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VALUED CUSTOMER by
Edward M. Baldwin Copyright © 2007
HENRY DOOGAN WAS AN EIGHTY-ONE-year-old genius. Not in the traditional sense that involved theories and equations pitted against one’s intelligence quotient, but a genius in a more practical sense. Since Henry only had a second grade education, he had the kind of genius that usually went undetected by the conventional assessments administered by ordinary people. You see, Henry’s genius was small and precise, like two pebbles, and every now and then they’d rub together to spark a thought. And this genius was well hidden, enclosed within a tight space between his ears. The kind of genius found only in one’s mind. Self-proclaimed genius. Henry grabbed the cordless phone and plopped into his tattered recliner chair, grinning like a tick in a pet shop. He hit the first button on his speed dial and waited. “You better be home, Lillie Mae,” he mumbled. “I been achin’ to do this fer a long time now.” Lillie Mae Crunch, widow of sixteen years, answered on the ninth ring. This was typical for her, since the dislocation of her right hip a few years back, (before she had the hand rails installed in her shower). “What is it ya want this time!” she hollered into the phone. This didn’t affect Henry at all. Lillie Mae always answered the phone that way. She told him a time ago that since her kids and grandkids only call during holidays and her birthday, she knew the caller had to be either a pesky, good-for-nothing “telly marketer,” or the caller had to be him. Either way, she wasn’t in the mood. “Say somethin’!” she huffed. “Say somethin’ or Ah’m hangin’ up on you, ya hear?” “Stop yer hollerin’, old girl! It’s just me!” Henry had to shout into the phone because Lillie Mae was what he called “illegally deaf,” meaning she couldn’t hear worth a darn, but she hadn’t taken her doctor’s advice about the hearing aid, so her deafness was never official. “Me?” she returned. “Who the heck is me? Am I supposed to know—” “Lillie Mae, you know darn well it’s me! So pipe down, put yer good ear to the phone, and just listen to me, why don’t ya!” There was a silence. Henry grunted to his feet and grabbed his trusted magnifying night scope from the top of the television set—“trusted” because he trusted the ad that said “valued at two hundred dollars, yours free, just pay $3.95 shipping and handling.” The scope didn’t magnify much, but his genius told him different because he paid for the darned thing. So he went to the north window of his doublewide and focused the scope on the cluster of mobile homes located on the other side of the manmade pond. “Ah’m lookin’ out at yer trailer, Lillie Mae. Why don’t you come to the window so’s I can see ya. I got somethin’ to show ya.” Another silence. Then Henry heard some shuffling in the receiver. He waited patiently, training the night scope on the second window of Lillie Mae’s trailer. “What now, Henry!” came through the phone as she snatched the curtains open, revealing a wrinkled being wearing a bathrobe, hair curlers, and a deeply chiseled scowl. “Jesus Christ, Lillie Mae. Go git the night scope I brung ya. What you think I gave it to you fer?” Actually, he gave her one because the ad promised two for “acting now.” “I don’t like those dang thangs, Henry! Now tell me what you want before I hang up on ya. Andy Griffith’s on TV, so this better be good!” Henry checked his sweepstakes no-brand wristwatch. All of the hands were broken except for the hour hand. Dang it, he thought. Forgot all about Andy. Then he shrugged and smiled a hideous smile, the kind only a man without his dentures could make, but he couldn’t help it. Lillie Mae’s fire always got his pacemaker hiccupping. That’s why she remained at the top of his list of honey pots, even though the Buckner widow in the sixth trailer on the next lot had cable and a valid driver’s license. Henry hollered into the phone again. “You know that little somethin’ I been promisin’ to git ya, Lillie Mae?” Another silence, but Henry could see through the night scope that she was listening intently. He could also see the shimmer of the “like diamond” bracelet watch on her wrist. He had distributed four others to less deserving widows, but what the hay. The limit was five watches per household at $2.95 each, and, being a genius, he knew a deal when he saw one. “I’ve finally got the package, Lillie Mae! I got the package you ain’t thought I was ever gonna git!” Silence. Lillie Mae left her window, and Henry heard some shuffling. When Lillie Mae returned to the window, she aimed her night scope at him, squinting hard, moving it left and right from one eye to the other. Henry nodded and showed his gums. Then he removed a black velveteen gift box from his pocket and held it for her to see. “I got it, Lillie Mae! Honest to God, I got it!” Henry watched Lillie Mae’s “sun-spotted” left hand fumble with her robe lapel. Fumbling is what she did when she was fumbling for words. “You ain’t gotta say nothin’, darlin’!” Henry yelled. “I know you got feelin’s fer me. I been knowed that since way back when! That’s why I done did what I did and got it!” Lillie Mae’s frown disappeared. “H-Henry . . . is you sayin’ what I think you—” “Heck yeah, Ah’m sayin’ it! We gittin’ married! And not only that, Lillie Mae, Ah’m gittin’ us a house!” Her scowl returned, and she vanished from the window. “Lillie Mae! Where’d ya go, Lillie Mae?” “That ain’t funny, Henry!” she barked in the phone, loud enough to give herself a coughing fit. When she finished coughing and wheezing, Henry yelled, “What ain’t funny?!” “You ain’t funny!” Henry heard Lillie Mae shuffling wildly now, and he strained to hear every pant of her breath and every drag of her bad right leg, but he had no idea what she was doing. “Lillie Mae, what ya doin’ now? Come back!” “You go jump off a cliff, Henry! Ah’m goin’ back to Andy!” “Don’t you believe me?” Henry yelled, feeling fit for his third coronary. “No I don’t believe you, Henry! You can’t even afford enough gas to fill up yer mower, how the heck you gonna buy a house?” “Because I came into some money, that’s how!” Silence again. Henry had a notion to tell her about the “Be Your Own Lawyer” will kit he was getting from an ad for $3.99, documents that would promise her the bulk of his newfound fortune should he kick it first, but he decided against it. He didn’t believe she was a dirt scratching, gold digger, but he remembered seeing her scratch a lottery ticket from time to time. Lillie Mae broke the silence this time. “What money you talkin’ ’bout?” Henry grinned his toothless grin, cradled the phone to his ear, and peered across the pond at Lillie Mae’s closed curtains. “Don’t you never mind what money Ah’m talkin’ ’bout. Will you marry me now?” “Are you talkin’, Henry! I can’t hear yer mumblin’!” “Dammit, woman! I said, ‘Will you marry me NOW!’” Lillie Mae returned to the window and trained her night scope on Henry. He nodded at her emphatically, and even jiggled his eyebrows up and down, the way he did when he announced he was coming over for a spell to keep her and her cat company. “I bought you a ring and everything, Lillie Mae! Ah’m serious ’bout this, now! So what do you say?” “Henry, you better not be pourin’ syrup on cow manure and callin’ it pancakes!” “I ain’t doin’ no such a thang!” “You been drinkin’?” Henry’s grin widened. “Well, why don’t you invite me over so’s you can sniff my breath!” “You stay right where you at, Henry Doogan! It’s too late to be takin’ in callers!” “Woman, it ain’t even eight o’clock yet!” Lillie Mae clenched her fists. “Ah’m missin’ Andy Griffith!” “FINE!” Henry hollered back. “But if I misplace this Jenny wine yeller diamond ring that I finally saved enough to git ya—” “Yeller diamond?” “That’s what I said, woman!” He held the ad inches from his face and squinted. “Jenny wine cube . . . zicona—er, Arizona stones, too! Tons of sparklin’ CZ stones!” He didn’t read the $6.95 part because he was no idiot. Lillie Mae closed her curtains again, but Henry didn’t hear any shuffling, so he figured she was standing there thinking about his words, hand fumbling with her robe. “Wait ’til Andy Griffith goes off!” she finally hollered. “Come over after Andy!” She didn’t say goodbye before hanging up, but she never did. Henry went to the bathroom and shot himself with a fresh coat of aerosol deodorant. Before leaving for Lillie Mae’s, he made an important call to check up on his investment. He was placed on hold, and he sat listening to obnoxious music with loud guitars and screaming singers with no talent. He missed Lawrence Welk immensely, but he occupied himself by thinking of all the things he would buy his girl and all the places he’d take her. Heck, he’d even take her to a burger joint once a week. He was rich now. The loud music disappeared and a voice said, “Thank you for calling the ordering center, my name is—” “Ah’m not callin’ to order nothin’,” Henry interrupted. “Ah’m callin’ to see how long I have to wait before I git what’s comin’ to me.” Henry swelled his chest a bit. “According to a card I got in the mail, Ah’m a special customer of you people, so you’re sendin’ me a . . . replicas silver dollar . . . Morgan tribute proof . . . layered reproduction . . . collectin’ that’s worth over a million dollars. ’Course, like the postcard says, bein’ a special customer or bein’ the current resident livin’ at and all, I only have to pay ninety-nine cents and the ten dollar postage. Anyways, the postcard said it would take six to eight weeks for delivery, but I wanted to see if I could talk someone into gittin’ a rush on it.” The voice on the phone either snickered or sneezed, and then offered to transfer Henry to customer service. Then a thought hit Henry hard. “Hey, wait! Looka here a minute!” The voice paused. “Yes?” Henry swallowed and chose his words carefully. “Seein’ as Ah’m a special preferred customer and all, do you reckon I could git more’n one of those Morgan sets?” The voice paused again, probably thinking it over, but Henry was ready to plead his case should the voice say no. After all, he was both a special customer and the current resident living at his address, right? Plus, he was a genius.
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Copyright © 2009 Edward M. Baldwin |
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Short stories |
