Grand Slam High Noon at Denny's - Part Two!
Read Part One
I didn't sit and stare at Huge Hair's books for longer than a surf dude second. I didn't have to tell 10 what to do, either. I glanced up the street at the stocked homes and nodded my head with military precision. He took off, a stack of my brochures under his arm. I watched him run house to house, remove the offending literature and replace it with mine. 8 seemed oblivious to the operation. He sat on the curb scratching a neighbor's cat between the ears. I think I heard explaining to the Tabby that Data - of Star Trek, natch - has a cat named Spot. I rolled my eyes.
"Don't throw them away!" I yelled, when I saw my older boy head to a trashcan with Huge Hair's wares. "I'll stuff them in my backpack for now, ok?"
We blanketed my street and the three closest offshoots with my Avon goodies. No WAY was Huge Hair gonna grab that prize basket from under me. No WAY! I called her a hundred million mean names in my mind as we trudged home, and the moment I closed the door behind me I whipped out one of her brochures, flipped it over, and grabbed the telephone.
"Hi! Is this here Diedre?" I tried to disguise my voice by talking in a deep Southern accent. "Well now honey, I need some of that Skin-So-Soft, so if you tell me where you live, I'll just drop on by and pick up a brochure from you and drop you a check."
Huge Hair took the bait. She rattled off her address and told me she would wait until I arrived. Ha! I thought. You do that, Big Bad Avon Lady. You do that.
I hauled two boxes of stamped brochures to the back of my van and promised the boys a Slurpee apiece if they behaved.
"Now, kids, I'm going to be honest. We're going to do something kind of sneaky. You know how that lady put her brochures down OUR street? Well, we're going to put our brochures down HER street!"
My boys slapped me high five as I backed out of the driveway. I turned the radio up high, and we rolled across the overpass connecting olde towne with the patchwork of newer identical subdivisions. Diedre lived in one of these square villages. Each house we passed had three matching palm trees in a triangular arrangement and an iron mailbox stuffed into a printed terra cotta planter. I parked around the corner and watched my boys turn into secret ninja Avon warriors carrying messages of beauty and redemption. They snuck from home to home, leaving my books and samples on each doorstep. They took their job seriously. 10 kept his back against each side fence, sidled up to each house with eyes darting back and forth. 8 crawled quickly from bush to bush, a trick learned from Star Trek, no doubt. I'm sure in his mind he set phasers on "stun."
One hundred drops later, we were done. I opened the back hatch of my van and scooped out Huge Hair Diedre's books - the ones she left along my street - and ran them to her very own porch, left them wilting in the afternoon sun.
Three days passed. I forgot all about the prize booty. I didn't get a single call from Diedre's neighborhood. She must have discovered my dastardly deed and removed the evidence, I figured. My boys and I continued walking our beat, knocked on our regular doors and collected our regular small orders for blush and soap and deodorant. It would have ended there, plain and simple, but the Avon Gods intervened. I received a gift certificate to Denny's in the mail - a thank you gift from the PTA for my volunteer assistance over the school year.
"Hot dog! Boys, we're going out for lunch! You've been such excellent helpers!"
The Denny's sits at the corner of the biggest boulevard in town and the I-5. Queen palms separate north from south. We shuttled past the Japanese restaurant and the Albertson's grocery and pulled in to the parking lot the Denny's shares with the Motel Six. I carried an Avon purse stuffed with brochures and my gift certificate and I hustled the boys inside.
"You guys can pick out whatever you like! This is going to be a party, ok?"
An older waitress wearing a white and black smock escorted us to a booth along the picture windows bordering the restaurant. I sat against the glass and noticed a hundred tiny palm prints from someone's loose toddler. The boys perused the menu and debated the fine points of burgers versus pancakes and I glanced around the room, happy to be able to treat my boys as well as have a meal requiring no dirty dishes. Three waitresses leaned against the counter. I could barely hear their gossip about a co-worker and her hot fling with the Tijuana man who makes homemade tortillas. I smiled, thought how a man who kneads dough for a living must have talented hands. I turned to see what might be behind me, and then I saw her. Huge Hair. Diedre, the Big Bad Avon Lady. With a yuppy customer, drinking coffee and eating apple pie a la mode, and demonstrating Avon eyeshadows and lipstick.
"Boys. Figure out what you want to eat. Let's order. And then we're gonna take that woman down."
To be continued.... uh did I say two parts? I meant three!
4:13:52 PM 
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