to see again.