Putting the Madge in Danna (13 page)

“
Gosh, darn it!” he
exclaimed. “I forgot about those. Can you come back later?” He
looked at his watch. “I can have them ready in three
hours.”

I tried to suppress my smile as I concocted
my plan. Yes, that would do nicely, I thought. I said, “I have a
doctor’s appointment. What about Thursday?”

“
I’m off then, but Kai
will be here,” he replied as I expected. Irv picked up the tortoise
shell picture frame on his desk. “Here’s my boy. He’s a looker,
huh? A real heartbreaker, that one. Left the last young lady in
tears.”

I had been hoping to see him today. As I
stared at the picture of Kai wearing his hoops jersey and looking
sweaty-sexy, I began to imagine our encounter. It would be the
sexiest by far, at least according to Bunky Hewitt, who likes to
brag about her African-American husband’s prowess in the sack.
Kai’s dark-skinned arms looked so powerful! You could see every
muscle defined as he held that basketball in his big hands. I
envisioned them wrapped around me, his big pricker pounding
Madonna-like sense into me. No emotion, no tears. Oh my, yes! He
has no tatts, he’s a Jew after all, but he’ll do just fine, I
thought. In a way, using flowers to get what I wanted the way I
was, I felt a little like the Wicked Witch, although I didn’t see
any poppies in the refrigerated case. Naturally, I didn’t plan to
drug him, I just wanted to sleep with him.

I placed the corsage on my left wrist.
“Looks divine,” Irv said. “Hope Kai can find a darling girl like
you one day.”

I beamed as I thanked him and left there
feeling incredible heat inside my pinkie-pinkerson. Things always
have a way of working out for me, don’t they? Kai Golrodblum - do
you see the rod in there, you know, as in Rodman? It’s an omen, a
big one.

Comments: 5

This is so hot
baby.
Smitty, Austin, TX

This kid better not be a
fruit!
Tyrone, Atlanta, GA

Madannika, take a bow! At
don’t forget to meet me at the Marriott.
Rob, NY, NY

You are a stupid
bitch.
Anonymous

Your flowers sound
nice.
Angela Ballins, Conway,
SC

****

To Have, Not to Hold a Scarecrow

Friday, August 14, 2009 - 9:00am

I had dinner with Mom and Dad on Wednesday
night. I had forgotten that it was gift central at their
five-bedroom Colonial in the ‘burbs. You should see all the loot
Zeus and I have received, you know, since getting engaged - wedding
presents that have been delivered to my parents’ house from all
over the world, like Canada, Australia, and Greece and such.
Getting married is like being on a game show because you leave with
fabulous gifts and prizes. I highly recommend it to any young
couple still on the fence about it. Naturally, the best part is
that you picked them out yourself, except for the miscellaneous
stuff I’d mentioned before, like that ceramic rooster Mr. Cochran
gave us. Gina said it was a themed gift, a big cock from a big
cock, and that I should start a cock collection, you know, because
it sounds sexy to say - and roosters are called cocks.

This whole marriage thing is quite a racket,
I must say. I sorted through some of the stuff, like things I could
use right now – the everyday dishes and utensils, that juicer I’d
wanted, and all the sexy nighties that my college friends bought
me. I hadn’t wanted any of it mucking up the apartment before, so
instead, my parents’ living room looks like hoarder town.

They don’t mind, because
they never use the living room. It’s like the parlor on
The Beverly Hillbillies
.
A room for guests, only they never seem to have formal visitors. We
don’t even use it at Christmas, since the tree fits better in the
family den.

I can’t believe that My
Auntie Thalia actually bought us that plasma television and home
theatre combo we had wanted. Zeus and I had only put all of it on
the wedding gift registry for kicks. But Auntie Thalia used to be
married to a Hollywood director, and she got loads in the divorce
settlement. Mom said there’s a little something-something in an
envelope that will go in the wishing well with all the other money
gifts as well, which I’d better remember before I write
that
thank you note. I
should have brought my things-to-do notebook with me to remind
myself to contact Best Buy and have them redeliver that stuff to
our place before Zeus comes home so that we can watch our wedding
video on it in surround sound when we return from our honeymoon.
I’d forgotten that spiral notebook full of wedding agenda
scribblings because I’d been thinking with my stomach. Dad is such
a great cook, I’d been anticipating the usual family feast. I
hadn’t eaten a decent dinner in days, since I’ve been so busy, and
I don’t cook.

It was only a threesome. Demetrios and Dean
had gone off to practice soccer with their summer league team and
Yaya had taken my grandfather to church for one of their many
social functions, which is why it mystifies me that Dad had done
what he did.

Dad grilled lamb shish-ka-bobs, believe it
or not - so you know that I didn’t eat much, just rice and some of
the vegetables. Lamb smells like dirty feet, don’t you think? And I
don’t want my hoo-ha smelling like that, especially not on my
wedding night, right?

I yelled from the den, because I couldn’t
stand to be near them while they ate at the kitchen table. “Did you
really think I wouldn’t notice, Dad? I can tell the difference
between lamb and beef, you know. And I’m not really eating meat
right now. At least until after the wedding.”

“
Don’t be foolish,” my
mother managed to say with her mouth full.

“
Remember when you didn’t
like feta cheese and roasted red peppers?” Dad asked. “Now they are
your favorite foods.”

“
That’s different,” I said
before I took a forkful of grilled onion and pepper in my mouth. I
chewed several times and washed it down with a glass of iced tea.
“You can’t compare dairy and veggies to
Mary-Had-a-Little-Lamb.”

“
It’s a sacrifice,” Dad
added, “a great thing. You’ll learn. And so will your taste buds.”
He sounded like the Holy Restauranteur. All he needed was a
priest’s robe and the book of menus. I know I shouldn’t argue food
with my father, since that is his business. I mean he and mom
rarely argue about traveling with me, unless they are discussing
the origin of the Atlantis myth – Santorini vs. Bimini vs.
somewhere in Japan. I couldn’t help the way I felt and feel still,
and I stand by what had been said. The smell was right up there
with dead skunk and Opium by YSL.

I sing-songed, “I doubt it.”

“
I am chef,” he said all
Greek accent-like. “I know this. Your tastes will grow as you
mature.” He always says this, sometimes more passionately than
other times. He will yell at Demetrios whenever he suggests that
Indian food is the best ethnic food. In that case, I do not side
with my older brother.

“
Then we’d better hurry
and get her married off so that she can hurry up and ripen,” Mom
chimed in. “Zeus loves lamb.” She walked over to the coffee table
where I’d placed my empty plate and picked it up. “This isn’t a
restaurant, you know. We can’t make things to order just for
you.”

I replied, “Well, it sort
of is, I mean, come on! You guys
own
a restaurant. And you know what
we like. You never add the extra spices to Yaya’s noodles. You know
I’m right.”

“
You don’t have dietary
restrictions.” She took the plate to the dishwasher. “Case closed,”
she said firmly.

I said, “Fine, but lamb still smells like
stinky feet.” I love to have the last word, especially in my
nuclear family household, where there always were fights for the
conversational floor since it was so crowded growing up with my
grandparents and parents, two brothers and the fish in the koi pond
out back that came with the house.

Gosh, I’m still a little disappointed that I
lost out on the protein I could have had, had they just used
chicken in the shish-ka-bobs. I just stamped my feet on the hard
woods in a retroactive tirade. But, it does too! You agree, right?
Lamb smells like that odor in the locker room at The Weight Loss
Depot. Maybe that’s why I had lost weight there – because it made
me lose my appetite. I left in a bit of a huff, but not before
having dessert – apple pita à la mode.

And speaking of feet – washed this time -
you know it always amazes me to find out that the most normal
looking person in the world could have a quirk, you know? Take Kai
Goldrodblum, for example.

I was late again as usual, late for my
Thursday evening appointment at Flower Power. In my defense, it has
been getting really busy at the travel agency. Everybody wants to
know the hottest locales for honeymoons and we are already booking
for 2012, believe it or not, you know, for the end of the world and
such. Everyone wants to go out with a bang – or more likely a
full-body sunburn.

Zeus and I aren’t going to Greece because we
go there all the time. Although Bunky Hewitt kept badgering me to
do a doubles cruise to her Caribbean retreat (which was weird), I
got us a deal to spend a week in Grand Cayman, for just the two of
us. If you look through the brochures for the various five-star
accommodations there, it’s clearly the best honeymoon place. Very
sexy-sexy private, where Zeus and I can make love in romantic ways
or even swing from the chandeliers that decorate those seriously
gorgeous huts on the beach - wild-style. Sweet!

I had been reconfirming our flight in
between dealing with a few irate customers who’d lost their luggage
on a cruise I’d booked for them. Mrs. Helios was the most difficult
of them all. She kept yelling at me over the phone and I could feel
my hoo-ha moisten from the upset. I finally worked it out. Using my
very capable broken English-Greeklish, I said that I would help put
her in touch with the cruise line, which I did, and was finally
able to hang up. Before leaving to meet Kai, I stopped at the
bathroom. The moistness in my nether region was my red friend. I
had gotten my period. Thank god, for the emergency tampon stash I
always keep in my purse.

When I finally arrived at
Flower Power, Kai had the boutonnieres ready because I could see
them through the window on that white cardboard tray. He was
standing behind the counter looking scrumdiddlyumptious in a navy
blazer over a white T-shirt when I walked in. I liked the way he
looked so professional and
GQ
put together, just like Irv, one of his two
adopted fathers. He had been balancing a dark pink rosebud on his
index finger, as though it was a tiny basketball or a woman’s
hooey. I liked to think it was, metaphorically, my rosy
pinkerson.

I said, “Hi, you must be Kai. It’s so good
to meet you. I’m Dannika Elinopoulous, soon to be Zepkos.” I
extended my hand for a shake. He politely put the rose aside and
swallowed my hand in his.

“
Yeah, I know,” he said.
“Because I’ve been waiting for you for over an hour.” I think he
might have seemed a tad irate too, just like Mrs. Helios, who
happens to be our church secretary. What was the dealio with all
this negativity today? I thought maybe my hormonal swoosh had made
me mentally sensitive as well as to the physical. Boy, did I need
this fuck-a-doo – pronto. “Batteries died in my cell or else I
would have left another message.”

He’d left messages? He must have left them
on the phone at home, although I didn’t check my voice mail at
work, as I was too busy attending to my red cuntessa then trying to
hurry. I really need to work on my time management skills. For some
reason, I sometimes think I can time travel. You know how pilots
say they can make up the time in the air or whatever? What if we
can all think positive thoughts, and make magic happen on a blink
and a prayer? The next time I get drunk, I will make a note to
ponder this mind-paradigm. Had I been a smidgen earlier, perhaps
Kai would have been in a better mood. No matter, I thought, because
I had hoped to win him over with my Madonna-like confidence and
charm.

I said, “I’m super-duper collossally sorry,
and Toto too.”

“
What the fuck did you
just say?” he asked with what appeared to be a scowl, although he
had such a handsome face, it looked like more of a comical
reaction. One eyebrow menacingly down, but the other rose in
a
he-likes-me
pose. Which was it? Wow, I mean because, even though I knew
his body language revealed a bit of hostility, this was a place of
business. I’m sure Irv would never approve of inappropriate
conversational interactions between workers at Flower Power and a
customer, even if Kai is just a twenty-year-old kid that lacked
retail experience.

I couldn’t believe that he
used the f-word at work! I always secretly replace my fucks and
shits and god-damn-its at work with
fudgie-pops
,
shrinkie-dinks
and
gosh monsters
. So I used
my brain, used it to my benefit, thinking perhaps it was an omen
disguised as a rosy-pinkerson relaxation remedy thingy. It was time
to fucky-wuck.

I said, “You just
said
fuck
in the
presence of a lady.”

“
Oh, woops,” he replied
with a bit more sarcasm. Gheesh! I was surprised because Irv is
such a gentle fellow. And he’s won so many awards from the
Better Business Bureau
for service and all. Didn’t expect his son to be a
dirty-mouther. I was a little shocked, but in a good way, mind you.
I stared him down with my pearly white smile and my raised
eye-browed innuendo that matched his half-faced one.