CLUTTERBUCKS — EPISODE 9

Something is different about Jane this morning.
She is wearing a Chanel skirt suit as always, a white blouse as always, black heels as almost always, and her hair is the same colour and rises in the same beehive. As always.
But it’s what’s in her purse – or more accurately what’s not in her purse – that’s making the difference.
A perfectly ripe banana replaces the bottle she fills daily with cotton batting to silence the six or seven little yellow pills she pops throughout the day.
But the casual observer like Michool, who catches a glimpse of her walking by as he packs up the old Warrior Waze space, can’t see a difference. Or wait. Maybe he can. But it’s subtle – like she pulled something at the gym this morning?
Kreskin can tell right way.
“Good for you, mom,” he says.
“I am actually rattling. Does it show?”
“A little. You need to give yourself something to do. Something you can concentrate on.”
“Yes. That’s what I’ll do. Maybe the windows.”
“Jet did them yesterday but you could always do ’em again.”
“No. I’m sure I’ll be able to find something to do inside. Something productive. Have a good signing day. Don’t tell your father I quit. Not because I’m not committed – I am – but I want to be the one to tell him.”
“See you later. Go find something to concentrate on.”
Jane goes inside. Puts the coffee on before she even puts her purse down.
“Coffee,” she says. “I will concentrate on coffee.”
She is in the process of counting each drop when Greybird comes in and the gaggle of bells plays Mother’s Little Helper.
“Hi Jane,” Greybird  is carrying a heavy box. He comes straight to the cash desk and plunks it on the counter.
“This is for Daphne,” he says. “I think it’s really worth something.”
“What on earth is it?” Jane asks, peering inside.
“It’s the base of a lamp. Got the shade at home but thought I’d drop this off on my way out of town but she has to pick up the shade if you wouldn’t mind telling her and if you could please give her the key. It’s delicate and I got a truck full of construction stuff. Tell her she might want to bring somebody with a lap. It could use a lap. I left it right at the front door. She can’t miss it. ”
He turns to leave. “Thanks and see you on the weekend.”
“Wait. What. Why?”
“Didn’t you get your invite? Mine was hand-delivered late last night.”
“What invite?”
“Warrior Waze Friend Weekend. So. See you on the weekend.”
Jane pours herself a coffee.
She removes the contents of Greybird’s box and with her sleeve, she rubs a little spot until the metal – brass? –  offers a promising shimmer. She continues rubbing until the brass sparkles in that one little spot. Looks like she’s found the perfect thing to keep herself occupied. There’s polish behind the desk which she finds after a few fumbles and really gets to work. Talk about concentration!
Who knows how much time passes and how many customers gave up and walked out before Daphne comes in, the bells playing Mother’s Little Helper again.
Jane looks around for something to hide her project with and quickly grabs the corner of the tablecloth that is covering the fully dressed table next to the cash. Woosh! And in another deft movement, she covers the lamp base, she wants to sparkle it up completely before she shows Daphne, and moves the entire thing into a corner under the cash desk behind a box of clocks in need of repair. 
The table’s silverware is still trembling upon the bare wood when Daphne comes to the cash area and sinks into the couch.
“Oh dear,” Jane says, “how’d it go?”
“You’ll never believe it.”
“Where’s Jet?”
“Sent him home. He’s moving in today. Getting stuff delivered.”
“Here. Let me pour you a coffee.” Jane hands her a cup. “Now. Tell me what happened.”
“We went to see Vera.”
“The woman Hilda told you about? From her church?”
“Yeah. So we get there. Big old house on Old Kingston Road. Beautiful old brick place with a big porch, quite of lot of property for that neighbourhood. Only a few of those old places left and weird zoning in that area, businesses are dotted between the homes, there’s a plumbing outlet across the street and a salon, a restaurant, a daycare, a funeral parlour. Anyway. So this place is a real beauty. Pristine. Almost too pristine if you know what I mean. Almost like it’s a movie set or something.
“Jet thought we were at the wrong place and I wondered, too, but then the door flew open and out comes this woman, a nurse, she’s in a uniform although looks like she should be retired. ‘Come in, come in. Sorry about the mess,’ she said.
“Of course I’m thinking what mess? but I’m also thinking Chippendale and Tiffany and all that but when I get inside, the place is absolutely empty. ‘Oh,’ I said, ‘there’s nothing left–’ but then I get the feeling that it’s been empty for a long time, that she’s living in a shell, that somebody left – died maybe I don’t know – I don’t want to say I believe in ghosts but it felt kinda like that if you know what I mean.
“‘I see we’re too late,’ I said.
“‘Yes,’ she sighed, ‘I’m too late, too,’ and then she just sat there looking into the backyard. We just looked at each other, me and Jet, and we were both thinking the same thing, it was kind of creepy, and we split. Went by Hilda’s, you know, because I was concerned about this woman – Vera’s her name – and I thought Hilda could help. Maybe tell somebody at church. I don’t know. I just thought maybe she needed help.
“Then Hilda told me the poor woman had experienced some kind of heartbreak. She didn’t say what, she was going to, but her daughter burst in and there was all kinds of commotion so I left. But it’s haunting me that poor woman I wish I could help her. There was something about her.”
Jane replaces Daphne’s tea with a glass of Sherry and Daphne suddenly remembers Jet.
“Oh brother. I was supposed to take him a couple of things I told him he could have,” she points to a glittering pile of clothing, a couple of tacky vases, a pink shag carpet, “but I’d rather go pick up Greybird’s lamp – is that his key? – rent next week and we could use a–”
“I’ll go to Jet’s,” Jane says. “What’s the address?”

Michool has moved most of his things into the basement. He comes up stairs just as Jane leaves.
“Hey Daphne. Do you think I can borrow a typewriter? And some paper. And a couple of envelopes? And a coffee? And a roll of toil–”
“Sure. Take anything you need. On one condition.”
“Name it.”
Daphne picks up her bag and keys. “Have to go out for a bit. Have to go to Greybird’s and pick up something he left for me. He lives in Pickering, so I’ll be–”
“Ajax. He lives in Ajax. I was just there last night.”
“You’re right. It is Ajax. Use this typewriter. It’s a gem this one. And see that drawer over there? Yes. That one. No. That one. Right. It’s full of paper and envelopes. Take your pick and I’ll see you when I see you.
“What if somebody comes and wants to buy something?”
“Fat chance,” Daphne says opening the door.
The gaggle of bells changes to I Believe in Miracles.
Grace hears the typewriter and her head pops out from her perch.
“Just me, Grace,” Michool says. “Here. Got something for you.”
He pulls a card out from between the rollers, puts it in an envelope, rolls it back in and types five letters and the space bar.
“What’s your last name?” he asks.
“Lange,” Grace says.
Michool types four letters and waits.
“With an ‘e’,” Grace confirms.
One more click and he yanks the envelope from the typewriter, and waving it above his head, he walks to Grace’s perch and puts it in her outstretched hand.
“Thank you,” she says.
“Open it.”
“Okay,” she pauses. “It’s just that I’ve never had a letter before.”

WARRIOR WAZE WEEKEND – LIKE GLAMPING BUT BETTER!
Please join us from 8pm Friday, May 22, until 6am Monday, May 25
You are one of 13 lucky people chosen for the Warrior Waze trial competition prior to the scheduled opening on June 5. The usual cost of $2,500 will be waived in exchange for detailed feedback. Gourmet meals and luxury accommodations provided. Grand prize of $2,500! Please come! 
MICHOOL, PRESIDENT, WARRIOR WAZE

Michool continues to type the rest of the invitations and when he’s finished, he places two at Clutterbucks cash, one each for Daphne and Jane, walks over to Kreskin’s perch and places three on the stairs – one for Kreskin, one for Matthew, and one for Vanity – shuffles through the pile and finds the one for Harriet, which he places beside Daphne’s and proceeds to pour himself a coffee.

Daphne returns an hour later with the beautiful, fragile lampshade.
She texts Greybird: omg. Just picked up the shade. It is gorgeous. Tiffany. Where’s the base?

Michool crosses the street to Simpletons to deliver Simon’s invitation.
Simon answers the door resembling nothing so much as a scribble. Kreskin is aware that Simon is listening to everything and writing it down, and he knows Simon is in cahoots with Normal who swooped under his bed and took the outline he planted for even more confusion, the plot is thick as a forest, loose ends every which way and so many characters it rivals the Bible. It has taken over Simon’s life. In a desperate, and futile, attempt to keep the story straight, he has written notes eye-level on the walls around the store’s internal periphery.
“Love the decor,” Michool says pointing to Simon’s scribbles. “Really like that border. Maybe you could come over and give me hand with the final touches in the basement. Thank you for the beds by the way and the bedding, too – and the little sinks in the bathrooms are perfect – that plumber was a genius. And that big table? My God. It was worth fifteen grand, and I never thought I’d say that!” 
He pauses and really looks at Simple Simon. “I think you need to get out if you don’t mind me saying,” he pauses, “or maybe just stay in hard to say.”
Simple Simon is dressed in baggy sleep pants and a tuxedo printed t-shirt. He catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror and is horrified. “OUT! I sure could use a coff–”
“Hold on there. Not now. Not like that.”
There’s suddenly movement in the display bed.
“And this one’s for you,” Michool says rushing to hand it to a sleepy Normal.
He has only one invitation left.
It’s a lovely day and he decides to walk it over to Mr. Jet’s.
Jane is just leaving.
“Thanks for your help, Jane,” Jet says.
“My pleasure, Jet, have a good day–”
“How long have you been sober, Jane? If you don’t mind me asking.”
Jane looks at her watch.
“Sixteen hours and twenty seven minutes,” she laughs. 

“Everybody’s confirmed for the grand opening except that one guy!” Michool says. “Dammit. I really liked the idea of having someone with a different background. Almost everybody that applied is Canadian. Which I guess is fine but I like diversity.”
He is talking to Jane who has helped him narrow down the applicants over the past few days. Twelve out of the 13 they chose have accepted and made the down payment to secure their spot for the June 5 opening weekend match.
“I think you’ll be surprised. I mean just because these people are all Canadian, doesn’t mean they’re not a diverse bunch. Doesn’t even mean they were born here, or that their parents were. Judging by the names, I think you’ve got a good mix. Half men, half women, a couple of last names I can’t pronounce, and a pretty good range of ages. From 22 to 77. Seems pretty diverse to me.”
“But I really wanted that guy I was telling you about. There was something about his application that I liked. Maybe his wife found out and won’t let him come. Haha.”
Jane’s been drinking dandelion tea as a way of detoxing. It seems to get her through the rough patches and today has been one big rough patch and she’s dying to get back to polishing the lamp base. “I’m going to go relieve Daphne and make a tea,” she says. On her way by the Warrior Waze entrance, somebody shoves something in the mail slot. She catches a glimpse of the person running away.
“Here. This came just now. Somebody just dropped it off.”

“Remember that brooch I told you about?” Hilda asks.
Daphne is on her best behaviour, red-dotting the things she will make offers on, yellow-dotting the things Hilda will donate to charity – a real charity – and green-dotting the things Hilda and Clive will keep when they move into their newly-purchased condo on Kingston Road at Birchmount.
“I don’t want to sell it but I want it appraised for insurance purposes and then I’m going to put it in a safety deposit box for Karley. Nearly lost it once as you know, and don’t want to take that chance again. So I want it cleaned before I take it to Tiffany’s for the appraisal. Can you help with something like that?”
“Yes. I got a guy.”
Daphne walks through the sliding glass doors into the backyard where she spies a lovely cast iron set, a matching bird bath, and only the second rain chime she’s ever seen. She’ll make Hilda the first offer. Anything to keep Harriet happy at home. Ever since she sprained her wrist playing ping-pong, the doctor called it a repetitive strain injury usually associated with computer use, she’s been unable to knit, and has been wandering daily because she’s so bored.
Daphne leaves a message for her jeweller guy.
“Hey Circio, it’s Daphne. Give me a call soon as you can.”
The minute she hangs up, the phone rings.
“Circio. Hello. Who are you avoiding? Haha. Really? Oh my. Well. Listen. Remember the piece I brought to you a month ago? The one you did the switcherooo on? No. Not that one. The Tiffany piece. Yes. Exactly. I thought you’d remember. She’s getting it appraised. So I need you to put the real ones back in. I can give you five hundred for it. Okay. See you soon.”

Flashback a month ago in Circio’s back room, dingy and dark. There’s a single light above his head, the bulb bare. He takes the brooch from Daphne and examines it. He shoots her a glance and puts a glass to his eye and examines it further.
“Like I told you, I don’t know diamonds, but these seem very real to me.” he pauses and glances at her again.
Daphne hands him one of the costume pieces from her glove compartment.
“Not for long,” she says. 

Harriet finds her way to the store again the following day, comes in cheerful as can be with lunch from Go Fish!, and that’s when Daphne decides she needs to hire somebody sooner rather than later, a companion/caregiver for her mom. Immediately. She’s okay bringing Harriet to work a day or two a week but most days she has appointments with clients, new and old, who have hired her as their personal organizer – and it’s the season for estate and garage sales – so until Harriet’s wrist is better, she’s got to figure something out.
She calls a couple of nursing agencies that deal with this sort of thing, but nothing sits quite right. Maybe one of the students at Jet’s house? He’s brought a couple of them by the store and they’re nice kids but that’s just it, they’re kids. She wants somebody who can relate to her mom. Somebody who was alive during the years Harriet likes to remember. Somebody at least Daphne’s age.
But who?
It’s been a long day and both Harriet and Daphne are tired, so they decide to take shepherd’s pie home for dinner, but there’s a line-up at MeetMeat.
“You can go wait in the car, mom. I’ll be right there.”
“What can I get you Daphne?” Sylvester asks. He is wearing one of the t-shirts he ordered from Saving Grace, as are all his employees at all three restaurants. This one is the road runner eating a very large smoked meat sandwich, the words MeetMeat in a speech bubble over his head. The cashier’s shirt is a JAWS t-shirt with the same speech bubble.
“Two pies please.”
“Out. We’re out. Just sold the last three.”
The woman ahead of Daphne looks back. It’s Vera. She says to Sylvester, “I don’t need three. I only need one. Give this lady the other two.”
“No, no. It’s okay, Vera,” Daphne says, “we can have something else.”
“Do I know you?”
“I’m the antiques person. I was at your house yesterday.”
“Oh. That was you?”
“Yes. Daphne.”
“I was having some trouble.”
“No. Please. I understand.”
“I just can’t get used to being alone.”
“It must be very difficult.”
Sylvester hands Vera and Daphne each a bag.
“I see you’re a nurse,” Daphne says.
“Not any more. Can’t get used to that either.”
“Just asking because my mom needs a nurse. She needs a companion. And maybe you do, too.”

Eight o’clock Friday night Michool opens the Warrior Waze door and in walk Greybird, Matthew, Normal, Vanity, Simple Simon, Jane, Kreskin, Jet, Harriet, Cowboy, and Daphne.
He takes them to the basement and they have a look around.
Michool counts. “There’s only twelve. Where our thirteenth? Who’s missing? We need thirteen!”
“Grace,” somebody said. “Grace is missing.”
“I’ll go see what’s up,” Daphne offers.
“Grace?” she calls on her way up stairs. “Are you coming?”
“Can’t do basements,” Grace says.
“But it’s nothing like a basement. It’s like nothing you’ve ever seen. Let me tell you. Honestly. I don’t know how he did it but it’s like you’re outdoors. Like you’re camping. Or glamping. There’s this huge wooden platform, maybe six feet off the ground and there’s like 13 individual staircases going up to 13 canvas tents but they’re not your average canvas tents that’s for sure. They look fairly unassuming from the outside but inside? Inside each tent is the most beautiful room you’ve ever seen. I mean these tents are so big and so gorgeous. Rustic and modern. Luxurious. And then there’s the food part. I mean who knew Michool was such a foodie. He’s just about to serve us dinner. Wood oven pizzas. I’m telling you honey, it’s amazing. You ever had a wood-oven pizza?
“It’s really not like a basement at all. It’s more like a holiday. No wonder he charges so much.”
“Sounds great but the thought of it. I’m terrified.”
“Of course you are. But once you’re down there–”
Suddenly there’s a knock at the door.
“Everybody I know is downstairs,” Daphne says. “Who the heck is this?”
She opens the door. It’s the police officer from last week.
“I’d like to speak with Grace. I’ve got an idea.”