Talk Gertie to Me by Lois Winston

Author:Lois Winston
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Lois Winston
Published: 2015-04-02T00:00:00+00:00

THIRTEEN

“Mother!”

Nori’s shriek drowned out Pavarotti’s mournful, plaintive rendition of Rudolfo and startled the bejabbers out of me. I jumped, stumbled backwards, and tripped over one of Hy’s discarded shoes. Hy bolted upright. I reached for his arm to steady myself. His pants slid farther down his legs. As he grabbed for them, his elbow knocked the bowl of casting medium from my hand. I lurched for the bowl, missed, and kicked over the bag of plaster lying at my feet.

Plaster of Paris spattered seven ways to Sunday. A cloud of plaster dust rose into the air like a burping volcano, then began to settle. All over Hy. All over me. All over the living room.

I always mix way too much. This batch had been no exception. I can never get the water-to-powder ratio right. First I add too much water, then I compensate with too much powder, then too much water. And so on. I hadn’t realized how much I’d mixed until I saw the fallout settle over the room. I needed a tablespoon at most and wound up with over a quart before I managed to get the consistency right.

A large dollop had landed smack dab in the middle of the forehead of some strange man who stood beside Nori. He scooped the white glop off his brow and stared at it. Deep furrowed lines of puzzlement replaced the spot where the plaster had nailed him.

Who was he? She hadn’t gotten back together with that fancy-schmancy epidermis doctor, had she? That would certainly complicate things. As much as I hated seeing my daughter in tears, their break-up made my job a lot easier.

Nori batted at the plaster dust still hovering in the air and continued to gawk, her head bobbing back and forth from me to Hy and back to me. “Mom, what in heaven’s name are you doing?”

I searched around for the roll of paper towels I had brought in from the kitchen. Where were they? If I didn’t begin mopping up the mess soon, it would start hardening. “We were listening to Puccini before you starting wailing like a Banshee.”

“Puccini?” Screw Puccini!” She pointed to Hy. “Why is he naked?”

It took Herculean effort, but I forced myself to ignore my daughter’s foul mouth. A mother’s influence only extends so far, and it was obvious mine hadn’t made it past the Ten Commandments town limits. I gave up on the paper towels and walked over to the stereo. Taking care not to drip plaster on the CD player, I lowered the volume on La Bohème, although I considered it a shame to replace such a masterful tenor with the shrill discord resonating from my only offspring. Why did she have to be so judgmental and close-minded when it came to me? “What does it look like we’re doing?”

The man standing next to her stifled a chortle with a fake cough, swatting at the air in some useless attempt to blame the dust for his spasms, but he didn’t fool me.

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