Bjorn! on the Fourth of July (A Barbara Marr Short Story) Read online

  "I'm sure. Very sure. And like you said, we need to be getting to the Festival if we want to catch that show, so if you were able to speed us through, I'd be so grateful, Arthur."

  "Sure thing, Mrs. Marr. Sure thing."

  To Arthur's credit, I do think he moved somewhat faster than his regular glacial pace. And he didn't start a conversation about every single item I was purchasing as was his custom. In fact, I really thought things were going quite well. That was, until the panty liners.

  Why, oh why did I grab the darned panty liners? He scanned the box, and that was okay, but then he happened to look at the register screen and that's when it all went very, very wrong. "Hmm," he said, just staring at the screen.

  "What? Is there a problem?" I asked.

  Amber tugged on my shirt. "This isn't going so fast. Are we going to be late?"

  I patted her on the back. "Arthur, what's wrong?"

  He tapped a couple of keys then scanned the box again, then shook his head. "Nope. That can't be right."

  Before I knew what was happening, before I could stop the horror, Arthur was on the store's intercom system. "I need a manager's price check on," he stopped to focus more closely on the box. "On Pretty Lady Panty Liners." He pulled the intercom away and my face flushed warm. I lowered my head, thinking that was as bad as it could get, but you know what? I was wrong. Suddenly, that stupid intercom was back near his face and he was talking again, the words echoing throughout The Food Mart for the world of shoppers to hear. "For sports-active women who leak a little. And can you make that fast? Mrs. Marr is in a hurry."

  My face flushed red pepper hot.

  "I'm pretty sure these are on sale," he said, returning the intercom phone to its cradle. "Two dollars off, if I remember right. Don't want to pay more than you have to, am I right?"

  Not only did the manager not hurry on the price check, but then there was some heated discussion about the difference between those "for sports-active women who leak a little" and those "for sports-active women who leak a lot."

  That's okay. Things got moving again when I ripped the box from Arthur's hand and threw it halfway across the store screaming, "I don't want the bleep bleepity bleep bleep panty liners anyway! We just want to see Bjorn!"

  I wouldn't be surprised to find out that I'm permanently banned from The Food Mart now.

  ***

  Once we were in the van, Amber pointed out with great concern that her Harriette Houdini watch now said the time was eleven-thirty. "Isn't that when we wanted to be in front of the stage so we could see good?"

  She had me there. I couldn't keep telling her that we'd be there in plenty of time, when we, in fact, were not there when we'd planned. However, it wasn't noon yet, so there was still hope, and I was nothing if not hopeful. The time had come to get more creative. I had Amber use my phone to text Howard and see if they, by some miracle, had already arrived and nabbed some prime real estate in front of the stage. Meanwhile, I sped like a demon to Peggy's house. Forget calling her and asking her to come to the van. That would take too much time because it would involve inevitable conversation. No. She was getting the drive-by drop-off. She was a dear friend. She'd forgive me some day. While I was sliding up to Peggy's curb, the text reply from Howard confirmed that he was still en route. Darn! More reason to get those groceries out of the car and run. I slammed the gear shift into park, left the engine running, hit the automatic door button, ran around and quickly, but gently placed the four bags onto the sidewalk, slipped the recipe into the bag with the avocadoes, ran back around, jumped into the van, and tore off like a criminal.

  Once I was safely a good distance from her house, I had Amber dial Peggy's number and put me on speaker phone.

  "Peggy," I shouted while tearing down

  Rustic Woods Parkway, "you'll find everything on the sidewalk in front of your house." "You were able to shop and make the avocado dip that fast?"

  "Not exactly. But I left you the recipe. Don't hate me. Bye!"

  I motioned for Amber to hang up the phone. If all went well, I figured we could be finding a decent viewing spot by eleven forty-five.

  But all didn't go well. Not only did I hit every red light on the way, but once we approached Muir Lake Center, flashing road signs directed us away from the main parking lot, announcing that all Festival attendees must park in a satellite lot two miles away where shuttle buses would transport us to the Festival.

  Our goose was cooked. Even Harriette Houdini's face on Amber's watch looked defeated.

  Just when I was ready to tell Amber that all hope was gone, my cell phone rang. Amber looked at the display and her face lit up. "It's Daddy." She answered. "Hi, Daddy! Are you at the festival yet?"

  She listened for a minute, then spoke to me. "He wants to know where we are."

  "We're about ready to turn on

  Spindly Branch Road toward the satellite parking lot." She listened some more. "He says ignore the signs and go straight. Tell a man in a yellow vest that you're Barbara Marr and he'll let you through." She talked into the phone again. "What else, Daddy?" She nodded. "Daddy is holding a parking spot for you close to the stage. You'll see him."

  I'm not Catholic, but I genuflected anyway. And thanked Karma, Buddha, Oprah Winfrey, and anyone else who would listen. "Who did he pay for this privilege?"

  She clicked the phone off. "Something about a nice lady and he'll explain when he sees you."

  Not planning to argue with Howard or nice ladies, I did as he'd instructed and was soon parallel parking in the space he'd managed to snag.

  "Quick!" he told us as we climbed out of the van. "She was able to give us two seats in the front row, so you and Amber can have them. He hoisted Amber up and took me by the hand pulling me to a sprint.

  "Where are Callie and Bethany?" I asked.

  "Getting ice cream." He wasn't slowing down and I was having trouble keeping up.

  "Who is this nice lady that helped us?" I called out. Beads of sweat fell like rain water from my forehead.

  "Ever hear of Vikki Cleveland?"

  "The thriller writer?"

  "That's the one. She's the master of ceremonies during the festival – Colt introduced me to her earlier this morning at the 5K. She's hiring us to investigate a little problem she's having. She thinks she's being stalked. When I mentioned that Amber was desperate to see the magic show, she pulled some strings and here you are!" He set Amber down in one of the two white folding chairs with "RESERVED" signs taped on the front. Then he pulled a business card that he'd tucked between his shirt and shorts waistband. "That's her phone number. I don't want to lose it. Call her tomorrow to set up an appointment, would you?"

  Since taking on the new job of administrative assistant for Baron and Marr Investigations, I was glad to call anyone who could be a potential client, but I was especially glad to call the woman who saved me from ruining my daughter's dream of seeing Bjorn! on the Fourth of July. As Howard meandered to the back of the crowd, I slipped the card into a very safe spot in my wallet just as a statuesque, auburn haired woman appeared, making her way to the microphone center stage.

  "Hello, everyone!" Her smile was wide and despite the brutal heat and humidity, she looked happy to be there. The crowd hollered back. "Hello!"

  "I'm your master of ceremonies, Vikki Cleveland, and I want to thank you for coming out today in celebration of our country's declaration of independence!"

  The crowd roared. I hadn't read any of Ms. Cleveland's books, but I had seen the movies that were made from three of her titles. Because she'd made a cameo appearance in all three, I recognized her face easily. I couldn't wait to meet her in person and thank her for the great seats.

  Amber had placed her hat back on her head, adjusted her cape, and was bouncing up and down in her seat, clapping and hollering with the crowd.

  "Are you prepared to be amazed?" Vikki shouted.

  "Yes, yes, yes, I'm ready!" Amber shouted back along with half of Rustic Woods.

  "Then let me
waste no time in introducing you..." She motioned with a hand toward stage left. "To Bjorn! Give him a hand ladies and gentlemen!"

  The excitement on Amber's face was so priceless that I grabbed my cell phone from my purse during Bjorn's dramatic entrance so I could snap a picture to remember that expression of sheer joy forever and ever. She was my baby. Capturing these moments was crucial or they'd be lost. I noticed, however, while framing and focusing, that the enthusiasm of the crowd around me had waned. The twinkle in Amber's eyes was brilliant and the smile so wide it practically cracked her face, but people around me were murmuring. I snapped two perfect pictures, then turned back in my seat to enjoy the show.

  Uh oh.

  Bjorn! didn't exactly look like his poster face. Poster Bjorn! was a twenty-something, Swedish model with short, wavy blond hair, and a toothy grin that melted ladies' hearts. The Bjorn on stage in front of us could have been a model alright – a "before-shot" model for a weight loss product or a miracle makeover cream. He was easily thirty years older than Poster Bjorn! with a hefty pot belly and long stringy hair that was far more gray than blond. And let's not forget that he wasn't Swedish at all. At least he didn't sound Swedish. If I had to take a guess, I would have said he hailed from somewhere between the Bronx and the Jersey Shore.

  I bit my lip and held my breath, sneaking peeks at Amber during the show. I winced when he made a rabbit appear from his empty hat, then proceeded to drop the poor thing on its head. And I groaned when his egg didn't turn into the dove as he'd promised. Twice. So, needless to say, I had to close my eyes when he brought an assistant out on the stage, asked her to step into a large, round basket through which he would drive a very long, very sharp sword. Thankfully, for all involved, including the wary (by this time) spectators, that trick went off without incident and the assistant lived to see another day. As Bjorn! picked up the pace, I'll admit, his skill improved and he actually made me laugh once or twice – laughs that were intended – but generally speaking, he did not produce magic like I'd never seen before. In fact, I'd seen it all – many times. And in my mind, the show wasn't worth the unpleasantness of the overbearing heat and humidity that had turned my curly head of hair into an uncontrollable frizz bomb of sizeable magnitude.

  Finally, it seemed like Bjorn was wrapping up and we'd all be released to find relief in shade or an air-conditioned store, when he said he had just one more amazing trick, but that he needed a volunteer from the audience. Amber's hand shot up faster than I could slap it down.

  "Pick me, pick me, pick me!" she shouted loudly, but quite adorably.

  "Well, aren't you so cute in your magician's cape and hat?" Bjorn! shouted down at her. "What's your name little girl?"

  I was thinking, No, no, no, this can't be happening. I can't let this man near my baby girl. What if he drops her on her head like the rabbit? I'm pretty sure I was shaking my head with a fair amount of violence.

  "I'm Amber. I want to be a magician just like you and Harriette Houdini," she said, beaming. "This is my mommy, Barb."

  "Hello, Barb," Bjorn said. "Do you mind if I borrow your daughter for a minute?"

  "Uh..."

  "Say yes, Mommy!" Amber shook me from my fear-induced daze. "You'll be amazed, I promise."

  "Uh..." I just couldn't make a decision that seemed logical and easy enough to make. It wasn't like I'd ever heard of any freak magic show volunteer accidents before. Of course, I'm a mom and we anticipate the worst. And the worst in this case, was that Amber would be the first. Moms specialize in dreaming up worst case scenarios and of all moms in all the world, I probably ranked among the best and brightest.

  "What do you say, Barb?" Bjorn bellowed. "Let this little future magician be a part of the show."

  What did I want to say? Well, I wanted to say, No, you can't have her. But I couldn't say that. She had so much hope in her eyes. Was I really going to crush her dreams?

  "Can I come up with her?" I asked.

  "I'd love it if you would! Come on up! Give Amber and Barb some applause everyone!" He instructed a security guard on the ground to help us up the stairs to the stage.

  Once we made our way to Bjorn and the microphone, he shook our hands. "Now, Barb," he said, taking me by the shoulders, "I'll need you to stand over here, out of the way."

  Hey, I thought, I don't want to be out of the way. I want to see everything that's happening.

  "Don't worry," he added. "You'll be able to see from here." He pointed to a white X on the stage far to his left and told me to stand on it. With a good amount of trepidation, I did as the man said. He hadn't impressed me through most of the show, but up close, he seemed to be confident enough. The question was, was he competent enough?

  "Now Amber, would you like to disappear like a ghost and then reappear?"

  She jumped up and down clapping with giddy enthusiasm. He might as well have asked her if she wanted cake for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

  On cue, the assistant appeared again with drapes hanging from a long bar. When she and Bjorn began to unfurl the drapery, it was apparent that the contraption wasn't a simple bar, but four bars connect to form a square. Amber was instructed to step inside of the square, which she did with a great deal of dramatic flair, I might add. She certainly had some actress in her, that one. I, in the meantime, was biting my nails.

  "Now, Amber, on the count of three, we will raise these curtains above your head, and when we lower them, you will have disappeared. Can you handle that?"

  Her bright smile glowed and her head bobbed up and down. She waved to me. "Bye, Mommy!"

  I covered my mouth with my hands.

  Bjorn shouted to the crowd. "Are you ready folks?"

  The crowded roared back an affirmative.

  The assistant and Bjorn counted together. "One! Two! Three!" and up the curtains went. They held the bars high, allowing the drapery to fall, just touching the ground enough to hide all of Amber, including her feet. Bjorn, that butt, lied to me – I couldn't see everything. I couldn't see Amber. Where did she go? I tried to calm myself down. Of course she was still there, silly, I told myself. It's simple illusion. He'd drop the curtains and the audience wouldn't be able to see her, but I would, because it was just an optical trick.

  They shouted out again. "One! Two! Three!" and dropped the bars and drapery revealing... nothing. Amber was gone. If it was an optical illusion, it was a good one, because I couldn't see her either. My heart rate kicked into double time.

  "She's gone!" shouted Bjorn to the audience. "Do you want me to bring her back?"

  "Yes!" they all shouted back.

  "How about you, Mom? Would you like your daughter back?"

  "Yes, please!" Do it quick, man. Do it quick.

  Up went the curtains. "So, what do you think?" Bjorn asked the crowd. "Is Amber back?"

  "Yes!"

  "Do you want to see?"

  "Yes!"

  "Can I get a drum roll please?" The speaker behind my left ear reverberated with the sound of a recorded drum roll. "One! Two! Three!" Bjorn and the assistant threw down the curtains. The crowd roared. I nearly fainted.

  Amber was still gone. He hadn't made her reappear at all.

  A scream rose from deep down in my stomach, tore up my esophagus, over my vocal cords and erupted like Mount St. Helens. "What did you do with my baby you half-baked hack!" I'd traveled from my white X to the middle of the stage with seemingly no help from my feet and was now shouting (and even spitting, I'm afraid to say) in Bjorn's face. "Get her back here now!"

  Bjorn, surprisingly unfazed by my outburst, wiped my saliva from his eye just as a tiny voice from far away reached my ears.

  "Mommy! Mommy! I'm over here, Mommy!"

  My head turned toward the sound, far out in the audience. Then I saw her waving her arms madly... as she sat atop Howard's shoulders.

  He shrugged.

  Bjorn stepped back to the microphone. "Welcome back, Amber! You were a true magician today! Everyone, give Amber a standing ovation!" />
  The entire audience rose to their feet and stomped and clapped and hooted and hollered.

  "Sorry I called you a hack," I whispered in Bjorn's ear.

  "I've been called worse," he said, smiling. "Much worse."

  ***

  Yup. I showed her that poster.

  The day was long and hot, and the road to see Bjorn! on the Fourth of July was riddled with proverbial pot holes, but in retrospect, did I regret it?

  Not a bit. To see my daughter have the time of her life and to receive a standing ovation to boot, I'd do it all again.

  Oh, and yes – I was amazed.

  The end.

  Were you entertained?

  For more laughs with Barbara Marr, try the Barbara Marr Murder Mystery Series:

  Take the Monkeys and Run (#1); Citizen Insane (#2); Silenced by the Yams (#3); and Saturday Night Cleaver (#4)

  Barbara Marr short stories: The Chronicles of Marr-nia, It's a Dunder-Bull Wife, and A Spirited Season (containing one Barbara Marr Holiday Tale and another fun short story by Karen Cantwell)

  And if you like romantic comedies, try Karen Cantwell's Keep Me Ghosted, A Sophie Rhodes Ghostly Romance (#1)

  Karen loves to hear from readers! Visit her website at KarenCantwell.com for her email address as well as more information about upcoming releases.

  This short story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are entirely the product of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons (living or dead) is purely coincidental.

  Cover Art by Streetlight Graphics

  "Bjorn! on the Fourth of July"

  Copyright © 2013 by Karen Fraunfelder Cantwell