THE GOLD FISH: Surprise, Surprise (3.1)

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Don had dodged a bullet. A couple of bullets, in fact.

The first had been the losing bet on the Oilers game. Yes, it had erased his string of winnings with the Wolfman, but upon closer examination -- with a rare sober mind, rather than his usual soused one -- Don had come to the encouraging realization that it wasn’t a total loss per se. Overall, he wasn’t in the hole, he was just back to even. Which was disappointing, sure. But in terms of damage, it was a mere scratch. Certainly not the life-threatening wound he had originally felt it to be. And definitely not worth having a change of heart about his overall gambling prospects. Going forward, he would just spread out the risk and hedge his bets, rather than let all his winnings ride on one outcome. This was good, Don thought. It was an important lesson learned. All part of the process.

The second dodged bullet had to do with the football pools. When the Wolfman had first approached him about the opportunity, Don had been a little nervous that Big Al might not like it. After all, it was technically illegal and if you wanted to get all goody two shoes about it, there was a slim possibility -- barely a sliver, in fact -- that it could pose a risk to the dealership. Which, of course, Don would never want to do.

But as Gomer Pyle might have said, surprise, surprise, surprise! Big Al had heard about the pools from some of the guys and instead of being angry or shutting it down, he’d stopped by Don’s desk to get in on the action! And that wasn’t all. Based on Big Al’s first round of bets, he was shaping up to be Don’s biggest customer! And if that wasn’t God or the universe or whatever telling him he was on the right track, Don sure didn’t know what was. His faith was being rewarded.

The third dodged bullet was with Joan. After spending the night passed out in the bathroom, Don had suspected that it would take weeks to get back into her good graces. But after that first tongue-lashing -- which admittedly had been one of the worst he’d ever endured -- she had forgotten all about it. In fact, when he’d gotten home from work later that day, she’d acted like the whole thing never happened. How was that for a plot twist? After all this time, maybe she was finally mellowing?!

In any case, these temporary setbacks may have weakened the resolve of a lessor man. But not Don. It was akin to the feeling one gets when a speeding bus passes within inches of your nose and you’re left breathless, but safe, on the sidewalk.

Dodging those bullets had made Don feel alive. Euphoric. Invincible. At least for the moment. He knew that his spinal condition would eventually take away his livelihood, his social life, his sex life. But not just yet.

Until then, he was going to grab life by the balls. While he still could.

:::

Mr. Charles sat on his porch enjoying his newspaper, a freshly lit bowl of Middleton’s cherry tobacco, and the warmth of the late afternoon sun. God, how he loved early autumn. Maybe it was that whole back-to-school association, but along with the smell of woodsmoke and falling leaves, the season always filled him with a sense of optimism and new beginnings.

So it pleased him to no end to see Barbie bounding up her porch steps, her bulging bag banging against her denim-clad thigh, an uncharacteristic buoyancy in her gait.

“Red,” he called. “What’s the word? How’s the new school?”

“Hey Mr. Charles. It’s neat, thanks,” replied Barbie without slowing down, or frankly, even looking in his direction.

Well okay, thought Mr. Charles with the smallest twinge of disappointment, this was new. But he didn’t take it personally. It was inevitable that Barbie might turn into an ambivalent seventh grader. At least where he was concerned. She didn’t need him -- an old man for godssake -- for a friend anymore. It smarted a little, but he was happy for her.

“BARBIE!”

Both Mr. Charles and Barbie turned towards the shout. It was Bridge, jogging across the street in their direction.

If Mr. Charles wasn’t mistaken, a look of annoyance flashed on Barbie’s face briefly before she turned to greet her friend. Okay, this was new too. What was going on, he wondered.

“Oh, hey Bridge,” replied Barbie.

“Slim,” added Mr. Charles gallantly.

Bridge flashed her fangs before addressing Barbie.

“Everyone’s over in the Tot Lot playing kick-the-can. Right now! You know, Bambi, Robbie, Kelly, Debbie, Jimmy, Terry, Tammy. Everybody. C’mon, let’s go over.”

The Tot Lot was a triangular playground bordered by the alley that ran behind Bridge’s side of Pitney Road, and that of Morven and Kings Ridge Roads. It wasn’t a bad place to hang out in and play. But it wasn’t great either. Little kids were always there, and unlike the Tunnel, everything you did could be observed by any old mom looking out her kitchen window. Bridge usually wouldn’t be caught dead there.

On any other day, Barbie would follow Bridge there. Because if she thought it was going to be fun, it was definitely going to be fun. But Barbie had too much embroidery work to do and couldn’t be distracted from her mission.

“Um… sorry. I can’t,” she stammered. Then added, “I have homework. Lots of homework.”

“So do it later. C’mon. I’ve barely seen you since school started.”

Barbie shuffled her feet.“I… I just can’t Bridge.”

Bridge was stunned by Barbie’s refusal. “Well that’s beat.”

“Yeah, well. There’s a lot of work in junior high.”

Bridge rolled her eyes. “La-di-da. I guess you’re too cool for the Tot Lot now, huh?”

“Noooo. No. It’s not that. I just… can’t.”

“Alright. Suit yourself.” And with that, Bridge spun on her heel and marched off across the street.

“Maybe tomorrow?’ Barbie called after her.

Bridge didn’t give Barbie the satisfaction of a response. She simply continued on her way.

With a curse, Barbie trudged into her house, leaving a very perplexed Mr. Charles to ponder the vagaries of pre-teen friendships all on his own.

:::

Missing the kick-the-can game in the Tot Lot had been worth it.

A gaggle of girls now surrounded Barbie and Erin at what had quickly become their usual cafeteria table. To the ohhs and ahhs from those assembled -- Bev included -- Erin was turning this way and that, modeling Barbie’s latest creation. The dungarees Barbie had remade for her were now low and tight and down each leg was a cascade of embroidered astrological signs. Or at least a crude approximation of them.

“Exactly,” Erin had noted with a delighted squeal, “like something Lori Partridge would wear.”

“Oh my gosh, Bumpski,” cried Erin. “Hold on, do you mind if I call you Bumpski? You’re just not a Barbie to me. Maybe it’s the red hair. To me -- and I’m sorry -- Barbie’s always have blond hair. And you, you just feel like Bumpski. A Bumpski Doodle even.” Her eyelids fluttered as she gave this new moniker some thought. “Yeah. Bumpski Doodle. I like it.” She turned her attention back to Barbie. “Yep. You’re a complete and total Bumpski Doodle.”

“Okaaay,” said Barbie uncertainly. This new friendship was only a week old, and so far, she was smitten. With Erin’s creativity. Her enthusiasm. Her openness and vulnerability. Her talky -- oh how Erin could talk! -- nature. But did Barbie want to be, in actual fact, a Bumpski Doodle? Was that a bridge too far? Or just a small price to pay?

“Sorry,” said Erin with a shake of her head. “Focus!” She grabbed Barbie’s arm and squealed. “I ABSOLUTELY LOVE THEM! Like love with a capital L, and that rhymes with swell, and that stands for cool.” Erin had played Marion in a Pleasant Plains Elementary School production of The Music Man the previous year, and “Ya Got Trouble” was seared into her consciousness. She whirled to Bev.

“Bev, can you stand it? Aren’t these pants the coolest thing you’ve ever seen? Did you notice how Bumpski made the fish bolder than the other signs? It’s because I’m a Pisces! And she made the Virgo brighter too because she’s a Virgo, and that’s, like, her artist signature? The title of the work is called “The Age of Aquarius.” You know, like the album by the Fifth Dimension? It’s an old song now, of course, but both Bumpski and I love it.”

Barbie blushed at this bit of praise. Despite trying her very best, she would have been the first one to admit that the embroidery on most of the astrological symbols was pretty rough -- including the Virgo, which was a kind of strange “M” shape with an extra squiggle. But the saving grace for the “Age of Aquarius” was that the Pisces fish was far and away the most finely crafted. Barbie had given herself creative license (a term and concept she’d only just learned from Erin during the brainstorming process) to forego the more common, but totally boring, astrological Pieces “H” shape and instead stitch an actual fish. After all, it was Barbie’s most practiced shape, a ridiculous piece of providence if ever there was one.

“This is just the beginning Bumpski!” cried Erin. She dug in her bag, pulled out two crisp dollar bills, and handed them to Barbie. “Jeez Louse, what should we do next?!” But before Barbie could answer, more girls pressed forward with cries of “do something for me!” and “me next!” And surprise, surprise, surprise, even Bev was amongst them.  

Barbie did a quick calculation. With the two dollars from Erin, a few days of leftover lunch money (thankfully, Joan was still on a lunch packing labor strike) and another two bucks pilfered from her father’s pants pocket, she was up to $15.02. If she counted on the throng of kids currently clamoring around her for more business, she might be able to stuff her fish by Christmas!

What Barbie didn’t include in her calculation, however, was Donna “Pickles” Nichols, who stood just outside the circle, a look of desire and determination drawn across her sallow face.

That would cost her more than she knew.

Next → The Action (3.2)