The Walnuts Page 3

  “He’s already figured out she’s no lady,” added Heather.

  “Oh, sweetie, so young and so innocent,” Gigi told Heather, while ruffling Trappy’s head. “Males don’t think with the large brain, that you will learn!”

  A tall, good-looking guy, about forty, with a pony tail, and a long Snidely Whiplash mustache that screamed, ‘Don’t trust this guy,’ walked onto the patio. He was wearing shorts, a golf shirt, and was barefooted. He was accompanied by a small, skinny woman with darting eyes and a peculiar facial twitch.

  “Uh oh.” Heather nudged John in the ribs. “That’s my uncle, Ricky, Ricky the Rat,” she whispered. “Don’t let him talk you into anything, and for God’s sake, don’t buy anything from him, or give him money for any reason.”

  “You do not trust your uncle?”

  “My Mother let him stay at our place one time, and when she came home from work, he was in her bed having sex with a three-hundred-pound Mexican opera singer.”

  “Why would that be a reason to not trust him?”

  Heather looked at John for a moment. “There’s plenty more where that came from.”

  “Hey, Gigi, how they hanging?” Ricky yelled.

  “Not in your direction,” she responded.

  “I can’t imagine why you two don’t like each other,” said Heather, “after all—”

  “Hush, snot,” said Danielle.

  “Not!”

  “Who’s your lady friend?” Danielle asked Ricky.

  He turned to the strange woman. Her right hand was missing the last two fingers. “This is the Countess of . . .” He nudged the woman with his elbow. “Help me out here, Mulva.”

  “I am here for my people,” she responded in a thick, Russian accent.

  “She’s the Countess of Her People,” said Ricky.

  Behind Ricky and the countess came a taller, thinner, handsome older man with thick white hair and soft blue eyes. He had a friendly, honest look about him and was dressed the same as Ricky, except for sandals.

  “That’s my father, Jed,” said Danielle.

  He walked down off the patio and up to John and shook John’s hand firmly, looking him straight in the eye. “Danielle says you’re interested in coming along on our trip?” said Jed seriously. “She says you’re new to the area and are doing some writing? I hope what you might witness here doesn’t tarnish your impression of everybody you may come across, down the road.”

  Standing back on the patio was an attractive woman, staring John down.

  Danielle whispered to John. “Now, I’ll introduce you to my mother. Like I told you, beware.”

  “John, this is my mother, Martha,” she said, pushing him forward.

  Martha was a slim woman of average height with a beautiful face, dark brown hair, and a mischievous look in her eyes. Martha walked up to John and was about to extend her hand, but examined his face for a moment instead. “I can’t talk to him like this,” she declared and went back into the house, leaving everyone outside looking mystified.

  John stood, uncertain what to do.

  “What was that all about?” Danielle commented.

  “Beats me,” said Jed.

  An old man and woman hobbled onto the patio from inside the house.

  “Everyone,” said Harold, “I’d like to introduce my aunt, Edna, and Uncle Dick.” The two looked ancient and frail.

  “My,” Uncle Dick said, his old watery eyes falling on Gigi, “you are a sight to an old man’s eyes—”

  “Now, Dick,” said Harold. “Don’t upset Edna. You know she hates your roving.”

  “Ah, she’s deaf as all get out,” Dick replied, which earned him a feeble smack from Edna.

  “Dick ain’t what he used to be,” squeaked Edna. “Heart’s no good.”

  “Let’s all go inside,” said Harold, chuckling to himself.

  Danielle and John were the last through the door, and there waiting for them was Martha with a small pair of scissors in her hand. She quickly stepped in between them and forced John back against the wall.

  “Hold still now, damn it,” Martha commanded. She reached up, grabbed his chin, and proceeded to trim the hairs out of his nose.

  “Mother!” laughed Danielle, with a surprised look on her face.

  Heather was laughing. “Grandma! My God, he’s going to think you’re cuckoo or something.”

  “Appearances are very important young man, and it is imperative to make a good first impression,” she explained, stepping back to admire her work. “I hope you don’t see anything wrong with that?” She looked at him, waiting for him to object. “And what is with that silly haircut? You look like Moe from The Three Stooges.”

  She turned to Gigi before leaving the room. “And you keep your tits in check, sister.”

  “I told you,” said Heather.

  “I apologize for Mother’s idiosyncrasies,” said Danielle, chuckling.

  “I think it was amusing,” said John.

  “My mother was just trying to intimidate you. She does that with everyone.”

  “Why?”

  “She’s taking control, keeping you off balance. She’s always looking for a victim to poke at, and I think for now you’re it. Would you like a drink?”

  “Yes, that would be fine.”

  “What kind of booze do you like?”

  “Booze?”

  “Yeah, booze. You know, alcohol?”

  “Oh, to become intoxicated, you mean. I do not think I should. Do you drink alcohol?”

  “Sure, sometimes. Not too much, though.”

  “And it is okay?”

  “Yeah, it’s okay . . . kind of fun unless I get sick.”

  “How often do you get sick?”

  “Every time I drink too much.”

  “You do not drink too much, then?”

  “Of course not, it makes me sick.”

  “Do you think I will get sick?”

  “Nah, just don’t drink too much.” She handed him a plastic cup full of liquid.

  John took a taste and gagged. “This tastes like a chemical,” he gulped, “and it burns my throat.

  “What do you think alcohol is, dummy?” snickered Danielle. “We don’t drink it for the taste, by the way, and where the hell have you been? This is the first time you’ve had alcohol?”

  “I have been quite sheltered, like Camper told you. You must drink this for the warm sensation it gives going down.”

  “That and the sensation you get when it bottoms out,” said Danielle.

  *

  John was talking to Heather, drinking his second cup, smiling, because obviously the sensation was pleasant.

  “You want my mom, I know you do.”

  “What would I do with her?”

  “No, fool. It’s what she would do to you that matters. You’re going to end up giving her everything you’ve got.”

  “You do not like your mother?”

  “I love my mother,” Heather said, “but she just uses men. Gets the dumb ones and takes all their money. I can see it; you’ve got the hots for her already. You want her.”

  “I do not want your mom, not like that.”

  “You’re gay, huh?”

  John hesitated, thinking. “Oh . . . no, I am not a homosexual.”

  “And you aren’t interested in my mother.”

  “Not for what you think.”

  “I told my mother you were weird.”

  “Is it weird to ask questions, to be interested in what people have to say?”

  “All the guys I know just want sex.”

  “All of them?”

  “Yeah, all the ones I know.” She grabbed his arm and pointed toward the dining table where the party food was located. “Hey, look at the Claw. She’s stuffing food in her pocket.” Heather giggled.

  The Countess was selecting articles of food and looking them over carefully. Then, holding her jacket pocket open with her good hand, she carefully maneuvered the food inside with the other—all with intens
e concentration. Others had witnessed this and were also watching. The Countess continued, oblivious of her audience, until her pocket was getting full. Only then did she look up. Everyone had stopped what they were doing and were watching her.

  “There is much hunger in world,” she stated without hesitation, looking for another pocket.

  “Ricky!” yelled Martha. “What the hell does she think she’s doing?”

  “I don’t know, Mother, maybe she just likes to try different foods. Don’t embarrass her; she doesn’t know all our customs.”

  “Like leaving some for somebody else?” said Jed. “As usual, you’ve got yourself a classy broad.”

  *

  “This is the best part of my experience with my new friends,” John was telling Harold and Madeline, drinking cup number three. “It is living the meaning of all these new words.”

  “New words?” asked Madeline.

  “Yes, just understanding what a word means is one thing, but living it gives it substance.”

  “You’re talking about English? This isn’t your first language?” she asked.

  “Oh, no,” he slurred.

  “I’m surprised. You speak quite well.”

  “It is my job actually. I am a linguist.”

  “I thought you were a writer. That’s what Danielle said anyway.”

  “Yes, that too. I am good at new things.”

  John was slurring his words and swaying. Madeline excused herself and went over to Martha.

  “Don’t you go getting him drunk!” Martha shouted at Danielle across the room. “We don’t know this guy. He might have a problem with drink.”

  “Oh Mother, he’s a grown man. Besides, you should talk.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Martha shouted indignantly.” I’ll have you know that the little bit I drink has never interfered with my life like it can with others!”

  “What?” Jed responded. “Yeah, seven beers and your life is just fine. It’s everyone else that has to duck.”

  “You hush up, Nut Head. I was explaining how drinking can adversely affect lives, and that could never happen to me.”

  “What?” Jed scoffed. “And how do you figure you’re so special?”

  “People will drink even when it leads to poverty, because they can’t hold a job,” she said.

  Danielle laughed. “Mother, I don’t think that’s a very good analogy for you to use, considering you’ve never worked a day in your life.”

  “I’ll have you know,” shouted Martha, “that I was involved in charitable work during the war.”

  “Oh Mother, we’ve all heard the story—how the fleet counted on you being the first face they saw getting back to the dock.”

  Jed let out a strangled laugh. “Got the wrong end,” he said under his breath.

  Martha gave him a cold stare and then turned to John with a serious look on her face. “I’ll have you know, John, that I did volunteer work for the church.”

  “What?” howled Jed. “You didn’t even make it through the first day!”

  “That wasn’t my fault!” yelled Martha.

  “Mother, you went in with a raging hangover,” said Danielle, and then turned to John. “They put her at the welcoming desk, and this old homeless guy came in, and Mother yelled at him.”

  “He was disgusting, and he smelled,” Martha declared.

  Danielle laughed. “Mother lost it and yelled, ‘What the hell do you want you old bum? This isn’t a homeless shelter, this is a goddamn church!’ Needless to say, the pastor wasn’t pleased.”

  “I wasn’t feeling too well that day, John, and—”

  Martha was interrupted by Heather’s laughter. “When Grandma’s got one of her roaring hangovers, no one else is even allowed to exist.”

  “They tend to exaggerate,” Martha told John.

  “Grandma, you drink too much beer and you know it,” said Heather.

  “Don’t you start; you’re too young for this kind of conversation.”

  “I know what I see. You get away with it because you’re ‘The Queen’.”

  “And don’t any of you forget it! I am also a firm believer in the Lord.”

  “What?” snickered Jed. “You can’t be serious.”

  “You heard me, I’m very familiar with the Lord’s Prayer,” Martha stated.

  “Yeah, your version,” commented Ricky.

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  Ricky began to pray. “Please, Lord, let all those around me fail miserably, so I appear to succeed.”

  “I’ll have you know that—”

  Everyone was laughing at her expense so Martha gave up. “Sons-a-bitches,” she grumbled under her breath.

  *

  John was swaying back-and-forth, a big grin on his face, when Danielle and Heather started arguing about makeup.

  “Mother,” Heather said, “you wear way too much and it makes you look cheap.”

  “I resent that! It’s important to look your best.”

  “But you don’t need that much! My God, you are a beautiful woman without all that paint on your face,” lamented Heather. “What do you think, Space John? Do you think my mother goes overboard with the paint?”

  John was leaning against the kitchen counter trying to maintain his balance.

  “Space John?” asked Martha.

  “Yeah, I’ll bet he’s an alien, just like Camper,” Heather said.

  “Makes sense to me,” Martha added. “They’re certainly both weird ducks.”

  “Huh? Paint?” John finally responded.

  “He doesn’t know anything,” said Danielle. “Where he’s from, the only makeup they use is to highlight the poor little animals’ arses.”

  John sat down because he was getting too unsteady on his feet.

  “You said you were married, right, John?” asked Danielle.

  “Yes.”

  “How much makeup does your wife wear?”

  “Huh?”

  “Well, you sure could use a little,” said Danielle. “You’re looking a bit pale.”

  “You’re right,” said Heather. “His lips could use a little definition.” Heather took a tube of lipstick from her purse and sat next to John. “Now, hold still,” she said, applying it to his lips.

  Danielle sat down on the other side of John. “His eyes certainly don’t stand out either. Give me some mascara.”

  Danielle began working on his eyes. John, being in a state of intoxication, didn’t object.

  The entire party gathered around and joined in, offering advice. All the laughter, his sudden popularity, and the euphoria of the alcohol had clouded John’s senses. When it was over, everyone went on to other things and John stumbled outside for fresh air.

  *

  Gigi walked up to Danielle. “This damn bra is killing me.”

  “Why are you wearing a bra?” asked Danielle.

  “I’ve been noticing some sag, and I’m trying to get them back up to their younger years.”

  “Won’t work. Age and gravity do their thing, you know.”

  “Thanks for the assurance.” Gigi continued to make adjustments. “Hey, Ricky’s got some good smoke. How about it?”

  “No, thanks. I have already partaken. Since when do you trust Ricky?”

  “I don’t, foolish girl, but this old fogey bash is killing me.”

  “You invited yourself, now you’re complaining?”

  Gigi shrugged. “I thought the new guy, John, might be some fun. Little did I know? Of course you pick the strange ones, but he’s sure not for me.”

  Gigi twisted her shoulders. “My tits need to be free. I’m going outside. Sure you don’t want to go with?”

  “Yes, I’m sure. And for God’s sake, don’t go wandering around half naked. If you have to do your thing, do it in the car.”

  *

  John was down the road outside the gate they had come through earlier, when it was still light. He rested against the cool metal for support, then slid down to
the ground and passed out.

  *

  John was awakened by a bright light shining in his face.

  “Sir, are you all right?” asked a voice from behind the light.

  John didn’t respond.

  “Sir, I need to know what’s wrong. You need to talk to us,” the voice demanded.

  John tried to get to his feet, but was having difficultly.

  “Plaie con dolt,” mumbled John.

  “Excuse me, what did you say?”

  “Plaie . . . oh, I am sorry. What is it you want?”

  “Have you been drinking, sir?”

  “Drinking?”

  “Yes, have you consumed any alcohol tonight?”

  “Yes, yes, I have. I am afraid I am not used to it.”

  “That’s apparent. Would you please get to your feet?”

  John tried again, but slid back down against the gate.

  “What have you got on your face, sir?”

  “My face?”

  “Yes, your face.” The man behind the light was losing his patience. It was apparent by the tone in his voice. “Is that makeup?”

  “My face is okay, I think. I cannot really feel it, though,” John said, touching it.

  “What is your name, sir?”

  “My name, oh, I am ‘Seg Thouge’, and you are?”

  “Officer Daniels and I need to see some ID, please. Are you from a foreign country?”

  “Yes, you might say that.”

  “Where?”

  “You would not know of it.”

  “All right, buddy, I’m getting sick of this. On your feet right now, we’re taking you in.”

  “Officers! I can explain,” shouted Danielle, hurrying down the road with Heather. The flashing lights of the police car had gotten their attention.

  “Who are you?” asked Officer Daniels.

  “I’m the one that’s to blame for all this,” said Danielle.

  “And how is that?”

  “We’re having a party, and we got poor John drunk. It’s all our fault,” she explained.

  “What’s that all over his face?”

  “My daughter and I were just being silly. We put the makeup on him, then he went outside for some fresh air and I guess he wandered down here.”

  “Well, he’s in a world of trouble.”

  “He hasn’t done anything!” shouted Heather. “You leave Space John alone!”

  “Space John?”

  “She kids him about being an alien. It’s just silly teenage stuff. I don’t see what the problem is? He’s done nothing wrong.”

  “Well, Space Whoever is drunk and disorderly in public.”

  Heather took John’s wallet out of his pocket, mumbling under her breath, “I can smell bacon.” She gave the wallet to a second officer.