Cookies & Milk, page 13
“With my friends.” I show Hershel the pattern I made with the shopping cart wheels.
“I can tell that a lot of love went into this,” Hershel says.
Now that his shopping cart is safe in the parking lot, Dad invites Hershel inside for some cookies. His eyes light up seeing all of the equipment in the kitchen. He knows the names of everything. He points to the mixer.
“The Commodore Diamond Elite!” Hershel says. “That’s the granddaddy of all mixers. You got yourself a good one there.” He rubs his finger against the sealed crack on the bowl. “Yeah, these bowls crack easily. It’s the one drawback of the Diamond. You need to be careful with this type of glue you used. The moisture from the cookie dough will mess it up after a while.”
Hershel looks at the knobs on the mixer. He adjusts one of them.
“Your speed is too fast for cookie dough,” he says. “If you mix it too fast the batter will get stiff.”
“That’s exactly what happened with my last batch,” Dad says. “I couldn’t figure it out.” Dad pats Hershel on the back to thank him. Then he asks him the question I was thinking. “Hershel, how do you know about all of this baking equipment?”
Hershel explains that he used to work at a big bakery. They made bread for grocery stores. He was a floor manager, which means he had to order all of the supplies and make sure the equipment didn’t break. It sounds like it was a lot of responsibility. It also sounds like he liked his job a lot, because Hershel is talking about it the same way I talk about my harmonica. He excuses himself and leaves the kitchen. Through the open kitchen door, Dad and I see him digging into his shopping cart. He pulls out some type of framed photo and carries it back into the kitchen. Hershel hands it to Dad. It’s an award.
“I got this right before the bakery went out of business,” Hershel tells us. “Things can change so fast. You just never know.”
How can someone run an entire bakery one minute and be homeless the next? It just seems impossible. Hershel is so smart. He knows how to fix shopping carts. He knows all sorts of details about baking. He already taught us something about mixing cookie dough.
“Hershel, do you want to work here?”
“Uh… excuse me?” Dad asks.
I remind Dad, “You were the one who said we needed an extra pair of hands.”
“Yes, later, when the store is actually open and you go back to school.”
Hershel interrupts us and accepts my job offer. “I would be honored to work for you two fine men.”
Hershel extends his dirty hand to Dad. I can see Dad thinking. He’s scratching his beard. He wrinkles his forehead. His eyes squeeze shut. He pinches the bridge of his nose. Finally, his eyes open, and Dad grabs Hershel’s hand.
“Welcome to Sunset Cookies, Hershel,” Dad says with a smile. “Listen, brother, we’re gonna need to do something about…”
Hershel interrupts Dad before he can finish. “Don’t worry, sir. I just got a room at the shelter on Gower and Santa Monica. I’ll get a hot shower and some clean clothes.” Hershel picks up his Employee of the Month award from the table. He looks us in the eye and says, “Thank you. I’ll make you proud. You’ll see.”
Dad tells Hershel to come to work tomorrow morning. We walk him to the parking lot, say goodbye, and watch him push his shopping cart away. I look down at the mural. I still see new shapes and patterns every time I stare at it. Some of these patterns wouldn’t even exist if Hershel hadn’t fixed our shopping cart. All of the chocolate chips could have melted in the shopping cart if Hershel wasn’t there to fix our wheel. He’s going to be a great employee. I know it.
“Everyone deserves a second chance, Dad.”
Dad nods his head and scratches his beard. “That’s right, my man. They do.” We follow the painted footsteps back to the kitchen door as I hear Dad say to himself, “Maybe he’ll work on commission. How am I going to pay for help? I’m not even paying myself yet.”
Sunset Cookies opens in less than a week. Summer vacation is almost over. If I can get Dad to hire Hershel, I have to be able to get him and his brother back together. Dad says this is a family business. Our entire family should be here for the grand opening.
Boom, Boom, Out Go the Lights
In only a few days, Hershel has really helped the store. He resealed the mixing bowl crack and fixed the broken shelves in the greenhouse from the Sunset Racer incident. He told Dad where he can buy big bags of chocolate chips so he doesn’t have to wait on Rock and Roll Ralphs all the time. He also keeps his hands super clean now.
“Hershel’s the best person I’ve ever hired for a job,” I tell Alex. We’re listening to the A-side of our newest album, Maggot Brain by Funkadelic. It’s the one with “Can You Get to That.”
“Hershel is the only person you’ve ever hired for a job,” Alex corrects me. He drops the needle on the third song.
“Exactly!” I agree. “And look what a great job he’s doing. He even organized our clubhouse for us. He’s the best person I’ve ever hired.”
“It’s hard to argue with that,” Alex agrees. He starts bobbing his head to “Can You Get to That.” The groove has got him.
“See? Now you know what I was talking about,” I tell Alex. “That’s the funk.” Alex’s entire body is moving like a slow-motion jumping bean. “Don’t fight the funk,” I warn him. “It’s too strong.”
I play along with my harmonica, closing the clubhouse door so we don’t disturb Dad in the kitchen. I stop for a second when I see myself. My Afro is flat on one side. I pull out my pick and fix it. I’m so happy that Hershel hung this mirror on the back of the door. It helps to see how I look when I’m playing harmonica—and make sure my Afro stays round.
Alex is now completely overwhelmed by the funk. He’s dancing on a short pile of brown sugar sacks.
“Be careful!” I warn. “Remember the sugar disaster. We open the store tomorrow. Dad and I can’t afford any setbacks.”
Alex ignores me. “Chill out, Ellis,” he says. “I’m fine. It’s the funk. I can’t control it.” He jumps off the brown sugar sacks and lands next to me. Then he speaks in a way that sounds more serious than I’ve ever heard Alex speak. “How are we gonna get Wishbone here for the grand opening? Any person who knows about this music can’t be all bad,” he says. “Wishbone deserves a second chance, Ellis. And… we need more funk. We’ve gotta figure this out.”
Alex is right. I’ve been thinking the same thing. Wishbone understands stuff that other people don’t. He must have had his reasons for what he did at the Rat Trap. Plus, people change. I’m a totally different person than I was at ten. I just can’t understand why…
… the power just went out.
The funk has stopped cold, and the clubhouse is dark. Dad and Hershel immediately open the door to make sure we’re okay. Then Dad asks me a simple but scary question.
“Ellis, you mailed the electric bill, right?”
Did I? I’m trying to remember. I’ve got to think about this quickly before it becomes obvious I’m not answering.
“Ellis, what happened?” Dad asks. I guess I took too long to answer. Okay, now I need to change the subject while I think about this some more. Maybe I can ask him if the equipment is okay. WAIT! I remember. I DID mail it. No. Wait. I didn’t mail it. I left it with Wishbone at the mothership. Not good. I’m changing the subject.
“Dad, is the equipment okay?”
Dad’s not going for it. I can barely see him in the dark, but I can tell his forehead is wrinkled. I need to tell him the truth.
“Dad, I left it at the radio station. But Wishbone promised he would mail it.”
Dad kicks the door. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him kick anything before. I try to explain. Of course Wishbone mailed the electric bill. Why wouldn’t he mail it? Dad’s in no mood for listening. He’s already left the clubhouse. He makes his way to the front of the store, talking to himself like that man in the back of the bus.
“Melvin messed me up at the Rat Trap,” Dad grumbles. “That fool is not gonna mess me up again.”
Dad storms down Sunset Boulevard toward KIRA. This is not the way I wanted to get them back together again. Alex and Hershel follow me out the store. We all watch Dad walk away. I’m nervous. Should I go with him? I hope he stays safe. I yell down the street.
“Dad! You come right back. No detours. No distractions.”
Grandma walks around the corner from the side of the store. She’s holding some trash in her hand. It must have blown down the street into her plants.
“That looks like Junior down there,” she says.
“It is, Grandma,” I tell her. “He’s going to see Wishbone… I mean Uncle Melvin.”
“Well, it’s about time,” Grandma says. “Two grown men working on the same block after all these years and still not speaking to each other. Them boys are fools.”
Hershel offers to take the trash from Grandma. “Let me throw this away for you, Mrs. Johnson. The power went out inside. I hope it comes on soon, or else all of our milk and cookie dough are going to go bad.”
Grandma is not happy to hear about the power going out again.
THWACK!
“There ain’t no way my Junior is losing his cookie dough and milk the day before his grand opening,” Grandma yells onto the street.
Hershel leans over and whispers to me, “Don’t take this the wrong way, Ellis, but your grandma reminds me of some of the people at the shelter. Is she okay?”
I tell Hershel this is normal for Grandma. He’ll get used to it. Meanwhile, Grandma keeps huffing and puffing outside of the store. Then she finally says it.
“NOT TODAY, SATAN!”
Alex and I run to the front door and press our faces against the glass. It’s still dark inside. Hershel tries to make sense of what’s happening. He must think we’re characters. In fact, I am positive we look like characters out here on Sunset.
“Them lights come on, boy?” Grandma asks.
“No, Grandma,” I say, looking through the glass.
Grandma can’t believe it. “You kidding me.”
As Grandma decides whether or not she wants to yell again on the corner, Hershel points to a blue repair truck across the street. It’s parking next to a wooden utility pole standing in between two palm trees. The words DEPARTMENT OF WATER AND POWER are on the side of the truck. A man with a hard hat gets out and begins to climb the tall post.
“It’s about time,” Hershel says. “The power is always going off on this block. Some of these places lose it once a day.”
Wishbone did mail the electric bill! I yell across Sunset to the repairman, asking if he is fixing the power for the store. A harness is wrapped around the pole and connected to his waist. He looks like a mountain climber.
“The whole block,” the repairman shouts back from the top of the utility pole. “The transformer is unstable. It should have been replaced a long time ago. Someone just reported it today.”
“That’s right,” Grandma says, pointing up at the sky. “I reported it to the man upstairs.”
Grandma did it again! Like I said, I don’t ask questions. More importantly, though, Dad’s about to blame Wishbone for something he didn’t do. Grandma must be thinking the same thing.
“Go on down there before your daddy makes a fool of himself.”
Before I know it, Alex is standing with the Sunset Cookie Racer. “Hop in,” he says. “My legs are longer. I’ll get you there fast.”
As Alex races me toward KIRA, I hear Hershel shouting from behind us. “Keep an eye on your shopping cart! Don’t let anyone steal it.”
Reunion on the Mothership
Alex stops our racer in front of the KIRA Radio stairs. I jump out just as Dad walks inside the station. I ask Alex if he’s coming with me.
“Nah,” he answers. “I’m gonna wait here and keep an eye on the shopping cart. Good luck, Ellis.”
We give each other our secret handshake, and I run up the stairs. I open the door and run smack into Dad standing at the front desk. He’s talking to the woman in braids. He doesn’t even seem to notice we’re all in the dark.
“Please, tell me where to find Melvin Johnson?”
The woman in braids is confused. “Melvin Johnson? There’s no Melvin Johnson here, sir.”
Then she spots me. “Hey, honey, you’re Wishbone’s friend,” she says sweetly. “How come you’re always coming around when the lights are out?”
I correct her. “Actually, I’m Wishbone’s nephew.” Then I point to Dad and tell her, “This is his brother.”
“Well, ain’t that something. Wishbone has family. I would have never guessed that. Wishbone is… different.”
“Believe me, I know,” Dad says.
The woman in braids hands me a flashlight and says, “You know the way, honey.”
I show Dad down the hallway. I shine the light on the floor so he can see the Milky Way carpet, but he doesn’t care about our indoor spacewalk. We arrive at the mothership. I try to explain to Dad about the repair truck. I want him to know that the power went out EVERYWHERE. We are standing in the dark, after all. Dad won’t hear it. He pulls the door open and steps into the mothership.
“Melvin, where is my electric bill?” Dad calls out in the darkness. “I am NOT letting you mess this up. It’s taken me eight years to get past the Rat Trap. You are NOT getting in my way again.”
Dad grabs the flashlight from my hand. He shines it around the darkened mothership, looking for Wishbone. I’m pretty sure I know where I can find him. For a brief moment, the flashlight shines on Wishbone’s Musical Constellation of Blackness on the ceiling. I catch a glimpse of the posters before Dad moves the beam of light to the back of the mothership. Dad shifts the flashlight again when he hears Wishbone’s voice.
“Fool, I ain’t getting in NOBODY’S way,” he says. “I did my crime, paid my time, and the future is mine. I put your electric bill in the mail, fool. I ain’t messin’ with your cookie store.”
Suddenly, the lights flicker back on. Dad searches around for Wishbone. I point to the L-shaped desk. Dad looks down. He sees Wishbone and his giant Afro squeezed underneath. They stare at each other like two boxers before a fight. It’s like all of the air has been sucked out of the room. It feels very funky right now on the mothership.
Then, out of nowhere, Dad starts laughing. I mean laughing hard. He’s laughing harder than I laughed when Alex missed the basket in the Rock and Roll Ralphs. He sits down on the floor in front of Wishbone.
“Man, you’re still scared of the dark?” Dad asks once he gets his laughter under control.
Wishbone squeezes out from under his desk. “It ain’t no thing,” he says. The tremble in his voice says it is a thing. Wishbone is definitely still scared of the dark.
I sit down cross-legged next to Dad and Wishbone. All three of us face one another on the floor. Our knees are touching.
Dad tells a story about Wishbone sleeping on Aunt Della’s sofa bed with the lights on. “At least Aunt Della’s sofa bed didn’t have springs popping out of it,” I say while nudging Dad.
“What’s up with that, Pops?” Wishbone scolds Dad. “You can’t get Big Brother a decent sofa bed? My man deserves better.” Wishbone looks at me and says, “Your pops was always tight with the cash.”
Dad shoots Wishbone the same look he gives me when I cross the line. If I were Wishbone, I wouldn’t say anything to Dad about money. I look at the two of them. They’re talking. They’re laughing. This is the moment I dreamed about. I have so many questions to ask them, but I don’t want to interrupt. I want them to keep talking to each other forever.
A knock on the door does interrupt them, though. A jumpy man enters. He has sideburns shaped like pork chops.
“Wishbone!” the man squeals. He sounds like he sucked in a bunch of helium. “Are you forgetting something? If you want to keep your job, you better get your mouth on that microphone.” The squealing man with the sideburns shuts the door.
“Oh, snap.” Wishbone jumps up into his seat. He pulls the microphone close and pushes the red button. Once again, his voice turns to velvet. He speaks to his radio audience while placing an album on his turntable.
“Brothers and sisters, Wishbone owes you his deepest apologies,” he says. “But we’ve got the power runnin’ and more funk comin’. This here is the Godfather of Funk, Soul Brother Number One, Mr. Dynamite. The one and only…”
“James Brown!” Dad and Wishbone say the name together.
The needle drops and Wishbone rises. A deep funk groove explodes through the speakers. Dad and Wishbone instantly start dancing. They face each other, shaking invisible Hula-Hoops around their butts. They give each other a fist bump before shouting in each other’s face, “Get down with your bad self.” I look at the label on the spinning record.
JAMES BROWN
“Say It Loud, I’m Black and I’m Proud”
King Records
“Opening night at the Rat Trap,” Dad says to Wishbone. “James Brown takes the stage.”
Wishbone points to me and says, “Big Brother bouncing in his stroller. I’ll never forget it. You had the funk from day one!”
Wow! I saw James Brown at the Rat Trap when I was baby? Now I need to figure out who is James Brown. Dad starts flipping through the record collection. Every now and then, he pulls out an album and stares at it.
“You’ve got some solid music here, little brother,” Dad compliments Wishbone. “I might have to start listening to your show.”
Dad and Wishbone remind me of Alex and me in the clubhouse. Alex! He’s still outside, probably wondering what to do.
“Um, Dad, I think we should get going. There are still things to do for the grand opening tomorrow.”
It’s no use. He’s lost in the funk.
“You go on without me, my man, I trust you,” Dad says, shaking his imaginary Hula-Hoop. “I’m gonna watch Melvin do his thing for a little bit.” Dad watches Wishbone cue the next album. He looks proud of him. “Little Melvin on the radio,” he says.
