07. delta smelts or pud
After recovering from her sudden victory, Dee decided to skip the
Valium and go directly online. She imported the heavy crystal ashtray
to the livingroom and standing at the keyboard attached to the arm of
her sofa, she activated the icon of her special email account. She
followed the progression of commands and code words and connected
herself to the world at her fingertips via satellite micro-
frequencies and wide band cables. As her computer collected her mail,
she went into the kitchen and made herself a rootbeer and vanilla
icecream float.
Returning, she placed her mug, embossed with the logo of her favorite
baseball team, on the coffee table and parked herself on the sofa in
front of the monitor which was waiting patiently for the next
command. Dee started her daily surf at Mother Steward’s website for
home improvements, dropped by the Home Shoppers’ site, and was
furious that they were offering the same bowling-pin-shaped insect
brooch for half the price she had paid.
Originally conceived to keep children in contact with their parents,
Dee thought it would be fun to collect aural reports of her family
and purchased three. Martin, Bianca and Denver had quickly rid
themselves of the ugly device, unloading them on friends or
acquaintances. Dee’s three bowling bugs were now out there somewhere
and could listen in at random as long as the solar-powered wing-
shaped receptors were charged and able to send.
She clicked the bugware icon and switched to decoder to eavesdrop.
For the past weeks, Martin’s former gift had been picking up
conversations that centered around the weather, the curiosity of the
bowling brooch, and the strength of a certain coffee brew.
She lit a cigarette.
“Let me see, you drink it with cream and sugar, don’t you?” a man’s
voice said. “What’s this metal bug doing on the coffee machine?”
She could make out the sound of coffee being poured into a mug.
“Hey, this thing is cute. Why are its eye’s blinking? Is it on?”
She heard the rustle of the bug being transported and the thump of
its landing on a hard surface.
“I don’t know. It’s got some sort of battery.” A woman’s voice answered.
“My little girl would like it.”
“Then take it.”
“Who did you say it was from?”
Suddenly the tone was muffled. She heard scratching sounds and the
faint murmurings of a conversation but could not make out the
details. Her interest was mildly perked. She waited for a until the
signal went dead, took a sip of her rootbeer float, and clicked over
to Preacher Dan just in time to see a man descend the aisle, throw
himself before the altar and disrobe. She watched for a few minutes
but lost interest when the gist of his rapture was not made public
and the service was interrupted for commercials. She clicked an icon
and faith-hopped to read her daily horoscope.
She was happy to have her suspicion confirmed. Today was a good day.
The planets were properly aligned and according to numerology, her
numbers added up positively. After consulting the phrases-of-the-day
at the sites of the other healers, guidance counselors and religious
leaders she followed, she felt ready to go surfing for love.
Some Heifer
looking for new pastures
and a strong farm hand
Fraulein Debby
She was at her favorite dating site. Pleased that she had learned to
spell her name correctly, but still confused at how to pronounce it,
she continued with the same kooky photo motif she had used in her
previous queries. This time it was a photo of her sitting alone in
the passenger seat of Martin’s BMW, as a cow, blowing up a sausage
balloon.
She flipped to the ‘Stud seeking Fish’ section and began her manhunt.
One photo entitled Cal TEX caught her eye immediately. It showed a
robust, half-naked man standing in a field holding a pitchfork with a
cabbage leaf over his head. He had spiced his ad with two bit slogans
and the offer of a photo of his pud to all who wrote. It stayed in
her thoughts while she searched further hoping for other options. She
returned and stared at the photo, and her expectations began to swell
in timeless bounds. She dreamed of her boring existence evaporating
into oblivion and she envisioned herself wandering the fields with
Cal Tex in tow. The opening tunes of a daytime television talk show
provided the music score.
A TV pop-up had appeared on her television monitor. She ground out
the butt of her Virginia Svelte, belched some icecream float, and
split her monitor in order to catch her talk show while debating on
whether to answer the mating call. The photo of the his pud was a
sticking point. She had her ideas what it could be. She decided to
make the effort. She would take the initiative and compose a decent
letter to send to Cal Tex. It would be a meaningful way to get
through the afternoon. She was trying to care.
My Favorite Texan,
Bad start. She thought of other pet names like Chile Bean, Oilwell or
Bovine, but nothing satisfied her. For some reason, she did not feel
like firing off a smart-ass reply. There was something about the
photo of him standing all alone that stirred feelings of a simpler
life. She deleted the first attempt and started again:
Dear Tex,
Dee was stumped. What could she say about herself that would matter?
It was only after a few trips to the refrigerator to peer inside, an
occasional circle around the house to check if anything had gotten
dirty, and some soul searching, that she decided it would be better
not to embellish. The truth was too mind-boggling to corrupt.
Dee sat probing the atmosphere for inspiration. Suddenly Jerry said,
“lover’s shake.” She got off the sofa, rinsed out her Delta Smelts
mug, filled it with fresh ice and Tap without realizing, returned to
the sofa and started typing.
Dear Tex;
It looks as if we’re into a real lover’s shake. I am a woman and I
have never been to Chico but I have visited Viva Las Vegas many times.
She put down the pencil, so to speak. Writer’s block. She could go no
further. She had angst and suddenly did not want to go anywhere.
Reclining, she looked across the room and stared at the framed travel
posters hanging on the walls. The prospect of living through another
summer doing much the same was overwhelming.
Her life, already moving along painfully slowly, would pretty much
come to a standstill. Summer would consist of reruns. There would be
an occasional picnic, a birthday or a death somewhere in between, the
annual church olive festival, the annual Adfair convention in Viva
Las Vegas, and the ever-present heat, which drove even the sane to
commit the most horrendous of crimes.
Nothing to do. I need to be set on fire, she thought, coming out of
her trance and lighting her seventh Svelte. Stonewalled in her
stagnation, she raised the volume and scuffled off to the bathroom to
take half a Valium.
“Same difference,” a guest commented.
Dee was again on the sofa, trying to hammer out a rhyme but it wound
up making no sense at all. The Valium slowed down her creative
spirit. She spent the next few hours on the sofa working on the
email, going through hundreds of text variations, occasionally
spinning out of control on some of her creations.
Dear Tex:
It looks if we’re into a real lover’s shake. I am a woman and I have
never been to Chico but I have visited Viva Las Vegas. My favorite
musician is Serena Lyon. My hands are soft and my feet are, too. My
eyes are brown and I wear a size 7 shoe.
She took a break from the mental anguish, but knew a photo would be
needed and regretted having to go down memory lane to find it. It
took a while to remember where the stacks of shoeboxes filled with
family photos were. She retrieved them from a seldom-frequented
closet in the spare bedroom, tucked away high on a shelf behind the
boxes of holiday ornaments, and went into the living room.
Sitting on the area rug, she sorted out those photos to be
immediately burned, ones where she looked really bad, and ones
depicting events she regretted having lived, thus requiring no
documentation. She did not give a thought to others in her family,
immediate or distant who might be interested in the memorabilia.
Within minutes, Dee had eliminated almost twenty years of her life in
the fireplace, and the ensuing heat caused her to switch the air-
conditioner manually to cool down the house. The stack of photos
chosen for eventual solicitation purposes was meager. Only a handful
made it through the final selection and were scanned.
“Sloppy,” came a voice from a talking head.
She finally settled on a photo in Viva Las Vegas. It was a bit dated
but it was the only picture she could find of herself that showed
some spunk and a woman ten pounds lighter. Martin had caught her in a
candid pose at the hotel swimming pool. She looked good in the then
new orange-striped culottes from Godschalks. The yellow blouse was
tight enough to show off some of her womanly features. Her skin was
tanned, her sunglasses round, her sandals white, and her hat straw.
Finally Dee was finished. She had written what she considered to be
an almost perfect letter. She had borrowed helpful grammatical tips
>from Steward’s Digest. She checked for spelling errors and made a
search on the net to bone up on bodily functions. No man could help
fall in love with such a beautifully composed letter she supposed. As
she reread the final draft, the sound of canned applause filtered
through her suburban home.
Dear Tex,
It look as if we’re into a real lover’s shake. I am a woman and I have
never been to Chico but I have visited Viva Las Vegas many times. My
favorite musician is Serena Lyon. My hands are soft and my feet are,
too. My eyes are brown and I wear a size 7 shoe. The hair is dyed and
the hips are wide. The breasts are full and the lips are jewels.
This photo is ten years old and I am ten pounds heavier. I am sorry.
I don’t think I’ve had a picture taken of myself since. I like
baseball and the color orange. I am a Libra and I yen for chow mein
occasionally. My favorite number is nine. I smoke Virginia Svelte.
You look tall. Are you? I like your mustache. Do you smoke?
I live in Fresno but I was born on a farm in the Sacramento delta. I
was tired of the dirt so I married young to escape. How I regret it now.
Suburban life is not for me. They say this is paradise. I call it
hell. It is bad and it is high time for me to return to the farm.
I have two children, both grown and on their own. I am alone. My
husband is an adman. Always on the road. Home is like a motel for
him. He just comes here and sleeps. There is no love in our
relationship anymore, just convenience. I know this sounds stupid but
I don’t think my husband would even notice if I was gone.
My fenced in life is too boring to recount. I am tired of playing
solitaire. The easy life is getting me down. Same difference. I am
neither here nor there.
It has finally dawned on me that it is my life and I can do whatever
I damn well please. I must be crazy to continue living this way. I am
ready to start new. Are you ready too?
Waiting for a quick response.
Fascinatedly Yours,
Fraulein Debby
p.s.
My favorite drink is peach daiquiri. I have card reading talents.
I am a bit anxious about your pud offer.
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