Mutt Case (Lucille and I)-(exerpts)

It’s not too much to ask, for a man to want to come home to appease his burning parched throat with a tall glass of cold lemonade, is it? No it’s not. And it wouldn’t be at all unreasonable to have a fair damsel throw her arms around him and press him tightly against her bosom, just short of suffocating him in an affectionate embrace, would it? However, that is a question we’ll contemplate no further. It is an entirely different story when you are accosted by your arch-nemesis’ canine companion just when you’re fantasizing about relaxing in front of the TV and sipping a cold one. This hideous mongrel was perched on the top of the staircase right in front of my door, growling and baring it teeth in fiendish expectation. It seemed bent on acquainting its nasty teeth with my flesh, in particular, that of my leg; and since I was in no mood to surrender my legs as meaty refreshments I had to protest. I have no doubts that any clear thinking fellow with insurable interest in his biological constitution would sentiments similar to mine. Mind you, I have nothing against that ugly mutt. I was even somewhat flattered that it thought me good enough for lavish cannibalistic fantasies, but it was unfortunate that its ideas weren’t the least congruent to the plans I had for my legs. I had to do something to break the thing’s resolve of rinsing its teeth with my blood. I had to make my disapproval obvious to it and that required a slight shoving with the foot. And so I did. Well, there was a bit force accompanying the shove. Just a tiny bit. How was I supposed to know that the creature wasn’t properly balanced on the step? So as fate might have it, the shove was accompanied with a tumble off the ten-step staircase. In no time the poor thing found itself at the bottom of the flight. Its loud and continuous yapping told me it wasn’t very pleased with the incident. It probably would have preferred to have had the option of making its way down by itself rather that being forced to perform that oscar-worthy stunt.

I had just turned the key and almost made it to my room, never to give another thought to the encounter, when I heard the foul voice I’ve heard several times before.

“I saw that,” it said.

I turned to see Luna, the better looking of the ugly twins that live next door, peering through the slightly open door of their squalid apartment. She glared questioningly and smiled. I had witnessed earlier during the day one of her usual domestic skirmishes with her mother. This one was to negotiate whether she would get a new hat to wear to her cousin’s birthday party. The mother argued that she, Luna, already had enough hats to open a second-hand hat shop and the offspring counterpoised with the argument that a new year requires a new hat. They went at it for a while, with each of them screaming. Unless you were observing visually, it would have been hard to tell which was the mother and which, the child. Twenty-five minutes of the twain going at it, with intermittent breathers, resulted in the mother reaching an epiphany. “Well you can swap hats with your sister,” she said.

“No!” came the protesting voice of the other half pair, Sunny, “she will stretch the hat beyond its elastic limits. Her head is too big.”

Now folks, I don’t have to tell you that I am a gentleman, and a reserved one at that. I don’t go about making unsavory comments about little girls, but this is one time I cannot refrain from the doing so. The temptation is greatly overwhelming. Besides, it’s nothing but God’s honest truth. I must tell you upfront, none of the girls has a head befitting a twelve year old. Anyone who has had the privilege of their acquaintance will attest to my testimony. You could most certainly fit a sizeable watermelon in either of their hats, and with a little more resourcefulness, possibly a can or two baked beans! Sunny, however was endowed with a little more cranium, and ironically less gray matter than Luna. A clear case of the kettle calling the pot black. Anyway, I digress. Where was I? Yes, Luna was standing there smiling at me with her right hand stretched before me.

“Would you like to negotiate?” she inquired.

The canine was still at the bottom of the steps providing sound effects, yelping away.

“Negotiate?” I asked perplexed.

“Yes. Lucille will be back from work in approximately,” she looked at her watch, “twenty minutes and sixteen seconds. … Fifteen, fourteen.”

“Ok, Ok. I get the idea, so just shut it!” I said.

“I would be very humble if I were you. Someone in your position has a lot to worry about.” She shot back.

If a man of the cloth diagnosed that this kid was harboring an unclean spirit, I probably would put a petition in for him to be sainted. Realize though that I’m not a very superstitious man. But as far as this young harpy and her sister are concerned I’m willing to be as broad minded as the witch hunters of the Dark Ages. The threat she was hinting was however a potent one and I had no doubt it would provide the effect she was probably thinking. Lucille and I, to put it mildly, don’t see eye to eye. The current state of our social situation goes back a couple of months when she moved in. This was what was referred to in some circles as the bathroom incident. Bear with me for now; I will relate the story in its entirety soon enough. You see Lucille is convinced that I am a spineless reptile whose intentions for her are less than noble. Her friend at the coffee shop – the fat one who bears a significant resemblance to sausage with legs- has deliberately been serving me cold coffee since the unfortunate encounter. I’m not a man who resorts to banalities, but I have to say if looks could kill, yours truly would most likely be worm and maggot meal by now. The coffee shop friend had taken to regarding me with the corners of her eyes and whispering secrets (about me, no doubt) to her co-workers and sometimes even some customers, probably cautioning them to stay away from me. You’re probably thinking, “Why doesn’t this idiot go to a different coffee place?” And my response is, if you find a place that makes egg soufflés like they do, let me know. Some fellows must have their dose of good bagels and coffee in the morning; I must have my spinach and artichoke egg soufflés served with a good cup of latté. That’s all I ask for in the morning and then I’m as good as a recently oiled cog.

I acknowledged that the kid had a point though. This was the second time I had had a confrontation with Lucille’s Pekingese friend. The first time around, I nearly flattened it with my car and its mistress was convinced that I did that on purpose. I need not tell you that she has little or more likely, no regard for my virtues. This was just a few days after the bathroom incident. Our relationship has been on ice since our eyes first met. I thought our eyes met but she insists that my gaze was below the eye level. In her words, I was gawking at her inappropriately like a sick teenager in the company of a nude super model. To suggest that I deliberately ogled at a lady in such a manner purposefully, for a small amount of shameful gratification; well, I don’t have to tell you that I was shocked beyond appeasement. I must admit, even if I did, it wasn’t unexpected cuz she left little surface area to view without violating one moral precept or the other. Low-cut jeans (very low cut, mind you), deep-cut V-collar blouse that revealed a significant amount of you-know-what. I was blissfully immersed in a copy of one of P.G Wodhouse’s Jeeves-Wooster sagas. When I looked up from the book, the first thing I laid eyes on was then tall slender body (of super-model proportions, I must confess) less than ten yards away. As she drew nearer I effected one of those hallo-and-welcome-new-hot-neighbor smiles and she only replied with a scowl and a grunt. Obviously, I found that strange; very strange. I am a reasonably civilized man who returns a smile to even the most abominable of creatures if it makes the effort of being socially pleasant. I was wearing one of my comic super hero t-shirts, nicely laundered and neatly pressed, with my new pair of blue Straus jeans. In short, my appearance bore no resemblance to a creature that had just crawled out of a mud hole. On top of that I had just taken one of those cold summer afternoon showers. You know, the ones that put a wide smile on your face and a feeling that any eye beholding you will instantly fall for you. Not so with Lucille, I’m afraid. But just in the nick of time, my mental faculties kicked in and provided me with a possible explanation – floss. Aha! My lunch had consisted of a combination of spinach and broccoli over rice. A plausible cause, you may deduce. And a reasonable deduction no doubt. Broccoli and spinach tend to have the tendency of stationing themselves in between your teeth without permission. A smile with these buddies gracing your otherwise flawless dental formula is not one that is going to be regarded very favorably by all parties as I’m sure you may very well be aware. However, upon careful inspection of the teeth in the bathroom mirror it was revealed that my fear was unfounded. The teeth were vegetation-free.

I went back into my chambers to ponder quietly on the grievous faux pas commitment by the new tenant. I’ve always been told I have a big heart, and I was currently feeling its effects - despite the appalling breach of the basic etiquette, I was willing to give her another chance to redeem herself and get into my good social books.

We love new tenants. By we, I mean the old tenants in the house among whom I counted myself. Yours truly has been living there for a little over two years. I was saying we loved new tenants; yes; and the reason is the welcoming party. At the beginning of every fall the landlady, Aunt Gwen – bless her heart, always puts a little welcome party for the tenants. While she was circulating the room busily introducing herself to each of the new tenants we will be busy circulating the ten-foot dining table introducing ourselves to the food. I usually take my post guarding the cheesecake and the homemade lemonade, taking pains to ensure that a satisfactory percentage made its way down my alimentary canal. Two years ago one of the harpy sisters managed to feed the floor a sizeable chunk of the pumpkin pie while trying to obtain a piece; that was when I felt the higher calling to monitor all activities in the vicinity of the cheesecake. Introducing the creamy homemade cheesecake to the floor could possibly result in the locking up of the gentleman principles and invoking primal instincts –if you know what I mean. But one doesn’t want to risk defacing a good reputation in the presence of new occupants, does one? So in short, I decided that prevention is better than a botched remedy.

Cleanly shaved, heavily cologned and attired in a Longman’s black jeans topped with my light blue arrow shirt, I popped into Aunt Gwen’s kitchen to give her a hand. Her perpetual smile was gracing her face while she handed me the items to place on the table.

“Did you meet Lucille yet?” She asked.

“Who?”

“Lucille. The nice beautiful lady who’ll be living next door from you. She said she saw you outside reading.”

“Oh. Her. Yes. We were in each other’s company briefly this afternoon.” I said.

Beautiful? No contention. Nice? Now, that assessment would require further evaluation, I thought.

“She’s a cutie, isn’t she?” Aunt Gwen said, and I knew where the conversation was headed. “You should introduce yourself to her. I’ll put in a good word for you.” She whispered into my ear and poked my ribs with her elbow.

I smiled. After the botched romantic entanglement I had with her granddaughter, she still never ceases to hook me up. Good woman, that Gwen.

“Now carry on my lad. They’ll be here any moment.” She said pulling my cheek motioning me towards the dining table.

I had a head start of a full thirty minutes before the other fellows started to trickle in like mental patients popping into the head nurse’s booth for their afternoon dose of God knows what they give those guys. By then I was at my post manning the cheesecake while scanning the room with the hope of spotting the new hot tenant. I moved closer to the table when I saw Luna and her half-witted twin sister tottering in my direction, most likely intoxicated by the delightful aroma of Aunt Gwen’s handiwork. It was at this crucial moment of imminent danger looming that I saw Lucille saunter in with some fellow attached firmly to her hand, as if his life depended on the contact. He only let go for about half a second to shake Gwen’s hand during their introduction and then the needy hand was back together with Lucille’s. Aunt Gwen looked in my direction and shook her head. No go. Tough luck kiddo, her eyes seemed to say.

A short while later, Lucille walked over to the dining area to acquire some refreshments. That’s when we locked eyes again. This time I exhibited a wry smile making sure not to expose any teeth. She looked at me and raised her eyebrows and scoffed.

“You’ve seen a woman before, haven’t you?” She asked.

“I … I beg your pardon?” I said, obviously confused by her inquiry.

“You can beg my pardon all you want. But when you see a lady you don’t gawk at her like a retarded teenager would at a nude super-model,” she continued.

Obviously incensed by her disagreeable ranting, I shot back, “… and which lady might you be referring to?”

She just wrinkled her nose and shook her head, “I haven’t been here even a day and I already know I’m definitely not going to like you.”

“I assure you, your sentiments are most heartily reciprocated,” I told her.

She shook her head again. “Could you get out of my way? I need to get to the cheesecake,” she said shoving me off with her left hand.

The fellow she had come in with also made his way to the table.

“Hey hon are you good?” she asked Lucille.

“Oh I’m fine, or would be, if not for this creep harassing me,” she said rolling her eyes in my direction.

I furrowed my eyebrows while my jaws dropped open like a fish gasping for air.

“We are not going to have a problem here, are we?” The fellow asked me, ominously.

“I’ll stay here until you’re done hon,” he continued, this time towards Lucille, “could you get me some of them spring rolls? They look good.”

Lucille looked at him and wrinkled her nose and informed him that he would have to get them himself because she was not his personal slave. The fellow obliged without the slightest protest, even though he was (as he suggested earlier) providing protective services for his lady. I became convinced then that he was no more than a mere tag-along buffoon that Lucille conferred some indifferent attentions on, whenever she deemed convinient. I scoffed and smiled.

He shot me back an angry look accompanied by chilling words, “I believe your sense of humor will take a vacation after I’ve introduced your skinny face to my cosh.“ At this point I concluded that either he is one of those hooligans that arm themselves with bludgeons at night and go about conking unsuspecting individuals, or he is with the police force – a possibility that made me quiver. I made a mental note to pay off my two outstanding parking tickets per chance possibility two was true and I met this fellow again in an official capacity. He scooped up some - in fact most- of the macaroni-tuna salad and walked away, but not without making sure to stomp on my foot. I pulled away quickly and sought refuge by Aunt Gwen’s side.

We were not standing too far from where he and Lucille had stationed themselves. Lucille was querying him: “How many times have I told you not to call me ‘hon’ in public? I told you I hate that.”

And he was responding: “Sorry hon, oops!” – He slapped his forehead at this point and continued – “I mean sorry dear. It won’t happen again.”

Now she made her request: “Go get me another beer. Throw this in the trash while you’re at it” – she handed him her paper plate and a bunch of soiled paper napkins.

The fellow scurried off, without a moment’s hesitation, like a minion doing the devil’s bidding. Lucille then grinned at Loquacious Joe. If there ever were a serial flirter, it would be Loquacious Joe. My big heart, which I was relating to earlier, was at work again when I saw Lucille make for where Joe was blithely consuming his refreshments. I took long calculated strides towards Joe. I wasn’t about to allow one of my best friends to be afflicted with the company of Miss Fire-Spitter. My calculations were off by a few seconds (Lucille increased her pace slightly as I neared Joe). The result? A minor bodily collision between Lucille and I. The side effect? My glass of lemonade got almost emptied into her blouse.

“Damn you, you clumsy oaf! Are your eyes there for decoration? Can’t you see where you’re going?” She berated, rather quietly as she didn’t want to attract the attention of the other folks who were busily making friends – the males voraciously trying to gain access to the limited number of females.

“Pardon me ma’am,” I said in an insincere apology and continued on my journey. I admit that secretly I wished the contents of the glass had been something of significantly higher temperature than the iced lemonade. But one must always be content with what one can get. The whole collision episode wasn’t planned but it was very much welcomed. I reached my destination and held a short conference with Joe. He expressed concern about the sudden disappearance of the lady who was baring her beautifully arranged teeth at him in the most enthusiastic grin he’d ever received from a stranger (he was referring to Lucille). I turned around and scanned the room briefly but could see no Lucille. The fellow she came with –he goes by the name Tom, by the way – was stuffing devilled eggs down his throat by the second as if they had expressed the threat of running away. I left Joe alone when yet another dame, Mona, came over to talk to him.

I’m sure you’ll agree with me that downing three tall glasses of lemonade within an hour does not leave your bladder in the same state as when you began. The pressure was mounting. I had to dash to the bathroom and get back quickly, to increase my chances of getting the last piece of cheesecake that seemed to be sitting on the platter waiting for me. By this time more than half the attendants had already left. The room was just dotted with a few individuals disposing off the last bits of pastry and beverages into their system. I walked down the hallway and turned left into the bathroom. I turned the doorknob quickly and pushed the door open. I stood the in the doorway frozen with awe. Is “awe” the appropriate term? Maybe “bewilderment” will better express what I felt. Lucille was holding her blouse in her left hand and standing there staring at me with a blouseless torso. I guess she must have gone in there to dry the lemonade off. I stood there for what felt like twenty minutes just apologizing.

“Get out you creep!” she yelled.

“I’m terribly sorry. Truly, really very sorry,” I mumbled my apology, this time with utmost sincerity.

“Get out! Get out!” she repeated flinging a large bar of soap in my direction. Needless to say, I was thankful she was no marksman. The soap bounced of the doorpost and settled loudly on the floor.

By this time a small group of people had congregated behind me. Luna was first in line smirking and shaking her head.

“What did you do this time?” she inquired haughtily.

“None of you business,” I said closing the door.

“You should learn to read signs,” she said pointing at the bathroom door. There was a sign that said: “OCCUPIED.”

I then remembered that I had promised to fix the lock for Gwen three days prior but never got around to it. Like an alter boy caught pilfering from the church coffers, I focused solely on my shoes as I made my way back into the living room. I took a final glance at the table to check on the cheesecake. It was gone. Good. I wasn’t going to eat it anyway. Not after that foul experience. Sunny was scooping out the cream from the crust. I sauntered sulkily into my apartment and turned to some Chopin for comfort.

Not long afterwards there was a violent rapping on my door which I wisely decided to ignore. “Hey, open up creep!” It was Tom. Of course I wasn’t going to oblige. What if he was wielding that confounded bludgeon he alluded to earlier? What then?

The rest, as they say, is history.

Now back to where I left off. Luna was suggesting that I bribe her to keep silent about my little confrontation with Lucille’s dog.

“So what’s it going to be?” She asked.

The dog had by now settled down to making just whimpering sounds.

“Look here little miss, Lucille breached the terms of her lease by bringing in a pet. So I believe she’ll rather be thankful that I don’t snitch on her.” I said, now starting to brim with confidence. I got her. I finally got her. I said excitedly to myself. The little monster just shook her head and scoffed. “That’s such a jejune argument,” she said.

“Huh?”

“Jejune. J-E-J-U-N-E. It means naïve and simplistic,” she continued, “When has Lucille ever had any respect for rules? Moreover, her retarded cop boyfriend has implied several times that he’s not pleased with facial structure and will therefore not hesitate to alter it with the help of his baton. You and I both know that he is a man with the reasoning capabilities of a brick wall, but admit that he doesn’t need an IQ of more than 80 to establish a violent connection between your head and his cosh. And with those bulging Popeye arms, boy, would that hurt. I’m sure that after a little bit more deeper contemplation you’ll realize that dealing with me is by far a better option than dealing with Tom.”

I stood there baffled at her eloquence with which she delivered the extremely potent threats. Great that’s all we need: a baton-totting buffoon. Why don’t they administer intelligence tests when recruiting for the force? The kid could see the threat gradually crumpling my composure and she smirked.

She put one hand on her waist and stretched the other before me, “so?”

“So what? How…,” before I could complete the statement, I saw Luna’s mother, Lucille and Tom enter the building and start up the stairs. The threesome stopped short and stared at the awkward pair: man and little girl, standing face-to-face with girl’s hand stretched before man. Lucille picked up the dog and kissed its head and the three of them started up the stairs in the following order.

1.Luna’s mother

2.Lucille

3.Tom (In official uniform complemented by his famous cosh on his side.)

Luna’s Mother: What’s going on?

Luna: he owes me.

Luna’s mother (LM): what?

Luna: Yes, he borrowed some money from me.

LM: How do you get off like that? How can you borrow money for a twelve-year old girl?

Lucille and Tom were looking at me suspiciously and Tom slapping his palm with his wooden weapon.

LM: How much?

Luna: Twenty.

That little devil! Scheming and greedy too! I stood there not knowing what to say; my eyes wide open like those of an atheist who had just seen God. The dog has started growling again when Lucille inched closer to me. Luna shot a quick glance at the dog and then at me. “Hey what’s the problem little tom,” Lucille said, cuddling and kissing the beast. Then she turned to the retarded cop, “oh yeah, here Tom, this is the dog I got for you” she said, handing over the dog. Luna grinned, and I gulped. Sweltering heavily under the gaze of my arch nemesis, her savage male consort and the taunting of a mother who thinks her innocent daughter had been robbed, I could feel my shirt sticking to my back with sweat.

I hurriedly dipped my hand in my back pocket and retrieved my wallet. Luna was covering her mouth to prevent bursting out with the uncontrollable laughter I sensed brewing in her when ownership of the mutt was transferred to Tom.

I dipped my hand in my wallet and produced four tens and handed them over to Luna.

She counted the notes and looked back at me with raised eyebrows.

“Umm …,” she started to say.

“Plus interest,” I said quickly, “keep it.”

“Well, thank you.” She leaned over and whispered to me, “wise choice.”

Her mother turned and walked away so did Lucille, who was being followed by Tom.

“Don’t you have to go to work?” she shot back at him.

“Oh yes, um…, I guess I’ll see you later then.” Tom also walked down the steps and he was gone.

As I opened the door, I heard Luna running into their apartment calling out to her sister, “Sunny, we’re getting new hats!”