Dex (19 page)

“No. It’s not morning,” Dex chuckled. “You just got back from the dentist.”

“Don’t laugh. I’m an old woman. I need my rest,” she yawned, taking the file from him. “These are for your show?”

“Yeah. For the special.” Dex got up and peered out the window.

“These recipes are fine.” Geema laid the file down beside her. “Very creative, and you don’t need a stitch of help from me.” She stood up.

“Really? Don’t you think you could come up with something better for the roast?”

“No, dear, I don’t. Dexy, I love you, but right now, I’m too exhausted to think straight. We can talk about this again later if you want to.”

Dex watched with dread as his grandmother headed up the stairs. There was nothing more he could do to stop her other than scream ‘Fire!’ and that seemed useless unless he went and started one himself. He prayed that Alicia had found the bank papers and that their plan hadn’t been a complete bust.

#

This time Alicia was sure the noise she was hearing was footsteps. She glanced around the room, realizing she left a mess. One quick peek out the bedroom door revealed Geema coming up the top stairs. Alicia grabbed a pen and quickly stuffed the envelopes back into the book. “Here goes nothing,” she mumbled as she casually stepped out of the room and closed the door behind her.

Geema was halfway down the hall. “Leeshie? Why were you in my bedroom?”

“Oh, I—I—I-- just needed to borrow a pen,” she explained, lifting it up to show her. “I’ve been in my room working on my film and my pen just exploded. I’m sorry, is that okay?”

“Don’t be silly sweetheart, of course it’s okay. We have no secrets around here.” She started walking toward her door, sending Alicia’s heart pounding away. “But, I definitely need a nap,” Geema continued.  “Dex has had me...”

Alicia was about to have a panic attack when the doorbell rang.

“Oh, what now?!?” Geema snarled.

Alicia shrugged. “Do you need me to get it, Geema?” she asked, counting on a ‘no.’

“That’s alright, you keep working. It could be your dad’s friend from the bakery. I could have sworn I told him to come by tomorrow.” She sounded confused. “Anyway, I’m teaching him how to make Pfeffernusse. One mistake with those cookies and you have hockey pucks.”

Alicia cheered silently as she watched Geema clop back down the stairs. She dashed back into the bedroom and frantically began to clean up.

Geema opened the front door and perked up when she saw Liza and Jordy. “Hey kids!” she greeted. She was happy to see them, as she was in no mood to bake. “Come on in. Dex is... somewhere. I’ll get him.”

Liza looked exasperated. “Actually, we’re here to see you.”

“Me?” Geema yawned as they all sat down in the family room.

“Yeah. Dex can cook, but he can’t sew, and I am done trying to help this boy,” Liza scowled at Jordy. “Can you help him, Geema? Please!?! I have to go to Kyle’s to finish a biology lab.”

“Oh sure,” Geema agreed. “Go work. Some days are set aside to be crazy and for me, this is clearly one of them.”

“Thanks!” Liza said on her way out.

“What seems to be the problem, Jordy?” Geema asked, trying to shake off her exhaustion.

“I wouldn’t have no problem if I didn’t gotta thread no pillow.”

“Pillow?”

“Yeah. That HC class is mad foolish. Ms. Hamwell say I gotta thread a pillow outta clothes. We ain’t got HGTV at da crib. And Liza be givin’ me da evil eye wit’ how I sews my threads.”

Geema stared at Jordy blankly, uncertain of anything he had said. She took a moment to process. “Are you saying you wants me, I mean, want me, to help you sew a pillow?”

“Word, Grandmomma,” Jordy agreed as he dug into his book bag and pulled out a pair of boxer-briefs that could have fit an elephant.

“Oh my! What in the world are those?” Geema’s eyes were like saucers.

“These my pillowcase.” He untied a huge plastic bag. “These my stuffin.’”

Geema put the parts of the pillow together then took the needle and thread from Jordy’s sewing kit. He sat next to her and studied her hands as she showed him the stitch he needed to use.

“You got nice nubs, Grandmomma.”

“Pardon?”

“Yo’ fingahs. They know where it’s at.”

“Thank you. I think.” Geema handed the needle over to Jordy. “Here, now it’s your turn.”

He took the pillow and began to work hesitantly. He suddenly pricked himself and yelped in pain. “Hoover dam!” he shouted and threw the pillow down.

“It’s okay.” Geema assured him. “You’re good. Really good. You’re getting the hang of it.”

Jordy picked up the pillow and started to sew again.

“See, it’s not so hard when you just put your mind to it,” Geema reassured.

After a few stitches Jordy started to feel more comfortable. As he finished the first part of the top of the shorts, he started beat-boxing an accompaniment.

“You good, G-momma says, real good child. You get the hang of it, yeah, you get da hang. See it’s not so hard when you just put your mind to it. Bling Bling!” Jordy rapped.

Geema was impressed at how well Jordy was working and she found herself swaying to his beat.

“You wanna rap wit me?”

Geema giggled. “I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“I could start with one reason and add about a hundred before you can count to ten.”

“Dat be in ya head. Take it to da mic wit ya hand,” Jordy said to a beat, cupping his hand over his mouth like a megaphone. “You say I be good. You be good.”

Geema tried a few times, but couldn’t keep the beat.

“Nah Grandmomma, try again. You gotta say what you sayin’, but say it like da music be da…da sticky, holdin’ your words.”

“Okay. I’ll give it another go,” Geema rapped with gusto. “You good. Really good child. You gettin’ the hang of it. See it’s not so hard when you just put your mind to it. Um, what was after that? Oh right. Uh, ding, ding!” she yelled, motioning with her hand as if she were riding on a trolley.

“Whoa. Chill. Stay chill.” Jordy was almost finished sewing the whole top of the pillow.

“Chill. Right.” Geema shivered for effect. She looked at Jordy’s work. “You’ll be done in no time.”

“Here be a needle. Here be a thread. I sews what I sews. My stitches got cred.” Jordy rapped, finishing the last stitch on top. Before he moved on, he got Geema on her feet and taught her a private handshake that ended with her in a dip.

The two of them collapsed on the couch laughing harder than Geema even knew she could.

#

Alicia and Dex sat on Dex’s bed carefully counting the money from the tomato cans. “You have no idea how glad I am you got Liza and Jordy to show up. Too bad they missed seeing you as a blonde.”

“Very funny,” Dex said. “Keep counting.”

“I’m telling you Dex, it was like in the movies. The doorbell rang just when she was about to go to her room. I still can’t get over it.”

“So? How are we doing?” Dex asked.

Alicia looked down at the desk and checked the paper where she jotted down the amount due. “According to this, we’re still short.”

“No way.” Dex insisted.

“Way. The cans are empty and we counted everything.”

“No, not everything.” Dex jumped up. “Lunch today.”

He dug into all his shirt pockets and pulled out a wad of bills. Then he checked his pants and a sweatshirt he had slung over his desk chair. There was cash in those too. He dropped everything he found onto the bed and wrung his hands as Alicia counted all of it.

“Well?” Dex asked like an expectant father in a delivery room.

Alicia leaped up from the bed and hugged him. “You did it Dex! You did it!”

CHAPTER
twenty-eight

Preston walked into the bank wearing a long, charcoal trench coat with a matching hat and black-framed sunglasses. The only thing missing was a sign over his head saying ‘In disguise’ with an arrow pointing down at him. He scouted the long row of desks and side offices, but he wasn’t sure where to go. He decided to ask one of the tellers.

“Where’s Nan May?” Preston demanded, interrupting a transaction at the first teller’s
window.

“Excuse me, sir,” the teller chided. “You’ll have to get in line.”

“That line?” Preston barked, pointing at several people waiting.

“That very one,” the teller scowled. “And wait your turn.”

Preston wanted to say his usual, ‘Do you know who I am?’ but he couldn’t risk being recognized. This time, there was too much at stake. He skulked away and noticed an office door labeled ‘Nan May, Banking Associate.’ His eyes lit up behind his dark glasses.

Next to the door stood a woman with enough gray hair piled on top of her head to hide a flock of eagles. Preston waited behind her, rolling his eyes at her full-length, cheap, fake fur coat and recoiled at the smell of her overwhelming rose-scented perfume.

“Aaaaccchooo!” Preston sneezed, turning his head over his shoulder. He was terribly allergic to roses.

Everyone around blessed him, but by his fourth sneeze they were done. The line had dwindled down to Preston and the gray-haired woman. He was about to complain about how long everything was taking when another sneeze caught him by surprise. This one escaped before he had the chance to turn his head, and a big wad of snot landed like a bull’s eye right in the middle of the gray-haired woman’s bun. Preston’s first reaction was to find a tissue and wipe it off, but that would draw too much attention.
Why bother?
he decided. With all that hair, it could be hours before she would even notice and by that time he would be gone.

It was taking every ounce of control for Preston not to burst out laughing, but he didn’t want to encourage any conversation between him and this woman, who had now become his walking tissue. He was relieved when a second representative opened her office door and called for the next customer. Before walking in, the gray-haired woman turned to Preston and wished him a speedy recovery from his cold. He smiled as politely as possible and heard Nan May call him into her office.

Preston took a seat and yawned.

“Are you a tired boy, Mr. Presto?” Nan said with a pasted smile not expecting an answer.

Preston cringed. It had been seconds and he already had no patience for this woman. For an instant, he even missed Yvette.

“It’s such a pleasure to meet you,” Nan said, batting her lengthy false eyelashes. “I’m such a big fan. Well, smaller now. I’ve lost five pounds on your diet.” She batted her eyes again in an attempt to flirt that made Preston’s stomach turn.

“Great. You look, uh, uh lovely,” he forced himself to say. “So, where are the papers? Where do I sign?”

“You really think so?” Nan gushed. “That’s so nice of you. Not many people-”

“The papers, Miss May,” Preston interrupted.

“Please, call me Nan. Or Sugar. The choice is yours,” she whispered.

“The papers?” he repeated.

“They’re almost ready.”

“Almost?”

“Yes. We’re a bit short-staffed today. Sorry,” she said, not being the slightest bit apologetic. “When’s the big day?”

“As soon as I sign the papers.”

“Yvette said you two are getting married.” Nan smiled. “You don’t strike me as the marrying type. Am I wrong?”

“Miss May--”

“Uh-uh-uh…” Nan shook her finger at him as if he were a naughty child.

“Nan. I am in a terrible hurry. Do you think we can speed things up…please?”

She looked at the time. “I can check and see if they’re ready. Don’t go anywhere.”

Nan left the room shaking her hips so hard Preston thought she might dent the walls. Had Yvette really taken to lying about becoming his wife? As soon as Poppy’s Kitchen was his, he would never have to deal with either of these ridiculous women ever again.  And who knew? Maybe in time Marla would realize what she gave up and dump Vince so she could marry him. Then they could happily ship her brat off to The Culinary Institute of New Zealand where he could learn how to make fern root taste exciting. That should take decades. With Dex out of the way he and Marla could finally be the couple they were meant to be and live the life he had always wanted.

“Here they are!” Nan said, holding the documents in her hand.

Preston snatched the papers from her and reviewed them. “Do I sign here?” he asked, pointing to a line.

“Yes, wherever I made a cute little ‘X’ for you.”

“Right. How thoughtful.” He couldn’t have been more sarcastic if he’d tried.

“I aim to please.”

“Indeed.” Preston signed the papers and immediately rose to leave.

“The check?” Nan asked.

“Of course,” Preston muttered, filling out the information.”Okay then, thank you.” He started for the door.

“Oh, Mr. Presto, you forgot to sign something.”

“I did? What? Where?”

Nan took out a Presto’s Pesto Meal, from the mini-fridge wedged under her desk:
Chicken Breasts and Pesto Peas
. “It would mean simply everything to me,” Nan cooed, puckering her lips, “if you would sign my breasts.”