SEPTEMBER 7, 2023 – The next morning I flew back to my normal life back in Minnesota. Between work and family I had plenty to distract me from 42 Baghdad Street. I would remain distracted until a couple of weeks later when Cliff called with an update, as planned.
“Hey, Cliff,” I answered, stretching the phone cord far enough so I could close my office door.
“What’s happenin’?”
“Work. I’m swamped. What’s the score at 42 Baghdad Street?”
“More of the world according to Bruce. For the most part I think he’s behaving himself. The Merry Maids showed up yesterday to do their thing and when they were done, I inspected to make sure everything was on the up and up over there, and it wasn’t a pig sty, at least. So far, so good.”
“That’s promising,” I said. “Any word from Alex?”
“Not that I know of.”
“That’s even more promising. Anything entertaining to report?”
Cliff laughed. “You kiddin’ me? First thing this morning Uncle Bruce waltzed into my office looking as chipper as ever. He asked me if I could take him to his doctor’s appointment tomorrow at 9:00. I said sure, and then he told me I had something he wanted to buy from me.”
“Such as . . . ?”
“You know that imitation Oscar trophy that’s sitting on top of the file cabinet in my office? I won it at a National Costume Association award banquet a few years back, and ever since it’s collected dust in my office. Anyway, Uncle Bruce came into my office, lifted the thing off the cabinet and asked he could buy it from me.”
“And did you sell it to him?”
“How could I, despite what a cheap bastard he is? I told him he could have it; that I couldn’t take his money for it, but then I had to ask why he wanted it.”
“And . . . ?”
“He said ‘I want to present it to my doctor tomorrow.’ Can you imagine the scene?” Cliff was now in full laughter mode. “Uncle Bruce is going to present Dr. Palimento with an Academy Award, and in his acceptance speech, Dr. Palimento is going to say, ‘Thank you, but I think you’re crazy!’”
I joined in Cliff’s laughter and added, “After all the work we’ve put in—you’ve put in, Cliff—it’s only fair that we should get some humor out of it, and you’re always seeing the humor, Cliff.”
“Hey, that’s important,” he said. “You gotta laugh at half the stuff Uncle Bruce does so you can handle the half that makes you scream.”
The press of business inside Fun Ghoul forced a sudden end to our call.
*. *. *
Late that evening on his drive home, Cliff phoned me again. “What’s happenin’?”
“What now?”
“I just had to call. Two weeks into the contract and Uncle Bruce has broken his word.”
“How so?”
“After I left my office this evening—about 15 minutes ago—I thought I’d go over to the house and check on Uncle Bruce. When he didn’t answer the door I let myself in and called out his name over and over. No sign of him. Then I went upstairs and saw that the light was on in his viewing room—you know, your grandmother’s old day room where Uncle Bruce has his TV and video machine set up.”
I knew where the story was headed.
“When I got to the top of the second staircase, I stopped. I had to. I could hear a gay porn tape in full swing.”
“Oh, no-o-o o!” I said.
“I just couldn’t bring myself to walk in on that or I’d need a psychiatric evaluation myself. Suddenly, I got so scared I flew on the stairs and ran clear out of the house as fast as I could.
Now what?”
“An Oscar for best screenplay?”
“Too funny!” said Cliff. “But seriously, Eric, now what do we do?”
“We face the reality that he’s never gonna change. And before we know it, Alex is going to be in the money again—you and I both know it.”
“So when are you returning to 42 Baghdad Street?”
“None too soon, I’m afraid, which at the same time is way too soon.”
“I know how you feel, but don’t forget, I live at ground zero every single day.”
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© 2023 by Eric Nilsson
