Seattle Press on Line - Revenge in a Jar

Revenge in a Jar

By Patricia J. Geister

Mar 22, 2001 -- "I mean it! I really mean it! Eddie has gone too far this time. I'll find a way to fix his little wagon, believe you me!"

Cindy was madder than I'd ever seen her in all the many years we had been close friends. Eddie, the boyfriend she was ranting about, had led her around by the nose for a year or more. Each time he either stood her up, or called at the last minute to say he couldn't keep that night's date, she always rationalized it; found a way to overlook it or forgive him. She would sit and wait for his next call, never complaining, never going out with someone else.

"Okay, okay. Suppose you calm down and explain what you're so mad about, huh? What did the last of the big spenders do this time?"

"Last night he called to say he had to go to his mother's. He said she's sick and can't be left alone. I felt so sorry for her. She's not well, I
know that. I didn't feel like cooking. I mean, we had plans to go to that new place over on Alki.

"Sometimes Eddie brings me one of those fabulous deli sandwiches from that place near me. I decided that sounded good, so I drove down there. Just as I pulled into the parking lot, there goes Eddie. He's getting into his car, and there's a hot looking young blonde waiting for him."

"He's taking sandwiches and a visiting nurse to his mama?" I asked with a laugh.

"Oh, yeah! Right! All visiting nurses wear low cut sleeveless tops as part of their uniform."

"Huh! Well, it makes me think he's too cheap to take her to dinner if he's gotta stop at the deli."

"This is the end! I'm done!" She was almost in tears.

"Hey, he did you a favor. Forget him. Cut your losses and move on," I counseled.

"Oh, I'm moving on all right. But, not without getting even. Somehow I'll get the last word. I want this guy to remember me as the one who wouldn't let him get away with it."

"Please, for your own sake, don't do something that will get you into trouble. Come on, we're here at the market for a day of fun food shopping. Let's enjoy it."

I parked at the lot near Cutters. We headed up the street to meander into and all around the Pike Market. Those sounds, the smells, the energy of the crowd lift our spirits. We love it. It's new every time, yet it's always the same.

"Look at that! That's it! That's what I'll do to the rat!" Cindy was pointing at the seafood showcase. A huge horse clam lay in repose, it's long penis-like neck on full display.

"You'll do what?" I was confused. All she did was point and laugh.

"You'll see. Are you willing to help me?"

"Help you what?"

"I'll tell you when we get home." More laughing. Her eyes narrowed into sinister, seditious little slits. She bought the horse clam.

We got back to her house. Finally she told me of her plan to get even with Eddie.

"Here. I've got an empty mayonnaise jar to package this message. You cut off the neck and put it in here and fill it with water. I'm going to write the note to go with it."

I did what I thought was the end of my part of this scheme. Cindy sat at the table writing, tearing up the paper, repeating the process until she was satisfied.

"How does this sound? 'Consider this your last warning. Next time it's your turn.' Think he'll ever guess it's from me?"

"I thought that was the object. Why don't you sign it?"

"Let him wonder for a while. I'll call him. After I admit that I did it, that's when I tell him to hit the road."

We waited until well after dark before we drove to the condo complex where Eddie lives. She had conned me into carrying the jar up to his front door on the second floor. I'd never been there, and the overhead light was burnt out between the two units. That much darkness was a relief to nervous me. Carefully, quietly, I placed the jar, with its note attached, outside his door. Feet, don't fail me now! I hot footed it back down the stairs.

"Get me out of here! I'm not cut out for a life of crime," I told her.

The next day Cindy waited until shortly beyond noon before calling Eddie.

"Hello, Eddie. How's your mother? I do hope she's feeling better."

"Uh, yeah...she's okay."

"Good. Glad to hear it. Say, did you get my message?"

"You mean a voice mail?"

"No, I don't mean a voice mail message. The message at your door. You did find it, didn't you?"

"Oh, good God! You left that at the door?"

"You bet I did! That's my parting shot, big boy. I've had all I need of you. Did I get your attention?" She felt so confident.

"Let me tell you something, Cindy. You're lucky the police aren't at your door right now."

"Police? What are you talking about?"

"You left it across the way, not at my door. That's Johnny's door, not mine. He's from the East Coast, remember? His mother is here visiting him. She's Italian, for crying out loud. You nearly caused the poor woman to have a heart attack."

"Oh, no!"

"Oh, yes. She opened the door to bring in the Sunday paper, and picked up the jar first. The whole complex could hear her, she was screaming and yelling so loud. Johnny's out of town on a business trip."

"She's Italian you say?"

"That's what I said. She dropped the jar and ran back inside to call the police. The poor woman didn't read the note. She took it for granted it was someone's way of telling her Johnny was dead."

"She didn't read the note?"

"No, but the cops did. Then they checked on Johnny by calling his cell phone number. He answered, so they know he's alive. Geez, Cindy! Why'd you do that?"

"I told you. I was trying to get your attention. Eddie, you're not kidding me, are you?"

"No, I'm not."

"Okay, Eddie. I meant it for you. I saw you in the deli parking lot with the blonde chickie. I'm sorry about Johnny's mother, really I am.

"Eddie, you have fun with all the blondes, the brunettes, the redheads, and maybe a baldy or two, in the whole world. I'm done. Go hurt yourself. I'm outta here. Take me off your speed call. Got it?"

"Now, wait --"

Slam! went her receiver. No more Eddie.

I'm sorry about Johnny's mother, too. But you know, I'll bet the cops who answered that call guessed the note came from a woman. Do you think they kept a straight face? I doubt it. Once they got back in the car, they had a good laugh. It’s probably one of the best after work stories they’ve told over their beers in a long time.

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Pat Geister	Apr 07, 2001	Seattle, WA	writer
Dear Editor, Thanks for adding my work to your fine publication. You're doing a great service to the audience and all the local writers.