Love & Other Curses by Michael Thomas Ford

Author:Michael Thomas Ford
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2019-02-12T16:00:00+00:00

Nineteen

On Saturday, I work with my dad and Becky at the Eezy-Freezy. It’s a blisteringly hot day, all blue skies and no clouds, and apparently everyone in the known world has decided to go to the lake. We’ve spent all day making shakes and sundaes. My hands are sticky from the ice cream, and my nerves are shot from the screaming kids and their frazzled parents. I’m watching a family of five devour their dip cones (of course each of them wanted a different coating) while I say to Becky, “If one more person asks me to tell them what flavors we have, when the sign is hanging right there on the wall beside the window, I’m going to answer, ‘Chicken fat, booger, upchuck, and ass.’”

Becky groans. “Seriously, the woman who wanted to know if we have carb-free slushies?”

We’re wiping off the counter for the eight millionth time when the door opens and the Grands walk in.

“What are you doing here?” I ask.

My father appears from the kitchen area, sees the Grands, and says to me, “Come on. You and I are cutting out early.”

I don’t understand. The Grands rarely come by the Eezy-Freezy. They certainly don’t work here. But now they’re all putting on aprons.

“Go on,” Starletta says to me. “Git. We’re taking over for the rest of the day.”

“You don’t even know how to operate the soft ice cream machine,” I protest.

Clodine comes over and eyes the SaniServ. “How hard can it be? It’s only got one lever.” She pulls on it, and ice cream burbles out. “See?”

“I think we can make some hamburgers and hot dogs,” Hank assures me. “And anything we don’t know how to do, we’ll just tell them the whatchamathingy is broken and we’re real sorry about it.”

I look at my dad, still unsure.

“Becky’s here,” he reminds me. “Come on.”

I take off my apron, hang it up, and leave with him. We get into his Chevelle, and he starts it up.

“Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

My father shakes his head. “I’ll give you a hint, though. Look under your seat.”

I reach underneath and pull out a plastic shopping bag. Inside I find two makeup kits, the kind they sell around Halloween, containing tubes of colored greasepaint. The kit has a clown on the packaging, grinning at me with a creepy red smile. I stare at it for a minute, then look at my dad. “What is this?”

“What?” my father says. “I thought you liked clowns.”

“Don’t you remember what happened at the circus when I was four?”

My father chuckles. “Hey, balloon giraffes are terrifying. Okay, I’ll give you another clue.”

He reaches under the seat and pulls out a beat-up 8-track cartridge. Without showing me what it is, he pushes it into the player he’s mounted under the dash. The old tape clicks and whirs for a few seconds, and then out of the speakers a man’s voice says, “You wanted the best, and you got it. The hottest band in the land, Kiss!”

There’s the sound of an explosion, accompanied by the opening guitar riff of “Deuce.

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