 
### It's All About The Gravy

### Rita Villa

### Copyright 2012 Rita Villa

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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### Chapter One

The dog could smell a burger from three miles away. Dragged by the aroma, he hurried down the rain-covered street. His coat was soaked to the skin and he would just as soon get settled somewhere warm and dry. But for now his hunger was stronger than his desire to be dry so he trudged onward, his stomach still rumbling.

People stared at him as he passed. Some would stop and give him a quick pet and some would complain about the smell of wet dog hair. Others would ask what he was doing out there alone. He'd just as soon keep moving. The sooner he filled up on some good old fashioned beef, the better he'd feel. Folks just didn't understand him. Maybe the homeless people did. They searched for food too. Heck, they were his main competition for the leftovers decorating the sidewalks. Those big plastic bags put out on Tuesday mornings helped keep him alive.

But he couldn't live on Tuesday morning's take alone. Today was Friday and his grumbling belly told him it was already lunch time. His paws splashed in puddles as he rushed along, big wet nose aimed high, sniffing out his next meal.

"What a cute doggie," some stranger would say.

"Are you okay, pooch?" they'd ask, as if he could answer.

He'd just keep walking, because honestly if he could answer he'd probably be rude and say, "Of course I'm not okay, dumb ass, I'm homeless, it's raining and I haven't eaten in hours."

But he assumed most humans wouldn't want to hear his sob story, they were too busy to be bothered with a wet, hungry mutt. And mutt he was, not a Golden Retriever or a Black Lab, just a mixture of horny shelter mongrels.

Finally, he arrived at his destination. Ahh, his perfect nose had not deceived him one bit. A trash can lie on its side behind the local diner. He dove in, dragged the plastic bag out, held it down with one paw and ripped it open with his teeth. Three half eaten hamburgers, some French fries, two chicken fingers, and a bite of a glazed doughnut, a bit stale, but tasty just the same. He chowed down, enjoying every bite.

After he was done he headed back out front and continued down the street. The rain started beating down and he thought about finding a place to hide from the cold drops, but he was on a mission, a mission to find some better quality food. Sure Mickey D's and the diner had kept him alive, but he wanted more. A good steak perhaps. Something red and delicious. With gravy. He loved gravy. That's one thing humans are good at, making gravy. He didn't even know for sure how it was made, but he knew he liked it. Any flavor, too. Once in a while the diner had some turkey gravy out. But that was only around the holidays. And that wasn't for months yet.

Sometimes a street vendor gave him a hot dog. They were good, but still not what he wanted. He turned left and pranced down Main Street, then took a right and cut through a parking lot. He passed a gourmet restaurant. Stopped. Sniffed the air. That was it. That smell. Surely they'd be making pots of gravy. Steak and gravy. He went around back. No trash cans. Darn. Only a big dumpster. Too high to reach. He sat by the back door and waited, hoping some busboy would take pity on him. Time passed. But nothing. He practiced his pitiful face. Whimpered. Looked hopeless. But all that was wasted. No one came out. What seemed like hours passed. He waited. Shivered and waited. Still nothing.

Then finally, the door opened.

"Get the hell out of here, you beggar," the man yelled as he waved his arms in the air.

The dog ran from the gourmet restaurant. They probably don't even know how to make good gravy, he thought. By now he was dripping wet and he still didn't have that big, juicy steak he craved. He took a right and went back to Main Street. He'd never come this far before and decided to take the next left and see if some of the office buildings had a trash pile out this time of day. He looked up at the tall buildings. Seemed like they touched the clouds. He wondered how many people worked in each one. Five hundred, maybe. That's lots of lunches. There'd be scraps. He turned into the first parking lot. Nothing. Must have the trash inside. He cut through the grass to the next parking lot. Damn, a dumpster. He started to feel discouraged. His stomach growled again. Louder this time. If he didn't find something soon he'd be headed back to the hot dog vendor in the park begging for a scrap to fall.

Third parking lot. Then he saw them. Bags. All stacked in the back corner of the building. Looked like the dumpster had overflowed and people just left their trash next to it. He suddenly felt grateful for full dumpsters and lazy people.

He grabbed the corner of the first bag, dragged it out, held it with his paw and ripped the plastic open with his teeth. Papers and more papers. Didn't anyone eat lunch in that place? He moved on to the next bag, still hopeful.

A few bites of sandwich, a mouthful of macaroni and cheese and a shortbread cookie. Not bad. But not what he longed for. He dug further. More papers. Hand towels. Cups.

Then he smelled it. Heaven. A slice of beef. He buried his head in the bag. And there it sat. Pot roast. Tender juicy meat, potatoes and carrots. All swimming in dark brown gravy. He took a bite. It was the most delicious thing he'd ever tasted. Instantly, he felt satisfied. The meat fell apart in his mouth. He licked his lips and dug in for more. Ate and licked and ate and searched and ate. Until every tiny scrap of the scrumptious meal disappeared.

He licked his paw, washed his face and thought the walk was definitely worth it. He wondered who could have made such a divine treat. He took a deep breath, savoring the joyous perfume that filled his nostrils. He sat under the gray and tan striped awning and licked every luscious drop from his oversized brown spotted paws.

He dreamt of the cook who created such a masterpiece. A woman, he thought, older and wiser. She'd need to be, for the creation of a glorious pot roast took know how, imagination, creativity, daring and love. Yup, he knew love went into that meal. He could feel it as it entered his stomach, taking away not only his hunger for food, but his longing for companionship. His imagination ran wild, and for just a few moments he found himself sitting in a warm kitchen eating a meal with a friend. A dream, where he had a home and felt loved.

"What the hell are you doing, you mangy mutt!" a loud voice bellowed as a man in a gray uniform ran toward him welding a long stick. "Get out of here. Look at this mess. You stupid, stupid mutt."

The dog stared at the stick then turned and ran. He could hear the air splitting as the stick almost hit him on the butt. Still he was faster than any mean old man.

"Stay away from here, you mangy beast."

The dog turned the corner and picked up the pace until he reached full speed. Safe for today. And full.

### Chapter Two

Frank was just your average Joe leading a run of the mill life; dead end job, bad skin, and hopeless dreams.

He sat in his tan cubical surrounded by gray office supplies. No family photos on his walls, no calendar filled with engagements, no music-filled iPod. His paper had to be white, his pens black, and his paper clips silver.

His mind wandered to lunch as he hoped the break would give him something to look forward to. But even lunch breaks didn't give him pleasure. At twenty-five he felt tired, bored and invisible. The only thing that once gave him enjoyment had become another reminder of his loser status. Every time he stuck another doughnut in his mouth his giggly belly and flabby thighs told him, "You're a loser, Frank."

He looked at his watch, 10 a.m., time for his morning trip to the men's room. A walk past the window revealed a day as dull as his life. Mid October could be that way. The sky wrapped its foggy arms around the silhouettes of the almost leafless trees. Rain threatened and the unbound grayness faded to black. People on the streets hurried about like hamsters on a wheel. They carried umbrellas in case Mother Nature released her intended wrath.

He unzipped his gray polyester pants, took a piss, splashed some ice water on his face and stared into the mirror. Who was this man staring back at him? His black greasy hair hung in his face, wadded into strips across his forehead. Dark plastic glasses, thicker than the bottoms of Coke bottles, adorned his puffy cheeks and pimples festered on pale skin. His plain tan shirt had huge sweat stains seeping from the armpits.

Once he had dreams, at least when he was young, but then his father up and left. After that his mother went crazy and while she did her time in the local nut house he got sent to live with his grandmother, Nana, who was just as crazy as his mother, if not worse.

Nana was a whopping four foot three inches, swore like a marine, drank run and smoked miniature cigars. And that wasn't even so bad, until they released his mother and she moved in, too, bringing her insanity with her. Frank wanted to move out, but how could he leave them alone? He tried to think of an excuse to justify moving away, but they needed him. They'd never admit it, but he kept the household together. Sure they drove him over the edge on occasion and sometimes he thought he'd end up in the same nut house his mother had been in. She and Nana would drive him there. But he never told anyone he felt like he was losing his mind. Never. And those voices in his head. He tried really hard not to listen.

He stopped at the employee lounge for a cup of coffee. The empty plastic tables and chairs only added to his loneliness. "Maybe a hot cup of sugar filled coffee will perk up this gloomy day," he mumbled. "Then there's the boring week in a depressing month and my totally uninteresting life."

He put fifty cents into the vending machine and waited for his coffee. Then he and his five packs of sugar slid into a booth by the window. He gazed at the gray sky and the cold rain as it fell on the cars in the parking lot. A chill made him shiver and he wondered how some people found happiness. Like it was a prize hidden at the end of some puzzling treasure map or the pot of gold at the end of a rainbow. If only he could stumble upon a leprechaun.

His quiet gaze turned to fear as a few of the secretaries wandered in for their morning break. He wanted to leave, but he didn't want to walk by them, so he sat in the corner, hoping they wouldn't notice him. They laughed and smiled. He listened as they talked about the latest movies. He felt a stab of jealous as they talked about the latest fashions, hunky guys on television and their sex lives.

He hadn't been to the movie theater since he was 5 and Frank Senior took him to see Fantasia. His clothing, purchased by his mother, came from a store called The Thrifty Shopper. He wouldn't be talking fashion with those young ladies any time soon. They made fun of his baggy-assed polyester pants behind his back. He heard them giggling every time he passed the young fresh tarts. That's what Nana would call girls like them, tarts or whores. Girls who wore makeup, tight dresses and slept around. Nana would earmark them as whores. She liked to label people, place them in strict categories. It made things easier, she'd tell him.

Try as he might to look at the girls standing by the coffee machine as whores, he couldn't do it. And he guessed if being a whore could be fun and make people like you, then it seemed well worth it. If being pretty meant you were called a tart, he'd rather be a tart. Better than being a loser. Secretly, he admired them, in their tight skirts and cashmere sweaters. Longingly, he wondered what it would be like to stand by the coffee machine and laugh with friends.

"What are you staring at, loser?" shouted one of the tarts as Frank realized he'd been staring at them for some time.

Quickly, he turned around. Feeling all their eyes on him made his skin crawl. He pulled himself in so tightly he felt like he'd shrunk down to the size of a pea. He looked out the window. No one would yell at him for staring at cars.

Suddenly, he heard, "Get the hell out of here, you mangy mutt." The janitor ran through the parking lot swinging a huge stick. Garbage was spewed about and an enormous wet dog ran from the mess, the pissed off janitor right on his tail.

Frank jumped up. The dog looked like he had strong muscles under his silky black and brown skin. And he had a huge head and long ears, like a bloodhound. His feet looked too big for his body and his tail, like a long whip, was tucked between his legs.

"Run, boy, run," Frank mumbled. "Hurry. Don't let him catch you." The mutt was fast and as he ran from sight, Frank smiled. The janitor put down the stick, reluctantly picked up the trash, stuffed it back into the bags and tied off the tops. Immediately, Frank felt camaraderie with the wet mutt being chased away from his morning meal by nasty words and painful sticks. He knew the hurt words could instill in the soul of man or beast.

"Where did you come from?" he mumbled. "Are you lost? Do you he need a home?" Frank noticed the secretaries had left. He threw away his Styrofoam cup and looked for the dog one last time. "I'd love to have a dog. But my grandmother will never let a dog in the house. Even though my salary pays the bills, the two old hens rule the roost." Then he imitated her voice. A squeaky whine. "No dogs, cats, or other creatures. No ladies, friends, or laughing. You can watch television a few hours a day, but only old re-runs of I Love Lucy, Mayberry and Leave it to Beaver." And once in a great while, if they felt like living on the edge, Colombo. Music had to be on the ancient hi-fi; Frank Sinatra or Perry Como.

Frank wondered about cable television, movies and new music. Every so often he'd tell his mother he had a late meeting, turn on the office computer and surf the net. Now to him this was just about the riskiest thing he'd ever done. And in his mind, he felt like a criminal. All he wanted to do was see what an iPod looked like, listen to Lady Gaga, and watch a new sci-fi movie. He looked at men's fashions and dreamed, stared at new cars and drooled, turned the computer off and went home like a scolded dog, tail between his legs.

### Chapter Three

Nana's old recliner squeaked as she leaned toward the dining room to peer at her daughter. "What's the boy makin' fer supper?" she yelled.

"Spaghetti and meatballs, Nana, okay?" Katherine shouted, barely looking up from her stack of tabloid magazines.

"Yeah, that's fine. But I'm hungry."

Katherine pulled her robe tighter and flipped the page. Just as she started to read a story about aliens that landed near Big Sur, California, Nana interrupted again.

"It's almost six o'clock, Katherine. Do ya know that?"

Katherine looked at the wall clock. "Yes, Mother."

"I thought I heard the door. Did Frank go somewhere? He's supposed ta be cookin' supper."

Katherine huffed. "He went to the bakery to fetch your favorite Italian bread so it would be fresh and crusty, the way you like it."

Nana slammed her hand on the chair. "He didn't make it homemade? Ya know how I like it fresh from the oven. What's with buyin' it? That costs more money and Frank's bread tastes better than that there bakery." She took a drag off her Tiparillo and coughed like she was going to bring something up.

Katherine blocked out most of her mother's incessant bitching as she focused on the feature story about the alien baby the spaceship left behind. "Yes mother, I know."

"But I don't want bakery bread. I want Frank's homemade garlic bread. What's he tryin' ta do ta me? I'm gonna be eighty, ya know? Could be my last spaghetti dinner and here I'm eatin' store bought bread." She stopped complaining to cough and then, "All I ask for 'round here is a decent meal. Can't a dyin' old lady even get a proper meal?"

"What the hell. The old bat will probably out live us all," Katherine mumbled. "But really, Mother, I'm sure dinner will be fine."

"I'm sure it won't. Not with store bought bread."

Katherine put down _The World Weekly News_ and picked up her all time favorite tabloid, _Scandals from around the Globe_. The cover had a photo of a dried up mummy lying in a coffin with his arms crossed and roses on his chest. The body looked huge and the impression of ribs filled its chest. Horns protruded from its head. Excited, she read the headlines out loud, "Devil man's mummy found."

"What the hell ya be spoutin' on about?"

"They found a mummy that seems to be the devil?" She flipped to the story. "Yeah, it says here they dug him up in the desert and they think it's really the devil's body and it's mummified. Really."

"That's just bullcrap. What ya doin' readin' those sleazy magazines again. There's no devil man on God's green earth. Any God fearing woman, such as yerself, shouldn't be wastin' time readin' such garbage as them there papers. The only devil be livin' right there in hell waitin' on you to arrive."

Katherine huffed. "Frank made raspberry pie for dessert."

"Well, it's about time that youngster did somethin' for his old Nana. Look at all he's got 'cause a me. He's got it made, and so do you, daughter, neither of ya has had to do anythin' for all this."

***

The door creaked opened and then slammed shut.

"When's supper, Frank, Nana's fading fast," Katherine said.

"Just let me cook the bread. Fifteen minutes or so," Frank shouted from the tiny, outdated kitchen. He took the crusty loaf of Italian bread, sliced it long ways, and covered it with soft butter and fresh ground garlic. Then he placed it on a pan under the broiler and waited, watching it turn brown and luscious. His mouth started to water at the sight.

He loved cooking and his delicious meals soothed the wild beasts called Mother and Nana. The aroma of his homemade sauce filtered through the entire place, bringing a sense of home to an otherwise cold house. He breathed deeply hoping the smell would take him to a place of happiness, where he cooked for people who savored his wonderful treats.

The timer on the oven blared.

"Shut that off, will you. I'm trying to read about the devil man. He's here in the United States, you know, well his mummy, at a museum in Baltimore." His mother, still dressed in her old pink fleece robe and smelling of body odor, wandered out to the kitchen babbling about the devil man. "He's really in Baltimore, Frank. Isn't that so exciting? Do you think you could drive Nana and me down to see him next weekend?"

"I suppose so," Frank said hesitantly. The last thing he wanted to do was take the two old ladies on a road trip to see some fake mummy, probably made of papier-mâché, that some sideshow was passing off as the devil. How stupid, he thought, as he smiled politely at his mother, who had to read the article out loud. "Newly discovered, miles from nowhere, a perfectly preserved mummy believed to be that of Satan. Horns are growing from his head." Leaving the house was only a pipe dream of his mother's. She'd talk about it, but she'd never really do it.

"I ain't goin' ta see no devil man," Nana shouted. "I'm starvin' ta death in here. Only place I'm goin' is ta the undertaker."

Frank turned away to stir the sauce. "Sure, we can go. But it doesn't sound like she wants to."

Katherine stood with her hands on her hips. "Well, damn it, Frank, all I asked you for is one simple thing and there you go giving me that attitude again. Your poor helpless Nana and I would like to see the devil man, maybe her last chance, she's getting on in years, you know. You can't even do that simple thing for us."

"I said yes."

"Can't you people hear me? Or are ya just ignorin' me on account a I'm old? I don't wanna go see no damn devil man and I ain't goin' no place, 'cept to the great beyond."

Frank peeked in the dining room. Nana was sitting at the art deco table in the middle of the olive green dining room, which hadn't changed since nineteen sixty three. A black velvet painting of Elvis hung on the far wall and a tacky plastic chandelier hung over the table. Like a queen in her castle she waited to be served dinner, fork in one hand, knife in the other.

His mother stormed out of the kitchen, stomping her feet. "See what you've done now. Nana doesn't even want to go because of your attitude." She pulled out her chair at the other end of the table and plopped down her rather large butt.

"I said we'd go," Frank said. "Let's leave early Saturday morning. That way we should get there by noon. We can stop for seafood." He smiled at Nana's wrinkled old face. "You love those Maryland crab cakes, Nana, how about it?"

"I suppose I might tag along. If I live till then."

Frank served the spaghetti with luscious homemade sauce, fresh meatballs, and toasted garlic bread. He poured his mother a tall glass of red wine over ice and served Nana a cold Bud Light with a straw.

He sat in the kitchen at the tiny Formica topped table. "Thank God for food and walls." Every savory bite helped him forget; otherwise he might have slipped some rat poison in the sauce. It crossed his mind. Just a dab in something tasty would relieve them of their pitiful existence, himself included. On occasion the poison even spoke to him. "Just a dab, Frank, in the sauce, they'll never taste it. They won't feel a thing. I promise. You'll be helping them, putting them out of their misery. And yourself, too." He tried not to listen, but it made good sense.

The dining room was silent except for tabloid pages being turned and wine being sipped. Every once in awhile he could hear Nana's teeth slip. She'd grumble as she shoved them back into her mouth. It was one of the few things that made him chuckle. And she refused to use denture adhesives, said the government had a conspiracy to kill off all the old folks to save money on Social Security. They were putting poison in the denture adhesives, she was sure of it.

He really couldn't blame Nana or his mother, his family had a long history of paranoia, conspiracy theories and mental hospital visits. Nana was no exception, even though she never did check into the nut house, as she called it, she had her theories. She truly believed her blood pressure pills had tiny probes in them, allowing the president to hear everything that went on in the household. Frank tried to help her understand that the president had no reason to care what went on in their tiny Philadelphia home, but she was as hardheaded as an old wart hog. And swore a good conspiracy theory could never be proven, right or wrong.

"Them nosy bastards want ta know everythin' we're doin'," she'd insist.

"But Nana," Frank would argue, "you're sitting here watching re-runs of I Love Lucy. Why would they care?"

"Don't know why they're watchin' me, but they is. I know it. Sons a bitches be watchin' me day and night. And Frank..."

"Yeah."

"Yer smart like yer father, ya dope," Nana would say and then laugh, which usually lead to a bought of coughing and a green loogie being spit into the old coffee can sitting next to her chair.

Frank would shrug his shoulders, give up and walk away. It wasn't worth arguing. She'd always win, either with wits or spoiled rotten anger. She swore like an old sailor and drank almost as much. A flask of gin was hidden in her housecoat pocket along with her pack of Tiparillo's. Her nappy gray hair seldom got washed. Neither did her body or her teeth, which sometimes looked like a Chia Pet growing green fuzz as they soaked in the jar by her bedside. Frank avoided her as much as possible, partially to save himself from her fury and in some measure to keep the rat poison from talking to him.

In the quiet, warm kitchen, he could let his mind wander back to the dog he saw out the office window. Thinking about the dog made him feel happy. Where did the big mutt go? Did he have a home? Would he be back? Every time he thought about the wet scraggly mongrel he felt something inside he'd never sensed before, companionship. He wondered if maybe, just maybe, after twenty five years on a lonely planet he could have a soul mate, a friend, a comrade. In that moment he made a commitment to himself, he would find that mangy mutt.

### Chapter Four

Dough-de-dough, dough-de-dough, the dog sang as he pranced through the park, happily flopping his large paws on the soft grass. His stomach was full for now. The pot roast was the most delectable thing he'd ever tasted. And the gravy, pure heaven. But he'd never be able to go back there. He couldn't spend every day worrying about getting beaten by that nasty janitor. Now that he'd found his most prized meal, meat and gravy and cooked by a genius, he could never, ever go back. It was too close. Just too close.

Still, like a long lost lover, the pot roast called to him. He drooled at the thought of the tender beef, fragrant potatoes and succulent gravy. He took a deep breath and tried to recall the delicate scent.

He had to stop and wipe the drool from his jowls; the grass did just fine for that task. A deserted swing set presented itself well for a long hard back scratch as he rubbed and wiggled his butt on the metal posts. Oh boy did that feel good. Wiggle, jiggle, pull, push, up, down and about. He loved a good back scratch.

He continued his trek through the park, watching carefully for humans. It was a cool afternoon and this side of the park felt unusually quiet. He liked quiet, it meant no simpletons would be calling his arch enemy, the dog catcher. Especially since the last time some ninny called that nasty creep. The dog catcher grabbed and he bit. Blood gushed everywhere. The dog catcher loosened his grip and the race was on. Needless to say the tubby man couldn't hold his own in pursuit of a toy poodle, least of all a dog his size.

And he didn't lack muscles. He was strong and could run as fast as a race horse, or so he told himself. Even though he was a homeless mutt, he had pride. Life on the streets was hard for a dog and he'd never deny he'd love a warm soft bed with a roof over his head and kind, loving people. But he didn't know any. His experience with the human race had not been the greatest, in fact, it sucked. Yeah, he'd see dogs on the street walking with people, running in the park, catching Frisbees and apparently living happy lives. Not him, some people weren't nice, which meant he couldn't trust any of them.

He remembered people walking by his cage at the shelter after he was born. Time passed and all his brothers and sisters found homes. Even his mother left with a new family, but not him. He sat, waited, tried to look cute. But nothing. He spent the first six months of his life waiting behind bars for someone to love him. Finally, he'd had enough and planned his escape.

Seven months ago his caretaker took him out for his morning walk. They sashayed around the building while she flirted with her boyfriend on the cell phone. The teenage volunteer would be no match for his strong, fast body.

"Oh yes, Bret, tonight, I'd love to," she said with a giggle.

That was his cue. Yank, run, scram.

"Come back here, you mutt," the teenager screamed, dropping her cell phone.

To hell with you, he thought, as he ran full speed ahead, dragging the leash behind him. He headed for cover in the woods, hoping never to pass through an animal shelter again.

"Where are you, nice doggie? Come here. We've got dinner," they yelled. They searched for hours, but he was well hidden in the trees and tall grass. For the first time in his life he could run and jump. He could eat burgers from trash cans; savor French fries, pizza, and chicken nuggets. He could wander through parks and follow hot dog vendors as they closed up for the day. He could drink water from dirty puddles and eat fresh duck droppings. He could chase scents for hours and bark at nothing. He could eat stuff humans threw away as rotten. They just had no taste buds for beef bones, chicken fat or moldy bread. They're fussbudgets, he thought.

Leading the life of a free spirit, he watched them come and go, studied their smiles, laughs, and tears. He knew who to approach holding out a cookie and when to run from a sinister hand. He kissed up to small children and young women, easy targets for a handout or a back rub. They'd ogle and ahh over him, smile and pet his coat. But he never let anyone get too close, that would be risky. Not even the good-natured lady who removed the leash from his collar. Still he ran.

But now, with the October chill in the air, he wondered about winter, searched out abandoned homes or cars. The coldness in the air made him regret, just a bit, leaving the warmth of the shelter, though it was only warm in the sense of hot or cold, not warm in the real sense. Not warm in the sense he longed for.

He thought about the person who created the luscious pot roast. Such a heavenly delight. A meal filtered through a funnel of love. He dreamed about finding her. An older woman he presumed, only experience could create such a masterpiece.

He lay down and put his head on the seat of a rusted out Pinto, in a neighborhood with boarded up windows and the constant screaming of sirens. He closed his eyes and imagined himself at the foot of his dream cook's bed, stomach full of pot roast and the fireplace crackling, warming his coat. Yeah, he knew he had to return to the office building. He must find her and tell her the pot roast was the best thing to ever cross his lips. Tonight he would rest. Tomorrow, he would search for her.

***

Frank washed the dishes and handed them to his mother. "Was dinner okay?"

"Wonderful. You really are a great cook. I know we never tell you that, but you are." She dried the plates and put them in the cabinet.

He looked at her standing there in her dirty robe. She couldn't help it that things had gone the way they had and she'd lost her husband and her sanity. At least she had the tabloids, he thought. That had become her reason for living, reading those crazy stories and dreaming about going to see things like the devil man. He hoped she'd shower for the trip. She smelled terrible.

"Do you think Nana would let us have a dog?"

"Never, you know that."

"But I saw this homeless dog today."

"She won't care. She'll say he's rabid or something. Besides he's probably at the pound by now."

She put the last plate away, grabbed a cup of coffee and went into the living room.

Frank thought about the poor wet dog and hoped he wasn't sitting in the pound. He knew what they did to big homeless mutts. The thought of it made him feel sick. How could anyone ever do that to a dog? Sometimes he thought he could do it to his Nana, or even himself, but not a dog. Dogs deserve to live happy lives.

He grabbed two Rubbermaid containers from the cupboard, removed the lids and filled them with pasta. After that he covered them with sauce and threw three meatballs in each. He sprinkled fresh parmesan cheese on top, wrapped a couple of slices of garlic bread in foil and placed everything in the refrigerator. "Tomorrow we'll share lunch, boy. That's if you come back." He sipped his coffee and dreamed about eating lunch with the dog. Would he be there? Or had the janitor scared him away forever? Was he safe? Where was he sleeping? Why was he on his own?

***

The dog followed his morning routine. Mickey D's, then the local diner where lots of folks knew him, made for good handouts and socializing. He wanted to get over to the office building early, scope out the employees, try to spot his dream girl, the chef. Possibly she'd come out for a lunch break, eat in the park or go for a walk. He was sure he could pick her out. Yep, he'd be on the lookout for an older woman. One who looked like she had a family, children and grandchildren. Somebody who loved to make biscuits and gravy.

He didn't go near the building, though. Instead, he waited across the street so he could see the employees as they left on their lunch breaks. Not many older women. Hummm, he wondered. No way one of those young girls could make such a delectable treat as that pot roast. He was sure it had to be an older lady. Didn't think it could be a guy, nope, well no guy he ever knew. Bachelors lived on pizza and take out Chinese, at least from his experience rummaging through their trash cans.

Then he spotted possible candidates, two ladies, one about forty and the other fifty or so. The first lady went across the street to meet a guy for lunch. The second lady walked down to the diner. Well, maybe she just didn't cook today, he thought. But he'd check the trash when it came out, just in case. He figured if the trash had a delicious consume or smelled of a divine tidbit, then he'd know the person he searched so desperately for was still inside the building.

His stomach growled like a car with a rusted out muffler. He made his way around the side of the building into the parking lot, hid behind a car and waited. Finally, the janitor dropped two huge bags of trash in the alley and walked away. Terrified of the nasty authority figure, the dog waited. He didn't like authority figures. In his opinion, humans abused the power of a uniform.

When all was clear, he snuck in. Carefully, he dragged out the first bag and ripped it open. Papers again. Then he ripped open the second bag; nothing more than a stale doughnut and a few half eaten sandwiches. He gobbled them up anyway. Disappointed, he turned and slowly shuffled away. His stomach growled louder. How would he ever find her? What if he never found her? He had to thank her. Just had to. Besides, his taste buds craved that gravy, that delightful gravy.

All of a sudden he heard the bags rustling. Assuming it was the angry janitor, he ran to the other side of the parking lot. Once safe from his possible grasp, he turned around. Much to his surprise, a young man bent down and cleaned up the mess. He picked up each piece of garbage, placed it into the bag, tied the top and neatened the area until it looked like no one had rummaged through the refuse. The man looked around as if trying to spot something, then carefully placed a large plate next to the trash and headed back toward the building, still on the lookout for something.

The dog waited until he disappeared and then sauntered back over toward the plate. The fragrance filled his nostrils. How odd, he thought, apparently the man wanted him to have this meal. How could he know? Why would he care? Was it safe or a set up? He'd been set up by humans before. The dog catcher could set out lovely dinner plates too. Yup, dinner plates, soon followed by a choke collar and the disgusting pound. He'd seen some of his friends get caught that way. Should he take the risk? He didn't know. Thought. Walked away. Walked back. Looked in every direction. Had to go in. Couldn't resist the smell.

Spaghetti and meatballs with garlic bread. It looked delicious. He dove in. A huge bite. Chewed. Swallowed. Delightful. Pure enchantment. He licked his lips and went back for more. Meatballs. Wonderful homemade meatballs. Not the kind the diner made, no way. These were loaded with burger and sausage and the outside had a slight crispiness, the inside tender and juicy. He gobbled up every bit, licked the plate, licked his face and paws, and licked the plate again.

Who could the mysterious stranger could be? And where did he learn to cook like that? Only a true chef could make sauce that heavenly. He had to be the one who made the pot roast. Had to be. Cooks like that weren't found every day. And what was he doing hanging around a parking lot waiting for a homeless mutt like him? Shouldn't he be back at that five star restaurant making lunch for rich people? And why did he do this? Leave out a plate? For that matter why did he clean up the mess? So many questions that the dog couldn't answer. The only thing he knew for sure, his belly was full and he felt content. He looked for the man one more time, hoping to thank him, but still nothing. Oh well, he thought, then headed back to the burnt out Pinto for a nap.

### ***

Frank hid in the building's shadow and peeked around the corner. He smiled as he watched the mutt devour every last drop of sauce, meatballs and bread. If he licked the plate any longer he'd of licked the finish right off it. What a cute dog, Frank thought, and happy looking. He watched as the dog licked his lips over and over and then his huge paws. Frank wanted to step out and meet him. Pet him. But what if he scared him away? That would be awful. So he just watched from a distance.

After the dog left, Frank headed into the alley to retrieve the empty plate. Seeing it licked clean brought him a sense of happiness. Knowing he'd done something nice made him feel uplifted. Watching the dog put away his food with passion gave him a sense of merriment. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt this good. It was weird. He wasn't worried about his mother or Nana. He wasn't thinking about the office tarts. Nope, he was just thinking about that happy mutt.

He went over and over the situation. "What would you like for lunch tomorrow? Will you be back? Where are you going next?" His stomach rumbled with anguish and excitement as his mind scrawled over recipes in his head. "What would a dog love to eat?"

Usually he hung out a few minutes after work, dreading the nightmare called home. But as the clock approached five, he couldn't wait to get the hell out of there. "What will I make for your lunch tomorrow?" he said as if the dog was standing there looking at him with those wonderful sad eyes.

He locked up his desk, put on his coat and waited. "Let me see, trout almandine or ham with scalloped potatoes?" His brain ran over and over his Nana's recipes. Then it occurred to him like a flash. "What about Shepard's pie? That's it. Mom and Nana will throw a fit. But the dog, the dear sweet dog, will love it."

Sick and tired of cooking the same old stuff, Frank couldn't wait to get started. They'd have to try something new. No doubt they'd be pissed. But he didn't really care. He was more excited than he'd been since he was nine years old and his mother fell in the mud while trying to catch him to wash his mouth out with soap.

The minute the clock's hands moved over the twelve and five, he rushed from the building, hopped in his car and sped to the supermarket. Dreams of recipes floated in his head. He had a spring in his step and he hummed as he made his way through the store. He filled his cart with ingredients for a masterpiece. A treat for the taste buds of all who tried it. But mostly a delight for the discriminating palate of a scraggly oversized down-and-out mutt.

### Chapter Five

"What the hell's this shit," Nana yelled from her favorite seat in the dining room.

"It's new, Nana, try it," Frank said.

"I hate new. Ya know it, don't ya? Ya certainly should, I tell ya enough."

"New, did somebody say new?" Katherine said, still focused on the new issue of _Scandals from around the Globe._ She sank deeper into her recliner and pulled the throw around her. "I'm sure it's fine, Mother."

"This son of yers made some slop I've never heard of before. Get in here and see this slop he's tryin' ta feed his poor dyin' Nana. Don't ya care 'bout your sick old grandmom, Frank? What are ya doin' ta me?"

"Did you know the Feejee mermaid is on display again?" Katherine said. "It's been locked up in some attic for years. You've got to see these pictures of her. They're amazing. I've never seen it in person. It was originally on display at the very first place P.T. Barnum owned. You know the one. The American Museum in New York. This guy Moses Kimball bought the mermaid from a seaman way back in 1842. He said she'd been caught somewhere in the Far East. She's under a meter long. A tiny woman with a human head and a fish's tail."

"Dinner's ready, Mother," Frank shouted.

"She's brought thousands of tourists in over the years and made bundles of money," Katherine said. "Then she disappeared. And there's all this mystery around her disappearance." She kicked the footrest of the recliner down. "I must see her, Frank, I just must. It's a once in a lifetime opportunity."

"Shut up 'bout that damn fish woman and get in here so ya can see this slop your son is servin' up for dinner."

Katherine stood up. "It can't be that bad, mother, try tasting it."

"It's slop and I ain't eatin' it. Fix me a tuna sanich or somethin'."

"Please try it, Nana," Frank said, as he wandered into the dining room with her Bud Light. "It's really good."

"Now yer smilin' at me. What ya tryin' ta pull, youngster? Are ya tryin' to kill me off so you and yer momma can have all my stuff? I brought her in ta this world and I can sure as hell take her out and you right along with her."

"Nana, I was just trying to make you a nice dinner," Frank said. "Something you've never had before." But he wasn't thinking about Nana or his crazy mother who was too obsessed with the scandal sheets to taste the dinner he'd worked so hard on. He didn't care if it pleased them or they just sat and complained all night. What would make it different than any other night? They'd complain, and the rat poison, clearly being quite logical, would talk to Frank.

But not tonight, tonight his thoughts were on the drool running from the big dog's lips. The light in his eyes as he devoured the meal. The huge tail wagging. The appreciation, yes appreciation, the dog had shown for his small gesture of kindness. The dog made him feel needed.

For the first night in many years the thought of rat poison didn't cross his mind. It kept its wheedling little mouth shut.

"Why did you make something new, Frank, you know Nana hates new," Katherine said as she finally made her way to the dining room, face still buried in the scandal sheet. "What time are we leaving on Saturday? It opens at ten a.m."

"It's takes about three hours to get to Baltimore from here," Frank said.

She pulled out her chair and slid in. "Can we leave at seven then. I'd like to be there when it opens." She pulled her plate close and cut up the Shepard's pie. "This looks delicious. I don't see what you're complaining about, Mother." She took a bite. "Very nice, Frank."

He served her a glass of wine. "I'm glad you like it."

She took a sip. "It's lovely."

Frank was shocked. The excitement of seeing the devil man's mummy threw her into a state of nicety he'd not seen since his father left. "Would you like some bread?" he said as he held out a basket of croissants.

She grabbed one and then looked up at him. "Do you think we can see the Feejee mermaid sometime, dear? She'll be in the new Julius Roland Traveling Circus and Sideshow. It's going to be touring the country. I haven't seen a real sideshow in years, Frank. Can we go when it comes nearby, can we, please?"

For the first time in years, Frank noticed she'd combed her hair. Just the thought of going to see the devil man's mummy and the new stories about the Feejee mermaid had inspired her to comb her hair. Amazing, he thought. "Sure we can go."

"Tastes like somethin' the dog brought up. If ya weren't obsessed with that there magazine, ya'd see that. Dog puke, that's what it tastes like, yup, dog puke." Nana pushed her plate away.

Frank's mother had been infatuated with the scandal sheets for as long as he could remember. Even as a small boy they'd travel around searching for the remnants of an alien spaceship, a three-headed cow, or a man who could swallow fire. And she believed every word of those off the wall stories. His father did everything he could to appease his eccentric wife, but she just withdrew deeper and deeper into her lunacy.

The Strait Shows brought many of these folks to town. The headless woman, the lizard man, and the giant rat, were just a few. Katherine and young Frank would spend their days watching men walk on fire, swallow swords, and parade around with two headed goats, or the famous pickled punks, which were joined together twins or other human fetuses floating in jars of formaldehyde.

Franks first experience with the sideshow came when he was only about five. Standing in line at the supermarket begging for candy, he turned around and right behind him stood a man with three eyes, definitely three, two in the regular spots and one smack in the middle of his forehead. He winked at Frank with his third eye. Frank screamed at the top of his lungs. Katherine apologized all over the place to the three-eyed man while Frank just stared.

"It's okay, the boy doesn't understand," the three-eyed man said.

"I understand alright," Frank said, as he backed up a few steps, "you've got one more eye than you should."

"I'm so sorry, Sir, my boy, he's a bit slow," Katherine said.

I'm not slow, Frank thought, that guy's freaky.

The man stepped forward and reached out to shake Frank's little hand. Frank stepped back again.

"It's okay, honey," Katherine said, trying to reassure the boy that the three-eyed man was a safe stranger.

Frank looked at his mother for help, but none came. "I thought I wasn't supposed to talk to strangers?" Frank said.

Then the three-eyed man smiled at Frank and said, "I'm just a man, like you. How about I take you and your momma for an ice cream and you can see I'm just like everybody else."

Before he knew it he sat eating a double chocolate cone with the three-eyed man and laughing. This guy was funny and he liked laughing. They never laughed at home. His mother looked at the three-eyed man in awe and that day her fascination with sideshows and scandal sheets began. She searched, wondered, and constantly asked, "Why are there such anomalies in the world. Why would God give a man three eyes, a woman a beard, or send aliens to earth? Why?"

But as much as she and little Frank traveled and searched, the answers to those questions couldn't be found. Her fixation grew into a mania, pulling her away from reality and into the world of alien babies and Bigfoot sightings. The obsession couldn't be controlled as she tried to find answers to questions humans couldn't answer. She often asked, "Why would God do such things? If there even is a God. Or are these strange anomalies really just freaks of nature?"

She searched for the meaning of life, her own, as well as the folks in the sideshow, but as far as Frank could tell, never discovered one. She longed to believe in a loving God, yet often said she wouldn't be able to until she could figure out his reason for creating such diversity.

Not long after her first stay at the nut house she decided Frank's father was a walk-in. She'd discovered the idea of walk-in's during her year long stay at the Hobart Asylum. Many of the patients insisted their bodies had been taken over by aliens who looked exactly like them and talked like them, but controlled their every move. Supposedly, these aliens could inhabit a human body and function, unknown to the surrounding family and friends, eventually murdering all humans and taking over the planet.

She insisted Frank Senior had been taken over by a walk-in while she was a prisoner in the loony bin. She wouldn't talk to him and glared at him constantly, like he held a crazy secret behind his glasses. Frank Junior never noticed any change in his father. In fact, he seemed the sanest of the whole damn bunch. But she wouldn't let it rest, nag, nag, nag.

The end came when Frank Senior woke up one morning to her standing over him with a butcher knife screaming, "I must save the planet." He couldn't stand being treated like he carried the black plague in his own home, so he left. Up and packed his bags and walked out on the crazy wife and the boy. That's when she went back to the nut house and Frank got sent to live with Nana. He never heard another word from his father or his alien counterpart. Since the walk-in's had not taken over the planet in the last twenty years Frank figured the whole thing was just another figment of his mother's imagination.

"Frank, Frank, what are you thinking about?" Katherine said as she poked his arm. "I was telling you about the cat that poisoned his owner, but you weren't listening."

"Yeah," Frank responded, weary from the drawn out conversation which covered every story in the latest addition of _Scandals from around the Globe._

"While the man was asleep the cat put poison on his paw and wiped it on the man's lips. Told you pets were dangerous. That cat murdered his owner. Can you believe it? Can you?"

"No mangy animals comin' into my house. 'specially no damn cats," Nana said. "They smother babies, ya know? And probably old folks, too. Can't trust em." She pulled her dentures out and started picking food from them with a toothpick.

### Chapter Six

Rachel put her briefcase on the desk, then placed Ingrid on her red velvet kitty couch. Ingrid curled up, closed her eyes and purred.

Rachel glanced out her office window at the glorious city of Philadelphia. She loved the city and this office on the forty sixth floor of the City Central Office Complex provided her with a splendid view.

"You have a meeting in a few minutes to go over next week's issue," Sara said.

Rachel turned back toward her desk. "How's the cover?" She started to flip though the pile of papers that had accumulated while she was off for a long weekend. "I was only off two days. Look at all these messages."

"You haven't seen the cover yet?"

"Just the proof."

"I'll get you a copy. The photo of the mermaid came out fantastic. We've had calls on it already." Sara turned and left.

"Thanks," Rachel yelled as she removed her coat and settled into her chair. She put all the messages aside and started to flip through the articles her reporters had put on her desk for next week's issue.

"The man with ten thumbs, that's in, definitely." She set it to the left. "The president's wife adopts an alien baby, humm. Possibly the cover." She put that on top of the other. "World's fattest cat. People love cat stories. Always a hit." She put that on the pile. "Man shoots Bigfoot and nurses him back to health. Now that's a cover story." She put that on top. "Guess the president's alien baby gets moved to the inside cover."

Sara returned, paper in her hand, huge smile on her face. "Isn't it grand?" She set the latest copy of _Scandals from around the Globe_ in front of Rachel. "I think it's one of our best yet."

"Lovely." Rachel smiled as she looked at the cover story. "The Feejee mermaid, not seen in person since the late 1800's. Originally owned by P.T. Barnum, the creature was caught in the Far East by a seaman. Only one meter long with the head of a woman and the tail of a fish. Be sure to see this wonder for yourself. Now on exhibit with The Julius Roland Traveling Circus and Sideshow." She set it down and looked up at Sara. "It's perfect."

"We've sold two million copies already."

"That's above last week's sales and it's only Tuesday morning. Fantastic. Have you talked to Julius?"

"This morning. Ticket sales are through the roof. People have been standing in line since the article was released."

Rachel wiped the hair from her face and looked out the window longingly. "What town are they in this week?"

"Just outside D.C. Then they move south for winter."

"I bet he's happy."

"Ecstatic, to say the least. He wanted you to call him when you got the chance."

"Really? What did he want?"

"Didn't say." Sara placed a file folder in front of Rachel. "Here's the rest of the photos for the Bigfoot story. They're really good. The staff has a bet going that you'll choose it for the cover."

Rachel opened the folder and flipped through the pictures of what looked like Bigfoot resting in a king-size bed with a bandage around his arm. A doctor held his stethoscope to Bigfoot's heart and an unshaven hillbilly sat at the foot of the bed. "These are amazing."

Sara leaned over and pointed at the hillbilly. "That's Billy Joe Carter. He's the one who shot Bigfoot. That's his bed Bigfoot's sleeping in. The story's good, but it needs your touch. You might want to talk to this Billy Joe yourself, he's quite a character."

"Great pictures." Rachel chuckled at the sight of Bigfoot lying in a king-size bed covered with a blanket and the television remote in his furry paw. Probably just some dude dressed in a Halloween costume. It was a great story though and her readers didn't give a hoot if it was real or not. They just wanted to be entertained, see some interesting photos and read a fantastic tale. And she could spin a yarn better than anyone. Take a simple phone call from a stranger saying his grilled cheese sandwich looked odd and turn it into the return of Christ, the Saviors face, miraculously appearing on the man's grilled cheese. A message from Heaven, the Rapture was coming, a warning from God Himself imbedded in bread and cheese.

And her ability to create stories out of thin air made money. Lots of it. Not just for the magazine, but for the man who sold that grilled cheese on eBay for ten thousand bucks. It made money for the people who sold tickets to see the burn marks the alien spacecraft left in their back yard and this week it made money for The Julius Roland Traveling Circus and Sideshow, Rachel's ex-husband.

***

The caravan of eighteen wheelers and personal trailers pulled onto the field just south of Washington D.C. The procession of rusty old vehicles transported everything from Jeff, the gangly tall man, to Kevin, the almighty sword swallower. In just a day, the empty field of dew-covered grass would spring to life, and the Julius Roland Traveling Circus and Sideshow would be underway. The big top would rise into the sky, enthralling the audience with elephants, clowns, and tightrope walkers.

The excitement was why Julius did it. Even after all these years, opening day still made his palms sweat and his heart race.

Everyone knew their jobs, and within minutes of pulling onto the field, rides were being assembled, games were being put together, and folks were running from place to place. A real study in controlled chaos.

This would be the biggest show they'd had in years. That ex-wife of mine really came through this time, Julius thought, as he unloaded the Feejee mermaid and the other relics from the eighteen wheeler. Why'd he ever leave her? He had to wonder. It was a stupid, stupid thing to do and he regretted it every night.

"Julius, Rachel's on the phone," Jimmy, the tattooed man said. "See if she's coming down for opening night." He handed the phone to Julius. "Tell her to come, please, everybody wants to see her."

Julius brushed him away. "Hey there, sexy lady, how ya been? I was just thinking about you."

"Good thoughts, I hope."

"What else is there?"

"How's the show coming along? What's the mermaid like? As cool as it looks in the pictures?"

"Better, babe. I don't know how I'm ever gonna thank you. We're selling tickets faster than brownies at a Weight Watchers meeting. Looks like our southern shows are gonna be the same."

"You don't need to thank me. We've sold two million copies and it's only Tuesday."

"I can't believe there are two million people dumb enough to buy that rag you produce." Julius laughed.

"Oh you should talk, selling tickets to a freak show, that's a high quality living."

"Well, babe, I guess we both make a living off the oddities in the world. It's in our blood, you know that."

"Well, I'm glad you're happy. Hey did you hear about the devil man story we ran last week? He'd be great for your freak show?"

"Where'd you find him?"

"He's on display at that dime museum in Baltimore."

"Think the guy would sell?"

"I doubt it. He's drawing them in by the thousands. The guys got a nice collection down there. You might want to talk to him. Maybe you guys can trade gaff for awhile."

Julius kicked at the dirt and thought about Rachel sitting behind her fancy desk, probably dressed in some sexy low cut blouse and a tight skirt. "What's his name?"

"John Griffin. Nice guy. I'll mention you to him, see what I can do."

He held his breath and then, "Are you guys coming to the opening Saturday night?" He waited nervously.

"I wouldn't miss it for the world."

He let out the breath. "See you on Saturday then." He thought for a second. "And hey, Rachel, please don't bring a date. Maybe we can catch up on old times." He waited for her response, still kicking the dirt and praying.

"Sounds nice. I'll see you Saturday."  
He sighed. "Hey, babe, one more thing."

"Yeah."

"Thanks again, for you know, buying the mermaid. I really appreciate your help. The show was going under without you, ya know. Everybody here really wants to say thanks; they wouldn't have jobs if you hadn't saved the show."

"I'm glad I could help."

"Love ya, babe."

"Love you, too."

Julius hung on the line even after she'd hung up. 'Love you too,' she'd said. Did she mean it? Did she still love him? Not in the, we've known each other since we were kids, kind of love, but in the let's get back together kind of love. God he hoped it was that kind of love.

***

Rachel pictured Julius, rugged, handsome, unshaven and sexy. Sure he was fifty-five now but he looked better than ever. Short dark hair, muscular body. The tough guy type. The kind of guy that would have been a cowboy or a stagecoach robber in the old west. Somebody who would shoot the enemy between the eyes, down five shots of whiskey, and then bring roses to his wife.

To this day she couldn't remember why they'd split up. It was just one of those stupid things. She wanted to take the paper to a higher level and he wanted to stay on the road with the show. She regretted not figuring out some way to keep their marriage together. They were meant to be together. She was sure of it.

Rachel and Julius had a past, a long one. As children, their parents were both in the Sideshow. Her mother, Jasmine, starred in the hootchie-kootchie attraction and Julius's father, Carter, in the strong man ten-in-one.

The American Sideshows thrived in those days, selling a peek at everything from human oddities, like midgets or fat people, to working acts, folks who would perform magic tricks or daredevil stunts. Running performers often exhibited a number of feats that drew huge crowds, such as lying on a bed of nails, walking on glass shards, sword swallowing, and fire eating.

First there were the born freaks. These were people who had actual physical oddities; dwarfs, giants, pinheads, and bearded ladies. They were considered the best, therefore made the most money, and got the best trailers.

Then there were the geeks. Their aim was to gross out the audience, mostly by eating things nobody would ever want to eat. Like giant roaches. Made freaks came after that. People who were covered with tattoos or piercings or did stunts, like the human blockhead who could hammer nails into his nasal cavity.

Huge displays of what they called gaff were set up inside tents and people had to pay extra to see those. Some were real, like animals who'd been born with extra limbs. Others were fake, or gaff, which meant some artist made them up. By adding a horn to a pony they could bill it as the world's only unicorn.

The girly show ranged from a dance revue to a much racier strip show called the hootchie-kootchie. That was Jasmine's bread and butter. Traveling the country her attraction drew men and money right to her. The charismatic family charm left men drooling and broke by the end of the night. Jasmine loved having men groveling at her feet and she wouldn't give that up for love or money.

Julius and Rachel starred in their first act when they were only about six years old. They wore a body suit made of flesh-colored fabric sewn together at the hip and in dim lighting they looked like Siamese twins. They paraded around behind a curtain and patrons had to pay five cents to peek in at the fraudulent freaks.

As they got older, Julius shared in the stardom with his strongman father and Rachel became distracted with writing stories about the show. Her small paper, then titled, _Scandals from the Sideshow,_ sold out every week. She awed the fans with fairy tales and faked photos of flesh eating monsters and alien sightings. Who would ever have guessed the tiny newsletter she started as a young girl would bloom into a multi-million dollar tabloid.

Rachel went over the papers on her desk, trying to get everything organized for the next issue before she left for the weekend. "I love the typesetting on the Bigfoot story. It's the perfect cover." She handed it to Sara. "Nothing more for me to do on it."

Sara grabbed the proof and then looked at Rachel's calendar. "What time are you leaving on Saturday?" Sara asked. "I need to make your travel arrangements."

"Early, like seven a.m."

"Is the news crew going with you?"

"No, I'm going over to Baltimore first and meet with John Griffin in person. I want to see how the devil man story we ran affected his business. Maybe we can work on another story for a later issue. He's an interesting guy. Maybe we can even do a story about him or his museum."

Sara scribbled something on the calendar. "I'll have the crew meet you at the show in D.C. then."

"Sounds great. Julius will appreciate any publicity we give him."

Sara slid into the chair facing Rachel's desk. "How's things between you two?"

"I guess we'll find out Saturday night." Rachel smiled. She loved the idea of seeing Julius again. Was a little nervous about it, but still loved it. Even though he was her ex-husband he'd always be the only man for her. She hoped seeing him again would spark the fire that died before they went their separate ways, distracted by careers.

Sara smiled. "Well, I hope it works out. You were meant to be together."

Rachel stared out the window. The sky, bright blue with fluffy clouds, reminded her of the old days, being on the road. Traveling from town to town. Cuddling in the trailer with Julius on cold nights, planning the next sham. It was always about the next act, or poster, or gaff. Just like now. Still about the next story. The one that will pull the public in and get them to buy the magazine.

"Rachel are you okay?"

"Fine."

Sara put the calendar down and pulled out a pile of mail. "We got some great stories in the mail today. You want to hear about them?"

"What?"

Sara handed Rachel a letter with a photo clipped to it. "This is a great one. The baby who walked on water. What do you think, a cover?"

Rachel just stared at it. "What did the baby do?"

"Rachel, what's wrong with you?" Sara pushed the chair out, stood up, and placed the pile of paperwork on the corner of Rachel's desk. "I'm going to get you a cup of coffee and a doughnut. I bet you haven't eaten breakfast."

Rachel looked at the story. The photo looked faked but the retouching department could fix that. Her stomach growled. In all the rushing to get to work she'd skipped breakfast; she did that a lot lately.

Sara set a cup of steaming coffee and a chocolate glazed doughnut in front of her. "I hope this helps. We've got a lot of work to do."

Rachel snapped out of her daze. "Oh, I'm sorry, the baby story is fantastic. Just nervous about seeing Julius tomorrow night. I don't think it's a cover story, though. And this photo needs some retouching." She handed the letter and photo back to Sara.

"You're happy with this week's proof?"

Rachel flipped through the proof pages one more time. "It's perfect."

"So it can go to press then?"

"Yes. But I would like to send a crew out in a few weeks to do a follow-up on the man who nursed Bigfoot back to health. Can you schedule that?"

"Sounds great." Sara smiled. "I'll send the issue to the printer and get the staff meeting started to talk about next weeks."

As Sara left the office, Rachel thought about the day she first arrived, a young reporter with no experience. The 'real' papers wouldn't even give her an interview. But the minute she walked into Rachel's office, they were a team.

Sara was a bright girl with a great sense of humor and a knack for research, not Rachel's forte. She searched out stories, read hundreds and hundreds of letters, looked at photos and called every lead she could find. Then she presented Rachel with the best. Between the two of them, they turned goofy stories into great stories, sidelines into headlines.

The paper had record sales and that reflected in the paychecks, everyone's paychecks, even the janitors. Rachel liked to make money, but she also liked to share her success, so everyone on her staff got paid about four times what they'd make at a 'real' newspaper. She would gladly remind her arch enemy Colby Stafford of that every time he won the stupid best newspaper of the year award. He'd grin and glare at her as he walked off the stage carrying the tacky gold plated statue. But later in the ceremony she'd always saunter by his table and whisper in his ear, "Just remember, Colby, you'd be making seven figures if you worked for me."

She and Colby had a long standing war going on between them. Colby only wanted to write serious news and Rachel wanted to cover scandals. Colby thought Rachel's paper was a rag and she deemed his too somber. The war was on. The two hardheaded reporters did everything they could to hurt each other's reputations. But in Rachel's business a little scandal of her own usually helped sales. Definitely never hurt.

Sara peeked back in the office. "Meetings ready for you." She looked at the spoiled cat nestled on her own miniature sofa. "Is Ingrid going with you this weekend?"

Ingrid looked up, as if to say, why are you talking about me? And where are we going on Saturday?

"Of course. She never misses a road trip." Rachel smiled, grabbed her briefcase and headed to the meeting.

### Chapter Seven

Morning couldn't have arrived quickly enough for the dog. He jumped up the minute the sun peeked over the horizon and into the Pinto. He stretched, yawned, and worked his muscles. Once he felt awake, he wandered around depositing his scent on all surfaces. He'd sniff, recall the odor, either his own, or someone else's, and then piss. This process took a while. Every tree, car, stalk of tall grass, trash can, pole, etc. must be marked. This spot had become home, and home must be marked with the scent of fresh urine, yup, every day and night. The morning scent must be everywhere, so all wandering mongrels would know, this was his spot, and they were not welcome.

His stomach growled and his mind wandered to lunch. Would his personal chef arrive with a luscious mid-day meal from Heaven or would he be stuck with a dried up sandwich? His taste buds had been awakened by the glorious delights. They longed to relish the tender meats and fresh sauces. The garlic bread. The tomato sauce. The gravy. He drooled. The thought of fast food made him gag as he dreamed of the kind and gentle soul that created the masterpieces filled with flavor and love. Where did this man live? Why did he leave out a plate of food for a lonely mutt such as himself? Would he be there again? And most important, what would he bring for lunch?

***

Frank dressed hurriedly and rushed into the kitchen, hoping to get on his way before his mother or Nana awoke. He had the leftover Shepard's Pie packed neatly into plastic containers. One for himself. One for the dog.

He stuffed the containers into his backpack and ran out to the powder blue Ford Festiva his mother had so graciously let him purchase from the neighbor for a hundred bucks. Finally, he could stop riding the bus to work. He would have loved a new car, could have afforded it too, but he knew they'd just yell at him for spending money. "What do you want that for they'd say." He didn't even want anything fancy, just a new Volkswagen Rabbit or a Toyota Corolla.

His heart raced and his stomach churned with worry. Would the dog be there? What if he wasn't? What if he'd gotten picked up by the dog catcher or hit by a car? Oh, my God, he couldn't bear the thought. If the dog did come, what time? He didn't wear a watch. How would he know when it was noon? Would he like the pie? Frank couldn't concentrate on a thing. His mind was so filled with wonderment about the scraggly dog. In fact, so focused on the beast, he barely even noticed the office tarts laughing at him as he pulled up in the rusty car, leaving a trail of oil behind it and dragging the exhaust pipe like a tail. He could care less. Nothing could bother him today.

He waited impatiently for lunch time to arrive. The clock ticked slowly. Ten a.m. pisser break helped. He splashed his face with cold water, like he did every morning. But when he looked at himself he realized his skin looked better than usual. He still had a few zits on his cheeks and a black head or two on his nose, like poppy seeds on a bun. But honestly they appeared to be healing. In his state of surprise, he actually put some soap on his hands and scrubbed his skin, washing it thoroughly and drying it with a paper towel.

On his way back he stopped for his morning cup of coffee, but didn't load it with sugar. He passed by the doughnuts and the office tarts without a second thought. He had an air about him, never seen before, or even sensed, by others or himself.

### ***

The dog made his way past Mickey D's, didn't even stop for an egg on a muffin, nope. He pranced and smiled, as much as a dog's anatomy allowed him to smile. He had a huge grin on the inside and that was what really counted. He even stopped to let a few tourists pet him. Something he wasn't fond of. But heck, the chef had done something kind for him so he felt karma was working, and hell, if karma worked, then he'd better be nice to tourists. He didn't want any bad karma coming back to bite him in the butt, definitely not. Especially not now that he'd found the ultimate sensory delight for palate and soul.

Even though he'd had a rough start in life, he still had his pride. Homeless, goofy looking, but proud. He knew about love because his mother filled him with it. And even though not all humans had been compassionate to him, he gave them the benefit of the doubt, knowing somewhere out there his true human companion waited with open arms, a warm bed and dinner. Maybe, just maybe, this young man was his soul mate. What if karma had brought them together? Maybe it was time for the checks in his good karma pile to pay off. After all, he did save that boy from drowning in the creek and the purse snatcher he bit in the ass, that he figured had to earn him some points.

Past the supermarket, round the corner, and then left two blocks. He walked happily. His internal clock told him they'd be starting lunch in the office soon. He'd better hurry. By the time he arrived, people were headed out to pick up dry cleaning or grab a latte and a bagel.

He peeked around the corner, hopeful. There was the man. The angel from food Heaven, lover of taste buds, king of sauces, and maestro of fine cuisine. With a container in his hands. Yup, a container.

The dog's tail wagged. Saliva built up in his jowls. His mind ran crazy with ideas, his pulse raced and his heart pounded. Food, food, give me food, he thought. Container for me. Container for me.

Drool dangled from his lips like a fish on a line. He stammered about, as the man walked toward him. What is it today? he wondered. I can't stand it any longer, it's torture, pure torture.

Container, yup, big container. Could it be for me? yup, me? Sniff, sniff. The aroma was delightful. The man approached. Is he coming my way? Yup, sure is. Yup, it's for me.

### ***

Frank's pulse raced at the sight of the dog waiting in the parking lot. He'd come for lunch. He was safe. Frank carried the Shepard's pie past the row of cars and toward the dog. Should I try to approach him, he thought. What if I scare him? Wouldn't want to do that. "I'd love to pet you. But I don't want to scare you. You poor thing."

Time seemed to stand still, as if no one else in the world existed. Frank's mind was totally focused on the dog. He didn't notice the traffic on the street, people wandering by, or cars pulling in and out. He just stared straight ahead, watching the entire body of the dog wag along with his tail.

***

The dog watched every step as the stranger approached. Right foot, left foot, right foot. What took only a few seconds seemed like hours. His taste buds grew restless. As the man stepped on to the sidewalk, he could feel tingling sensations run up and down his spine. Magic filled the air as the man looked into his eyes and spoke.

"Hi, I'm Frank, I made you lunch." He placed the container on the ground and removed the lid. "I hope you like it." He backed up a few steps. "It's Shepard's pie with hamburger and corn and mashed potatoes topped with gravy."

Did he say gravy, the dog thought. Gravy? He lowered his nose over the container, and took a deep breath. The smell was magnificent. He filled his lungs to capacity, held the air inside his body and closed his eyes, making the moment of pure bliss last as long as possible. Then he opened his eyes and gobbled up every last bite. He licked the container until there was not one scrap of gravy or hamburger left, sat down, licked his lips, and looked at the stranger with graciousness.

***

Frank was so relieved knowing the dog enjoyed the treat. And the look on his face. Frank had never had anyone look at him with such thankfulness. "Was it good, boy? Was it?" He grabbed the container, replaced the lid and wondered what he should do next. "Do you have a home?" The dog looked friendly. But Frank didn't want to frighten him. "It's not safe for you to be living on the street. And winter's coming." The dog just stared. "Can we be friends?" Frank was unsure, but... "Can I pet you? Are you friendly? It's okay, boy. I won't hurt you." Unfortunately, Frank's moves were fast and jerky. The dog panicked as soon as Frank touched his head. He turned and ran as fast as he could, without looking back. "Shit."

Frank stood on the street corner, lost. "Why did you run? You obviously liked the meal. I'm friendly." The sounds of the city came booming back as the moment of joy passed. He looked at the empty container. "Sorry, boy. I didn't mean to scare you." For a brief moment the dog had taken him to a different place and time, to a life where love could still be a possibility. He walked back to his office and wondered why happiness was always so fleeting.

### Chapter Eight

If the dog could have kicked himself in the ass he would have. He walked slowly; head drooped wondering why he got scared. What made him nervous? The stranger seemed friendly enough. The food was flawless. It still tingled on his taste buds. But he turned from the kind hand and ran. Stupid, stupid mutt, he told himself. What were you thinking you dim-witted mongrel? You'll always be homeless at this rate. Do you want to sleep in a burnt out car forever? Do you want to be on the verge of starvation for the rest of your life?

Faced with kindness he panicked. This could have been his one and only chance for a home of his own. He wanted that. Really he did. But for some reason the possibility of a family, love, and a bed intimidated him. The hope of getting off the streets was just too much for a mutt to comprehend. The anticipation, where there had been none, overwhelmed him into a state of fear.

Thoughts of what could have been made him depressed. He was afraid to move forward, let the stranger care, love him for that matter. He'd never loved anyone, except his mother. And he'd definitely never been loved by a human. His fear sent him running from the one chance he had. Instead of going home with that nice young man, he wandered the streets, lonely and miserable. He wondered what the man would be cooking for supper. And he hated himself for not being there.

***

Frank's cubicle seemed even more boring that afternoon and so did he. Barely able to keep his head on his shoulders, he hung around like a limp rag for the rest of the day. Why did the dog run, kept going over and over in his mind. He seemed to like the food, maybe it was him he hated, most people did, why shouldn't a mutt? How could he ever think he'd find companionship? It was hopeless. Even a homeless starving dog didn't want to be with him. Seemed like he'd be relegated to care for the two old hags for the rest of his life. He'd probably become just like them, hell, in some ways he already had.

But deep inside, his mind still wandered to dinner. What should he make? Just in case. Perhaps lunch tomorrow would bring the dog back. If he wasn't too scared. He'd come looking for a treat and he could try again. A tinge of wonder crossed his mind. "Will you come back tomorrow? Could I have another chance? What should I cook? What would you truly love? Meat. All dogs love meat." Frank thought for a minute. "Meatloaf and mashed potatoes. That would be delightful for the dog, delightful."

He waited for five o'clock to arrive and then buzzed through the supermarket, grabbing ingredients. He longed to know where the dog might be. "Are you somewhere safe? Sleeping in the cold? I wish I knew where to look for you."

That night he prepared dinner for his mother and Nana, but his mind still thought about the sparkle in the dog's eyes. And even though the rat poison screamed at him, he blocked it from his mind. He stuffed cotton in his ears and tried to close off the very demanding voices. "You should just put yourself out of your misery, Frank," it said. "That dog will never love you. You scared him away."

But he managed to fight with his internal demons. "Please, spare me one more night. Just twenty four hours is all I need. Let me hold off without poisoning myself for twenty four hours." He didn't really think the poison would win, it never had, but it had never screamed louder than it bellowed that night. "Even a homeless dog doesn't want you."

The cold morning air shot thru his aching body as he climbed into the rusty car and zoomed to work. The large container of meatloaf on the dirty blue seat beside him held within it his dreams. "Maybe, just maybe, you'll come again."

The morning ticked by slowly. He followed his usual routine down to the second, but his mind longed for the clock to strike twelve.

Finally, noon came and he ran down to the parking lot, large plastic container of meatloaf in his hands.

The dog wasn't there.

He waited. "Please, boy, please come. Give me another chance. Please." He shivered and zipped his coat. He watched the lot and imagined the big mutt standing there devouring the meatloaf.

Nothing.

He looked through the two neighboring parking lots, and then walked up and down the street, five blocks in each direction. No sign of any dog.

He looked at his watch. A half hour had gone by. "I've got to get back to work. I'm sorry I missed you." He walked back toward his office, Tupperware container still filled with meatloaf. He didn't even want to eat it himself. The world felt like a void of un-relished meals and poison filled tea cups. He looked one more time. Disappointed, he entered the building and made his way back to his lonely tan cubicle.

***

The dog watched from around the corner, too scared to move, yet longing to run up and let the stranger know his true feelings. He could smell the meat. Knew the container probably had gravy and meat. Yummy, gravy and meat. And maybe potatoes. Yet he just watched as the poor man stood in the cold waiting for him. It filled his heart with empathy. Yet his fear held him back. In the face of change, he chickened out.

He didn't like living on the streets, begging for food and sleeping in burnt out cars, but it was his life, what he knew. And what he knew felt safer than the unknown. He had to be willing to leave his okay life for the chance at real happiness.

He watched as the stranger looked at his watch and then headed back into the office building. Once he was out of sight the dog left. He didn't even feel like stopping at Wendy's. Instead, he wandered the park, thinking, questioning, debating. Why was he so afraid of change? Could he ever let go of his old life and accept a new one? His mind analyzed every question that flashed through it.

The afternoon slid slowly away and before he knew it the sun had set. The wind blew and the thought of sleeping in the burnt out Pinto made him feel even more alone. If he wanted a better life he needed to take some risks, step up, be a man, give it a shot. Yup, give it shot; that was his conclusion. What the hell, he thought, what's the worst that can happen? Tomorrow I'll go to lunch. Hopefully the stranger will be waiting with another homemade delicacy and I will be brave and run right up and apologize. I will wag my tail and let him pet me. I will. I know I will. Or at least I will try.

As he made his way back through the park, he noticed the silhouette of a man sitting on the park bench. It wasn't often he saw anyone in the park this late. He knew he should be getting back to the Pinto before some other homeless mutt claimed it, but something smelled like food and his stomach was grumbling loudly. Maybe somebody dropped a sandwich, he thought as he chased the scent. But that only lead him closer to the crazy man sitting in the dark, head bowed.

Maybe the guy was dead. Sometimes that happened. A homeless drunk would pass out and die. Still, he could smell food. And it was coming from the man. He sniffed the air again...not a sandwich, nope, it was meat. Some kind of cooked meat.

His nose made him take another step. Now he was close enough to see that the man was holding a plastic container. Apparently not dead. Another step. But it wasn't any plastic container, it was the plastic container! He'd recognize it anywhere. The container from earlier. The round green one he watched the poor guy standing on the street corner holding. And the smell, it made him drool. How could it be? Impossible, the dog thought. But he moved closer. It was him. It really was him. Still holding lunch. And it smelled amazing. The dog's stomach rumbled like a worn out muffler.

He moved in carefully until he was sitting right in front of the bench. But the man still didn't look up. His head just hung limp, like one of those ducks in the window at the Chinese restaurant. And he looked so, so sad. Tears ran down his cheeks.

The dog wondered what to do. I've got to make the first move, he thought. I've got to be brave or loose my opportunity. I do. I really do. Be brave. You can do it. So he stood up, gathered all his courage, and nudged the man's hand with his big wet nose.

The man's head shot up. "Oh my God! What are you doing here, boy?" he shouted. "I can't believe it."

The dog nudged his hand again.

The man dropped to his knees and wrapped his arms around the dog's neck. "I'm so glad you're here, boy. I'm so glad."

The man dried his tears and smiled. The dog felt incredibly happy as they sat together. For the first time, he was not alone and neither was the man. They had each other.

***

Frank wondered what to do next. The dog's wet nose nudged his hand and he ran it over the soft fur. He wanted to just grab him and take him home. But he didn't want to scare him again. And how would he deal with Nana? That would be almost impossible.

His head told him he better do the right thing. This meeting was more than a coincidence. It was a message. "Here you go, Frank, a chance at love. You better do something before it slips away," the voice in his head said. "Do something, now." It sounded just like the rat poison. But this time it wanted him to do something good. Should he listen? Was he ready to move forward? Would the dog even want to come home with him? He obviously liked being on his own. Would he want to be confined to a house? Would Nana throw them both out on the street? Was he ready to have the responsibility of owning a dog? Was the dog ready to have an owner?

He took a deep breath of cold fresh air and slowly blew it out. The opportunity to dream sat right beside him. Finally, a friend he could trust. Someone to love. An angel with big sad eyes, sent to rescue him from a life of dullness.

He couldn't let this prospect pass. If he went home without the dog the rat poison would be calling him worthless. He did it to save Nana. He did it to give the poor mutt a home. And he did it to save himself from a life of powder blue Festivas and tan cubicles.

"What do you think, boy?" Frank smiled. "You want to go home with me? I've got leftover meatloaf."

The dog licked his cheek.

"I live in a house. And you can share my bed." The tail wagged. "I assume the tail wagging means, yes?" He patted the dog's big head. "We're going to have to sneak you in, my Nana hates dogs. But my room is near the back door. It'll be easy."

Frank stood up and started walking. The dog just sat there looking forlorn. "Come on, really." Frank leaned down and tapped his thigh. "Come, boy, please."

The dog jumped up and ran toward Frank. He leaned against his leg. "We're going to be together, no matter what." He turned and started walking. The dog followed. "By the way, my name's Frank. What's yours?" Frank stopped to look at the dog's face. "Hmm, I guess we're going to have to think about that one. I wonder if you've got a name. You need a really good name. One that fits a cute dog like you."

They tromped through the park. It was the most beautiful night Frank had ever seen. The lights made a dim yellow glow and the weeds blew in the wind. The dog chased him. He chased the dog. He forgot about the future, his mother and Nana, and all their problems which seemed so overwhelming just an hour ago. The tears were dry, the snot wiped away and his sadness faded like a worn pair of overalls. "What about Buster? That's a cute name. Yes, I think I'll call you Buster."

### ***

Buster ran and jumped. He'd never had so much fun. But could he trust this guy? They'd just met, after all, and now he was going home with him. He'd told himself he'd never trust another human. But this guy seemed nice. And what a chef. Even if he ended up not being as nice as he seemed, the food would be good. He could tolerate a lot to eat meals like that. After all, what more did he really need?

A warm bed would be nice. Companionship could be great. He'd never had it. Someone to look out for. Someone to protect. That was a dog's job. To protect their owner. Wow, he had a job. A meaning. A purpose. And hopefully a home. But to get all that he had to be willing to give up his freedom and take a chance. Could he do it? He guessed he'd try.

Maybe this Frank guy has a big bed, Buster thought. And a fireplace. Maybe he'll feed me big steak bones. Yeah, yeah, he'll have steak bones and big yard. And we can run and play and he'll buy me toys from a pet store. A real pet store. The kind that people take their dogs to. Yeah, I'd love to go into a pet store. I'd stand right next to Frank and look proud. I've got an owner. Yup, sure do. Right there. Yup, that handsome guy. And he'll buy me anything I want cause he loves me. That'll be me, Buster, looking all cool. Maybe he'll even buy me a collar.

***

Frank held the car door open and Buster climbed in. The car never looked so good, Frank thought. "I hope you don't get car sick."

Frank started the engine and pulled out of the park. There wasn't much traffic and within fifteen minutes they were out of the city and headed down the side street, through the neighborhood and into the driveway.

The tiny white house looked homey, lights flickering behind lace curtains. But Frank knew better. Inside, Nana was bitching that dinner wasn't ready and smoking until she choked. His mother hadn't moved all day and was sitting in the same recliner still dressed in her pink robe, totally immersed in the latest scandal sheet and waiting to tell him all about it.

"Is that you, Frank?" Katherine shouted.

"Yes, Mother, I'll be right in." Frank snuck Buster in the back door, screen slamming behind him. They slinked down the hallway like two spies secretly chasing a thief. Buster was perfectly quiet and Frank sighed with relief as they made their way into the small bedroom. He turned on the lamp by the bed and the warm incandescent glow lit the room.

The old brown carpet looked like something from a cheap hotel. The walls, beige of course, were free of pictures, art or mementos of any kind. Up until now he had mostly memories he wanted to forget. A pine desk sat in the corner neatly set with a pad, pencil and eraser, un-used. His open closet revealed what looked like a ninety-year-old man's garage sale. A pitiful selection of gray, tan, and brown polyester pants, three dress shirts, and a brown, ribbed cardigan.

A few books sat on the bedside stand, mostly Shakespeare. He could only read literature his Nana approved of; made for a terrible selection. The full size bed sat in the middle of the room, sagging mattress and all. It had two pillows covered with threadbare pillow cases sporting large yellow and lime green flowers. The quilt, brown and orange striped, had obviously been on the bed since the seventies and tacky as it might have been, it was the only colorful thing in his life. Until now.

### Chapter Nine

"What the hell you been doin', boy? I'm fadin' fast here, ya know," Nana shouted. "It's almost seven and we ain't had dinner."

Frank didn't answer.

"And what the hell smells so bad? Smells like something dead. Better not be dinner smellin' like that." Silence. "Smells like wet dog hair. Frank, were ya pettin' that damn dog from next door again, were ya?"

"Shit, she smells you already," Frank said. "Why can't her sense of smell be as bad as her hearing?" He leaned out the door and yelled, "I'll be out in a second." He looked at Buster and then patted the bed. "Will this be okay, boy?"

Buster looked at him inquisitively.

"Come on, it'll be comfortable. It's a real bed, okay?"

Buster hopped onto the mattress, lay down and closed his weary eyes.

"You can use my pillow if you want." Frank sat down next to Buster and stroked his fur. "I hope you're going to like it here. I need to go make dinner. Will you be alright?"

Buster wagged his tail.

"I'll bring you dinner in a little bit."

Frank closed the bedroom door and headed into the kitchen. "I hope leftover meatloaf is okay. I had to work late." He could hear the creaking of Nana's chair and smell cigar smoke.

"What ya tryin' ta do, kill off yer old Nana? Leftovers ain't no good fer me, ya know." She coughed.

"I'm sorry, Nana," Frank said. "Really, I had to work late."

"Are ya really sorry? If ya were ya wouldn't a done it in the first place. Makin a dyin' ol lady eat leftover meatloaf."

Frank grabbed the rest of the meatloaf from the refrigerator. He topped it off with some ketchup, Nana's idea, and stuffed it into the oven.

"Leftovers will be fine, Frank," Katherine said politely.

He poured the extra gravy into a saucepan and put it on the burner, then took out the mashed potatoes, added some more butter and milk, covered them with foil and put them into the oven beside the meatloaf. "It should only be a few minutes."

"That's fine, dear."

Frank wondered why his mother had become such an advocate. Could it be just the anticipation of their upcoming trip to see the devil man's mummy? But he couldn't really think about dinner or his crazy family right now. All he could think about was the secret hidden in his bedroom. He wanted to run in, grab Buster and tell them he was staying. He wanted to eat a big plate of meatloaf with Buster at his feet doing the same.

"I'm starvin' ta death in here." Nana moved to the dining room. "If we don't eat soon we're gonna miss Perry Mason."

Frank took Nana her Bud Light hoping it would quiet her down. "Here you go, Nana, a nice cold drink. Dinner's almost ready." He wondered what the hell he was going to do about Saturday's outing. He couldn't leave the dog alone. He had to be a man and stand up to his mother and grandmother and tell them out right, "Momma, Nana, I've got a dog and he's going to live here and he's coming with us on Saturday. And that's that." He could only imagine the angry riot that would create. Nana would probably insist the dog had rabies, and his mother would probably think the dog was Frank Senior, back for revenge, another walk-in.

But Frank knew his new friend sleeping in the bedroom needed him to be strong. For the first time in his life he had to stand up to them, tell them how he really felt and what he wanted. It was time for him to stop being their doormat. Even though he was terrified, he knew deep in the pit of his stomach, change was in the air. "Dinner's ready."

The recliner went up and his mother shuffled into the dining room. "Lovely, dear." She plopped into her chair.

"Mother, Nana," Frank said as he placed their dinner in front of them. "I need to talk with you about something."

"Did ya get shit canned boy?" Nana said as she stuffed a big fork full of meatloaf into her mouth.

"No, I didn't get fired." He hesitated, took a deep breath, swallowed the lump in his throat. "You know how I've always wanted a dog?" He fell into a chair before he passed out. "Well, I found one."

Silence. Then, "What the hell ya talkin' bought? Ain't no dog livin' under my roof. If ya even try, I'll kick ya so hard yer ass will roll up and down yer back like a window shade."

"What a minute mother," Katherine said. "Where did you find a dog, Frank?"

Frank leaned forward. "At work. He was starving."

"How do you know he doesn't have a home already?"

"Trust me, he doesn't."

Nana threw her fork on the table. "Over my dead body will any damn dog be comin' in my house. It ain't happin'. No flea bittin' mongrel bringin' disease in ta my house."

"Is he a nice dog?" Katherine said.

"Don't be matterin' if he's nice as good ol' pastor Bob. He ain't spreadin' his germs around here. Before ya know it he'll be pissin' and shittin' on this right beautiful carpet."

"He's sweet, Mom," Frank said.

"This here's my house and I'm makin' the rules. Ain't no damn dog livin' here and I ain't cleanin' up dog shit."

Katherine smiled. Just when he thought she was finally going to act like a real mother and stick up for him, she turned to him and said, "She's right, it's her house and she is kind enough to let us live here. We have to follow her rules."

Frank slid his chair back nonchalantly. "Alright." He returned to the kitchen, grabbed the raspberry pie and two plates and set them on the dining room table. "I guess the dog and I will be moving out on Saturday morning then." He turned and walked away as if nothing had happened.

"Good, go then damn it," Nana shouted.

"I'll be taking my paycheck with me," Frank whispered.

"What did you say, Frank?" Katherine asked.

He leaned against the door frame and looked into the dining room. "Sorry we won't be going on the trip to see the devil man, Mother. I've got to spend Saturday finding an apartment." He watched as a look of terror and shock shot across her face. "I'll be busy moving out. Maybe you can get a ride from someone else."

He turned and left the room.

***

Katherine jumped from her chair. "Frank, no, please, you can't do this to me." Her face felt flush and her head throbbed. Thinking about visiting the dime museum in Baltimore made her feel more alive than she'd felt in a long, long time. She couldn't lose that now. No way. He couldn't take that away. If he did they might as well shoot her. Just get it over with. There was nothing left to live for. She pulled her robe closed and wrapped her arms around her torso. "You promised, Frank. You promised."

"Well, if I can keep the dog here, I can take you," Frank yelled from the kitchen. "If not, I've got to get my own apartment."

She looked at Nana.

"No," Nana said defiantly.

Katherine went into the kitchen and looked at Frank pleadingly.

"I guess you've got your answer then," he said.

She flopped into the kitchen chair, head in her hands. Now it wasn't going to happen. The road trip canceled. She pulled _Scandals from around the Globe_ out of her pocket and looked at the cover. The Julius Roland Traveling Circus. "Now I'll never get to go." She threw it across the room. "I combed my scraggly mop for nothing. Now I'm being left in the lurch, alone. All alone, with no dreams of my own. I'll have to spend the rest of my life sitting here in this dump reading the tabloids and dreaming of adventures. Just dreaming." She started to cry.

Frank handed her a tissue. Then turned back to cleaning up the dishes and making up a plate for the dog.

She sniffled and then blew. "Please, Frank, let's at least go Saturday. Just to the museum. I'll never ask you for another thing. Please."

Frank put the leftovers in the refrigerator and grabbed the plate filled with meatloaf, potatoes, and carrots, topped with dark brown gravy. "Talk to Nana then," he said. "Either the dog stays, or we both go. No devil man. No home cooked meals. No paycheck." He walked down the hall and the last thing she heard was the bedroom door slam shut.

"Damn it," she said as she dragged her depressed body back into the dining room. "Please, Mother, can we try with the dog. Frank does a lot around here and he's only asking for a dog."

Nana slammed her hand on the table. "Ain't no dog livin' here. It'll be leavin' dog hair on all my beautius furniture."

"Can't we just think about it?"

"I done thought about it already. No." Nana hobbled from the dining room into the living room, sat in her chair and turned on Perry Mason.

Katherine followed. "But--"

"Can't ya see Perry's on." Nana turned up the volume.

Katherine huffed, turned and left the room. She made her way up the stairs, slammed her bedroom door, curled up into a ball and sobbed. "I'll never get out of this place. I feel like I'm in a prison. Might as well be back in the nut house."

Ever since she was a little girl Katherine had a longing to know why things were the way they were. She asked herself questions like why was the sky blue, the grass green, and the sun so bright? Why did it rise and set? And who decided what time that would happen? She looked at people and wondered why some were fat, and some were thin. Why some were short, or tall, or had black hair. Who made all these decisions? Or was it random? And if it was just random, why'd she get stuck with parents that swore like sailors and drank almost as much?

When he was alive, her father was worse than Nana. They'd get in some rip roaring battles. He'd chase her around the kitchen table with a butcher knife. She'd hit him with the wrought iron skillet. But for some reason they stayed together. Katherine hated the yelling, so she'd sneak up to her bedroom, stuff cotton in her ears and read.

One day she found a book at the library about the history of the sideshow and it took her mind away from home. She dreamed about being on the road. She read about the fairs in Renaissance Europe where people from exotic places would roam the countryside performing unusual feats for change or food. She imagined herself living on a wagon doing some fearless act to pay for her meals. Life on the road would be fun, she wouldn't have to listen to her parents, or go to school. She'd fall in love with some rustic countryman. They'd travel the world, and live happily ever after.

Then she'd hear the sirens. The neighbors called the police again. And they'd haul her father off to jail for the night. Her mother would refuse to press charges and the next night it would start all over again, the gin, the cigars, the gambling, and then the yelling.

She'd bury her face in the book and read about the settlers who brought the sideshow, displaying human oddities, to the shores of North America. They only charged a dime for a peek. She imagined herself living in Manhattan and helping Phineas Taylor Barnum set up his museum of curiosities. She would travel the world helping him find the freaks he needed. They'd journey to Africa in search of pinheads and England for the giant hairball from a pig. In Eastern China, they'd find midgets, and people who could bend in all directions. She'd help him bring the oddities back to New York and together they'd draw hundreds of people in to see their new finds. They'd eat exotic foods and travel in boats and trains across countries that she'd otherwise never even know existed. She'd make enough money to buy beautiful handmade dresses and eventually her own apartment in Manhattan.

Then the doorbell would ring. The police would haul her father away and her mother would get drunk and pass out in front of the television. She'd close the book and cry herself to sleep. Just like she was doing now. Almost fifty years later.

### Chapter Ten

After Buster licked every last drop of gravy from his plate, they went for a long walk. He did his business and before Frank knew it they were cuddled together on the bed. He put his arm around the dog. For the first time in his life, he felt secure and happy, like he had a real companion. He pulled the covers up over himself and then tucked them in around Buster. "Do you want a pillow, boy? Do ya?" He lifted the dogs head and stuffed the extra pillow under it. Buster just sighed. Frank assumed he'd never seen a pillow before, but he closed his eyes and quickly fell asleep. Frank stared at him. It felt so good to have a friend.

"Thank you for Buster," Frank prayed. "I promise to give him a great home and take really good care of him." Buster snored loudly, but the bed never felt so comfortable. Frank's exhaustion finally set in, he closed his eyes, and slept soundly through the night. When he awoke, Buster was already up, looking at him and wagging his tail.

"Good morning, Buster. How'd you sleep?" Frank patted his big head. "Good, I hope. Are ya hungry?" He listened at the door. "Doesn't sound like they're up yet." He looked at the clock. "Yes, it's early. We've got at least an hour before they stir." He grabbed his sweatpants and then a t-shirt. "I bet you need to go potty."

After their morning walk, Frank took some old boxes from the basement and packed his books and some clothes. He didn't own much, so within a few minutes it looked like he'd emptied his small room. He carried the boxes down the hallway and placed them in a stack right next to the back door. Buster followed. He labeled them 'Frank's new place' with black marker. "My mother is sure to see them there." He laughed. "Then she'll look in my room, the reality will set in and she'll apologize." He walked toward the kitchen. "Let's make some breakfast."

He took some eggs from the refrigerator and scrambled them with chunks of ham and cheddar cheese. Made four slices of buttered toast and poured Buster a bowl of water and himself an orange juice. He placed Buster's plate on the floor and slipped into the kitchen chair. He looked at the clock. "We better get a move on. I don't want to see them this morning. Like my father used to say, 'A bucket of shit doesn't stink until you stir it.' And the bucket of shit I opened last night, I'd just as soon leave undisturbed." He smiled as he watched Buster devour his breakfast. "You're going to have to entertain yourself while I'm at work. There's no way I can leave you here."

Frank put the plates in the dishwasher and headed back down the hall. "As soon as my mother sees those boxes it should really set in that her trip to see the devil man will never happen. Plus, they'll be broke without my paycheck. Nana will be eating boxed macaroni and cheese for the rest of her life. But most of all, my mother will realize she'll never get to see The Julius Roland Traveling Circus and Sideshow or the Feejee mermaid. Her dream will be lost forever. By tonight they'll be begging me for forgiveness."

The sun shone brightly so Frank and Buster walked to work instead of driving. They went through the park and past the Mickey D's. Buster sniffed the air. Then down the city streets. Frank felt completely content. Even though they might be homeless tomorrow, he felt stronger and more alive than he'd ever felt before. He'd stuck up for himself. He really did it. He'd talked back to his mother. Stood up for something he believed in. For the first time in his life he had a sense of pride. He'd done the right thing and he knew it. Buster pranced by his side.

When he got to work everything seemed different. The walls didn't seem so boringly tan and his life didn't appear so dullish gray. He even smiled and said good morning to the secretary at the front desk. He stood up tall with his shoulders back and his head held high. No drooping face or sagging posture. He even walked up the stairs to his office rather than taking the elevator.

***

Katherine pulled the covers up around her neck. She could hear Frank down in the kitchen talking to the dog. The damn dog had ruined everything. If he hadn't shown up they'd be packing for the trip. Now it'd just be another day dressed in the pink fleece robe watching Nana spit up and Perry Mason put way the bad guys. She couldn't take it. She pulled Doctor Hobart's number from her pocket. Always kept it there, just in case. She stared at the wrinkled up scrap of paper. Should she call him? He might come get her and lock her back up. She didn't want that. Even though he was her doctor, she still didn't trust him.

The downstairs door slammed. "I'm sorry, Frank," she mumbled. She felt like she'd let him down. Giving in to Nana again. On the other hand, she was jealous of him. Always had been. He could leave the house without fear. Have a real job. Get dressed and eat lunch in a cafeteria. Have a car and drive anywhere he wanted. And now, now he had a friend.

Her only real friend had been Frank Senior. But after he got taken over by the walk-in nothing was the same. When they first were married life seemed good. Even had an apartment of their own. He had a job and could put food on the table. Soon after, Frank Junior came along, and life was perfect for awhile. But the memories of her childhood made her afraid. Afraid they'd be knocking at the door arresting her or her husband. She knew they were watching. Nana had told her about the sneaky government agencies that liked to spy on families in that neighborhood. Men in black suits watched her everywhere she went. They'd be sitting in shiny black cars across the street looking at the house with binoculars. Definitely walk-ins. Then she found a bug in the telephone and tiny, tiny cameras hidden around the house.

Frank Senior tried to tell her no one was watching and even said the cameras weren't there, but she felt sure he'd become one of them. They wanted her and Frank Junior for some experiment. Then the three-eyed man came along and she couldn't get him out of her head. She thought about the stories she'd read as a child. It made her want to escape. Go on the road. Join the circus.

She took her bottle of anti-depressants, poured them into her hand and swallowed. When she woke up she was tied to the bed at the Hobart Asylum.

That was twenty years ago and she still shuttered at the thought. She stuffed Doctor Hobart's number back into her pocket and shuffled off to the bathroom.

### ***

Buster had to entertain himself until lunch time. But in his happy state of mind, it didn't seem hard. He walked back to the park; even let people pet him along the way. He played with the other dogs. Had fun with the children and did tricks for some of the tourists. He scratched his back on fence posts, chased squirrels and watched the birds. He thought about life with Frank and how nice it was to have a bed. He wandered by the burnt out Pinto and didn't mark his territory. It wasn't his anymore. A new homeless dog could have it. He had a mattress and a pillow. A pillow. He never knew such a thing existed.

He felt bad Frank had fought with his family, but there was nothing he could do about it. Now that he'd found a friend he wasn't giving him up under any circumstances. If that meant they were going to be homeless, then they'd be homeless together. But Frank wouldn't let that happen, he'd find them a place. Even if they had to move out of his Nana's house, Frank would find them a place with a kitchen and a bed and pillows. That was really all they needed.

Buster heard his stomach growling as he headed back toward Frank's office building. Must be near lunch, he thought. I wonder what we're having today? The warm sun made the day bright, but it could have been a freezing, dark day and the sun would have still been shining on him.

### ***

Frank plowed through his work editing the articles his supervisor had left on his desk. He wondered what would be going on at home. Did his mother spot the boxes? Would they understand his threat to be serious? He chuckled thinking about them trying to decide what to do. "By tonight they'll either apologize, or me and Buster will be out on the street." He typed 'cheap apartments for rent, Philadelphia,' into Google. A whole list of rentals came up. Unfortunately, anything in his price range was in a bad neighborhood. He sighed. "No, Frank, no. Nothing is going to get you down today. Everything is going to be fine."

The phone rang.

"Hello," Frank answered shyly. He never had phone calls at work. He had no friends to call him. No business associates or clients of his own.

"Frank, it's Claudia."

He said nothing, wondering who the hell Claudia was.

"It's Claudia, the secretary at the front desk."

"Oh, hi," he blurted, wondering why that gorgeous woman would call him.

"There's a lady down here to see you. She says she's your mother."

Frank's heart sunk. "What?"

"There's a woman waiting down here for you. She says she's your mother."

"Holy shit." Frank slammed the phone down in a panic. "Goddamn it." He ran out of the office, down the hallway, and pressed the down arrow on the elevator. He couldn't help picturing his crazy mother standing in the middle of the lobby in her dirty pink fleece housecoat, un-showered, smelling like week old body odor masked with Jean Nate and red wine. Her hair looking like a rat's nest and big yellow duck boots on her feet. He'd be the laughing stock of the building. He pressed the down arrow again, harder, jumping up and down like a kid that had to pee. What if she'd brought Nana? Claudia didn't say Nana was with her. What if she just hadn't said. Oh-my God what if...

Finally, the elevator arrived. He rushed in, pressed L for lobby and thought about the conversation his lunatic mother would be having with Claudia right now. She'd probably be telling her about the devil man and the Feejee mermaid with her slurred speech and dreadful breath, and spitting on Claudia's beautiful dress.

The elevator doors opened. He ran out and glanced around the lobby. The pink fleece was nowhere to be found. His eyes scanned the room again and again. Nothing. He looked around every corner. Checked the waiting area. No sign of her. He wiped his sweaty palms on his polyester pants and walked over to Claudia's desk. For a second he felt relieved, probably an office joke. Yes, that was it; the tarts were toying with him.

"Excuse me. Hi, I'm Frank." His voice quavered. "You called about my mother."

Claudia looked up from her computer and smiled. "Oh yes, Frank," she said. "Your mother went for coffee with Mr. Stafford. They said for you to meet them in the cafeteria."

"What?" Frank shouted as a feeling a pure dread came over him. "Mr. Stafford?" He swallowed hard and tried to steady himself by leaning on Claudia's desk as beads of sweat formed on his forehead. "Are you sure?"

"They're downstairs in the cafeteria."

"No, please, no. Not Mr. Stafford." Frank turned from the desk and ran, flying down the steps like he had wings. Now his crazy mother had not only gone through the lobby in her pink fleece and yellow boots smelling of armpits, but, if Claudia was right, sat in the cafeteria with his boss, the one and only Mr. Colby Strafford. He would get fired for sure.

He ran down the three flights of stairs at full speed, barely stopping to turn the corner. He went over and over the scenario in his head. It could only turn out bad. Very, very bad. His boss sitting with his lunatic mother. Nothing good could ever come of it. And why was she there? What the hell did she want? He didn't even think she knew what building he worked in.

His shoes slid as he turned the corner and threw the door open to the cafeteria. Luckily, he grabbed the door before he fell on his ass. Everyone looked up. He shook it off, straightened up and glanced around. No sign of her. He spotted Mr. Stafford, but he was sitting with a pretty woman in a black dress and gray poncho.

Frank scanned the room as he stood in line waiting for a cup of coffee. No sign of the pink fleece. Just the normal tan cafeteria, lined with Formica tables and gray plastic chairs. It smelled bad, as always, like burnt coffee and grease. "Black, please," he said to the lady behind the counter. While she poured, he looked again. No sign of her. "Thank God." He felt relieved, took the coffee, handed the woman fifty cents and turned to go back to his office, chalking the whole thing up to a prank.

Just as he stepped into the hall, a woman yelled, "Frank, over here."

He turned quickly.

The woman in the black dress waved. "Here, Frank, over here."

Frank stepped closer, but still thought his eyes had deceived him. It was his mother. Sitting with Mr. Stafford. Showered and dressed. In real clothes. It took him a minute. He hadn't seen her dressed in years. Finally, he walked toward them. "Good morning, Mr. Stafford. Hi, Mother."

Mr. Stafford stood up and shook Frank's hand. "Good morning, Frank. Your mother and I have had such a nice conversation." He sat back down. "Please sit with us."

Frank looked at his perfectly groomed boss, dressed in a custom tailored navy suit. "What are you doing here, Mom?" he said curiously as he pulled out a chair and sat. He wondered what the hell she was up to and why she looked so different.

She smiled. "I wanted to talk to you about the weekend."

Oh no, Frank thought, she's told Mr. Stafford about the devil man. He'll think we're all crazy. He hates scandalous reporting and the rags that carry those stories. Frank thought about crawling under the table.

"Anyway, dear," Katherine said, "I wanted to tell you I think your new friend should come along on our trip to the Baltimore Museum of the Arts. I even went and had new tires put on the minivan so we wouldn't be crowded."

Frank thought about his father's old minivan that had been sitting in the garage for years. He couldn't picture her getting behind the wheel, driving the thing to a garage and actually talking to the people.

Mr. Stafford smiled at Frank. "I think that's very nice of you, Frank. Taking your mother and Nana to the art museum, very nice." He looked at his watch. "I'll let you two chat. I need to get back to work." He pushed his chair out and stood up. "Frank, why don't you take the afternoon off and take this dear, sweet, lady to lunch? I insist." He patted Frank's shoulder. "You all have a nice trip. And we'll see you on Monday, Frank." He walked away.

Frank watched Mr. Stafford leave the room. He took a deep breath. "What's going on, Mom? And what did you say to him?"

She looked into her cup of coffee. "What do you mean?"

"You; look at you, and what are you doing here?"

"Well, Frank, I saw the boxes by the back door this morning and I sat around sulking for a few hours. Then it occurred to me that you really weren't asking for much. Just a simple dog." She looked up and smiled. "I don't want to lose you over a dog and to tell you the truth the idea of having someone to love, besides grumpy Nana, kind of makes me happy. The thought of you leaving, well, that makes me very sad and I want to go see the devil man, so, I figured I owed you an apology. I've been a bad Mother. It's not your fault, it's mine. You see I'm a bit eccentric and I know that." She sipped her coffee. "But I really let you down. Hopefully, I can still make up some of it."

"But what about Nana? She'll never agree."

"She has."

"How the hell..."

Katherine chewed on her lower lip. "She put up quite a fight. Told me I could move out, too. But then I showered and got dressed and told her I was going to look for a job."

"What did she say?"

"Well, you know her. She told me to go ahead. I didn't know what to do after that. So I thought for a minute. And just then she started to bitch that she wanted a Danish for breakfast and would I get her one from the kitchen and heat it up."

"Okay."

"Instead of hopping up to wait on her, I put my coat on." She hesitated, then, "She got really mad and asked me where the hell I thought I was going. Who would take care of her? That's when I said, I don't know. If Frank and I both move out I guess you're going to be on your own."

Frank just stared at his mother. "She can't take care of herself."

"That's what she said. So I looked at her as if I was concerned and said, I guess you'll have to go into a nursing home."

"You didn't?"

"Yes, I did. You know her fear of nursing homes."

"I know. She must have been furious."

"She started hollering and swearing. Reminded me of the old days, when my father was still with us. But I just found the keys to the van and headed toward the garage. It was one of the hardest things I ever had to do. But before I even got out the door she was standing there telling me the dog could stay provided he's friendly."

Frank reached out to touch her hand. "He's sweet, Mom, you'll love him." He looked at her and wondered how she'd gotten the strength to leave the house. "Are you okay?"

"Like I said, it's the hardest thing I've ever done." She leaned on the table and looked at Frank. "I even thought about calling Doctor Hobart."

"Really, you always hated him."

"I know, but you liked him."

"He's a good doctor."

"He's a fraud." Katherine looked away. "But you are saner than me and I figured if you trusted him maybe he was alright."

"I wouldn't let him hurt you, Mother."

"You wouldn't know." She sipped her coffee.

"Okay, enough of this crazy talk. You're dressed and you're here, so that means you're feeling better."

"Can I tell you something?"

"Of course, anything."

"I want to start living again. I've got you to thank for that, Frank. You inspired me with your love for this dog. He seems to have changed you, made you happy. My hope is that we'll go on this road trip tomorrow, as a family, the four of us, and find the lives we stopped living years ago."

"I hope you'll be alright."

She took a bite of her toast. "I'm going to try, Frank. I'm really going to try."

"Thanks for not telling Mr. Stafford where we were going. He hates the scandal sheets with a passion. I can't believe you got Nana to agree. And you drove the minivan."

Katherine fluffed her hair. "I do clean up pretty well, don't I?"

She had on a black dress, black high heels and a gray poncho. Her hair was washed and curled. Her teeth brushed and she smelled of Jean Nate, without the body odor chaser. She could be a stylish woman, Frank thought. If she could only keep the voices inside her head under control. At least now she was willing to try.

"Should we go to lunch?" Frank said as he stood up and then reached out to help her.

"I'd love to."

"We need to take somebody with us though."

"Who?"

"You'll see."

### ***

Office workers started to come out and head in different directions. Some toward McDonalds, some toward the diner and other restaurants. Buster looked for Frank.

"Buster," Frank yelled.

Buster ran to him, his entire body wagging and greeted him with kisses. Frank reached down and stroked Buster's coat.

"Mom, this is Buster. Buster, this is my mother."

"Well, I'm very happy to meet you, Buster," Katherine said as she bent down to pet his head. "You're a lovely dog."

Buster nudged her hand with his big wet nose.

"He's wonderful, Frank." She hugged Buster. "We'll be very happy to have you as a part of our family, Buster. Very happy."

Buster thought they must look like a real family now.

"Would you like a hot dog?" Frank asked as he ordered lunch from a street vendor.

Buster barked.

"I guess that means, yes." Frank turned toward the hot dog cart. "I'll need three reds with everything and two sodas."

They ate their hot dogs as they walked down the street and laughed. They talked about Frank's childhood, the three-eyed man and Nana's fear of being sent to the nursing home. They taught Buster to shake for bits of hot dog and Buster taught them to laugh by jumping and running and acting goofy. Eating hot dogs with friends is just about the best life has to offer, Buster thought.

### Chapter Eleven

The next morning Frank jumped out of bed, showered, shaved and dressed in a new pair of blue jeans. It felt wonderful to put on new clothes. He'd never worn new clothes. It was such a shock when on the way home from the park the day before, his mother asked if they could stop by Wal-Mart. She wanted to buy new clothes for everyone. They each got an outfit. Then they bought pants, a blouse and shoes for Nana and a collar for Buster. She even went in the store without having a panic attack.

Frank trimmed his hair and as he did, he stared at himself in the mirror. The pimples and blackheads were completely gone from his once oil-ridden skin. He combed his black hair, buttoned his new shirt and slipped his new sneakers on. He brushed Buster and put his new red collar around his neck. "This is for you, boy. This means you've got a real home now. A permanent home. A collar is a symbol. A bond that holds a dog and his master together."

He packed the delicious pumpkin muffins he'd made the night before in plastic containers for snacking on along the way. Then he filled a small cooler with ice and soda and packed the car with the totes his mother and Nana had filled with magazines and knitting. He gassed up the minivan, checked the oil and the map. He sat ready and waiting in the living room by six a.m., Buster happily by his side.

Katherine bounded down the stairs, ready to go, only a few minutes later. Dressed in a black and white pants suit, she looked sharp. Her day had arrived and Frank hoped that somehow she'd find what she was looking for.

"You look beautiful, Mother."

"Are you ready? I'm so excited?"

"We're ready. Where's Nana?"

"She's not down here?" Katherine walked back toward the bottom of the stairs and yelled. "Are you ready to go, Mother?"

"I ain't goin' nowhere." She shuffled to the top of the steps and looked down. "I'll be down in a minute for my Danish. Could ya heat it up?"

Katherine huffed. "We're going to Baltimore today. Don't you remember?"

"I remember just fine. I ain't stupid, ya know. But I ain't goin' all the way ta Baltimore to see that disgusting thing."

"Mother, you said you'd go."

"When the hell did I say that?" She started walking down the stairs. "I think I'd like tea with that Danish."

Katherine went up and they met in the middle. She turned her mother around and scooted her back up the steps. We are not having Danish and tea. We are getting you dressed and then we are driving to Baltimore."

"I ain't goin'. And I'm starvin'." She tried to turn back around but Katherine pushed her up.

"Oh yes you are."

***

Frank could hear swearing and a scuffle and then shoes sliding across the floor above his head. He couldn't remember Nana ever wearing shoes. Usually she had on worn out slippers which only hung on around her toes as she slid across the floor, never actually picking them up. The once purple and fluffy slippers, now looked like road kill. He wondered what it would be like to see Nana in clothes and shoes. He thought it must have been at least ten years since he'd seen her in real clothes.

"What the hell'd ya buy these shoes fer, Katherine? An old lady like me can't be walkin' in no high heels. I'm gonna break my damn neck. Probably that's what yer hopin' fer," she shouted. "And this blouse. What wer ya thinking. I'm gonna look like a whore. Might as well be standin' on the street corner with the clothes ya bought me. Probably I'd be makin' money, too."

"Oh, Mother, you look great. Let's get going."

"I'm comin'. Ya gotta give a dyin' ol' lady some time ta get movin'. My ol' bones are filled with that there arthritis, ya know."

Finally, Nana descended the stairs, one step at a time, like she was headed to her deathbed right then and there. "I ain't sure I'm gonna make it."

Frank looked up, expecting to see her still dressed in her flowered housecoat that looked like a tacky pair of curtains and the road kill slippers. But what he saw surprised the hell out of him. She looked twenty years younger in black pants and a gold blouse, adorned with a black and gold silk scarf, her gray hair combed and done up into a bun. She had on blush and pink lipstick and she smelled of lilacs rather than cigars and gin. He glanced at the shoes she'd called high heels. They were black leather loafers with rubber soles. He laughed.

"What ya starin' at? Are ya waitin' fer me ta fall on my ass?"

"Nana, you look beautiful. I'll get your coat," Frank said.

"Well, I look as good as I'm gonna fer an ol' lady on her deathbed. I can't believe you all are draggin' a poor ol' lady such as myself all the way ta Maryland ta see some freakin' papier-mâché' dummy."

Frank held her coat while she slipped into it. "Gee, Nana, you look mighty young. Maybe you'll meet a handsome guy in Baltimore."

"Ain't no good lookin' man wantin' yer old Nana, Frank. Quit tryin' ta get rid of me. Only man be wantin' me is up above, ya know, callin' me home."

"I was just trying to tell you how nice you look."

Katherine grabbed her coat and purse. "It's hopeless, dear. She's as stubborn as a mule. Just get the van warmed up. We'll be right out."

"But does Nana want to meet Buster first?"

Nana's forehead wrinkled up. "Who in the hell's Buster?"

"Frank's dog, Mother."

"I don't give a fat baby's ass 'bout meetin' no dog. Since when do I gotta be introduced to a mutt? Let me tell ya. What's the world comin' to?" She looked at Buster. "Here mutt, I'm Nana, the owner of this here beautius abode and you're a mangy mutt who I'm lettin' live under my roof. Ya better remember that, ya see."

As Nana spouted off, Frank watched Buster. He didn't look scared. Hell, he'd lived outside, stole food from trash cans, and got chased by dog catchers. One grumpy old lady wasn't going to scare him. With that cute face he'd win her over in nothing flat. Buster looked up at her with the biggest saddest eyes you'd ever seen and raised his paw.

"Look at that, this here mutt knows his place already. Damn good I'd say. He's fearin' of me already."

Buster wagged his tail. Frank chuckled. That was one smart dog. He'd have her on his side in no time.

"He ain't got no fleas, does he, Frank? I better not be getting bit by no fleas. Did you take the mangy thing ta the vet? Ya better be givin' him a flea bath. If I find bites on my ankles it'll be this mangy mutt's fault."

Buster seemed in control of the situation. He knew how to play the game and in a few weeks he'd be stealing her slippers and bringing trash into the house, just to egg her on.

"I'd bet he's gottin' himself a case of rabies, too. Looks rabid ta me. If he starts a foaming at the mouth, he's getting' thrown outta the van."

Frank covered the backseat of the van with a blanket, put down Nana's step stool, helped her in and handed her the bag of knitting. She set it on the seat beside her.

"Buster, come on, boy," Frank said. "Can you jump up?"

Nana glared at him. "Does he gotta sit with me?"

Katherine turned around in the passenger seat. "Where else could he sit, Mother?"

"Well he could go in the back with the other junk ya all got back there."

Frank patted the seat. Buster jumped in. "He's not sitting in the back."

Buster took his paw and dug around, pulling the blanket until it was the way he wanted it and then plopped down.

"What, ya gotta arrange the blanket yerself? The way we gots it isn't good enough for ya?"

Buster looked at Nana. Nana looked at him. She huffed and then looked out the window.

Frank hopped into the driver's seat and started the engine.

"He best not be pukin'," Nana said. "Or gettin' my nice new outfit covered with dog hair."

"He'll be fine." Frank backed out of garage, closed the door and jumped back in. "Here we go."

Katherine smiled.

For a few minutes everything was quiet as they made their way through the neighborhood and out of the city. Frank hoped Nana and Buster wouldn't get into a squabble and his mother wouldn't have an attack of the crazies. He kept watching her hands as she grabbed the door handle and the edge of the seat. She was afraid, even though she wasn't going to admit it.

Nana's stomach rumbled. "Aren't we even eatin' breakfast? I'm starvin'"

"Frank packed muffins and juice, Mother. They're in the cooler, help yourself."

Nana grumbled.

"So how long do you think it will take to get there?" Katherine asked.

Frank made a left turn, sped up and zoomed onto the highway. "If traffic stays like this, only a couple hours." Traffic in Philadelphia could be bumper to bumper with hour long delays, but Frank hoped by leaving early on a Saturday they'd miss it. "We should be there when they open."

He could hear Nana open her bag, pull out her dentures and shove them into her mouth. "So yer sayin' there's muffins back here?" She rustled around. "I don't see nothin'."

"Right in that bag on the floor, Nana," Frank said. "They're pumpkin. You like those."

He could hear the bag crunching. "Still can't believe you all are draggin' me outta the house on a cold morning ta see some dumb ass museum."

Frank could hear her chewing.

"What the hell you starin' at?" Something moved around. The van shook. "No, get away, go, shoo. This is mine, you mutt. Shoo."

Katherine unbuckled her seat belt and turned around. "No, Buster, no."

"Go away, right now, go," Nana said. "Frank, yer damn dog is tryin' to steal my muffin."

Frank could see his mother struggling. "No, Buster, get off Nana."

"Goddamn it. Get the hell off a me, you mutt."

Frank tried to reach with his right arm but he couldn't grab Buster. The van swerved. "Come on, Buster, get on your side."

"Yeah, mutt, get on your side."

Frank tried to reach again. He could see Nana in the rearview mirror. Buster was sitting on her lap, drool running down his face and chewing her muffin.

"Get him off, Frank. Stupid mutt thinks he's a lap dog." She pushed harder. Buster wouldn't move. "Come on, get the hell off. Yer squashin' me."

Frank reached for Buster's collar. The van swerved again. A siren went off. Frank looked in the mirror. This time he saw a police car. "Shit."

"Get off me, mutt." More rustling. "You ain't a lap dog. Ya weigh more than I do."

"Frank, there's a police car behind us," Katherine said. "You better pull over."

"I'm going to. Can you turn back around and put on your seat belt?"

Katherine flipped around in her seat and snapped the seat belt.

"Now he's thinkin' I'm lookin' tasty." Nana grabbed Katherine's shoulder. "He's gonna eat me for breakfast."

"Quiet, Mother, Frank's getting pulled over."

"Who's pullin' us over?"

"The police."

"If this damn mutt would move I could see," Nana said. "Was we speedin'?"

"No, I wasn't speeding," Frank said. "I probably swerved trying to help you."

"Well, I'm sure the policeman will see that ya were just tryin' ta save me from the man eating mongrel here. And if not, I'll tell him so. I'll get ya outta the ticket, Frank. Ya can count on me."

"Please, Nana, don't say a word."

The officer walked up to the window and rubbed his hand across his chin. "Do you know why I pulled you over?"

"Not really, Sir. I wasn't speeding, was I?"

"No, but you were all over the road. Have you been drinking?"

"Oh my gosh, no," Frank said.

"Can ya move yer goddamn fat ass," Nana yelled. "I can't see."

The officer looked in the window. "Are you okay back there, Madam?"

Nana pushed her way between the seats and looked at the officer. "Ya see, officer, this here big mutt my grandson has brought along jumped inta my lap and ate my breakfast all in one gulp. Then he drooled all over my new outfit and looked at me like he was gonna eat me next." She patted Frank's shoulder. "My grandson was just tryin' ta save my life."

The officer looked in the back window and then back at Frank. "Is that true?"

"Yes, officer."

Katherine nodded.

"Where are you headed?" the officer asked.

"We're headed to some stupid museum ta see some papier-mâché mummy," Nana said with a huff and flopped back into her seat. "And you stay over there on your own side, mutt."

Frank sighed. "I'm taking my mother and grandmother to a museum in Baltimore, officer."

The officer looked in at Nana and then Buster. "Good luck with that, son. Try to watch where you're going." He tipped his hat and walked away.

"See I told ya I get ya outta a ticket," Nana shouted from the backseat. "Now how about ya treat me ta one a them egg Mickey muffins. I see them golden arches right up ahead."

Buster's tail wagged so hard it hit the seat like a drum.

"And I ain't sharin' with you, ya beast."

***

After the stop at McDonalds, Buster and Nana fell asleep. Both snored. Katherine watched the road out the window. She never thought she'd be out of the house, least of all be going to Griffin's Dime Museum. She'd read about it in different tabloids over the years, but never thought she'd see it or meet John Griffin in person. She wondered what he'd be like. Would he be as nice as he looked in the pictures?

She'd first read about him at Hobart's. Found an article in the library that talked about his grand opening. From that moment on she'd wanted to go. Hobart's wasn't the kind of place you could just check yourself out of though. But it was where she first found out about the walk-ins. The patients knew that the doctors and nurses had been taken over by these aliens, which they called walk-ins. At some point they just moved in and the real doctors and nurses disappeared. They looked the same, but they were different. Katherine could tell.

You didn't want to get caught talking about them or they'd drug you up and stash you in the padded room for days. Then at night they'd come into the room in their real bodies. Green with huge black eyes and they'd do experiments on you. So you definitely didn't want to let anyone hear you talking about them. A few people even got taken away on their spaceship. She'd seen them do it. After that, when they came back, they'd be walk-ins too. She learned to tell by the smell. They had a strange pungent odor about them. Now she only felt safe around people who had normal human body odor. If you had it, you weren't a walk-in. That's what started her not showering, just to prove to herself and others she was human. Frank Senior had to shower every day. With soap and water and use deodorant. A suspicious, suspicious man.

Frank hit the brake. She opened her eyes. "When did we get off the highway?"

"A few minutes ago," Frank said. "We need to stop for a minute. I thought everyone might like a bathroom break and I need a Coke."

"Sounds good." She looked out the front window at the red light. A man walked in front of the van. He stopped, glared at her for a second and then a disturbing grin crossed his face. She swallowed the lump in her throat. Her palms started to sweat and she felt light-headed. "We've got to go home, Frank. Right now. Right now, turn around."

"What's wrong with you? We'll be there soon."

She grabbed his arm and squeezed. "It's them, Frank. They're here."

"No, Mother. They're not here. No one is here."

"What in the hell's goin' on?" Nana asked.

"Nothing, Nana."

"We're going home. Frank, turn around. I can't do this. I thought I could, but I just can't. They're here. They're everywhere. The only safe place is home."

Frank pulled into a parking lot. "It's fine, Mother. Let's just sit here for a minute to let you calm down."

She buried her head in her hands. "I can't do it, Frank. I can't. I'm going to ruin everything."

"Let me get you some water, you just try and relax." Frank left the van and she watched as he made his way into the convenience store.

She could see them coming and going. "I bet they all shower every day." She watched Frank carefully, hoping they wouldn't get him. For a second he disappeared from sight. She jumped up and thought she should call the police, but he was just hidden by the cookie display.

"Here you go," he said as he handed her the water. "Let's sit back and relax. Everything is fine. No one can hurt you. Me and Buster are here to protect you."

She looked at Buster. "Do you think he could smell them?"

"Of course he could, look at that huge nose."

She sipped her water. "You're right, Frank. He'd smell them. That terrible odor they have. He would." She watched Buster. "Roll down the window and see if he smells them."

Frank rolled down the window. Buster sniffed the air. "See, if they were out there he'd be freaking out. Wouldn't he? Didn't you tell me dogs hated them?"

She looked at Frank. "You're right. I remember that. They said dogs could always tell. The doctors at Hobart hated dogs."

Frank started the engine. "So you feel safer now?"

She took another sip of water and looked at all the people in the parking lot. Seemed like they were all staring at her. She wiped her sweaty palms on her coat. "I suppose."

Frank pulled an Enquirer out of the bag and handed it to her. "Hopefully this will help."

She looked at the cover story. It was about Area 51. She felt better immediately.

### Chapter Twelve

Frank pulled into the public parking across from what looked like an old warehouse. "It's three dollars to park," the attendant said.

Frank handed him the three dollars. "Thanks."

"Anywhere over there." He pointed.

Frank parked in the back corner away from all the other cars so Buster wouldn't bark at people as they passed. He cracked the window. "We won't be too long, boy. Then we'll get lunch." He opened the door for Nana. Surprisingly, Katherine was already walking toward the building.

"Looks like a dump," Nana said.

Katherine turned and glared at her. "Please be quiet in there, Mother. It's a small place. Don't embarrass us."

"Since when I be embarrassin' ya, daughter? Are ya ashamed a yer ol' mother." She shuffled along.

Frank looked up at the building. It looked old, but the bricks had been cleaned recently and the ten foot tall windows were washed. A hand painted sign hung over the huge wooden door, Griffin's Dime Museum. An open sign hung from the wrought iron banister that ran up the steps. People were coming and going.

Frank hadn't been in a dime museum in years. This was really the last one left; most had closed. In fact, most had closed a long time before Frank was even born. His mother talked about them though, even if she never saw the original one, New York's American Museum. She went on and on about it like she had. "That first dime museum had some of P.T's most renowned exhibits. The hand of a pirate, eye of a dragon, and George Washington's one hundred and one year old nurse," she'd said.

A man held the door open. "Welcome to Griffin's one and only dime museum, home of the devil man's mummy," he said with a loud bellowing voice like that of a ringmaster or a talker, as they called them at the sideshow. The guy who drew the crowd in.

"Make yourselves at home. There's plenty to see. Freaks of all kinds. Oddities from around the world." He smiled at the tourists filling his small place at ten dollars a head. "Step up and see for yourself."

He was tall and thin with long straight, dark hair, a scraggly mustache, and tattoos covering his arms. Katherine giggled like a teenage girl when he kissed her cheek. Frank was surprised she wasn't afraid of him. He must have passed the smell test. "Welcome, beautiful ladies," he continued. "Be sure to see the devil man while you're here."

Frank wandered around the museum, packed with bizarre items. Bright lights adorned each display. A two-headed monkey, pickled pigs, a jar of blood sucking leeches. Stories were displayed next to each attraction and Frank read them as he studied the relics. Attending the sideshows with his mother were some of his fondest memories. She always smiled at the sideshow. They'd eat popcorn and watch the performers. They'd look at every attraction and read all the far out stories. Frank never knew which ones to believe. After all, some, like natures oddities, were real, and some were gaff. Fake stuff made up by artists and such.

The walls of the museum were covered with things like a witch's wart, a casting of Bigfoot's footprint, and teeth from a vampire. Each one framed up and housing a far-fetched story about how the item was discovered. Frank loved the stories most. He was amazed that people could make up such bizarre tales and tell them in a way that convinced others they were real. And most of the stuff, even if it was fake, looked so authentic he had to think twice about it. Had to remind himself that it wasn't really a wart from a witch's nose. But it looked so real, long hairs and all. Probably just a blob of gray clay with some dog hairs stuck to it.

A big hairy toe with a mangled, thick and yellowed toenail hung in front of him. He read the story out loud. "The expedition took us north to Canada in search of the mysterious Bigfoot. With my team along we headed into the deep woods. We camped with just a small tent and insufficient meals with hopes of catching a glimpse of him. But we did not. We heard him bellowing and kept our weapons close at hand. The last day we awoke to the sound of our trap slamming shut. I rose quickly to investigate, but soon discovered we had not captured the Bigfoot but had snagged only his little toe." And it was signed. "Commander Silas." Frank smiled and moved on to the next display. A flying vampire monkey.

Large items were on tables and under glass display cases. It felt very crowded as tourists poured in the narrow aisles. Each having their own reason for paying good money to see these freaks of nature. Frank looked at his mother. She looked radiant. He turned back toward the displays. "The pickled pig boy. Hmm." Floating in some kind of liquid, probably formaldehyde, was a body of something that looked like half boy, half pig. It even had a curly tail.

Frank guessed being there with all the freaks of nature made his mother feel better about herself, because that's how he felt. Somehow looking at these imperfections made him realize things weren't intended to be perfect.

"Where the hell are ya, daughter?" Nana said.

Frank watched his mother hide behind the model of the fat lady.

"Did ya see this pickled pig boy? Ya gotta see this. Looks like Frank when he was born." Nana laughed.

Everyone in the museum laughed. These people weren't offended by her rude behavior; instead they thought she was funny. Weird, Frank thought.

The man who'd held the door open walked toward them. "Good morning, I'm John Griffin. Would you ladies like to see the devil man?"

"That's what they dragged a dyin' ol' lady all the way down here fer, young man," Nana said.

"You look pretty damn healthy to me," John said.

"Appearances can be deceivin'"

He led them down the narrow steps of the old building, through a long stone hallway and into a small room. They had decorated it like a tomb, apparently trying to make it more authentic for the tourists. "Here it is. The mummified corpse of the devil himself."

Frank and his mother stepped forward. Nestled inside a coffin, arms crossed over its chest, was a mummified corpse. It looked like the skin had been stretched over the bones and then dried up until it turned gray and pasty. The eyes, two holes, had sunken into the head and the nose bent to the left. The lips were wrinkled and pursed together as if he had a secret hidden behind them. It had two small horns and a forked tail. Dead roses decorated the wooden box.

Katherine ran her finger over the skin. "How old is it, do you think?"

John stepped forward. "The experts say he's at least two thousand years old."

"Two thousand years, wow," Katherine said.

"Where did you find him?" Frank asked.

"A team of archeologists found him on a dig in Egypt. They think he's so well preserved because of the salt in the area."

Nana poked John in the arm. "How long ya been studin' freaks? Kinda odd career."

"I've been in this business thirty years. But the museum's only been here about five. Before that I traveled around with the sideshow."

"What in the hell fer?"

"Mother!" Katherine shouted. Her face went flush.

"It's fine," John said, not a bit taken back by Nana. "My interest in these anomalies of nature started when I was about twenty. I went to a carnival and they had the most adorable three-horned goat. The thing was so friendly. It loved to be petted and especially liked French fries. I couldn't get it out of my head. I watched my friends trying so hard to conform. To look like everyone else. Dress alike. Have better stuff than their neighbors. And I wondered how the goat could be so happy with three horns. He didn't realize he was a freak of nature. Damn, I thought, he should be depressed, but he wasn't.

"The more I studied strange happenings and deformities I began to understand it was me who was judging them to be bizarre. Just me making a judgment. I started to think of them as special rather than freakish. I loved the idea that weird was wonderful, rather than appalling. Being different made that goat extraordinary. After all, how many goats get to travel with the circus, get petted and eat French fries? Hell, that goat brought joy to people his whole life."

"Yer one crazy wacko."

John laughed at Nana. "What I wanted to do with this museum is to let folks see these inconsistencies of nature. Read their wild wonderful stories and understand we're all freaks in some way."

"Well, damn, son. I ain't no freak." Nana laughed.

"Just the fact that we're alive, breathing, living on a planet rotating though space at unbelievable speeds, makes us all in the same boat, friends. We're freaks. Heck, we don't know why we're here or what we're supposed to be doing while we're on this planet. I think in many ways we're all just a bunch of pickled pig boys or three-horned goats."

Frank looked at his mother. She was listening to John, but she was still touching the devil man's mummy. Just with the tip of her finger, petting it. He didn't care if the damn thing was papier-mâché'. He was just so happy to see her dressed and out of the house and looking like a real person again.

John moved closer to Katherine. "This business reminds me that perfection can be found anywhere. And on the other hand we don't know what perfection is. So how do you know it when you find it? It could be staring you right in the face and you might overlook it because you are oblivious to the nature of perfection."

Frank thought about the words coming from John's mouth and for the first time in his life he felt like he fit in. John actually relished the differences in human beings. He laughed at Nana's swearing, flirted with crazy Katherine, and made Frank feel like he was not a freak. Never had been.

"Some people may see Nana's swearing as distasteful and look at her in disgust, trying to search out her so called faults. I look for her uniqueness. And that is where I find her perfection. It may be in all her damns and shits, but that's where perfection hides, behind the imperfections. It's her rareness; it shows she's an individual with her own opinions, ideas and relationship to the world around her." He put his arm around Nana and kissed her on the cheek. Nana blushed.

"Been telling these here kids how damn lucky they are ta have a Nana like me, ya know."

"And they are lucky. But I'm sure there are times they didn't see your idiosyncratic qualities as lucky."

"What in the hell does idio-syn...whatever, mean?"

"It means you are a special individual, Nana."

"They think I'm special alright. Call me an old hag behind my back all the time, the boy does."

"And what do you call him?"

"Well, that'd be my sweet grandson, there."

"Oh come on, Nana, that's not the truth," Katherine said as she leaned down to sniff the mummy.

Nana thought about the question like she wouldn't be able to answer. Moved from foot to foot. "He's a damn good cook, I can say that. Fixes us delicious meals everyday. And I've eatin' some shit over the years. He's a good cook, yeah, good cook. Did ya see the size of my daughter's ass? That's proof right there." Nana laughed a belly laugh.

"Mother," Katherine shouted, mortified.

"He goes ta work every day and he seems ta love that rabid mutt of his. I guess those things would be good."

"That's a good place to start," John said, distracted by a ruckus going on upstairs.

"John, I need you," someone shouted from the top of the stairs.

John leaned out and looked up the stairwell. "What is it, Bill? I'm busy."

"There's a limo out front."

"Who is it?"

"It's that lady from the paper."

"What paper?"

"You know the one. The big one."

John turned back. "Sorry for the interruption. My partner Bill is afraid of reporters. It's nothing, I'm sure. I'll be right back. Please take your time and enjoy the exhibits."

A nervous Bill stammered about at the top of the stairs. "Please hurry, John. It's that lady from the scandal sheet, the one who did the story on the devil man, what's her name, Rachel?"

***

Katherine instantly had a lump in her throat which resembled her heart. Sweat beaded on her forehead and her hands shook. Right above her head, separated only by floorboards, stood her idol, Ms. Rachel Roland, owner and publisher of the world's bestselling, most exciting, news magazine in the entire world, _Scandals from around the Globe._

"Mother, are you alright," Frank asked. He grabbed her arm as she wobbled like she'd collapse any second. "Maybe you better sit down." He pulled an old chair out of the corner and placed it in front of the coffin.

Katherine was star-struck. She felt faint and slid onto the chair. Frank held her shoulders. After a few minutes she said, "Did I hear him right? Is she really here? Really, right upstairs?"

"What in the hell's wrong with you?" Nana said as she stared at Katherine. "Is who really here?"

"I must meet her, Frank, I must." She looked at Frank pleadingly. "Can we get John to introduce us? Can we? Can we?"

"Introduce us ta who?" Nana said. "I still don't understand what in the hell ya all are babblin' about."

Frank looked up at Nana. "If we heard right, the lady that just came in upstairs is the owner and editor of Mom's favorite tabloid."

"That rag." Nana turned and walked away. "Who in the hell would wanna meet the editor of that rag. She outta be run out a business for some a the crap she puts on paper. And she's got the nerve ta ask money for it, too. A crime, that's what it is, a damn crime."

Katherine just sat there looking as Rachel walked past and into John's office. Her idol, right there, so close she could smell her expensive French perfume. She took a deep breath. "Did you see her, Frank? Did you see her? She's beautiful." She tugged on Frank's shirt sleeve. "Well, isn't she?"

Nana slapped her hand. "She's a tart, Katherine, a tart. Did ya see how tight her skirt was? I bet ya can see the crack in her ass." Nana laughed. "Let's get movin'. I'm gettin' hungry." She started to walk up the stairs. "And I ain't riding home in a car filled with dog piss."

"Mother," Katherine said as pushed the chair aside and walked toward the stairway. "Get back here. We're not going yet."

"Well, I'm goin'." Nana continued up the stairs.

"We're not going yet," Katherine said. "Get back down here." She grabbed Nana's arm and helped her back down the steps.

"What in the hell are we waitin' on. I'm ready ta go. Ya got ta see what ya wanted ta see." She pointed at the coffin. "That damn ol' dried up piece a shit."

"Shh, be quiet," Frank said. "Maybe we can hear what they're saying." He moved closer to the door.

"Who in the hell gives a damn what them rich folks is sayin'?"

"Quiet, Mother," Katherine said as she placed her hand tightly over the old lady's mouth. "We want to hear."

They could hear John's voice. "I just can't thank you enough for the publicity, Rachel. Business has never been this good."

"I'm so happy for you, John. Actually, the story worked out great for us, too. We're thinking of doing a follow up in a few months. Would you be okay with that?"

"Most definitely."

"Maybe we can work together on some other stories. You've got a lot of interesting stuff here. If it's alright with you I'll send a crew down in a few weeks and you can brainstorm about some new ideas."

"Perfect."

"One more thing and I'll get out of your hair."

"You're never in my hair, gorgeous lady."

"As you know, my ex, Julius, is in possession of the Feejee mermaid."

"If I may be blunt," John said. "He's one lucky bastard."

Katherine chuckled. "I think he likes her. Maybe he'll ask her out. Maybe he'll ask her on a date and we'll be right here to hear it." She turned toward Frank. "What if he tries to kiss her? Oh, my God, what if he does kiss her." She blushed.

Frank raised his finger to his lips. "Shh, they'll hear you."

"I wanted to get the two of you together," Rachel said. "I think you both could benefit from the relationship. Possibly trade oddities once in awhile."

"Sounds fantastic. I'd be thrilled to take the Feejee mermaid off his hands." He hesitated. "I'd take both his lovely ladies, if he were willing to part with them."

Rachel giggled. "I may just take you up on that offer, John. He's my ex for a reason, you know."

Katherine had read every story she could about Rachel and Julius and she knew Julius would never really be Rachel's ex. He had her heart and no other man had even come close to Rachel's heart. At least that's what the papers said. Katherine put her ear on the door. This cannot be happening, she thought. Just a few days ago she was in her old pink fleece, drowning her sorrows in the wine bottle and reading Rachel's paper. Now the only thing between them was a door. An old wooden door.

For years she'd dreamt about the lady who wrote the stories she'd been reading since she was young. Longed to see her. Wanted to know she really still existed. Rachel talked about her ex-husband, Julius, like he was just another man. Not to Katherine. Julius stayed with the sideshow, even when things got bad. Even when laws changed and freaks couldn't be out on display because the public thought it was a disgrace. Unfortunately, law-making politicians didn't understand that many of the freaks had no other way to make a living. Many of them ended up in asylums or living on the streets. Julius fought for the rights of the freaks. He wanted anyone, no matter what they looked like, to be able to perform and make a good living. Julius Roland made it possible for the American sideshow to be born again. He was a champion in Katherine's eyes.

"Julius's show is a sell out tonight," Rachel said. "It's the first time anyone will have seen the Feejee mermaid since she disappeared."

"I can't wait to see her myself," John said.

"Why don't you come with us?"

"It's too busy here. Maybe in a few weeks when things slow down, I'll go."

Katherine could hear a chair scraping on the floor.

"Well, I better get going," Rachel said. "You've got a busy day. I can hear the people chattering upstairs. They'll want to meet the amazing John Griffin."

John laughed. "I'm so glad you stopped and thank you again. We couldn't have turned things around without you."

"This is just bull crap," Nana said. "I wanna go."

Katherine put her hand back over Nana's mouth. "Shhh."

Suddenly the door opened.

Katherine froze.

Nana bit.

"Ouch," Katherine yelled as she pulled her hand away.

Rachel stared at them for a second then headed toward the staircase.

"Hey, lady," Nana said.

Rachel turned around. "Can I help you?"

Nana stepped closer. "So yer the owner of that there rag my daughter's always readin'."

Rachel laughed. "I guess that would be me." She walked into the room. "How are you today?"

"Well, I be thinkin' it's a wastin' her time, but ya know she loves ya like yer a damn queen er somethin'."

Katherine felt herself blush. "Mother!" she shouted. Here she stood in the presence of her idol and Nana was going to ruin everything. She felt ill.

Frank held her arm to steady her.

"Shit and two is eight and a farts a fraction." Nana turned toward her daughter. "Well, what the hell, daughter. Here ya are followin' this here lady's career for nearly forty years and yer too shy to say hello ta her. This being yer only chance, ya better take advantage of it."

John spoke up, "Rachel, could I introduce you to my friends, Nana, her daughter Katherine and Katherine's son, Frank."

"It's my pleasure to meet you all." Rachel smiled as she turned toward Katherine. "You've really been following my career that long?"

"I used to watch you and Julius pretending to be Siamese twins at the sideshow just outside of Philly."

"Seriously? Wow, that's going way back." Rachel moved closer and slipped her arm around her adoring fan. "I don't have many fans in my business anymore. I'm behind the scenes now."

Nana put her hands on her hips. "She's got every one a yer rags stored in my attic, every damn one. I keep tellin' her they're a fire hazard."

Katherine looked at Rachel. She still couldn't believe it. "I even have the first papers you wrote as a teenager."

"I haven't seen those in ages," Rachel said. "We need to talk more."

"Really?"

"I love reminiscing about the old sideshow days and there aren't many people left that remember those times." She hesitated. "How about lunch?"

### Chapter Thirteen

After saying their goodbyes to John and his partner they made their way outside where Rachel's long black limo waited. "Where would you like to go for lunch?" Rachel said as her driver opened the door. "You will ride with us, won't you?"

Frank looked inside the limo. "I'll follow you in the van," he said. "I can't leave my dog that long."

"Well, bring him along," Rachel said.

"In the limo?"

"Of course."

"He's big."

"That's okay. I love dogs and so does Ingrid."

"Ingrid?"

"My spoiled rotten cat."

"You've got a cat in there?" Frank laughed as he looked at Ingrid sprawled across the leather seat.

"Sure do. She goes everywhere with me. Like I said, she's spoiled rotten."

Frank got Buster from the van and stopped by a tree for a lift of the leg. "We're in for a treat, boy."

"What a beautiful dog," Rachel said. She leaned down to hug him. "Are you hungry? Bet you'd like a steak for lunch."

Buster wagged his tail.

"I can't believe yer lettin' that rabid, flea-covered mutt in this here beautius car." Nana climbed into the limo and slid across the seat. "Lettin' dogs and cats ride in the car. They'd be better off at home doin' what their good at, nothin'."

"He looks pretty healthy to me," Rachel said as she patted Buster's head and played with his ears. "You're just adorable, aren't you?" She leaned down and kissed his head.

Katherine climbed in next and then Frank and Buster.

"Is everyone comfortable?" Rachel asked as she slid in and the driver closed the door.

"Wonderful," Frank said. He put his arm around Buster, sunk into the soft leather seat and grinned.

***

Buster sat up straight and tall and looked around. He'd never been in such a fancy car before. A far cry from the burnt out Pinto. Rachel seemed nice enough but he wasn't sure how he felt about being called adorable. He figured she meant it in a nice way. He'd rather have been called fast or strong. Maybe muscular or fearless. But adorable? Made him sound like a poodle or some other foo-foo dog. She exuded gentleness, though, and he'd take her kisses on his head any day, even if that meant being called adorable. Hell, at least she didn't call him pretty, that'd be over the top.

Buster looked at the cat. "Nice to meet you," he said. "I'm Buster."

Ingrid looked away.

***

Frank noticed the flat screen television, Blue Ray DVD, and Bose sound system. The seat was soft black leather, the lighting low and the bar fully stocked.

"Would you like something to drink?" Rachel asked.

Frank just stared at the choices, everything from milk, for the cat, to twenty year old scotch.

Nana reached for a glass and held it in front of Frank. "I'll take one a them there Crown Royals."

Frank placed a couple of ice cubes in Nana's glass and then poured her a glass of scotch, possibly not a good idea, but she wanted it and it was easier to give it to her than argue.

"So, where's lunch?" Rachel asked. "How about the Inner Harbor? Is seafood okay?"

Nana took a big swig. "Do they got crab cakes?"

"I believe so," Rachel said. She pressed a button and then spoke to the driver. "Looks like it's the harbor, Ramon."

"Fine, Miss Roland," he said as the limo made a left.

Rachel turned toward Katherine. "I really can't believe you saw that stupid act Julius and I did when we were kids."

"Oh, it wasn't stupid. It was good. And it looked like it drew in the crowds."

Rachel laughed. "It did do that. We had the best talker, a guy named Wrangle em' in Walden. He could talk anybody into throwing a buck into that can to see just about anything. That's the way it worked, still does. You can't just get admission at the gate; you've got to have hidden attractions that people can't see until they cough up more money. Back then it was anything from a nickel to a buck. Nowadays it's more like a buck to five bucks."

"But that's part of what makes the sideshow so fun," Katherine said. "Discovering what's hidden behind those curtains."

Frank laughed. "Yeah, it sure is." He pretended to be a talker. "See the rat, the giant rat. Right here, living, breathing. The biggest rat on Earth. See the giant rat, your one and only opportunity."

"I remember that one," Katherine said. "And it was just a capybara. We'd seen one at the zoo a few weeks earlier."

"I think that's part of the charm of the sideshow," Rachel said. "Some things are real. Well, it is a giant rodent. Some things are totally fake, and some things push the boundary. You just never know when you go in. That's the part that hooks you, and makes you ask yourself, 'is that real?'."

Katherine jumped around in her seat. "I know, I know. Like a lot of the people are real, right? Back then didn't P.T. Barnum travel all over the world looking for human oddities?"

Frank looked at his mother. She wasn't afraid. Wasn't even sniffing Rachel to see if she was a walk-in.

"Most of the human oddities were real," Rachel said. "Like the bearded lady, the tall man, the fat lady, the armless wonder, Tom Thumb, and the pinheads, which were a couple of Mexicans who had a disease that made their heads pointy. But this is going way back to the late 1800's early 1900's."

"Now they don't have as many human oddities, do they?" Frank said.

"No, not really. Things have changed. With worldwide media we've seen that most of the things people thought were oddities back in the early 1900's aren't that odd anymore. You'll still see things like the tall man and the fat lady. Most likely they'll be midgets and a bearded lady. But the modern day sideshow features more of what we call working acts. Like sword swallowers, fire eaters, human blockheads, women who lay on beds of nails, men who walk on broken glass. Stuff like that."

The limo pulled into a parking lot and stopped. "We've arrived, Miss Roland."

"Thank you, Ramon," Rachel said. A few seconds later the door opened and Ramon held it as Rachel, Katherine and Nana got out.

Frank looked at Buster. "We're just going in for lunch, boy. I'll bring you some leftovers."

Rachel stuck her head back in. "Don't worry about Buster. We'll send him down lunch. He looks like he needs a good steak."

"Here that, boy, a steak." Frank hugged him. "You be good and I'll see you in a few minutes."

They walked away from the limo and toward the bright blue harbor. A tall ship had just parked at the dock. "That's beautiful," Frank said as he looked at the obviously restored ship. The huge sails blew in the wind and he wondered how they ever kept track of all the ropes and got her going in the right direction. People ran around on deck and he wished he could hop on and sail away to some tropical destination. With Buster of course.

"Here we are," Rachel said.

Frank looked up. The restaurant had five red carpet-covered steps leading up to a huge glass door and window after window. A maitre d' dressed in a black tuxedo stood at the top, menus in hand. Frank swallowed, felt his pocket and thought about how little money he had on him. Wondered if his credit card had any credit left.

"We ain't eatin' here. Can't afford nothin' like this, nope. Sure can't. Maybe we better be going to a diner er somethin'," Nana said as she started to walk away.

Rachel grabbed her arm. "You don't have to worry about money, dear; you all are my guests today."

"Ain't no way ya all can be buyin' the likes a us lunch in this right fine establishment. No way." She looked at Katherine. "You be tellin' her, daughter. We ain't takin' advantage a this kind lady's generosity."

Katherine looked heartbroken. Frank didn't know what to do. He didn't want to embarrass himself when his credit card got declined and he didn't want to take advantage of Rachel's kind nature, but he couldn't disappoint his mother. "We're fine, Nana," he said as he took her arm and led her up the steps. He guessed he'd figure something out later.

An old blind man, cup in his outstretched hand, stood by the steps, begging for change.

The maitre d' went down the steps. "Get out of here, old man," he said as he waved the menus around. "Why must you stand in front of my restaurant? Go down the street." He shooed him away like a fly. "I can't have beggars here. You're scaring away my customers."

The blind man turned and walked away, swinging his cane from side to side.

"I'll be just a minute," Rachel said. "You all go in and order a drink. I'll be right in."

The inside of the restaurant was even prettier than the outside. The floors were covered with red carpet, the tables with white linen cloths and red napkins. Fresh flowers in glass vases sat in the center. The maitre d' found them a lovely spot overlooking the harbor. "I hope this will do," he said. He pulled out Nana's chair, waited for her to sit, then pushed her in and handed her a menu.

"It's nice," she said.

Frank could see Rachel out the window. She stopped and talked to the blind man for a minute. Then they started walking toward the parking lot. Frank turned around so he could see.

Nana pointed. "What the hell's she doin'? She's gonna get herself mugged."

Rachel led him to her limo, Ramon opened the door and the man climbed in. Rachel said something to Ramon then came up the front steps and stopped to talk with the maitre d'. His face went flush.

A half a minute later, Rachel walked to the table. "May I get the lady a drink?" the waiter said as he pulled out her chair and handed her a napkin.

"A martini, please."

"What did you say to him?" Katherine said with a chuckle. "He looked terrified?"

"I told him that if he didn't personally bring that man in my limo anything he wanted, no charge, I would come back here with my news team and do a story about the most cockroaches ever found in a restaurant kitchen."

They laughed as the maitre d' made his way out to the limo. Frank thought the homeless guy would probably order steak and lobster.

"I gotta ask ya though," Nana said, "why would a lady like yerself be bothered with a shabby old fart the likes of him? He's just a bum, beggin' fer change. Those kinda folks aren't safe fer a pretty lady ta be carryin' on with."

Rachel took a sip from her martini. "I believe we need to help people less fortunate than ourselves."

"But folks were puttin' their hard earned money in his cup. He'll probably be wastin' it on booze er some of that there marjawana."

"Doesn't matter what he does with the money."

"Might as well a thrown it in the trash can."

"It's not about the money."

"What the hell's it about then?"

"Compassion. Who knows, my little act of stopping to help this guy might make him help someone else. Or maybe the maitre d' will be nicer to the next homeless person."

"Possibly he'll get dog gone wasted on their cash, little missy."

"If I really want to help people I've got to be willing to accept them as they are."

"Would you like to order now?" the waiter said.

"I think we're ready," Frank replied, happy Nana had quit questioning Rachel.

The waiter went around the table, starting with Rachel. "I'll have a cheeseburger and fries. Also, I need two steak dinners and a salmon with butter sauce delivered to my limo."

"I thought the maitre d' was taking care of the old man," Frank said.

"Oh, that's not for the man. The steaks are for my driver and Buster. The salmon's for Ingrid, it's her favorite."

Nana ordered a crab cake dinner. "I'd be likin' the mashed potatoes with that. They ain't got lumps in 'em, do they?"

Frank thought about Buster, and how he'd given him meaning, that helping hand, or paw, in Buster's case. "Wait a minute," Frank yelled as he waved toward the waiter, "can you put some gravy on that steak?" That dog had changed his world completely. Rachel was right. Just a moment to stop and say hello could brighten someone's day. Yup, lunchtime leftovers shared with a mongrel could turn the world upside down.

"What if you try to help him but it doesn't work?" Frank asked, thinking of all the years his father had desperately tried to help his mother. Even after she accused him of being a walk-in. Even after she quit her job and spent her days reading the scandal sheets.

"Well, Frank, you've got to let go of the results. Do your deeds. After that, it's up to each individual what they do with the bits of kindness you've given to them."

The waiter brought out a huge tray and placed it on the table next to them. "I hope you're hungry," he said as he placed three crab cakes, mashed potatoes and green beans in front of Nana.

"That looks beautius," Nana said. "Nice and crispy, just the way I be liken' 'em." She grabbed her fork and took a bite. "Yummy."

Frank took a bite of his salmon. "No wonder Ingrid loves this. It's delicious." But his mind was really on what Rachel had said. Had he done right by his mother? She looked happy and that meant it was a good day. But would tomorrow be back to insanity? Would she be screaming 'walk-in' by the time they left the restaurant? "What if you try and try to pull one person up but it doesn't work?"

Rachel dipped a French fry in ketchup and took a bite. "No one is ever hopeless, Frank."

"Well, how do you know when to quit?"

"If you're asking yourself that question then it's time to take a break and make yourself happy." Rachel took a sip of her martini.

"But that sounds selfish," Frank said.

"Helping yourself is the best thing you can do for others. You can't help the poor by being poor. You can't make others strong when you're weak. You can never get sick enough to make someone else healthy."

"But what if we want them to be happy so badly that we can't give up?"

"You can't follow them down a dark road to try and save them. Stay on the lighted path, and pray they find their way back."

"I guess sometimes they do." Frank looked at his mother happily eating her trout almandine and sipping her wine. He wondered if she was really on her way back from the pit of mental illness, or if this was just a minor detour.

***

Buster stretched out across the empty seat and looked at the prissy cat waiting for her lunch. "What's it like to be a spoiled rotten cat?" he said.

"Who said I was spoiled rotten?" Ingrid said, obviously put out by his insinuation.

"Your owner."

"I'm not spoiled," she said as she licked her paws and groomed herself.

"How can you say that? Look at you, living the high life. You look pretty spoiled to me."

She stopped licking and looked at Buster. "What do you mean by high life?"

"Most cats don't ride around in limos or eat restaurant food."

Ingrid cocked her head. "They don't? What do they do then?"

"If they have a home, I imagine they lay on the couch all day and then eat some bagged dry cat food for dinner."

The limo door opened and the old man slid in.

Ramon glanced inside. "This is Ingrid and the dog is Buster." He looked at Ingrid. "Be nice, Ingrid." Then he closed the door.

"Good afternoon, Buster and Ingrid," the old man said. "How are you two today? It's pretty nice in here. Ya all are spoiled."

Ingrid looked at him and then turned the other way.

"Told you so," Buster said.

Ingrid looked at Buster with her tight little Persian nose held high in the air, like royalty. "What the heck is bagged cat food? Sounds horrid. And what did you mean, if they have a home? Doesn't everybody have a home?"

Buster wondered who punched her in the face because her nose had never popped back out. "No, everybody doesn't have a home. Some cats and dogs live on the street."

A terrified look flashed across her furry face. "What! Where do they sleep? What do they eat?"

"They sleep under bushes or in old cars, alleys, boxes. And they eat out of trashcans or catch mice."

The maitre d' knocked on the limo door, opened it and handed the old man a menu. "Anything you'd like, Sir. It's on the house."

"Well, by golly, thank you," the old man said. "But I'm pretty much blind. Can ya tell me what the specials are?"

The maitre d' huffed and then, "We have a lovely fresh swordfish over wild rice, then there's a strip steak with wine sauce and mashed potatoes, or we have lobster macaroni and cheese with a garden salad."

The old man smiled. "Sounds like some great choices. But I think I'll have the steak."

"Me, too," Buster said. "Me too." But the maitre d' didn't hear him. He just slammed the door and walked away.

"You know he can't understand you, mutt," Ingrid said. "But don't worry, Rachel will order you a steak. I'm sure of it."

Buster jumped up and looked out the window. "Really? With mushroom gravy?"

"So back to what we were talking about. You're kidding me, about the mice, right?"

"No, a lot of cats have to hunt for their meals."

"Please, mutt, tell me it isn't so."

"Is so."

"That sounds horrible. They really eat mice? Uncooked? Fur and all? No way." Ingrid puckered her face even tighter and stuck her tongue out. "How do you know these things?"

"I was homeless until a few days ago."

Ingrid rolled over, lay on her side and stared at Buster. "You were? What did you eat? Where did you sleep?"

"I stole food and slept in an old car."

"Not in a condo?"

"No, not in a condo."

"You mean you've never been in a limo before?"

"Nope."

"I thought all cats rode in limos. It seems quite natural to me. But I do kind of feel bad living in the lap of luxury knowing my fellow felines are eating mice."

"There's not much you can do about it."

"No one should have to catch mice or eat bagged cat food."

"It's not that bad."

"Catching mice?"

"No, bagged cat food."

The limo door opened and the waiter placed a plate of salmon in butter sauce in front of Ingrid and a steak in front of Buster.

She jumped up, took a huge bite and licked her lips. "I guess I am spoiled, Buster. I guess I am." Butter ran down her chin.

He took a bite of his steak and a gulp of mashed potatoes. "Nothing wrong with that, Ingrid, nothing wrong with that."

***

Frank looked out the window at the harbor while his mother and Rachel talked. The crew on the tall ship worked on winding up ropes, swabbing the deck and oiling the wood.

"Do you remember the bat boy?" Rachel said.

"Sure do. How about the three-eyed man?" Katherine said. "We met him in the supermarket when Frank was just a small boy. Scared the crap out of him at first."

"How about the fat lady, Wilma?"

"Is she still working?"

"She's on tour with Julius's new show. So is the bearded woman, and of course, the giant rat, probably not the same one you and Frank saw. It's still a capybara. A lot of the folks from the old days are working again, just a little older."

"That's wonderful." Katherine sipped her wine. "Wasn't your mother involved with the show?"

"She was the star of the hootchie-kootchie show."

Katherine set her wine down. "Jasmine was your mother?"

"The one and only."

"She can't still be in the revue."

"No, but she still does the choreography. I think Julius likes having her around. She's good moral support."

"Well, that was darn right delicious," Nana said. She put her fork down, wiped her mouth with her napkin, picked up her bag and started rummaging. "Where the hell are the damn things?"

"You can't smoke in here, Mother," Katherine said.

"Why the hell not?"

"Shhh, this is a nice place." Katherine grabbed Nana's bag and set it back on the floor. "Because people don't smoke cigars in a place like this."

"It ain't that nice then."

Frank set his napkin on the table. "I'll take her outside."

"Thank you, Frank," Katherine said as she turned back toward Rachel. "What happened to Julius' father? Wasn't he in the show, strong man, right?"

Frank helped Nana from her chair and then pushed it in. "We'll meet you outside." He handed Katherine his credit card and whispered in her ear. "I hope there's enough credit on this." She slipped it into her purse and went back to her conversation with Rachel.

He followed Nana but looked back at his mother and hoped she'd be alright on her own. Rachel would have no idea what to do if she jumped up and started screaming something about an alien invasion or a walk-in.

Frank could hear them still talking and laughing as he led Nana to the ladies room and then out front. He sat on the steps and looked at the harbor. The blue water sparkled. A couple of kids were fishing and the water taxi stopped to pick up a new group of passengers.

"Don't see why I can't smoke inside," Nana said, still rummaging through her bag. "Damn it."

Ramon opened the limo door and Buster ran out. He sat by Frank's feet and licked his paws and face over and over. "Good lunch, huh, boy?" Frank said.

Nana finally found her smokes, pulled one out of the pack and lit it. "Make a dyin' ol' lady stand outside just ta have a smoke."

Frank put his elbow on his knee and leaned on his hand. The place was beautiful and he'd have loved to stay longer. He could see the huge aquarium at the other end and the science museum on the right and all the stores and restaurants, even a Ben and Jerry's. He'd never had Ben and Jerry's.

"I got one. I got one," one of the kids fishing yelled as he tugged on the pole.

Nana took a long drag on her miniature cigar which started her coughing until she spewed a big loogie into the bushes.

The maitre d' stepped out. "Madam, please." Then he realized the old lady spitting in his bushes was in Rachel's party. "You have a nice day, madam." He turned and walked away.

Nana whispered, "Up yours," and gave him the finger.

"Nana!" Frank shouted.

Ramon laughed. "Damn, she's funny. Where are you guys headed next?" He sat on the step next to Frank. "You're on vacation, right?"

"Not really. We just came down to see the devil man. We're headed home now."

He smiled. "No way. You can't go home now. You've got to come with us tonight. Rachel would insist. We're headed to opening night of the circus. The owner is Rachel's ex-husband."

"Oh, we couldn't impose. Besides, I heard that show is sold out."

"Oh, we can get as many tickets as we need. That's not a problem. And your mother would love it."

"We ain't goin' nowhere 'cept home," Nana shouted.

"Yeah, she sure would," Frank said. "What time does it start?"

Ramon looked at his watch. "The midway opens at four and the circus starts at six. But we'll get there a few hours early. You can talk with the performers while they get ready. It's a great time watching everyone get dressed and practice."

"Will you bring us back here tonight?"

"We stay right there in the trailers they set up. There's plenty of room."

Nana swatted Frank's head. "Ain't ya listin', boy? We're goin' home and I'm sleepin' in my own bed."

Frank ignored her and continued talking to Ramon. "My mother would be in all her glory."

The back door to the limo opened slowly and the old man started to climb out. Frank jumped from the step and helped him. "Let me give you a hand."

Nana huffed and turned away.

"Well, by golly, thank you, sonny." The old man grinned. "What's your name?"

"Frank, Sir. What's yours?"

"It ain't Sir. You can call me Levi. Boy was that a yummy meal. Can you please tell that nice lady thanks for me."

"I sure will."

Levi looked up as if he could see the sky. "So much to be thankful for today."

"You mean lunch?"

"Well, I mean lunch, but more than that I mean life. Gotta be thankful for everything I've got."

Frank and Buster walked next to Levi. "I don't mean to be insulting," Frank said. "But you're homeless and blind. What's there to be thankful for?"

"I've got what folks don't usually see."

"Okay?"

"Well, folks be lookin' for riches in the form of houses, cars, or cash. I ain't got those kinds a riches. I got better riches than that. I got riches in my heart." He patted his chest. "That makes me grateful for everythin', whether it's a noon meal, or a sandwich at the soup kitchen. I be grateful."

"I don't think I could be so grateful if I was living on the street."

"Well, son, ya learn. And when yer an old man like me ya gots lots a experience knowing all ya need ya already got. Folks get caught up runnin' around like a bunch a damn chickens, here, there, everywhere. When do they finally say, gee, I'm happy the way I am?"

"Life throws stuff at us all the time."

"Think about it and before ya know it you'll have a long list of things ta give thanks for. The universe will be a watchin' and a listenin'."

"Why would the universe care if I'm grateful for my old rust bucket car or my crummy job? After all I'd really like better ones." They walked past the Ben and Jerry's. Frank looked back. "Hey, Levi, would you like an ice cream?"

"Sure the heck would."

Frank held Levi's arm and led him over to the window.

"Can I help you?" the girl said.

Frank stared at the menu. "I'll have a New York super fudge chunk." He looked at Levi. "What would you like, Levi?"

"Do they got mint chip?"

Frank looked at the menu. "Yes, would you like a cone or a dish?"

"Well, I best be havin' a dish."

The girl came back with two small dishes and handed them to Frank. "Thank you." He put Levi's in his hand and paid the girl. "So you were saying?"

"If you ain't grateful for what ya got, you ain't never gonna get more."

Frank took a spoonful of ice cream. It was the best ice cream he'd ever tasted. No wonder Ben and Jerry were famous. He bit into a huge chunk of white chocolate. "Kind of like karma."

"Kind a. But ya gotta ask yerself why would the universe send ya more if you don't care about what ya got?" Levi stopped to give Buster a piece of roll he had stashed in his pocket. "Here, ya go, Buster. It's not fair we're eatin' ice cream and you gots nothin'."

A boat came into the harbor and blew its horn. Levi listened and then, "I meet a lot a folks that sit around complainin' while waitin' fer the next thing comin' their way to make 'em happy. They say things like, 'If I could only move to that other town, then I'd be happy. Or if I could meet a lady, then I'd be happy.' It's always somethin' that's missing. They think they'll find happiness hidin' 'round the next corner. But it ain't there. It's right here."

Frank took a big scoop of ice cream.

"And if I ain't findin' it in the dirty shelter, ratty cot and smelly companions, I sure as hell ain't findin' it in no mansion."

### Chapter Fourteen

The limo turned down a bumpy road, went about two miles and then took a left onto a field with trailers parked one after the other in rows. Then the trucks, people and animals. Everything was bright and colorful and Frank could already smell the hay and elephants. A huge sign nailed to stakes near the roadside said, Julius Roland Traveling Circus and Sideshow. Opens today.

"Oh my gosh, we're here," Katherine said. She turned around in her seat to look out the window. "I can't believe we're really here."

The limo bounced over the lumps in the field. "This is a damn bumpy ride," Nana said. "When the hell we gonna stop? Before me and that dog are bringin' up lunch."

Frank laughed at Nana's head bouncing up and down. At one point she almost lost her balance and fell over into Katherine's lap. "I told you to go easy on the scotch, Mother," Katherine said as she steadied her.

The limo stopped. Ramon came around and opened the door. "We're here, Miss Roland." He helped Rachel out and then Katherine and Nana. Frank slid out, Buster right behind him.

"I'll get you later, Ingrid," Rachel said as she closed the door.

Ramon hopped back into the limo and pulled away.

Julius hugged Rachel. "It's great to see you."

She smiled. "You, too." She held her hand out to Katherine. "This is Katherine and her mother, Nana, and her son, Frank. And that's Buster."

"Welcome everyone," Julius said. "I hope you'll all make yourselves at home. Anything you'd like, it's on the house. We just finished raising the big top. Now they're setting up the inside. Would you like to see?"

"Wonderful," Frank said. "We'd love to."

Julius walked toward the enormous tent. "We arrived early this morning and started the assembly. There are fourteen segments and they each weigh a ton. In total, there's twenty eight thousand pounds of canvas."

"Ya should a bought me some real shoes," Nana grumbled. "I'm gonna break my damn fool neck in these." She hobbled through the field, even though the area had been mowed and looked pretty nice. "Didn't know ya were gonna bring an ol' lady ta some damn field in the middle a nowhere."

Frank took her arm. "Here, Nana, let me help you."

"First we lay the whole thing out flat and drive stakes into the ground every two feet," Julius said. "Then the first two uprights are put in place by hand." He pointed. "Those are the two on each side of the opening. Then we add a few more uprights until it's tall enough for the elephants to move in."

Frank had never seen them raise a tent, but he remembered hearing that the elephants helped.

"Didn't know it were so damn complicated," Nana said.

"The elephants pull the forty foot poles vertically by dragging the bottom through the dirt and working from one end to the other until the whole thing is raised."

"It's huge," Frank said.

"Yeah, it's almost four hundred feet long and two hundred feet wide. With seating for a thousand." Julius walked inside. The others followed.

"Wow, it's amazing. I never saw one empty before."

"These guys are called roustabouts, they'll assemble the seating, screw together the center rings, hang signs, lights, run the power and install port-a-potties. During the show they'll clean up after the animals and when it's over they'll pack it all back up." His walkie-talkie squeaked. He pushed the button, "Yeah."

"Julius, the fat lady has a sore throat," someone said. "Doesn't think she'll be able to sing. I gave her some throat lozenges but she say's it still hurts."

Julius pushed the button again. "Call the doctor, his number's in my trailer." He turned back toward his guests. "Sorry about that. Opening day is always crazy."

A guy in a green uniform ran in and grabbed Julius' arm. "The toilet in your trailer just overflowed."

"Were the Siamese twins in there again?" Julius asked.

"They had tacos last night."

"Give them some Pepto and call a plumber if you need to."

Julius smiled. "That's opening day, filled with everything from sore throats to bad cases of diarrhea."

Then the walkie-talkie squeaked again. "Julius, we need to oil the gears on the Ferris wheel, it's really noisy. Also the propane for the generator hasn't arrived yet. Should I call them again?"

"I'll be right there." Julius huffed and looked at the lion tamer who was having trouble getting the young lion to sit up. "I better go."

"We'll catch up later," Rachel said as she hugged him. "I need to show my new friends around." She took Katherine's hand. "Would you like to meet my mother?"

"I'd love to," Katherine said. "Come on, Mother." She grabbed Nana's hand. "We'll catch up with you later, Frank."

Frank could hear Nana grumbling as they walked away. He and Buster walked what would be the midway in just a few hours. Hundreds of people did everything from assembling the ticket booths to putting up snow fence so people couldn't sneak in through the back. Each act had a hand painted banner five feet tall and ten feet long. When they were all in place the row of banners would be over two hundred feet long. The quality of the artwork amazed him as he watched the men unroll the enormous canvases and raise them over the top of the smaller tents. "The bearded lady," he said, "we've got to see her, boy."

People worked quickly. Seats were being attached to the Ferris wheel. Carts had to be tested for the haunted castle ride. The hundreds of mirrors in the house of mirrors had to be washed with Windex and paper towels. A couple kids bathed an adorable three horned goat.

The midgets practiced under the big top, throwing each other in the air, landing on a teeter tauter and doing flips. The lion tamer was still fighting with the lion and it roared and swatted at him. Frank moved to the other side of the aisle. Women dressed in colorful cowgirl outfits stood on the backs of white horses and waved.

A shadow towered over Frank. "Hi, there," the tall man said as he reached down to shake Frank's hand. "I'm Jeff."

He had a sculpted face that appeared to have been carved from white marble, with sharp edgy features, as if the artist who created it forgot to round the edges with sandpaper. His lips, thin and pale, framed his perfect teeth and bright smile. Short hair, combed back and soft brown eyes, finished the sculpture nicely.

Frank gripped the hand of the man who towered at least two feet over his five foot ten frame. "Nice to meet you."

"How are you today, short stuff?" The tall man laughed.

"We're good," Frank hollered. Assuming the sound had to travel quite a distance to reach the man's ears. "How about you?"

"Did I see you get out of Rachel's limo?"

"Yes."

"Are you a reporter?"

Frank shook his head. "No, we're just here to see the show. My mother loves the sideshow." He pointed at Katherine and Nana as they walked toward the rows and rows of trailers.

"Your mother came with you?"

"My grandmother, too."

"And your dog? Gee, you brought the whole family." He chuckled.

Frank put his hand on Buster's head. "I guess I did."

"How old is your dog? He's cute."

"I think he's pretty young, but I found him living on the street so I'm not really sure."

"So, you take in strays, huh?"

"Well, yeah, I guess I do." Frank looked at Buster with pride.

"He looks hungry. How about a biscuit, boy?"

Buster wagged his tail.

"Well, he understands that word." He waved Frank on. "Why don't you all follow me to my tent and we'll get your dog a biscuit."

Frank stared at the man's huge pants which must have been five feet tall and fifty inches around. "I hope you don't mind me asking, but where do you buy your clothes?" The shoes were leather loafers and seemed four times the size of Frank's.

Jeff looked down. Frank could only see the outline of his face, now being backlit by the sun. "Everything has to be custom made." He adjusted his shirt.

"That must be expensive."

"Sure is, but the show covers it since I need to have clothes to perform. Nobody wants to see the tall man naked." He laughed again. "It's not a pretty picture."

About twenty trailers stood in rows a hundred feet behind the big top. "These are the performer's private trailers. We live in them when we're on the road. At the end you'll see my tent, the tall one, obviously." He pointed. "The fat lady and I share since neither of us can fit into one of those tiny trailers. She's a little under the weather, but your dog might cheer her up. She loves dogs."

"Wilma," he shouted. "Are you decent? I'm coming in with some friends."

"I'm good, Jeff, come on in."

He held the flap open. Frank went in first, followed by Buster. There she sat; the fattest person Frank had ever laid eyes on. She held a bucket of KFC and a two liter bottle of Diet Coke on her enormous lap. Her chair had obviously been custom made. "Come on in," she shouted. "I won't bite ya."

Frank scanned the area. The right side of the tent had a saggy extra wide bed that almost touched the ground. In the middle were a couple of foldout tables, a cook plate, a microwave oven and a mini frig'. On the left side sat an extra long bed. It was made up neatly and had a crochet blanket folded at the foot. Next to it sat a giant pair of brown men's slippers and on top rested a plaid robe.

"Would you like a snack?" she asked politely as she held up the bucket of chicken.

"No thanks, we just had lunch." Frank said.

"Well, honey," she said laughing, "what the hell does being full got to do with eatin'?" When she laughed her rolls of flesh jiggled like cottage cheese in an earthquake.

She had short brown hair with a bit of a curl to it and sported a brief shadow above her lip, like a teenage boy trying to grow his first mustache. Her smile was jolly and her eyes friendly. She wore a light blue terry cloth robe the size of Mount Saint Helens, a pair of gray sweat pants and slippers in the shape of moose heads, antlers and all.

***

Buster couldn't understand what those small mammals were and why they were sitting on her feet. Were they some type of cat he'd never seen before? They had horns. He'd never seen a cat with horns. He moved closer. They just stared at him. They looked mean. He barked and they growled, or so he thought.

He jumped back, but when they didn't attack, he moved in again, hoping they'd be friendly. But they weren't. He jumped closer, barked, and pawed. They moved. Shook their heads at him. Tried to get him with their horns.

"They're fake, boy," Frank said. "They're made of fake fur and stuffing." Frank looked at Wilma. "Sorry about that."

"Oh, that's okay, honey. Best laugh I've had in days."

Buster barked and then moved in for the kill. He bit at them. But they tasted bad. He spit out some fur.

Frank grabbed him. "Really, boy, they're fake."

Buster sat next to Frank, but kept a cautious eye on those weird creatures. He had to protect his master. Every once in a while they'd move their heads in a threatening way, pointing their horns in his direction. He'd show his teeth and growl.

***

"Are you feeling better, Wilma?" Jeff asked.

"The doctor said I've got a cold, gave me some medicine. I feel much better."

"Good, you wouldn't want to miss opening night."

"Nope, I wouldn't want to let my fans down. You know, the ones who ask how many pounds of food I eat each day, like I'm a damn elephant or something." She took a big bite of a chicken leg.

Jeff motioned toward a chair. "Please have a seat. I'll fetch that biscuit I promised your dog."

"His name is Buster. And I'm Frank."

Jeff reached his hand into a big jar of cookies. "If you didn't catch it earlier, that sarcastic lady over there is Wilma."

Wilma maneuvered around until she could reach the side table. She put the bucket of fried chicken and bottle of soda down. The chair creaked and moaned under the pressure of the weight being re-distributed. "Well, Buster, you're just adorable. Even if you do want to kill my slippers." She looked at Jeff. "Let me give him the cookie."

"Sure," Jeff said as he handed her the dog cookie.

"Thanks." She reached out to Buster. "Here, boy."

Buster moved closer and wagged his tail.

She wiggled her slipper again.

Buster jumped.

She laughed and then handed him the cookie. "Here's a delicious cookie for you. She strained to bend over, and patted Buster on the head. "You're very lucky, Frank, he's special. Can't beat the love of a dog, nope, you sure can't."

"You're right about that," Jeff said, as he sat in the tallest chair Frank could have imagined.

Wilma looked at Frank. "You see, a young man like you probably wouldn't understand the plight of folks like us, an eight foot tall man and a six hundred pound lady."

Frank had a sad grin. "I can relate better than you think." He moved over and sat in a chair. "Before Buster came along I was stuck taking care of my crazy mother and my grumpy grandmother. It was hard to make friends. I'm really shy."

"A dog can really help you feel better about life," Wilma said as she started to sniffle.

"Why are you sad?"

"I'm happy for you, dear. You're a young, good looking man. I'm glad you found what you wanted out of life, before it was too late."

"I honestly don't think my mother and Nana meant to ruin my self confidence, they just had me convinced that life was like a deck of cards and you were stuck with the hand you got. My Nana told me since my mother had been in the asylum, I'd be crazy, too. She thought since my father ran out, I'd do the same. Looking back on it, I think she was just scared. She tried to keep me under her control, so I wouldn't leave her and my nutty mother alone."

"Sometimes people around us are so afraid of change that they hold us back," Wilma said. "My family did that to me. See that photo over there? That's my family when I was young."

Frank walked over to the photo sitting on the table. The parents looked huge, but the little girl was skinny.

"I was ten years old there and my weight was normal, until I started talking about college. Soon after I first suggested leaving the sideshow for school, my parents started telling me I'd never do anything but follow in their footsteps. My body heard those words. It responded by making me balloon up like an English popover."

"Why didn't you ever just lose weight?"

"Well, like you, I was convinced that I couldn't do anything else. I became stereotyped as the fat lady and every time I tried to go on a diet the doubting Thomas's in my life would tell me not to bother."

"When did you realize they were wrong?"

"Over the years there have been lots of babies born into the circus lifestyle, and like me, some have wanted to leave it behind."

"There are those of us who love life in the circus," Jeff said, sitting tall and proud in his custom made armchair. "Where the hell else would an eight foot tall man find work?"

"But how do you deal with all the people staring at you?" Frank said. "There's this group of girls at my office that glare at me, it makes me feel lousy."

"Can I use you as an example, Wilma?" Jeff asked.

"Go ahead, use me, everybody else does."

"You see, right there. Wilma's bad attitude is setting her up for a good case of depression, which probably caused her sore throat and the threat that she won't be able to perform on opening night. She thinks people are using her and that makes it really seem like they are."

"They're not?" Frank said.

"Of course not."

Frank looked at Jeff with a wrinkled brow. "But they put her on display to make money and sell tickets to tourists."

"Where else would a six hundred pound lady with a bad attitude make a living?" Jeff said. "And a damn good one at that. Who else would adore her rolls of flab like her fans? Or throw chocolate bars in her direction, no one. Out in the real world there's no place for an eight foot tall man or a six hundred pound lady, except for a nursing home. Here we're appreciated for our oddities, relished actually. Amongst our fellow freaks and our dedicated fans we're valued and loved."

"I guess I see your point."

"You also have to remember, Wilma here makes the choice to stay the fat lady every time she sticks a chicken leg in her mouth. Many of us can't change our oddity. I can't get shorter."

"Easy for you to say, tall man. I'm stuck here, just like you," Wilma said as she proceeded to stuff a box of Ho-Ho's in her mouth one by one and throw the foil wrappers on the floor.

"You love the attention and you know it," Jeff said.

"Well, if I was thin, I could be one of them hootchie-kootchie girls. Then I'd get some attention." Wilma tried to jiggle around in her chair like a stripper. Instead she just looked like raw bread dough.

Everybody laughed.

"Yeah right," Jeff said. "There are twenty skinny girls in the kootchie show, but only one fat lady. Face it, Wilma, you like being in the limelight."

"I suppose I do or I wouldn't still be here singing my heart out for chocolate bars and Ho-Ho's. As much as I've thought about changing, I really am happy here. Yeah, sometimes I feel bitter for the loss of the road I didn't travel. But here I'm the one and only fat lady. Every night my fans cheer as they toss me delicious confections. Then they wait for the moment, chanting and stomping, at the end of the night, when the ringmaster shouts, "The shows not over 'til the fat lady sings!

Frank and Buster left Wilma and Jeff's tent and wandered over to the elephant's enclosure, a large pen made up of yellow metal sections, each about eight feet long and then pinned together until they formed a forty foot circle. The ground was layered with hay and shavings. "The elephants are beautiful, aren't they?" Frank said as they watched the two huge animals wander around the pen. One calmly munched on some hay, while the other looked restless, kicking, flapping her ears and making a loud noise.

Then she farted.

Frank turned away and leaned against the fencing. "Wow."

Buster sniffed the air and then noticed a pile of poo. It had a fragrance about it he found appealing. His huge nose and phenomenal sense of smell lead him in the direction of said delight. He tried to be sophisticated, but the perfume coming from the dung cookies attracted him, as it would any dog. Dogs like to eat poo and that is a fact, especially poo from animals that don't digest their food very well i.e. horses, pigs and elephants. Tasty, Buster thought. From his point a view a fresh dung ball was like caviar on toast, an acquired taste, rare and delightful.

He quickly slid under the last rung of the enclosure.

"No, boy, no, come back here," Frank shouted. "You might get hurt." Frank reached over and tried to grab him. He missed. "Buster."

Buster's nose high in the air led him to the tasty balls of doo-doo that waited like Russian tea cakes covered in hay rather than confectioners sugar. He took a big bite. Yummy, he thought.

Frank waved and yelled, "Don't eat that boy, that's gross." He leaned, but couldn't reach. "I'll get you a hot dog."

Don't want a hot dog, Buster thought. Why would I want a crappy old hot dog when I've got freshly prepared petite fours right here? He never would understand the terribly adverse reaction humans had to the consumption of fresh poo. Yet they'd eat hot dogs. Some mystery ingredients there. Buster had nothing against hot dogs, but he couldn't see how humans could think they were healthier than elephant dung.

"No, boy, that's gross."

Bottom line, he was still a dog and he liked things humans thought were nasty. It was in his nature. I'll have just a few tasty morsels, he thought, as he happily bit into another big dung cookie.

Lulu farted again.

Buster whiffed. "Not feeling good, are ya?"

Lulu turned to look at him. "That food they gave me earlier was rough on my stomach. What are you doing here? Dogs don't usually come to the show."

"I came with my friend, Frank."

"Is that him over there, looking sick watching you eat poo?"

"That'd be him. He's wonderful, but doesn't totally understand dogs yet." Buster swallowed another freshly made poop cookie.

"That's a typical human, you know. They never really understand our ways."

"Yup, this is the first time I've trusted them." Buster dug at the hay until all the poo balls were revealed. "Pretty nice place you got here."

Frank wandered around the edge of the pen looking for a gate. "Get over here right now, Buster. I mean it. Right now."

"I was on my own for a long time. But Frank has given me a home."

Lulu scratched her bottom on the edge of the fence. The whole enclosure shook. "A home is a wonderful thing."

"How long have you been here?"

"About five years."

"Are you happy?"

"Oh, very. I love making the children smile." She kicked at the hay with her back foot.

Buster stopped chewing and looked up. "I was on my own for seven months and though I liked the freedom, life was tough. I must admit I like sleeping in a bed rather than an abandoned car."

Frank shook the lock to the gate. "Damn, it's locked." Then waved. "Please, Buster, come back here."

Lulu looked at him. "Your owner there is getting pretty upset. Do you think you better leave?"

Frank put his foot on the first rung of the gate and started to climb over.

"Naw," Buster said. "He won't come in here. Give him a minute, he'll change his mind."

"I don't know; he looks upset."

Buster stepped a few feet closer to Frank. "I'll make him think I'm coming." He stopped and kicked at the hay.

"No, boy, no." Frank shook his head and sighed. "Nana better not see you doing that. She'll never let us back in the van." He swung his left leg over the fence and sat on the top. "Please don't make me come in there."

"So what's it like to be called man's best friend?" Lulu asked.

Buster looked up. "Who's mans best friend? Not me. Well, maybe I'm Frank's best friend."

"Dogs are human beings closest companion."

"I think cats would argue with you about that. Especially one I know." Buster thought about Ingrid sprawled across the seat of the limo, probably finishing off her salmon in butter sauce, drinking her milk and watching animal planet on the flat screen.

"Frank is so busy fretting about you eating poo that he's not thinking about his own worries."

"So I'm keeping him in the moment."

"That you are, my new friend. And if he's in the moment, he won't be tormenting himself about the past or stressing over the future. He'll be living."

Buster flopped down in the poop-filled hay and rolled and rolled until he had covered himself with the divine scent.

"No, Buster, no. You're going to reek," Frank screamed.

He pranced back toward Frank. "Yeah, that's me, Buster, looking all cool and smelling heavenly. Jealous, aren't ya all?"

### Chapter Fifteen

Katherine looked around as they walked through the field toward Jasmine's trailer. Talkers checked their mikes, food vendors carried in supplies, and performers ran from place to place, some already in their costumes, some still in street clothes. "I just can't believe I'm really here, Rachel. Thank you so much."

"It's no big deal, honey." Rachel knocked on the trailer door. "Mom, are you in there?"

"By golly, is that my daughter at the door?" Footsteps. The door flew open and the glorious Jasmine reached out and hugged Rachel. "I can't believe you're really here. Come on in."

"I brought some friends." Rachel stepped aside. "This is Katherine." She helped Nana up the stairs. "And this is Nana."

"Nice ta meet ya," Nana said.

Jasmine smiled. Her pink cheeks glowed, her green eyes sparkled and her long red hair flowed around her beautiful face. "It's very nice to meet you both."

Katherine swallowed hard. She was actually nervous and shaking and having a hard time spitting out her words. "I, I, am so happy to meet you." She hoped she'd be able to hold it together.

"Katherine is a big fan, Mother," Rachel said. "She's been following my career since the old days."

"Really?" Jasmine said. "You remember Rachel's act when she and Julius were little?"

"Sure do. All of it. I remember her first newsletter, and I remember your show. You were amazing."

Jasmine walked into the kitchen. "Well, I'm behind the scenes now. Old age got the best of me."

Someone knocked on the door.

"Oh that must be Ramon with Ingrid," Rachel said as she opened the door. She grabbed Ingrid and kissed her on the head. "Hello, baby."

"Here's her bed," Ramon said.

Rachel grabbed the velvet kitty couch and set it on the floor. "Thanks, Ramon. We'll see you in the morning."

"See you then, Miss Roland."

Jasmine put the tea kettle on the stove. "Would you all like a cup of tea?" She set a plate of cookies on the table. "I picked these up at the bakery this morning. Chocolate chip."

"You sure don't look your age," Katherine said.

Nana pulled out a chair and slid into it. "I'll be sittin' if it's okay with ya all. My feet are old and tired." She grabbed a cookie. "And I'd be lovin' a cup a tea."

Katherine sat next to her mother and Rachel next to her.

"So, Katherine, are you married?" Jasmine asked as she set the cups and tea bags on the table. "The water will be ready any second."

"I was once, but he left about twenty years ago."

"He was a good fer nothin'," Nana said. "Best he left when he did."

"Are you dating?" Rachel said as she looked through the box of tea bags and then pulled one out and stuck it in her cup.

"Dating?" Katherine laughed. "Look at me, who would want to date me?" She thought about her life, the real life, the one that sat at home everyday, didn't shower or get dressed, didn't talk to people. "No, definitely not."

Nana shook her head.

"Why do you say that? You're quite pretty," Jasmine said.

"And old and crazy," Katherine mumbled as she toyed with her cup and tried not to think about the walk-ins. Rachel and Jasmine were too nice to be walk-ins. And too pretty. She sniffed the air hoping for a whiff of body odor, but there was only the aroma of expensive perfume and peach shampoo.

"Ya got that right," Nana said and then laughed.

Jasmine poured the water into Katherine's cup. "You're not old at all. I've got at least eight years on you. Besides, crazy can be intriguing."

"But you're beautiful, Jasmine."

Rachel turned toward Katherine. "So are you."

Katherine looked away shyly. "No, I'm not."

"When was the last time you really looked at yourself?"

"Honestly, Jasmine, look at me." Katherine ran her hand over her own face. "I'm sixty years old, with graying hair, a big butt and lots of wrinkles."

Nana just laughed, but Katherine could tell she wanted to agree. If they weren't amongst strangers she probably would have said, "You got that right." But for now she was happy sipping her tea and eating cookies.

"You're also interesting, funny, and pretty," Rachel said. "And you have incredible eyes. I'm sure there are lots of men that would love to date you."

"No, I don't think so," Katherine said. "I haven't been out of the house in years. Until this trip. It's the first thing that's inspired me since Frank Senior left." She took a sip of tea and wondered why she could be so honest with Jasmine and Rachel. They made her feel good instead of crazy.

"Come here," Jasmine said as she walked into the other room.

Katherine followed.

Jasmine motioned for her to sit at the vanity. "Let's see what's really there." She heated up her curlers and rolled them gently into Katherine's hair. "Your hair is beautiful."

Rachel scooted in to help. "Here, try this." She handed Katherine some foundation and then looked through Jasmine's collection of blush and lipstick. "This looks like your color."

Jasmine grabbed the blush. "Perfect." She took a big soft brush, ran it in through the pink blush and then across Katherine's cheeks. After a light coat of pink lipstick, she said, "Beautiful."

Rachel added some brown eye shadow. "It's highlighted with flecks of gold. Like your eyes." She finished the masterpiece off with black eyeliner and mascara.

Jasmine removed the curlers, fluffed Katherine's hair and twirled her around to face the mirror.

"Oh-my, who's that?" Katherine stared at herself and then pinched her arm just to be sure she wasn't dreaming.

"That's you, my dear, just you," Rachel said.

Jasmine stood behind her and fluffed her hair some more. "But honestly, Katherine, your true beauty comes from within."

Katherine swung the chair around. "Again, I hate to be rude, but that's easy for you to say. You and Rachel are so outgoing and happy. People are attracted to your vitality." She looked at the floor. "I've always been introverted and crazy." She hesitated. "I did some time in the nut house, you know. That seems to scare men away."

"Give them a chance."

"I have."

"When?"

"Well, Frank Senior."

"Oh come on, that was twenty five years ago."

"Yeah, but men haven't changed."

"Some men like nutty. Look at me," Jasmine said as she ran her hands over her torso. "I just married number four."

"But you're nutty in a fun, exciting way. I'm nutty in a psychopathic, schizophrenic kind of way."

"That can be quite sexy."

Katherine ran her fingers though her new curls. They felt so soft and fluffy. "To who?" She thought about some man trying to deal with her panic attacks.

"Somebody who's a little, well, wacky, themselves may appreciate and relate to your uniqueness."

"I suppose so. But where am I going to find a man like that?"

"That's the first thing that's got to go, dear," Jasmine said.

"What?"

"Your attitude. Nobody is going to want to be around you if you don't want to be around you."

"Like I said, that's easy for you to say. Look at you two. You're beautiful, sexy, rich, and smart. I could go on and on. I've done nothing with my life and now I'm a crazy, broke, wrinkled up sixty-year-old. Nobody is ever going to like me."

"You're not working?" Rachel said.

"No way. Who would give somebody like me a job?"

"I would," Rachel smiled. "Hell, you know more about my industry than anyone I've ever met."

"Are you serious?" Katherine felt her heart starting to race. The thought of having a job, especially a job at the paper. She could barely sit still. "You're kidding, right?"

"No, I'm not kidding. We need people who remember the sideshow at the height of its popularity. You'd make a great research assistant." She touched Katherine's hand. "I'll expect you there Monday morning."

Katherine turned back around and looked at herself in the mirror. "Is this a dream? It all seems too good to be true." She just sat there and then, "But, Rachel, I just met you. You can't be giving away jobs to crazy people like me. I know you're filled with a sense of giving, but this is too much to ask."

"You'll be a wonderful asset. Trust me; I'm not doing this just for you. I'm doing it for the public. You've been reading my paper longer than most of my employees have been alive. That experience is valuable beyond belief." Rachel smiled. "I'll expect you there Monday at eight."

"Well, what in hell," Nana said. "You can't be leavin' me alone all damn day."

Katherine looked at Nana as her fantasy went down the toilet. "She's right. I can't leave her."

"Well, why don't you work afternoons then? How's one to five sound?" She turned toward Nana. "Do you think you'll be okay a few hours a day, Nana?"

"I don't..."

"The job pays well."

Nana grabbed another cookie. "I reckon I'll be fine."

***

Nana was tired of looking at makeup and talking about men. She'd had it with men a long time ago. "They're all good fer nothins," she said as she left Jasmine's trailer looking for a good place to sit and enjoy a smoke.

She wandered under the big top and saw two tiny men dressed in matching green and white silk outfits practicing their act. One sat on the end of what looked like a teeter tauter while a big guy jumped from above onto the far end of the plank sending the little guy flying into the air. He did three flips and landed on a huge mat.

Nana took a seat on the wooden bleachers and watched. This time both midgets stood on the end. The guy jumped, they flew up, twisted, turned and landed right next to each other.

Nana clapped. "Hurray."

One turned toward the other and said, "You're shorter." Then punched him in the shoulder.

The other one punched back. "No, you're shorter and you know it."

"Yer both short, ya fools," Nana said. "And I'm gettin' tired of listen to ya two tiny men arguin'. Aren't ya gonna get back ta rehearsin'?"

They stopped punching each other long enough to walk over. "What did you say, lady?" one of them asked.

"You're both some damn little men." Nana laughed.

"And you're one tall old bitty." They giggled and punched each other again.

"Yup, may be old, but least I'm not short."

"Well, we may be short but a least we're not grumpy." They laughed again.

"I ain't grumpy."

"What are you doing here? Are you a new act? The oldest lady on Earth?" They laughed again.

Nana tried to grab them as they ran around her like a squirrel around a tree. "Well, ya little bastards." She almost got one of them by the shirt. "Yer a couple a little shits, aren't ya?" She tried to snatch one of them by the back of his drawers, but he was just too fast and she started to feel dizzy.

"I bet you're so old you fart dust." One stuck his tongue out.

"Hey, Eddie, isn't it be nice to old bats week?" the other said as he flapped his arms like a bat.

"Well, by golly I think it is," Eddie said. "How'd you like a drink, feisty old lady?"

"That'd be right good ta me, boys."

"I'm Sal and that's Eddie." They hopped up onto the bleachers. "Do you like gin or scotch?" Sal said as he pulled a bottle of gin from his vest while Eddie grabbed a flask of scotch from his pocket.

Nana grinned. "Like both."

"So, what's an old lady like you doing hanging out around here?" Eddie said.

"My nutty daughter dragged me down ta that museum in Baltimore ta see that fake mummy of the devil man. It all went down hill from there." Nana took a big swig of gin from Sal's flask. "That's some damn fine fire water, boys." She took another swig. "Yeah, my daughter's as loony as a jailhouse rat, been in the nuthouse awhile. She's obsessed with them there scandal sheets and freaks."

"Why do you think the devil man's mummy is a fake?" Sal asked.

"Ain't no way the devil himself is wrapped up in some damn old, dried up, dirty cloth layin' in the basement of that there museum in the middle of Baltimore. That's one a them there shams these shows er so famous fer. Probably made outta papier-mâché er something. The real devil man, well, he's down in hell breathin' fire on all the sinners."

Sal and Eddie laughed.

"What ya laughin' at youngsters. Keep that up and you all will be screamin' while yer flesh melts right offin yer bones."

"You're crazy, aren't you?" Sal said.

"Now yer sayin' I'm crazy cause I'm a fearin' of the minister of evil." Nana took another swig of gin. "You boys be wantin' a smoke?" She pulled a pack of Tiparillos out of her pocket and held them out.

Sal took one and passed it on to Eddie. "Thanks, lady."

Nana pulled out her lighter.

"So you believe in hell?"

"Who doesn't?" Nana said.

"I don't," Sal said as he took a long drag on the small cigar.

Nana glared at him. "Ya better not be sayin' that." She shook her finger. "No, ya better not. He'll be strikin' ya down."

"Well, why do you believe in hell? There's no evidence it exists."

"Cause there's gotta be a place fer bad folks ta go after they kick the bucket."

Sal set down the flask and moved closer to Nana. "What bad folks?"

Nana patted his head. "I guess folks who didn't follow the rules. Are ya one a them?"

"Well, what about you? Have you followed them?"

"That'd be a right personal question," Nana said as she took another swig of gin. "Ahhh...that's good. Why ya questionin' me? I'm just an ol' lady."

Sal shook his head and looked away. "You're a nut."

"Whatever you say, short stuff. He'll be roastin' you and yer buddy here like a couple a Cornish game hens, and pickin' the meat right from yer tiny bones."

"Don't you believe in forgiveness?"

Nana slapped her thigh. "Devil don't talk no forgiveness."

"Let's see, you're hardheaded, foul mouthed and nasty. Surely, there's a sin or two hiding in your closet." Sal chuckled. "Sounds like you'll be headed to the hot place."

Nana stomped her foot. "I ain't no sinner. No, I ain't." She lit her Tiparillo and took a drag." Ya little bits a men are mighty confusin' ta an ol lady. I think ya been drinkin' way too much a that scotch whiskey. It's gone and fried yer brain." She coughed for a spell and then, "What the hell time does this damn freak show get started? I'm gettin' tired."

### Chapter Sixteen

Frank looked around for a hose to wash the poop smell from Buster. "We've got to give you a bath. Nana is going to kill us both."

A young guy covered with tattoos and carrying a stool walked past Frank toward the front gate. "Can I help you?" he said.

"I was hoping I could find someplace to wash the elephant poop off my dog." Frank looked at Buster and wiped his nose. "He rolled in it back there and now he reeks."

The tattooed guy laughed. "How are ya? I'm Jimmy." He set the stool down and shook Frank's hand. "If you go behind the big top and then turn left there's a hose where they wash the elephants. I'm sure you could use it." Jimmy had a lean muscular body, short blonde hair and a stubble filled chin. His worn Levis looked soft and the muscles in his legs pressed against the fabric. Frank stared at his work boots, the kind tough guys wear, he thought. He'd like to be the kind of guy that could wear steel-toed work boots, but he wasn't.

"So are you enjoying all the weirdo's we've got running around here?" Jimmy said.

Frank glanced around; performers ran in all directions, carrying costumes, clown cars, and popcorn. Everything from the 'ducky pond' to 'win a goldfish' took shape. Boxes and boxes of stuffed animal prizes arrived by truck and guys carried them to each vendor. "You're not that weird," Frank said. "Everybody's been very nice."

Jimmy smirked. "We're just a bunch of traveling weirdo's man; it's okay to admit it. Actually, we're quite proud of it."

"Huh?"

"Well just because we're nice, doesn't negate our weirdness."

"I see what you mean, but I really don't look at you as odd."

"How many folks do you know that are covered with tattoos from head to toe?"

"Well, none actually."

"My point exactly. We're different."

"If you didn't want to be different then why did you cover your body in tattoos and join the sideshow?"

"I never said I didn't want to be different."

"Well, why would you insult yourself like that?"

"I wasn't."

"Wasn't what?"

"Insulting myself."

"But you called yourself a weirdo."

"That's not an insult. I like being different. I couldn't live a normal life with a mortgage, boring job, two point five kids, and a mini van. I wanted something different. I met Julius when I was sixteen and fell in love with the freedom life in the sideshow stood for. I became his sidekick on my eighteenth birthday and haven't looked back since."

"Do you ever wish you had done the normal life things?"

"Never. After I toured with the show as Julius's helper for a few years I started getting the tattoos and became part of the show."

"But most people don't praise uniqueness, they criticize it."

"I learned at a young age that no matter what I did somebody somewhere wasn't going to like it, so I decided to please myself."

"How can you be happy when people are criticizing your decisions?"

"You just decide to."

"I don't understand."

"In every minute of the day, Frank, the decision to be happy is yours. I bet your dog here's happy. Just follow his example."

"Actually, he's helped me so much already. The first time I stood up to my mother and grandmother in twenty five years was when I brought him home. It felt good. And they seemed to respect me for not backing down."

"You see, it works. The way I see it, life is like a giant theme park. You've been given a prepaid ticket that allows you to ride any of the rides, eat the food, play the games and talk to the people. You're the one planning each step, choose wisely and enjoy. You're on that ride until the end so smile and laugh. Enjoy the breeze in your hair, see the city lights from above, play the ducky game, eat ribs and fried chicken. Hell, maybe you'll win the giant teddy bear or a goldfish. But you can't win if you don't play."

Frank smiled. He knew what Jimmy was saying, you gotta play the game to feel alive. He'd never known what people meant by that, but now that he was truly living, he understood. "Come on, boy, let's get you cleaned up before we run into Nana." He grabbed Buster's collar. "Thanks, Jimmy, we'll see you later."

"What ya doin' over there, Frank?" Nana yelled as she hobbled toward Frank and Buster. "And why's the mutt all wet?"

"Oh we had a little problem," Frank said. "I had to give Buster a bath."

"Did ya see that guy pouring charcoal all over the ground? What in the hell ya think he's doin'? Are they havin' a huge bar-b-que er somethin'?

"I don't think so," Frank said as he followed Nana.

"I'll show ya." She waved. "Come on."

They walked around the big top where a guy was dragging bags and bags of coals, pouring them out and spreading them over the dirt with a rake.

"What er ya doin'?" Nana said.

"I want to be sure the surface is nice and flat so I don't get burned when I walk on them later."

"Walk on em?" she yelled. "Yer shittin' me."

"During the show we'll heat these until they're red hot and then I'll walk across them."

"No way in hell," Nana shouted as she turned away. "They'll be callin' the ambulance ta take ya away."

"Nana, that's not nice," Frank said.

"But look at what he's gonna do. He's gonna walk on them there coals after he starts them ta flaming hot."

He stopped raking. "Hi there, I'm Mick." He shook Frank's hand. Mick's tall thin body looked to be about sixty years old. He had long gray hair tied back into a ponytail and a twelve inch long goatee dangling from his chin. His face looked kind and yet in some way distant, like he had secrets.

"Yer crazy, that's what ya are," Nana said.

"I'm really sorry about her," Frank said. "She's opinionated."

"It's okay. A lot of people think I'm a crazy." He went back to spreading the coals into a strip two feet wide and thirty feet long.

Nana turned away. "I can't be watching this."

Frank walked closer. "Are you really going to walk on them?"

"When coals are smoldering at the right temperature," Mick said, "I'll be able to walk on them without getting burned."

"Sounds like bull crap ta me," Nana said.

Mick smiled. "I need to be one with the fire or I'll have third degree burns on my feet."

"You ain't bein' friends with no red hot fire. I don't care what in the hell ya say."

"I guess you'll have to watch the show then won't you?"

"I wanta check yer feet myself after the show cause I ain't believin' ya can do this here walkin' on fire fer real. It's gotta be dumb foolery."

Frank smiled at Mick. "She's pretty stubborn, sorry."

"That's okay, a lot of people don't think it's for real until they see the show," Mick said.

"I still don't understand why you don't get burned," Frank said.

"It's all mind over matter. My brain knows the fire won't burn me, so I don't get burned."

"But really, you should get burned," Frank said. "Right?"

"I should, but it takes a lot of practice not to. I had to convince my body that the burning coals aren't going to hurt it."

"And how the heck do you do that?"

"It takes many, many years of meditation. I release my connection to the physical realm and the idea of harm being done to my feet. In a trance-like state I can control my thoughts and convince my body's natural reaction to fire not to come into play."

Nana laughed. "It's gotta be fake. Like yer wearin' somethin' on yer feet we can't see."

"So how did you learn how to do this, Mick?" Frank asked.

"My father got a job in India just after my tenth birthday, and our family had to move over there. At first, meditation scared me, but soon after, I found I could relate to life much better with it."

"What the hell," Nana said. "I wanna see them soles of yer feet, right now. Are ya sportin' any burns from last weeks show?"

Mick held up his foot.

Nana grabbed it and ran her hand over the sole. "Hmmm..." She dropped it, frustrated.

"Learning to meditate," Mick said, "turned me from a shy American boy into a spirit searching for his connection."

"You fellas be talkin' way above my head," Nana said. She turned and started to walk away. "I'm goin' ta see if that there popcorn guy is a poppin' anythin' yet." She looked at Buster. "Ya want some popcorn there, mutt?"

Buster looked at Frank and then walked away with Nana.

"I made my first fire walk when I was twenty one. In that mere ten feet of hot coals I lost all fear, past, present and future. I knew if I could walk on twelve hundred degree coals without getting burned, I could do anything."

"What made you want to do this for a living?"

"I want to share with people the possibilities of their own beliefs."

Nana and Buster returned with a bag of popcorn. "Delicious," she said. "Good and salty."

Buster sat up.

"Look, look," She poked Frank in the arm. "The mutt is sittin' up." She threw Buster another piece of popcorn.

Buster caught it and barked for more.

Nana ate a piece and then threw him another. "Ya like it, don't ya?" She looked at her old Timex. "The show will be startin' soon? We best go get some good seats." She looked around. "And where the hell is that daughter of mine?"

"Honestly, Nana," Mick said, "haven't you ever thought about something and then it appeared?"

"I thought that dog wer gonna puke and he went and done it. Right in front a me. Dog does some disgustin' things." She threw Buster another piece of popcorn. "He's kinda cute, though."

"That's not exactly what I was thinking," Mick said. "Like something nice, let's say."

"Like my father used ta say, wish in one hand, shit in the other, and see which one gets filled first." She started laughing, but it turned into a coughing attack.

Frank slapped her on the back. "Are you okay, Nana?"

She shooed him away. "Ya ain't gettin' rid a me that easy."

"I guess what I'm trying to say is that your thoughts are full of potential to make your dreams come true," Mick continued.

"Ain't many dreams left in this here ol' body, youngster."

"I've got dreams, now that Buster came along," Frank said as he patted Buster on the head.

"Start planning for your dreams to come true."

"I'd love a new car," Frank said, "but there's no way I can afford it."

"You ain't needin' no new car. Ya got that little rust bucket leakin' oil all over my driveway. It be good enough fer ya ta be drivin' ta work."

"Now, Nana, you can't crush Frank's dreams just because they're not yours," Mick said. "Frank has to be able to dream, and if a new car is his dream you should support that."

"She's never supported my dreams," Frank said.

"I let ya keep that damn dog under my roof, fleas and all."

"What's a dream of yours, Nana?" Mick said.

"I'll be walkin' through the pearly gates before I'd be seein' any dreams comin' my way."

"Well, let's just say you aren't dying anytime in the near future. What's something you've always wanted to do?"

Nana shut up and thought, then let out a deep sigh. "I've always wanted to go to New York City and see them there Rockettes dance."

"At Radio City Music Hall?" Frank said, surprised by his Nana's interesting dream.

"I guess that'd be the place. And then go up to the top a that Empire State Buildin' and maybe eat dinner in Little Italy. Yeah, I'd be likin' that. Some real good cannolies."

"Now doesn't that sound fun?" Mick smiled. "You start dreaming about that trip and I'm sure you'll be there before you know it."

"That ain't happenin'. We're to busy travelin' around seein' stuff like the papier-mâché' mummy."

"I'll take you, Nana," Frank said, "if that's something you really want to do. You've never mentioned it."

"Cause I never thought ya'd take me."

"Of course I'll take you. I'll call when we get home and get the tickets."

Everybody was quiet for a minute then, "Well, what kinda car you be wantin', boy?" Nana said.

"I'd really like a red Volkswagen Rabbit."

"They ain't too expensive er they?"

"Not really."

"I gots me a savins bond in the ol' safe deposit box at the bank. Yer grandpa bought it when we was hitched. Maybe we can use that toward yer car." Nana threw Buster another piece of popcorn. "Yer really a very good mutt and I'm quite happy yer livin' with us. Everythin' has changed because of you."

### Chapter Seventeen

Two men stood on ladders at opposite ends of a small red and white striped tent. Each held the top corner of a banner with the Feejee mermaid painted in the center. 'Come one, Come all' it said at the top. 'First discovered by P.T. Barnum in 1842.'

"Is it centered?" one yelled as he started to tie his corner in place.

Katherine looked up. "It's perfect," she said.

"Thanks."

She pointed at the tent. "Can I go in?"

"Sure, go ahead."

She pushed the flap back, stepped inside and there she was, the time honored, most valuable piece of sideshow history, the Feejee mermaid. Katherine moved close and stared at her encased in a glass box like the treasured possession of a king. The tiny creature looked old and wrinkled, yet her petite body supported a long fish-like tail and her upper half appeared to be a woman. The scales and fins still intack looked like a trout from the fish market. Her face was filled with wrinkles and she looked scared. Her hands appeared overly large for the small body. Her skin had a leathery sheen and her fanglike teeth had very sharp points, apparently for catching her food under water.

Katherine leaned toward the display. "Are you real? Did you live and breathe once or are you a piece of gaff the sideshows are so famous for?"

She slid onto the bench in front of the display and wondered what mysteries were behind the mermaid, what secrets she held. "What's your story? If you are real, what was your life like? Were you happy? Loved? Did you live in the depths of the ocean? What did you eat? Could you breathe under water or did you come up for air?"

Looking at the mermaid opened her eyes to the wonders and mysteries of Mother Nature's creations. The sideshow had always done that for her, and now, being here again after all these years, she felt alive. For the first time in a long time, she felt a connection to something. Staring at the tiny mermaid she felt the overwhelming infinity of life. "So many life forms exist we'll never see or understand." She pictured the mermaid swimming around in the Pacific, happily playing and catching fish. It made her feel good to know life was more than it appeared to be, beyond human, beyond animal and far beyond what we could see or even imagine.

The tent flap flew open and light streamed in. "How do you like her?" Julius asked.

Katherine looked up at him and smiled. "She's magnificent."

"Isn't she? Hard to believe she's really here." He sat on the bench.

"I'm amazed."

"When I look at her it makes me wonder about all the other things hidden from our sight."

"Me, too."

"If this wondrous creature can live right in our own oceans without us knowing it, then what lives in outer space, in other galaxies or beyond?"

"What else lives right here beside us, hidden from view?"

Julius and Katherine both had a look of sparkly-eyed wonder. Thinking and dreaming. They knew exactly how the other felt. They dreamed the same dream, filled with the joy of watching Mother Nature's oddities and wondering what she was thinking when she created such things.

"Sometimes even the creatures we can see, like anteaters or platypus's make me wonder if Mother Nature is really sane or if she just likes to play jokes on us humans."

"I think maybe she got bored at some point and started creating crazier looking things."

"I suppose if you really think about it, we're all pretty odd looking." Julius chuckled.

"Well, to each other we don't look so odd, but we must look really strange to apes or birds or even bugs."

"I'm sure we do, especially to wild animals that don't see humans very often. Think how scary we'd look to them."

"Why do you think there's such diversity on this planet?" Katherine asked. "Even within our own species there's such variety. I've always wondered why?"

"I think Earth is like a big melting pot of life forms. Maybe it's God's testing ground," Julius said. "Sometimes I picture God sitting at a desk with a pencil and pad, like an artist, thinking, designing and doing sketches of what's to come."

"You really believe in God, Julius?" Katherine said. She swallowed hard and wiped her sweaty palms on her skirt. She could hear the men out front still trying to get the banner tied into place and people shouting and someone was hammering. But it all faded to the background as she looked into Julius' knowing eyes and waited.

"I suppose most people would think it odd for the owner of the sideshow to believe in God," he said. "But this subject comes up a lot around here. The people here are very faithful. So yes, I sure do, but not in the traditional sense, like He's an old man in a white coat, perched on His thrown, waiting to judge us all before we're sent to Heaven or Hell. I don't believe in a spiteful, hateful or mean God. I see the unusual qualities in my show as each person's specialty. A gift, if you will, of being different. And I like to tell them that. I want each of them to know how special they are and what value their life has.

"The God I believe in loves every one of his creations. He never punishes or condemns, he couldn't, he's the father of all, the designer, the creator, and at the same time lives in and through everything. He doesn't just sit back and watch life unfold like the latest Hollywood movie. He's an active participant, a living breathing part of each and every thing."

She turned and slid her right knee on the bench so she could see him better. "You think God is in everything?"

"I think God is the spark of energy that brings all things into being. Nothing can live without it. The breath of life flows through the tiniest ladybug to the largest whale. In that we are all equal. There is no more life in a whale than a ladybug."

"That's a very interesting way of looking at things." She hesitated and then, "So, you think God is within me?"

Julius held her hand. "Of course he is. If he wasn't, you wouldn't exist. Your aliveness proves your divinity. You're an eternal being, an endless spirit, a universal creation of extraordinary magnificence." He kissed her hand and she giggled.

"But earlier you said you pictured God sitting at a desk like an artist and now you're telling me He's in everything. So how could He be creating it all and be part of it at the same time?"

"God is an expert multi-tasker." Julius laughed. "But honestly, Katherine, God is in everything. That's life. On the other hand He's designing new species. In that diversity is where He finds His most enjoyment. Think about it, let's pretend you're God and you can manifest as any living thing right now. You can understand what they're feeling and thinking. What would you choose to be?"

Katherine thought for a moment and then replied, "I'd be an eagle so I could soar over the mountains and see the beauty. I'd like to feel the air in my feathers and the wind on my face."

"That's my point exactly."

"What point?"

"If you could choose to be anything you wanted, you would choose something different than what you are?"

"Of course I would. Wouldn't everyone?"

"And so would God. That's why the universe is so diverse and wonderful. God wants to experience all things, good and bad, up and down, cold and hot, growing and dying, love and loss. He's all about variety. Part of the appeal of our show is the many expressions of diversity. God is here full force in each one of these people and animals. They're unique, and in that He finds something He hasn't experienced before." He patted his chest. "You and me, we're attracted to the energy that radiates from these oddities because we sense His presence in them. Others sometimes see them as God's mistakes, and if I know one thing for sure, God doesn't make mistakes. And it's not that I'm saying God doesn't live in all humans, because he does. I'm just saying in the openness of the people here, we see God more clearly."

For once Katherine understood her attraction to the sideshow, the far out stories, the oddities.

"Think back to the story of Jesus' life," Julius said. "He walked through the cities preaching to the injured, poor and sick. He helped the hookers, lepers and criminals. His disciples were fisherman and tax collectors, not Pharaohs, priests or kings.

"Mother Theresa saw Jesus in every starving person that came to her. These people were in rough shape. They lived in Calcutta, the poorest city in the world. There was no food, no medicines, yet she fed and cared for them. People covered with sores and disease, people who threw their own children in the trash because they couldn't care for them, starving, ill, depressed people. It would seem hopeless to the rest of us. Yet that little ninety pound lady saw God in every one of those faces."

"Why do humans strive to all be the same then? Isn't that defeating the purpose?"

"I think it is, obviously." Julius looked around and smiled. "If God wanted us to all be the same, He'd of made us that way. Certainly He has the power to do so."

"So what really is the purpose then?"

"I think the thing God wants most from us is to be happy."

"You really think God wants us to be happy? I only thought He wanted us to be good."

"I think He wants us to be happy a lot more than He wants us to be good. Good is a matter of judgment. But if God is really living in each one of us then I think He would want us to be happy over all else."

Katherine scuffed the dirt with the toe of her shoe. "I'm afraid I've wasted a lot of time then, Julius, being unhappy and inflicting that unhappiness on my son. How can I make up for that?"

Julius nudged her shoulder with his. "Just start being happy."

She looked up. "Ever since we started talking about this road trip things have turned around for us. Frank found his dog and Rachel offered me a job at her paper."

Julius's walkie-talkie made some static. "Excuse me, Katherine." He grabbed it from his pocket, pressed the button and spoke. "Yes, Jimmy."

"It's almost time to open, boss. We need you out front."

"I'll be right there." Julius stood up and slid the walkie-talkie back into his pocket. "I've got to go. It's been wonderful talking with you, but the show is about to start. I hope you enjoy it." He stepped away and then came back. "You are going to take that job at Rachel's paper, right?"

Katherine nodded.

"I think that's a great decision." He turned away. "I'll see you all after the show."

She watched him leave. The flap fell closed and once again she was alone with the mermaid. For the first time she understood her attraction to the sideshow and the scandal sheets. She realized her search for God had not been wasted. Though it had been a rough road, beginning when she was a little girl, and ending here today sitting on a bench talking to the strong man's son. She discovered what she'd searched for through bearded ladies and pickled punks. She now understood the answers to the mystery which ached in her soul. The obscurity that had followed her all these years. Through the nut house, divorce, and depression. Whether she was dressed in her dirty pink fleece and duck boots or a designer dress she finally had the answers she'd been searching for. God was hiding right in plane sight.

### Chapter Eighteen

Julius and Rachel stood by the front gate. The parking lot was filling up quickly as cars made their way onto the field. Men in orange vests directed them into parking spaces. "Looks like a record crowd," he mumbled. Patrons hurried toward the ticket booth with smiles and laughter. They waited eagerly in line and talked about how exciting it was to finally be at the entrance to the Julius Roland Traveling Circus and Sideshow.

"I'm so proud of you," Rachel said as she slipped her arm around Julius.

He moved closer and smiled. "It's almost time." More cars, looking like matchbox toys, lined the streets as they trailed off on the horizon. Anticipation grew, punctuated by screams of delight and suspense. The smell of hay mixed with hot dogs and cotton candy made it even more exhilarating. "Will they have funnel cakes?" someone asked.

The people in the front of the mob tried to peek over the fence to get the first glimpse at the unusual. Soon they'd enter his world, one filled with clowns, elephants, tightrope walkers, fire eaters and bodies covered in tattoos.

Inside the fence performers ran from place to place, finishing last minute details. Betsy, billed as the headless woman, sat in place, leaned her head back and covered it with a black curtain so she'd appear headless to the crowd. The giant rat routed around in his pen while the snake lady wrapped herself in a ten foot python. The firewalker lit his coals and stirred the cinders.

Demetrius, the master of ceremonies, dressed in a long purple and gold sparkling tuxedo with a huge top hat, stood on the stage in the center of the midway. He tuned up his microphone, cleared his throat and waited for the gates to open.

The ticket takers listened for Julius's cue. He waited until everyone was in place and when the moment felt right announced, "It's time."

The overly anxious crowd pushed and shoved each other for places in line, as if escaping some natural disaster. Julius loved seeing them so excited. This was the first sold out show in over twenty years. His heart throbbed with exhilaration as he watched the fans storm in. This was the moment he'd waited for, the time when all the hard work and heartache came together. This night would go down in history, at least in his mind.

Demetrius spoke in his deep yet elegant voice, "See the rat, the giant rat. This is your one and only chance to see this strange creature. The rat. The giant rat. Only a dollar." Then he turned and pointed. "Don't miss the one and only Feejee mermaid. See her now. Is she a fish or a woman? See for yourself. A one of a kind."

Julius thought about what the night would bring. He winked at Rachel. "We better head in." He took a deep breath and absorbed the feeling of life flowing in his veins. The smell of hot funnel cakes mixed with French perfume. It was just like the old days. And he was happier than he'd been in years. He slipped his arm around her waist and together they walked the midway. Children smiled and laughed. Adults ooed and aahed and everyone fought to see the Feejee mermaid.

***

A bugle sounded.

From a top the stage, Demetrius, started to speak. "Come one, come all, under the big top. The show filled with magic and mystery is about to begin. Come one, come all, see the wonders of The Julius Roland Traveling Circus and Sideshow. A once in a lifetime experience, right before your very eyes."

The crowd made their way under the big top and filed into rows and rows of seats. People hung from the trapeze. The clowns entertained with fake falls and water guns. Others went through the crowd making balloon hats and Lulu, the elephant, dressed in silks and brocade, meandered through with a beautiful girl on her back.

"Under the big top you will see tightrope walkers and fire eaters," Demetrius continued with flair in his voice only the ringmaster could project. "Witness the man who walks on burning coals and gasp at the sight of the lion tamer. Come one, come all, and see your wildest fantasies come true right here and now. A night of magic is before you." Smiles covered every face as the anticipation came to a head. Once the seats were filled all became dead silent as the most amazing show on earth was about to begin.

Frank felt like he'd traveled into a world a million miles from where he'd been. A place far from their little Philadelphia home and the boring lives they'd led just two days earlier. Lives filled with olive green dining rooms and tan cubicles. Lives inundated with depression and hopelessness.

Yet now he sat in a place so different, and happily wondered what had happened. He looked at his mother and then Nana; they actually looked happy. They even smiled. Nana wasn't complaining and Katherine wasn't looking for walk-ins.

He saw himself in every child, wide-eyed and amazed by the sights to behold. He thought about his childhood, the long days spent alone with his mother, anxious to see what hid inside every tent. Dancing with monkeys in miniature suits, eating ice cream with the three-eyed man, and feeding the three horned goat.

Though Katherine had never been the June Cleaver type she did take him on an interesting journey in life and sitting here now, he understood her attraction to this place and these people. He felt what she felt, the energy, the excitement and the mystery. In each silly clown, bite of funnel cake and even in the flies buzzing the elephants, Frank saw life unfolding.

Right here, in the middle of a hay covered field, surrounded by unusual characters and smelling elephant dung, he discovered what every human being searches for, their reason for living, their purpose.

He looked at Buster, who wagged his tail and sniffed the air. Frank patted his big head. "It's you, boy. You changed everything."

Buster looked up.

As Frank looked into those big brown eyes he felt love and companionship, a sense of home. He didn't need to be here, or there, or anywhere in particular. He had Buster and wherever they were, as long as they were together, they'd be home.

### ###

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