With a huff, I turned toward my niece. “Do you believe that guy? What a jerk.”
“Totally. But you were awesome, Aunt Abby. Way to tell him off.”
“Thank you, Tara.” At times like that, I was almost glad I’d suffered through nine hellish months of law school. If only it hadn’t ended by my being booted out.
To show that Nils Raand’s threats hadn’t bothered me in the least, I picked up the clipboard and the candy bowl and went back to the aisle to round up more signers. A half hour later, I proudly displayed my petition to my niece. “Twenty-five new signatures. Not bad, huh?”
Tara glanced up from her cell phone and gave me an impish smile. “I’ll bet I can get twenty-five more.”
“You’re on.”
“Okay, and in return you’ll buy me a Barrow Boys T-shirt before the concert?”
“You got it.”
Tara grabbed the clipboard and stood in the center of the aisle, calling, “Heart-shaped red jelly beans! The best jelly beans in the world, right here at Bloomers-booth six, aisle one-and they’re totally free. Sign the petition and get your… Uh-oh.”
At the sight of a pair of stocky security guards striding toward us, Tara scooted around the table and got behind me. The guards wore black baseball caps, dark gray pants, thick black belts, and light gray shirts with patches on their shoulders that said SECURITY. They stood directly in front of me, shoulder to massive shoulder, looking as large and threatening as a pair of rabid rhinos. I was surprised they weren’t smacking the palms of their hands with nightsticks.
More bullies. Great. My day was complete.
One guard placed his huge paws on the table and leaned toward me, nodding at my clipboard. “Looks like you got a petition there. That what it is? A petition?”
Stupid questions deserved smart-ass replies. “If it looks like a duck and walks like a duck, it’s probably a duck.”
“You want to hand it over?” He hitched his belt up over his belly and glanced around as though looking for an audience-or making sure there were no witnesses.
I pulled the clipboard toward me. “No.”
“You tell them, Aunt Abby,” Tara said, still crouching behind me.
“Know who sponsors this here Home and Garden Show?” the second guard asked, dipping a meaty fist into the candy bowl and fishing out a handful of packages.
“Yes,” I said.
“Oh yeah? Who?” Clearly he thought he had the upper hand.
“Why? Don’t you know?”
Behind me, Tara snickered.
The guard’s chipmunk cheeks reddened with embarrassment. He straightened and looked around at the other booths, a thumb hooked in his belt about where a gun holster would rest. “Seems like this little lady don’t want to cooperate.”
The first guard, taking the same stance, also glanced around. “Seems like it to me, too. Seems like her lack of cooperation could cause a problem here.”
“I was thinking that very thing myself,” his partner answered, speaking to the ceiling.
Realizing their conversation wasn’t going to get any deeper, I waited until their gazes drifted back in my direction, then said testily, “It’s Uniworld, okay? I get it.”
“What was that?” Guard Number One asked, cupping a hand around his ear. “Did I hear someone say Uniworld?”
His partner, watching people come up the aisle, began speaking out of the side of his mouth. “So tell me, little lady. You think it’s polite to go around bad-mouthing the nice people letting you advertise your business here?”
Nicepeople?
“Give me a break,” I said. “I’m paying Uniworld a hefty fee for this space. Do you think it’s polite of them to sell dairy products loaded with hormones? Do you want your family drinking milk that could cause serious health issues down the road? How do you look in a bra? Because you’ll need one when you start to grow breasts.”
“Okay, here’s how it is,” Guard Number One said, leaning on his paws again, as the other guard discreetly felt his chest for signs of growth. “Stop with the petition and you get to stay at your booth. Otherwise, we show you the door. Got it?”
Hugging the clipboard against my chest, I scowled at him.
“I said”-he leaned closer, bathing me in onion breath-“do you got it?”
“Fascist bullies!” Tara shouted suddenly, jumping to her feet. “Stop harassing my aunt!”
“Hey,” the guard said to her, holding up his palms, “calm down, there!”
Tara wasn’t about to calm down. Now she had a cause, too. Climbing onto our table, she cried, “Hey, everyone! Look at the big apes Uniworld sent to harass my aunt! Harassment!”
“Get her down from there,” the first guard said to me, looking ready to spit nails.
“Help!” Tara cried as the second guard reached for her. “Kidnappers! Call the FBI!”
“No one is kidnapping you,” the guard said, trying to smile as a gathering crowd looked on. “You wanna come down off that table, please, little missy?”
“Make me!” Tara yelled, and began to chant, “Fascist bullies!”
The first guard snarled at me, “You stop her now or I’m gonna haul the both of you off to the security office while I call in the cops.”
Yikes. That was publicity I didn’t need. “Tara,” I said, “stop. You’re not helping.”
“They wouldn’t dare hurt us, Aunt Abby,” she called. “We have witnesses. Hey, everyone! Come look-”
“Tara Kathleen Knight, come down at once!” a voice from the aisle called.
Tara froze as my mom elbowed her way to the front to give her granddaughter her most glacial glare. “Come down this instant, young lady.”
Tara climbed down meekly. Maureen “Mad Mo” Knight was not to be disobeyed.
“Now, then,” Mom said, using her steely teacher’s glare to gaze from me to the security guards, “what’s going on here?”
“These men want me to hand over my petition,” I said, showing her the clipboard.
Mom looked it over. “I see,” she said thoughtfully, then turned toward the guards. “How did you hear about this petition? Did someone complain?”
“Yeah, we got complaints,” the first guard said smugly.
“Complaints from whom?” Mom asked, looking quite smart in her tan wool coat trimmed in brown leather, brown slacks, and brown boots.
The guards exchanged glances, as though they couldn’t decide whether they should be answering or asking the questions. “Our employer,” one of them said.
“And your employer is…?” Mom asked, continuing her interrogation.
“Uniworld,” the first guard answered, raising his chin.
“I see,” Mom said, standing with arms akimbo. “In other words, Uniworld is against the Constitution of the United States.”
The two guards glanced at each other in bewilderment as a murmur of amusement went through the crowd. My mom hadn’t spent six years teaching eighth grade civics for nothing.
“What’s the Constitution got to do with this?” Guard Number Two asked, breaking open a package of jelly beans. His partner followed suit, making me wish I still had some of those hot beans in my possession so I could slip them into the bowl.
Mom gazed at both men in astonishment. “The right to free speech is guaranteed by the Constitution, gentlemen. Surely you know what the First Amendment says.”
To show they didn’t much care, both guards made a noisy show of chewing their candy.
Ignoring their rude behavior, Mom began to quote, “ ‘Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press-’ ”
I glanced at the men to see how they were taking Mom’s impromptu lecture and spotted bright red dribble leaking from the corner of one guard’s mouth.
Oh no. Not the jelly beans.
“ ‘-or the right of the people peaceably to assemble-’ ” Mom paused, her eyes widening as she, too, caught sight of the red drool.
Then I noticed the other guard’s lips had turned cherry red. Neither man had glanced at the other to realize what was happening, but Tara apparently knew, judging by the giggles she was trying to suppress.
Mom continued quickly. “ ‘-and to petition the government for a redress of grievances.’ Thank you.”
The crowd burst into applause. The guards smacked their lips and reached for more candy. Tara clapped both hands over her mouth to stifle her laughter.
“Okay, I think my work here is done,” Mom said hastily. “Tara, let’s skedaddle.”
She wasn’t going to leave me holding the bag-or bowl, as it were. “Mom, may I speak to you for a moment?” I motioned for her to join me behind the table.
“I really need to go pick up your father at the dentist’s office, Abigail.”
I locked my arm through hers and took her with me, whispering frantically, “What did you put in the candy?”
“Nothing harmful. Just a little beet juice.”
“Beet juice!” Tara snorted, doubling over with laughter.
“You told me I’d have amazing results with that candy,” I whispered furiously to my niece.
She nodded in agreement, wiping tears from her eyes. Clearly, we had differing definitions of amazing results.
Suddenly, from another aisle we heard a scream, followed by “My teeth are bleeding!”
At that moment, the security guards caught sight of each other. “Hey, man, what’s wrong with you?” the first one asked in an alarmed voice. “Your mouth is all bloody!”
“Yours is, too!” The second guard wiped his lips with the back of his hand, then stared at the scarlet stain. “What the hell is going on here?”
“I think I’m gonna puke,” the first guard said, then loped off.
Tara held her ribs as she laughed harder.
His partner pointed at me. “You’re in big trouble now.” Then he ran off, too, holding a hand over his mouth.
When another horrified wail shattered the air, uneasy murmurs began to spread through the crowd. Hearing whispers of “poisoned candy,” I called, “Everyone please calm down. The candy is colored with beet juice. Nothing to be nervous about.”
Mom sank onto a chair, a look of extreme mortification on her face.
“Where is she?” a woman cried. Then the two older ladies who’d declined to sign the petition came hurrying up to the table. “Look what your candy did to us!”
They bared their teeth, revealing decent sets of chompers, except for their vivid crimson color. Others followed close behind the women, having also partaken of the sweets.
“It’s nothing harmful,” I assured them. “All natural, totally washable, beet juice.”
After promising ten percent discounts at Bloomers to the irate bunch and sending them off at least partially soothed, I picked up the glass bowl and handed it to my chagrined mother. “We won’t be needing this anymore.”
“I feel just awful,” Mom said. “I’m so sorry, Abigail.”
“You were awesome the way you handled those big apes, Grandma,” Tara said.
“Thanks, sweetie,” Mom said. She sighed miserably as she set the candy bowl aside. “I don’t think I’m cut out to be an artist.”
I was so tempted to agree, but no way could I crush what was left of her spirit. “Are you kidding? Come on, Mom. You love creating art.”
“That’s true, but look what happened with my first batch of candy hearts. Really, whatever possessed me to use red pepper flakes? Do you know your dad thought my mistake was so funny that he put the candy hearts in a glass jar and set it on the coffee table as a display piece? And now”-she waved her arm in the air-“this fiasco. I just wanted to make the red brighter for your display. I guess I used too much beet juice.”
“Okay, so you’re not great with candy,” I said. “Why not go back to your roots?”
She glanced at me as though I’d grown a horn. “Farming?”
“Your artistic roots, Mom. Your pottery wheel. You always enjoyed throwing clay. Am I right, Tara?”
“Totally. I love to watch you work on your wheel, Grandma.”
Mom thought about it for a minute, then sighed. “Maybe you’re right. Clay is a safe medium. I felt I’d exhausted the possibilities, but perhaps all I need is some inspiration to get me back in the groove.”
Suddenly, Tara’s eyes widened in alarm. “Uh-oh. Incoming at two o’clock.”
I looked over to see two new guards approaching the table. “You!” one of them said to my mom. “Twenty minutes to pack up and get out.”
“It’s my booth,” I said, rising, “and I didn’t do anything illegal. Why do I have to leave?”
The guard laid a piece of paper on the table and tapped a thick fingertip on the lower edge. “That’s your signature at the bottom, right?”
I glanced down and saw the rental agreement I’d signed when I paid my fee. “So?”
“So you disrupted the show and caused physical harm to the personnel. In other words, you broke the rules.”
My mom’s face turned white with shock. “Physical harm? But it was only beet juice.”
“You didn’t cause any harm, Mom,” I assured her, “except maybe to a couple of egos.”
The guard snatched up the paper. “We’ll be back in thirty minutes to make sure you’re gone.”
“Fine,” I shouted as they marched away. “Then I want my fee refunded.”
“Fat chance,” one of them called back.
As I stood there glaring at their double-wide backs, trying to decide if it was worth standing my ground, I noticed people watching us with grins and whispers, pointing to their teeth, no doubt spreading word of the jelly bean debacle. Would anyone take my petition seriously now? With a sigh, I pulled a cardboard box from beneath the table and began to stack my brochures inside.
“This is all my fault,” Mom said in despair.
“No, it’s not,” I replied. “The petition was my idea. And I guess I did push the envelope a little by bringing it here.”
“At least let us help you pack up,” Mom said. “Tara, put your phone away, please, until we’re finished.”
“In a minute,” Tara muttered.
“Would you write my name on your petition, Abigail?” Mom asked. “And let me know if you’re going to hold another rally? I want to be there.”
I paused to gaze at her in astonishment. “Really?”
“I did grow up on a farm, you know. Milking cows was one of my daily chores, and I certainly recall how the poor beasts would bellow in pain if I was late getting to them. I can’t imagine the kind of suffering they’d have every single moment of their lives with their udders swollen so full they look like gigantic watermelons. What Uniworld is doing is unconscionable, and I’m proud of you for taking a stand.”
“Thank you.” It wasn’t often she encouraged me to be a dissenter. Make that ever.
Tara showed me her cell phone. “Look! Mom says it’s okay.”
“What’s okay?” my mother asked.
“I’m taking Tara to a concert for her birthday,” I said.
“Correction,” Tara said. “You and Sal are taking me-if you hurry up and buy those tickets.”
“Who’s Sal?” Mom asked.
I gave Tara a fierce scowl. “You are notgoing to call Marco Sal… or Dreamy Eyes, or Hot Pockets, or any other silly name.”
“So…” She gave my mom a sly smile. “Uncle Marco, then?”
With my materials boxed, I slipped on my navy peacoat, wrapped a green and blue plaid scarf around my neck, and put on my Kelly green wool beret, which Marco said brought out the Irish in my eyes. “Okay, I’m ready. Who wants to carry the flower arrangement?”
My mom was standing across the aisle with Tara, completely absorbed in a display of garden decorations.
“Hello. We need to get out of here,” I called, glancing at my watch.
“How about a birdbath for the backyard?” Tara asked, pointing to one of the items.
Mom shook her head. “Too common.”
I picked up the vase of flowers. “Let’s get going before the guards come back.”
“I like bright and cheerful and fun,” Mom continued, oblivious to my warning.
“Tara, will you grab my book bag?” I asked.
My niece turned around. “What?”
“The canvas book bag with the petition inside. Isn’t anyone listening?”
“Sorry,” Tara said, springing into action. She came to a sudden stop and pointed at my beret. “What is that-thing- on your hat?”
“A brooch,” I said, trying to juggle the vase and the box.
“A brooch?” she chortled. “You’re wearing a brooch on your hat? Are you, like, the Queen of England or something?”
“May I slip in a reminder here?” I said. “I haven’t bought those concert tickets yet.”
“Seriously, Aunt Abby, promise me you won’t wear that nasty thing to the concert. I’d die of embarrassment.”
“Wear what nasty thing?” Mom asked, turning at last.
“Uh-oh,” Tara said with an intake of breath. “Darth Vader approaching, stage right, and he’s brought the storm troopers.”
I glanced up the aisle and saw Nils Raand, accompanied by a half dozen security guards, bearing down on us.
“Let’s move it, people,” I called. “Time to blow this planet.”