WandaCKeesey

PEANUTS
By Wanda C. Keesey

A large plain brown envelope, block letters, no return address--and what’s this? No postmark. . .messenger then. It looks innocent enough. Do I open it? Clarence wondered becoming aware of the dirge-like music played softly over the plant speakers as it seeped into his office. Did I order something that would come in a plain brown wrapper? He smiled, remembering the lurid magazines he had once gotten. . .but no, not for years, not with the Internet available and certainly not by messenger.

He reached for the intercom. His outstretched hand stopped in mid air as he remembered Madge had taken the rest of the day off, something about an appointment.

If I open it and it's something that I don’t want, I’ll have to repackage it and pay the return postage--except there isn’t any return address. Hell, it's probably just a cloth sample and that can wait.

Clarence picked up the package. It almost flew out of his hand. “Gad, what the hell’s that light?” Only the lightest gauze, and anyone who knows me, knows that I make cloth for men’s clothing and I wouldn’t be interested in gauze, he thought. Cautiously, he squeezed the paper wrapping. All he could feel were the lumps of packing peanuts.

“What a waste of time.” He threw the package in the trash basket.

Settling into his oversized desk chair, he reached for the Dictaphone and the stack of mail to be answered. He would be late getting home again tonight, but lunch with the new client was worth it. Even if it meant a few more pounds. Susan was nagging him to lose some weight as if it wasn’t enough that his doctor was on his case, his wife had jumped onto the bandwagon. Next she’d be telling him to get hair transplants. Maybe it was time to shop for a new wife.

Oh, well, at least the lunch was a success, or will be if we get those samples out to Jacob’s For Men. He put the mike aside and picked up the phone. It rang six times before his head designer answered.

“How are they cuts coming for Jacob’s?” Clarence asked.

“The samples are ready, Mr. Weston. They’ll go out first thing in the morning.”

“Great. Thanks, Shelly.” He hung up as the voice on the other end was replying.

Whew, it’s hot in here today, he thought wiping the trickle of sweat from his temple. He got to his feet and took off his custom-tailored jacket. Very carefully he draped it over a heavy wooden hanger that matched the antique rack. He rolled the sleeves up on his starched white shirt and walked to his desk. As his fingers folded the sleeve, he glanced down at the waste basket. His hand stopped. Had it moved? Nah, maybe it shifted a little, but move. . .nah.

The soft black leather of the chair shaped itself to fit his body as he sat down. Going back to his stack of correspondence, Clarence pressed the button on the side of the mike and began a list of instructions for his assistant, Madge.

Most of the letters he dictated were routine, but there was one that he put off until last. Well, it has to be done, I gave him enough warning. It's time to cut Jerome loose. Not only was Jerome Drake responsible for Clarence’s success in the garment world, he had once been a close friend. Drake was the first to take a chance on the innovative fabrics that Clarence’s company made. But Jerome was an old man at fifty-four and had outlived his usefulness. He was becoming a pain in the ass with all of his phone calls begging for handouts, and special rates.

“This last one is to Jerome Drake, Madge. I didn’t realize we’d let his bill get so large. He hasn’t paid anything for months. Let’s not let this happen again. I don’t care who it is. Now, to the letter. ‘Dear, Jerome. . .better make that Mr. Drake. It has been brought to my attention that you have allowed the last four months to go by without a payment on your account. Paragraph. This letter will serve as a termination of services notice. We cannot sustain a working relationship if we don’t both hold up our ends of the bargain. I’ve done my part over the years in providing your firm with the best cloth at the best prices and on a timely basis, but you have seen fit to respond with late payments and unreasonable demands for lower interest and longer payment periods. Paragraph. I will expect payment in full within the next thirty days or legal action will be brought against you.’ Madge, I don’t feel sincere or regretful, just leave the closing blank. . .” I’ll write my name in real big, Clarence thought with a chuckle.

He put the recorder on top of the pile of letters and invoices for Madge and sat back with a sigh. He wasn’t happy about Jerome but what the hell, business was business.

The recorded music piped through the plant and his office stopped, leaving a void of silence. Glancing at his watch out of habit, Clarence knew it was eight, the last shift was out the door and he was alone. This was his favorite time of the day. He would take a walk through the plant before leaving. . .the phone chirped. It was his private line.

“Shit, Sue checking up on me. One little fling and she just can’t let it go.”

There was something else. Another sound. Brushing. Yes, a brushing sound. But what?

It was coming from the trash. That package. It's moving and it's making a noise.

He lifted it from the plastic can. “What the hell?” It moved, he let it fall from his hand. “There’s something in there.” What could it be? Lifting it again, this time prepared for the sensation, Clarence put it in the middle of his desk and watched it jump every time the phone rang.

The phone. Clarence put the receiver to his ear.

“Clarence, have you opened my gift yet?”

“Jerome? Is that you?”

“Yes, Clarence it’s me. Have you opened the package yet?”

“As a matter of fact, I was just about to do that, but knowing that you sent it, I’m not sure I should.”

“Why not, Clarence? I owe you a bunch of money. Maybe I’ve made payment.” When Clarence stopped talking, the package was still.

Money my ass, Clarence thought. “What is it, Jerome?”

“I’m not telling. You’ll have to open it. Why don’t you put me on the speaker while you do that. I want to know how you like my gift.”

“I’m more inclined to hang up on you and trash your. . . ‘gift’.”

“But you won’t. You don’t know what it might be worth to you and you never pass up a chance to make a buck.”

I am curious. “So why should I keep you on the line?”

“So you can tell me what a cheapskate I am, or maybe you can thank me. I want to know how you like the gift, Clarence, nothing more.”

Clarence moved the receiver over the phone base, but pressed the speaker button before replacing it in the cradle. “Okay, Jerome, you’re on the speaker and I’m going to open the package.”

“Use a sharp knife, Clarence, but be careful not to cut too deeply.”

“Shut up, Jerome. I know how to open a package.”

Pushing the lever that revealed the cutting blade, Clarence touched the point to the paper and pressed. The blade cut through the heavy wrapper easily. The cut edges parted slightly. Something was pushing against the paper from the inside. The first cut was across the center, the next across the side, making a large +. Putting the blade down, Clarence folded the paper back.

Pale blue packing peanuts jumped out of the opening. “What is this Jerome, Mexican jumping beans?” Clarence laughed. “You’ve got to be joking. Are they going to shit on my desk? Is that your great and mysterious gift?” Picking up the trash can, Clarence started to sweep the blue jumpers into it--only they didn’t seem to. . .

They clung to his hands, his arms--they jumped at him.

“What are they, Jerome? Tell me what they are.” Clarence was surprised that his voice sounded afraid. Afraid of what, he thought with a snort. . .packing material?

The sound of laughing came from the phone, but Clarence was too busy trying to clean up the blue peanuts to respond.

He felt stings where they stuck to his skin, not hard but annoying. He brushed at them frantic to be rid of the pests. They were crawling up his sleeves. The ones that had fallen to the floor were inside his pants. Clarence slapped at his legs, feeling moisture as they were smashed. The odor and taste of a million pennies filled the air and his mouth. His head spun.

“How’re you feeling, Clarence? Dizzy yet? They’re something, aren’t they. It’s my birthday today. Did you know that? I thought what better present than to give a gift to my good friend, Clarence Weston. Ah, the joy of giving.”

“Jerome, hel. . .helpppp, me.” Clarence tried to clear his blurred vision by blinking. His hands were too heavy to lift from his lap.

“Just relax, Clarence. The more you struggle, the faster the poison works. Oh, but don’t worry. It won’t kill you. Nah, it will just paralyze you.” The sound of laughter filled the room. “You’ll die because the little blue bugs will drain all the fluids from your body. They‘ll suck out all the wet stuff, your eyes will get dry, your mouth will be parched, you’ll wonder why you don’t have to pee, you do right now don’t you, Clarence?   That’s the way us men are, have to use the john at the most inopportune times. And last, they’ll take your blood. All of it. No one will ever know how you died Clarence. Death by misadventure.” Laugher interspersed by snorts and gasps echoed over the phone.

“Hey, Clarence, you haven’t thanked me yet. . .. And how about a birthday wish, huh?” Jerome stopped talking. “I’m sorry, Clarence, but I have to go now.   I’d like to stick around, but my family is having a party for me. I’ll see you. . .oops, no I won’t, but I’ll think about you. . . and I’ll laugh--a lot.” As promised, gales of laughter filled the air, cut off when the phone went dead.

The blue parasites, some had started to turn a pale pink, stopped moving.

Clarence held his breath, exhaling slowly. Was it over? Tears of relief rolled down his whiskered cheeks. He hadn’t “dried up’.

If I can just get up, I could get away from these. . .these things. Far, far away. His mouth was dry. I need a drink is all. I’m not going to be drained of all my body fluids. What a bunch of horse shit.

The phone started to chirp.

The bugs went back to their frenzied feeding.

Clarence felt his bowels and bladder release. The sound of his scream bounced around the empty office, stirring the parasites with new energy.

". . .unknown number. . ...Please hang up and try again. . . "