The False-Hearted Teddy (4 page)

much worse. Soon almost every lowlife informant or crook I contacted chafed me over it. I eventually got my revenge on Merv, but I’ll share that story once I’m absolutely certain that the statute of limitations has expired.

Karen nodded toward the Cheery Cherub Bears booth as the archway began to glow pink due to the young guy turning on a battery-powered strip of fiber optic lights. “Pretty impressive, huh? But then again, it paid off.”

Ash raised her eyebrows. “How so?”

“I guess they haven’t made it public yet, but the Swifts and Todd there are about to become relatively wealthy. I heard some other artisans talking about it.”

“Who’s Todd?”

“The young fellow helping Jennifer. If I recall correctly, his last name is Litten. Each of the bears comes with a children’s book that he writes and illustrates. They’re sweet little books on how to behave and the importance of being kind to others.”

“Interesting. Have the Swifts actually ever read the books?”

Ash gave my hand a warning squeeze.

As we talked, I noticed a slightly plump woman pushing a cart loaded with very cute bears dressed as medieval knights, damsels, and one that looked like Robin Hood, complete with a longbow. She paused to shoot a brief but venomous glare at the Cheery Cherub Bears booth then quickly turned away. That caught my full attention. The woman looked to be in her mid-forties, with long dark brunette tresses gathered into a clear plastic hairclip, and The False-Hearted Teddy

25

she wore jeans, a burgundy pullover shirt, and a white Quacker Factory sweater decorated with hearts, angels, and topiaries. However, the cheerful clothing didn’t match her expression. Her brown eyes looked sad and lonely and they scanned the room as if in search of a friend but not expecting to find one. Then she drifted casually in our direction, looking shyly interested in joining our conversation.

I turned to her and smiled. “Hi. How are you? This is only our second show, so it’s good to meet you. I’m Brad Lyon, this is my wife, Ashleigh, and this is our friend Karen Rundlett.”

The woman’s face brightened a little and she held up her name tag. “Hi, I’m Donna Jordan and it’s been awhile since I’ve been to any shows myself. Thanks for making me feel welcome.”

Once everybody had shaken hands, I asked Karen, “So how are Litten and the Swifts about to become wealthy?”

“I’m old enough to remember when three hundred and fifty thousand dollars was a lot of money, so maybe

‘wealthy’ is an overstatement.” Karen gave a wry chuckle.

“Wintle Toys is going to buy the manufacturing rights to the cherub bears and books and the Swifts are also selling the television rights to some animation company so that they can make a cartoon series about the bears.”

I thought:
During which they’ll broadcast a half-dozen brainwashing commercials advertising the stuffed
animals, a Cheery Cherub Bears’ breakfast cereal, and
inevitably, some sort of related video game. Talk about a
license to print money.

Karen continued, “Some of the other big manufacturers do a nice job on producing mass-market versions of artisan bears, but Wintle? You
know
the quality will go right down the drain. What a shame.”

“It all sounds a little . . . mercenary. But maybe I’m only saying that because I’m jealous,” said Ash.

26

John J. Lamb

Karen half-whispered, “No, you’re right, it does seem mercenary, which is really surprising considering the wonderful reputation Jen has in the teddy bear community.”

It was hard to tell with all the background conversation and the tinny synthesized version of “Spring” from Vivaldi’s “Four Seasons” that began burbling from the speakers built into the Cheery Cherub Bears booth, but I thought I heard Donna quietly mutter, “Yeah, Jen’s a frigging saint.”

Karen sighed. “I guess I should get going. Are you guys going to the reception tonight?”

“We’ll be there,” said Ash.

“Good. I’m in space number forty-one. Drop by and say hello if you get the chance and I’ll see you later at the reception.”

“And we’re in space twenty-three. See you tonight.”

Ash gave Karen a hug.

As Karen disappeared down one of the aisles, I turned to Donna. “Hey, I really like your Robin Hood–themed bears.”

“Actually, they’re characters from
Ivanhoe
. I used to read it to my son.” She reached into a crate and pulled out a bear dressed in a long coat of silvery material that resembled iron chain mail. “Here’s Sir Wilfred.”

“This is amazing workmanship,” said Ash.

“Thank you.”

I pointed to another bear that was wearing gray fabric armor and a black sleeveless tunic embroidered with a crimson Latin cross. “Brian Bois-Guilbert?”

“Right, the evil Knight Templar. It’s a pleasure to meet someone who’s read Sir Walter Scott.”

“And your son was lucky to have someone to read him
Ivanhoe
.”

Ash twisted my arm slightly to look at my watch. “Oh, The False-Hearted Teddy

27

my gosh, we’d better find our places and get set up. The judges will be making their way through the hall at two o’clock to pick out the finalists for the show awards and we haven’t even set our table up yet.”

“We’ll see you at the reception tonight. Good to meet you.” I shook Donna’s hand and she disappeared into the crowd.

Meanwhile, we went up the second aisle to the left from the doors. Halfway up the row we found space twenty-three on the left-hand side. I began to set the tables up as Ash went back out to the parking structure to bring in another load of bears. Once the tables were up, I covered them with the fitted white cloths with lace ruf-fles that Ash had made and attached our lyon’s tigers and bears sign to the front. But I didn’t begin setting the bears up for display, because that’s a talent I completely lack. The fact is, I’d just stand the bears up in a row like they were suspects in an ursine police lineup, but Ash possesses an artist’s eye for positioning the stuffed animals and her arrangements never fail to attract foot traffic.

Picking up Dirty Beary and looking into his sunglasses, I said, “In the words of the immortal Clint in . . .

I forget which cop movie: ‘A man’s got to know his limitations.’ ”

Ash returned about ten minutes later with the remainder of the bears and a wicker basket containing our lunch of turkey sandwiches, fiery jalapeno-flavored potato chips, slices of dried apple, and bottles of water. Hotel and restaurant food is expensive and we’d be eating out a lot over the next few days, so we were trying to save a few pennies. Besides we really didn’t have time to sit down over a leisurely lunch.

Once we finished eating, Ash went to the restroom to wash her hands before arranging our wares. The first 28

John J. Lamb

bear she picked up was Teri Tiramisu, who wore a rectangular-shaped costume of simulated ladyfinger cookies topped with a glossy layer of faux Mascarpone cheese bisected with a thin and irregular ribbon of brown fabric that looked exactly like a mixture of cocoa and espresso.

Ash scrutinized the bear with a furrowed brow. “I don’t know. I still think this one is just kind of blah.”

“She’s wonderful.”

“Honey, you say that about all my bears.”

“And I mean it. But if you’re worried, put Teri next to a couple of the ones I made. She’ll look great in comparison.”

“There’s nothing wrong with your bears—”

“That a skilled artist couldn’t fix, given enough time,”

I added. I leaned over to give her a kiss on her forehead.

“Hey, while you arrange the bears, why don’t I take the dolly back to the Xterra and get our luggage up to our room?”

“That sounds good. Hurry back.” Ash sounded a little distracted as she put Teri Tiramisu down and picked up Patty Pumpkin Pie, a bear wearing an orange wedge-shaped costume complete with golden brown crust and a dab of satin whipped cream.

I’d volunteered to do the grunt work because I knew that Ash found it easier to focus on posing the bears when I wasn’t looking over her shoulder. It also gave me the opportunity to check out some of the other artists’ displays. As always, I was profoundly impressed with the number, variety, and above all, the quality of bears on display. On our aisle alone, there were bears dressed as Teddy Roosevelt, Little Red Riding Hood, Long John Silver, Mia Hamm, and Neil Armstrong in an incredibly realistic looking spacesuit. The other thing I noticed was the atmosphere of good will and unfeigned joy pervading The False-Hearted Teddy

29

the room . . . right up until I limped past the Cheery Cherub Bears booth.

Tony was standing just outside the archway. However, this was a Tony from some alternate universe—a Tony that was seeking camouflage behind the popular myth that all fat men are jolly. He’d changed into a periwinkle-colored T-shirt with the message, i wuv cheery cherub bears printed in white three-inch tall block capital letters on the chest, and he wore one of those red-striped
Cat in the Hat
felt top hats they give as prizes at county fair game booths. Tony’s toothy smile was as big as Michael Jack-son’s attorney’s bills and the big man was calling out to friends while greeting and shaking hands with folks passing the booth. I’ll give the guy this, Tony was an accomplished actor because when he saw me he only broke from character for a split-second to give me a hateful and challenging look that’s known on the streets as a “mad dog.” I met his gaze and laughed scornfully as I trudged by.

As I went out the door, I heard him shouting out a cheerful hello to someone else.

I dropped our luggage off in our room on the fifth floor and returned about fifteen minutes later. Tony was gone—off pressing the flesh in another part of the hall—

and Jennifer was inside the booth seated on a folding chair with her arms folded across her chest and eyes shut.

Todd stood behind her, looking for something inside a brown shoulder bag while prattling away, even though the woman’s posture clearly said that she wanted to be left alone. Meanwhile, “The March of the Gladiators”—the song played when a circus troupe makes its grand entrance into the arena—was blaring from the booth’s music system while the fiber optic lights pulsed in time to the music. I paused and shook my head in bemusement.

I’d never seen anything like it at the thirty or so bear shows we’d attended. It was like slowing down to look at 30

John J. Lamb

a bad traffic accident. You know you shouldn’t do it, but there’s an unsavory fascination in looking at something awful.

Coming up our aisle, I saw that Ash had finished arranging the stuffed animals. The Confection Collection looked as delectable as a dessert tray and the centerpiece of the display was her amazingly realistic-looking Siberian snow tiger. It had articulated limbs and seemed to be prowling across the table. I was also pleased to see that Teri Tiramisu had made the cut and was on display with the other members of the Confection Collection. Then I noticed that Ash had attached Dirty Beary to a stand and placed him on one of the felt-covered cylindrical pedestals we’d refashioned from some old paint cans. Leaning against his legs was one of the small placards Ash had produced earlier in the week on the computer that bore the bear’s name and that of the artisan.

I’ll admit it; suddenly I was a little scared. It was only a few minutes until two o’clock and I wasn’t eager to have teddy bear experts examining my work because I knew Beary and the four other stuffed animals I’d completed over the winter bore the unmistakable marks of being made by an amateur.

Slipping behind the table, I said, “Sweetheart, why don’t you take him down and put up one of your bears?

Where’s Cheri Cherry Pie? Put her there.”

“I’m proud of Dirty Beary, and you should be, too.”

“He’s just a bear wearing a sports jacket and sunglasses.”

“No, he represents three months of hard work and a quarter-century of what you did very bravely for a living,” Ash said quietly. “And he represents our new life together. So, do you still want to take him down?”

I took her hand. “No.”

“Thank you.”

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31

“And you know what? When the judges visit our table and check Beary out, I’ll just give them a steely-eyed look and say”—I paused to add a muted snarl to my voice—

“Go ahead. Make my day.”

Four

While we waited for the judges to appear, I told Ash about Tony’s T-shirt, cheesy top hat, and unctuous carnival barker’s performance.

She gaped in disbelief. “
Wuv
? It actually says,
wuv
? I think I’m going to be sick.”

“The shirt wasn’t half as nauseating as his hyperactive Barney the Dinosaur shtick.”

“And I’m sorry, but the longer I think about that booth with its flashing lights . . .”

“The more words such as ‘sell-out’ and ‘pimped’

come to mind?”

Ash nodded and frowned. “But I keep wondering if we’re just saying that because we’re envious of their success.”

“That isn’t success. They’re just a miserable couple who took a sweet concept like an angel teddy bear and distorted it for a little money. And the really pathetic part is that the cash will all be spent before the year is done—probably most of it on visits to Hardee’s from the look of Tony.”

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33

“You’re right, of course. So, why does everybody seem to like them so much?”

“The overwhelming majority of teddy bear artisans are nice people, and unfortunately, nice people always assume the best about other folks.”

The trio of judges arrived shortly after 2:30 and, no, I didn’t give them my Clint Eastwood impression because it’s just like my left shin—pretty feeble. Besides, one of the unwritten rules of conduct is that you aren’t supposed to chat with the judges during their inspection. The evalu-ation team consisted of two women—one in her sixties and the other in her forties—and a balding guy, all with clipboards, pens, and the stern facial expressions usually seen on department of motor vehicle driving test examiners. The man took a long look at Hilda Honey Crisp and made some muttering sounds of approval while the older woman picked up the Siberian snow tiger and experimen-tally moved its limbs. Meanwhile, the other lady bent over to read the information card and then picked up Dirty Beary. She opened the bear’s sports coat and blinked in surprise at the shoulder holster and replica revolver.