Growing Up Delicious by Marianne Banks

Author:Marianne Banks [Banks, Marianne]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Gay & Lesbian, Fiction, Lesbian
ISBN: 9781594932649
Google: rxxKYgEACAAJ
Amazon: 1594932646
Publisher: Bella Books
Published: 2012-01-17T11:49:24+00:00

Chapter twenty-one

Herlick nearly stumbled down the back stairs to his embalming room. He pulled back the starched cuff of his shirt and glanced at his Timex. Ten minutes before two o’clock. He estimated he could take the next five, perhaps seven minutes, for himself. He crossed the embalming room and entered his own office; the desk chair squealed as he settled into it. He slid open his file drawer. Under ‘V’, dangling in a hanging file, was a flask of Stolichnaya. The flask belonged to his father. When he’d retired to Boynton Beach, Florida, Harrison had gifted it to his son. It was silver and ornately engraved with a horned monster, tongue lolling out of its mouth. Harrison was a big man with a barrel chest so no one ever noticed the flask in the interior pocket of his suit jacket. Herlick knew there was no concealing it on his person, so he had taken to keeping it in his desk.

Herlick unscrewed the top and took a swig. He wished he had the time to fill a tumbler with ice and the potato juice (his father had called it that) He loved to listen to the ice crackle as the alcohol washed over it. The second swig made Herlick’s stomach relax and he felt he could take a deep breath for the first time since the ants had showed up. He hoped they were happy with the bowl of sugar he left for them in the basement. The boric acid he’d mixed with it would kill them eventually.

Herlick had adopted his father’s drinking method. It had stood him in good stead since he’d inherited the family business, and he saw no need to change. Harrison’s method had three points. Wait until noon. Harrison felt drinking before the noon hour would only invite disaster and the loss of control. Have no more than a shot an hour. At that pace it was impossible to get drunk. A drunken mortician would be a poor mortician. Always drink vodka. It didn’t smell so it didn’t invite speculation from the public. It was clear, and therefore less stressful on the body than cloudier beverages.

Harrison had never steered him wrong. Herlick knew how fortunate he was to be able to say that. His father had also told him that death brings out the worst in people and it really wasn’t fair to judge them too harshly while they were bereaved. Still, those crackpots upstairs deserved to be judged. The Andersens were all crazy. By the sounds of things, over the intercom monitoring system Herlick had installed a few years ago, James Fifield was arguing with his sister-in-law, Jennifer. Herlick permitted himself a chuckle. He wouldn’t care to bet on the outcome. Jennifer Andersen was a bit of a legend around Delicious. Like werewolves or Jesse James. Her reputation was blown all out of proportion.

Herlick took another swig before he thought about it enough to stop himself. He capped the flask tightly and filed it. Yep, he’d never forget that wedding.

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