CLUTTERBUCKS — EPISODE 8

It takes Kreskin a moment to understand.
“You don’t get what, Grace?”
“I don’t get what the moon is. I always thought it was a hole and the stars were tiny holes – and that’s what let the light in – but now, the way the moon looks and what it does to the lake? I don’t think it’s a hole. I mean if it is a hole, then what’s outside?” She makes a sphere with her hands. “We’re inside, but what’s outside? Do they know? Has anyone ever been outside? I thought having a telescope would clear things up but I just can’t figure it out.”
Kreskin takes the opportunity to blow her mind.
“Sit down,” he says, “I know where you’ve got it wrong.”
He points at the moon, turns his head and looks at her, and then back to the moon.
“We live on the OUTside of the earth,” he says.
Grace says nothing but her hands tighten on the arms of the chair. 
Kreskin watches as she rearranges things in her head. 
“Oh wow,” she says. “I think I get it.” 
“Good. And I just remembered I have a surprise for you.”
“Oh man,” Grace says. “I don’t know if I can take another one.” 

It didn’t occur to Daphne that Mr. Jet would not make it to the meeting. 
She arrives ten minutes early and waits on the bench outside while dozens of people file through the library doors and take the stairs down to the AA-designated meeting room. No Mr. Jet. She waits ten more minutes before she gives up – but rather than go home – she decides to go to the meeting and ask for advice. How do you get an unwilling person down those stairs and into a meeting? 
But there he is.
Mr. Jet is sitting in the middle of the front row, his purple jacket draped over the chair to his right. 
“Oh! Hey! Glad you made it,” he whispers. 
“Sorry I’m late,” Daphne says sitting beside him.
“Never mind. There are still lots of people coming in. And all those guys too.” He nods to a line up of people who are getting coffee in the small kitchen, and puts his jacket on his lap. Looks like it will be a full house.
At the end of the meeting Mr. Jet takes hold of Daphne’s hand and her neighbour on the other side takes her other hand. “Keep coming back,” everybody says.
Her neighbour’s neighbour leans forward and looks over at Daphne.
“Is this what it takes to get a date with you Miss Buck?”
It’s Cowboy Jim Dinner.

Daphne pulls up to the address Karen gave her and parks. The house is completely dark.
“She said she put the key in the mailbox. You just sit tight a minute. I’ll go see.”
She comes right back. “Key’s not there. And maybe it’s too late anyway. Come stay with us tonight. ” 
“It’s only 9:30,” Mr. Jet says. “And who is us?”
“Me and my mom. Me and Harriet. You can have the couch.”
But Harriet is on the couch in a cocoon of knitting.
“I’m just gonna leave her,” Daphne whispers, turning off the TV. “C’mon. Follow me. There’s another couch in the den.”
In the morning Daphne wakes Harriet up to tell her Mr. Jet slept over.
“I’ll swing by at noon and pick him up. See you then, mom.”
When she comes home at lunch, Mr. Jet and Harriet are hunched over the laptop. Harriet slams it shut and slides a credit card up her sleeve. 
“Oh brother. What did you buy?” Daphne asks. “Mom? What did you buy–”
“We were just looking,” Mr. Jet says with a smile. He’s still wearing the purple suit, it’s been freshly pressed, and he’s wearing a red shirt that Daphne forgets is hers. She shields her eyes and turns her head.
“Holy eclipse, Mr. Jet, can you turn it down? I thought I was bad.”
“Oh you are, my dear. You are.”
Harriet steps into her shoes by the door. “Let’s get to work!” she says.
“Okay mom. Come with us today, but you’re retired, remember? You don’t need to go to work any more. You can stay here and relax.”
“Staying here and relaxing is not relaxing Daphne. Coming to work is relaxing.”
They get in the car and the Funny Business podcast resumes automatically.

Don’t forget folks, enter the TWO MINUTE, TWO PEOPLE, TWO THOUSAND contest today! blah blah blah

Daphne half-listens to the podcast and half-listens to the conversation between Harriet and Mr. Jet. Too late, it occurs to her that she should have recorded it. Their weird and wonderful conversation would almost certainly have won her the contest. 
Jane is sitting on a bench in the sunshine with Matthew, Kreskin’s handsome chauffeur, who is waiting to take Kreskin on a tour of bookshops in and around Prince Edward County first, and then on to Kingston in the evening. They seem to be having a pleasant conversation, even a few laughs. Michool slips by unnoticed and goes through the alleyway.
Kreskin comes out and sits between his parents. He’s wearing his most recent Saving Grace creation: gravity sucks, one of the designs in her new Science Rules line.
Daphne pulls up in a carefully mud-splattered van in front of the store. She’s tried to conceal its newness from Jane which she has done successfully, and although the old one remains in the alleyway, Jane is completely unaware she just shared in the cost of this brand new van.
“Come on, mom,” she says. “You’re coming with me. Mr. Jet? You take the van. Here’s the keys. Here’s the address. See you – Oh shit. Hang on let me get the de– oh wait,” she glances at Jane, “we’ll have to pull over and put on the decal.”
“Decal?” Mr. Jet asks.
“Salvation Army decal. We are picking up this donation on behalf of the Salvation Army.”
Mr. Jet starts to speak.
“You’ll see. Welcome to the – ahem – never-a-dull-moment world of Clutterbucks. And it’s just between us. What happens on the road stays on the road. Just between us. Not to be discussed. Especially with Jane.”  
“Got it. I have a feeling this is going to be even more fun than I thought.”
Daphne yells to Jane through the window. “Off to an estate sale. Just past Oshawa. See you in a couple of hours. With some treasures I hope!”
“Okay! Be good.” 
Flash to Daphne honking for Mr. Jet to pull over so they can apply the sign.
“Why don’t you use your blinkers?” Daphne asks. “You think it’s an invasion of your privacy or something?”
“In a way, I think yes. I have learned to sneak around –”
Daphne points to his shoes, which light up and make sounds when he walks, the bright purple shirt, the hair, the overt flamboyance in general, and laughs.
“Jet you are so OUT you are so brave and so completely OUT THERE, you gotta drive like you own IT, too. What we are doing here, you’ll soon see, is highly suspect. We can’t afford to get pulled over. You have to obey all traffic rules and no tickets ever. I don’t care what it takes don’t get a ticket!”
“You want me to own it girl?” Jet says strutting back to the van. “I will own it!”
He drives perfectly the rest of the way if a little too generous with the blinker.
Flash to Regency Square. Harriet has been told to stay put in Daphne’s car and under no circumstances is she to come out. 
Daphne knocks on the front door of number 19.
“Hi Mabel,” she hollers through the screen door. “It’s me. Daphne. The Salvation Army guy is here with the truck. He’s backing it up to the garage. Shouldn’t take too long. We’re–”
Mabel comes to the door and behind her, a larger figure. The baritone voice takes Daphne aback, “Who the hell is this?”
“This is Daphne,” Mabel says, and to Daphne, she says, “this is my daughter, Jam.”
“What the hell’s going on?” Jam opens the door and faces Daphne. “Who are you?”
“She’s my personal organizer. I told you, Jam. I needed help.”
“Oh, so this is the swindler, is it? This is the one who talked you out of all your stuff?”
Mabel stays inside but Jam pushes through the door and stomps over to the truck. Mr. Jet is standing on the other side.
“I’ve heard about organizations like yours,” she says, “and people like you, pretending to take stuff and donate it but you keep it all for yourselves.”
She puts both hands on the decal and feels around until she finds an edge which she pulls. 
“See? You aren’t a legitimate charity at all! Salvation Army my ass! You’re not getting away with this! Mom!” she hollers. “Call the cops!”
Harriet comes out of Daphne’s car. 
She walks up to Daphne and sweet as pie she says, “What’s going on? I thought you were going to help me. You and this nice man here,” she points to Mr. Jet who approaches from the other side of the van. He is wearing a Salvation Army shirt and jacket, courtesy of Saving Grace.
“Don’t worry, ma’am,” Mr. Jet says putting his hand on Harriet’s shoulder. “There seems to be a misunderstanding. We’ll clear it up and get you help right away.”
Harriet looks back and forth between Daphne and Mr. Jet. “Aren’t you taking me to the Salvation Army? Isn’t that what you promised?”
“It is what we promised,” Daphne says, “and we will get you there, ma’am. It’s just that we also promised this lady we would pick up her donation today.”
“I am awfully hungry,” Harriet says. “I can just find something somewhere else. I always do–”
She takes a few steps down the driveway.
“No!” Jam says. “I’m sorry. My mistake. Oh dear. When I’m wrong, I’m wrong. Please. Take the stuff and go. And here,” she fumbles around in her purse and hands Daphne some folded bills. “Take this, please. Use it to buy her lunch.” 

Later that day Daphne pulls Mr. Jet aside and hands him a key.
“My cousin Karen came by. The real estate agent. We were at the right house last night. There are other mail boxes I didn’t know about. Your key is in the one closest to the patio she said. Place is full of students, she said, most of them are foreign, always getting care packages and mail from back home_”
“Really? That’s fantastic. I love students! Oh my God those kids have no idea how lucky they are. I mean to have me as a roommate. Teaching was my life.”
“You were a coach, not a teacher.”
“Same thing, Daphne, same thing”.
“I suppose it is. Listen. You want me to come with you again tonight?”
“Not necessary but you’re welcome to.”
Jane suddenly appears. She is holding a three-mink linked stole and grimacing. “Ugh. Where did this come from Daphne?”
“Told you. An estate sale outside of Oshawa.”
“I see. Maybe in the future you can resist anything dead animal related. Just as a courtesy. And, you can put the receipt in the drawer soon as you like. I’m taking over the books.”
Mr. Jet gives Daphne a look. “Oh dear,” he says. “I see what you mean. And listen. If you don’t show up tonight, I’ll say hey to your cowboy for you, don’t worry.”

Jane used to think Michool was ridiculous but she doesn’t think so any more. 
He’s totally getting it together in the basement. He’s had a new separate entrance built in the back. He’s got a bunch of investors and construction has now begun on the interior. He’s working in Kreskin’s old bedroom, devising the challenges and whenever Jane goes down, which she does perhaps too often, he bounces ideas off her.
“Glad you came down. Listen to this,” he says and proceeds to explain. Sometimes it’s a test of marksmanship, other times it’s strength or endurance. Sometimes it’s a Shakespearean soliloquy up for identification. And sometimes there’s a chessboard set up at a critical point in the game and he asks her to make the next move. So far she has kept up with the challenges, it’s nice to get her opinion, which has given Michool an idea.
“Where on earth do you come up with all this, Michool? Are you some kind of genius?”
“Well I don’t know about that, June, but I get so many ideas lately I practically have to bat them away.”
”And what’s that you’re working on there?” She points to a piece of graph paper he’s writing on.
“This one? It’s not for Warrior Waze. It’s for my mother. She likes me to make up crosswords and word searches and jumbles and riddles and such, I try to make the clues related to her life and her friends, you know, places she’s been and people she knows. Here,” he hands her the paper. “See if you can figure this one out. It’s a word jumble I’m going to give her tonight. Think it might keep her busy. Give it a try. See what you think. And this one comes with a hint: It’s one word.”
The words NEW DOOR are printed in the middle of the page.
”See if you can solve it. And I was wondering if you can come by here tomorrow evening and help me make the final choice. I’ve narrowed it down from more than two thousand applicants to twenty-five. I’ve decided on a handful – a magazine editor, a blacksmith, a horticulturist, Cat Stevens, a newlywed from somewhere in the Middle East – but I could use a hand getting it down to 13.”
“Sure. I’d love to. I’m working til close tomorrow. I’ll come down after six.”
“I’ll make us some dinner. Try out my new pizza oven.” Jane follows him into the kitchen where restaurant sized pizza oven takes up the entire room.
Flash to late that night Jane is in bed. She’s going crazy trying to figure out the word scramble. The graph paper is full of her scribbled attempts.
Screw it. He’s a night-owl, too. Why not just call him?
But her call is answered by a woman’s whispering voice.
”Hello?”
“Oh,” Jane says, half-curious, half-disappointed. 
“Oh,” the woman says. “You must want Michael. Hang on. Michael. Phone’s for you. Wake up.”
Jane considers hanging up but he’s on the phone in a second.
“Hello?”
“Oh shit I’m sorry to bother you. That word jumble is driving me nuts.”
“It’s one word, June,” he says and hangs up.
“Sorry Michael but I had to answer it. Didn’t want your mom to wake up,” the nurse says. “She so seldom gets a good sleep.”
On his mothers bedside table is a piece of worn and scribbled over graph paper just like Jane’s, the words NEW DOOR in its centre.

Daphne and Harriet get home, it’s dark and Daphne bumps her hip into something. She turns on the light. There’s a ping-pong table set up in the living room. 
“Oh that was quick. I only ordered it at lunchtime,” Harriet says. “Game?”

Simon is nearly ready to send the letter of inquiry to Miss Vanity Long at Flank, Reek, Castles and Mergatroid. He just needs to get a little further in the book in case she asks for the whole thing right away. He’s finished the outline, the first 50 pages are ready to send on request, and he’s working on the rest of the book. But it’s not going so well. If only he could get his hands on Kreskin’s work-in-progress. If only.
Simple Simon goes to Our Salad Days every morning for breakfast. 
Now that he and Normal are no longer competing for Kreskin’s attention – he dropped them both cold – they’ve become misery-loves-company kind of friends. 
“God damn him”, Normal says watching Kreskin climb into the limo, “I just don’t get it. I did everything right.”
“What does that mean?”
“I was nice. I learned how to be nice online. Cost me two hundred bucks.”
A customer asks for peanut butter and she rolls her eyes and swears under her breath.
“Oh well,” she says. “It wouldn’t have lasted anyway.”
“What? The being nice or you and Kres?”
“Both. Being nice goes against my nature.”
“Just how devious are you my friend?”
“Award-worthy. Triple-gold.”
“Oh. Impressive. I wonder, then, if you’d be interested in a little revenge.”
Normal moves closer and the whispering begins, “You know that speaker I hooked up? Well...”
“What’s in it for me?” Normal asks when the story is told.
“If pure revenge isn’t enough, my friend, you’re not as mean as you say you are.”
“Oh, no,” Normal shakes her head vigorously, “I’m mean. I wrote the book.”
“So did Kreskin. And I think he keeps it under his bed. That’s where you come in.”
Of course Kreskin knows exactly what’s going on and has planned this ridiculously complex story in order to keep Simple Simon off the trail of his real book, the one he is now writing for his generation.
Flash to Simon opening the envelope from Normal. He pulls out a hundred pages of notes. Later, they’re scattered all over his room and he’s in a total frenzy. There are so many characters and so many story lines and such a twisted, complicated plot “structure” that he can’t cope. He’s got notes up both arms and legs. He spends all his time writing writing writing. All work and no play. 

Kreskin’s surprise for Grace is a swing. A trapese.
On her first try, wearing her newest T-shirt infinity forever, she executes a perfect swoop from her bedroom platform to the new deck platform where she stands, delighted with herself, as if she’s done it all her life. She spends every night out on the deck – thinking, reading, learning – and watching over the world with new eyes. She thinks of Uncle, the years she spent his prisoner, there’s anger brewing now below the fear, she thinks of following Daphne’s suggestion.
“You need to tell the police. What if you could have him arrested?”
“Daphne,” Grace replied, “I don’t do what ifs.”
“What if that little girl Kres pointed out is your daughter?”
“I can’t do what ifs.”
“You need to learn to do what ifs, honey,” Daphne says. “You need to try action rather than resigning yourself to your if only slogan. It’s called hope, Grace. Try it. Try letting yourself hope.” 
Which is exactly what Grace is trying to do when she sits out on the deck at night coaching herself, changing the fear into something else. There’s a roar behind it now, and it’s gathering speed.
She hears a commotion down in the store. Kreskin must be back early. She steps onto her swing and swoops to her perch.
“What the hell was that?” Daphne says down by the cash looking up. “Grace?”
“Oh. Hi Daphne,” Grace says from her perch. “You surprised me.”
“I surprised you?”
“Kreskin made it for me. It’s a trapese.” She pauses. “So I can get to the deck.”
“The deck? What deck?”
“Come on. I’ll show you. There’s a ladder.” She starts to crank it down.
“Not now. I’m looking for my mom. Have you seen her?”
Grace has been catching up on the movies she’s missed, is on Toy Story now. “Not today, Zurg”, she says.
Then all at once, as if somebody had said ACTION!:
There’s a knock on the door. It’s Greybird. “Saw your car. I just got back from Thunder Bay and it’s not great up there. I need more money. I have something here I know you’ll be–”
Jane comes through the basement door. “What’s going on? Just came to get my bag. Daphne? Everything alright?”
Michool was on his way out the back door but sticks his head in. “Everything okay?”
The gaggle of bells suddenly plays Waiting On A Friend and in walks Kreskin and Matthew. “Just a couple of hundred should do for now–” Matthew is saying.
Another knock on the door produces Mr. Jet and Cowboy Jim. “Just walking around after the meeting and saw everybody here. What’s going on–”
Grace is watching from her perch.
One more knock on the door. 
Daphne pulls it open to reveal a police officer and Harriet.
“That’s her,” Harriet is frantic. “That’s my daughter!”
“Mom!” Daphne says and Harriet rushes into her arms.
“She was up the street,” the officer comes inside. “On her way here she said. Didn’t seem right so I–”
“Thank you. She worked here all her life until a few years ago and can’t seem to get it out of her head.”
Harriet is agitated and on the brink of tears.
“Mom. Did I tell you what happened last winter?” Daphne walks Harriet to the couch by central cash and everybody follows. “That time I went for the hike and there was a no winter maintenance sign and I thought I’d like to adopt that philosophy. All because of what happened at the salon the day before. So I went to get my mustache off and my eyebrows on which involves waxing and colouring and maybe it looks like I am a Bette Davis fan and I do like her I guess, but they are dying to give me her skinny eyebrows, and I’ve heard that at some point around when you’re starting to look your age – which for me was that very day – they won’t grow back. So I always say to the girl THICK THICK THICK and I make great big thick-looking gestures so she’ll understand and it seemed like she got it this time because she repeated back to me with her accent DICK DICK DICK and I was pleased and relieved she understood. So that’s why my eyebrows look like penises.”
Harriet giggles and everyone else joins in. It’s only Grace, Daphne notices, still on her perch, who doesn’t seem to have heard.
Michool remembers the story from Jane’s blog. “Nice one, Jane,” he says. The first time he’s said her name right and it hits her in an unexpected way.
Greybird is explaining to Matthew, “I am not actually building a better world,” he says, “I am simply renovating this one or at least trying to,” he places his hands over his heart, “one reservation at a time.” Bounce suddenly lands on his shoulder. “Fort William First Nation,” Greybird says to the bird. “If it’s critical, I’ll see you there.”
“When are you coming for another sleepover?” Harriet asks Jet.
“How about we go for pizza tomorrow night after the meeting?” Cowboy asks Daphne, “I’ve got an idea I want to share with you.“
“Do you have online banking?” Kreskin asks Greybird.
”I told you last night when you called! It’s ONE WORD! Sorry I was so short by the way. Fell asleep at my mom’s and her nurse answered before I could–”
Daphne looks around and smiles. This group of weird and wonderful characters are the best friends she’s ever had.
Everyone goes suddenly quiet as Grace slowly climbs down her ladder. They clear a pathway for her and she walks between them and stops in front of the policeman.
”Can you take me to the police station please? I have something to report.”