Free Jump Cut by Ted Staunton Page B

was,” says GL, “and a bum-grabber to boot. Barbara Stanwyck said the same thing. Amby, turn that off. We have things to discuss.”

EIGHTEEN
    AmberLea hits the Mute button. GL says, “Now, come out here.” She’s got a map spread on the picnic table. “Here’s where we’re going.” She puts on a big pair of glasses. Her flame-red fingernail stabs at the map. We all squeeze in to look. She’s pointing to the north shore of Lake Superior.
    â€œTerrace Bay?” AmberLea squints.
    â€œOr Marathon. We can be there by Sunday night if we get as far as Sault Sainte Marie tomorrow. Then we can go to Jackfish Monday morning.”
    â€œWhat’s Jackfish?” says Al.
    â€œToo small to be on the map,” says GL, “but it’s right here.” She taps a little pocket of the lake where it dents in before Terrace Bay. “I have to do something there. Before I’m done, if you know what I mean.”
    â€œLike what?” AmberLea’s chin goes away again.
    â€œI’ll explain when we get there. A lady’s not a woman without a secret.”
    â€œThat’s from a movie too,” Al says.
    â€œ Blond Trust ,” says Gloria Lorraine. “It was an ad-lib muff. The line was supposed to be ‘A lady’s not a lady without a secret.’ Normie Bly, the director, liked it so much he kept it.”
    â€œYeah, yeah,” says Al. “ Blond Trust. That was you? With what’s-his-name, skinny guy, where he pushes—”
    â€œâ€”the old man in the wheelchair down the elevator shaft,” she finishes for him, “and giggles.”
    â€œI loved that,” says Al. “You were great. They use ta play it on the late movie on Channel 7 alla time when I was a kid. Grew up with a guy, Mikey, just like that. ‘Mikey,’ we’d say, ‘You’re on!’” Al shakes his head. “The stuff he’d get up to.”
    â€œWhere is he now?” I ask.
    Al shrugs. “Last I saw, he was hanging off a balcony and the guy holding him remembered he had to go make a call.”
    â€œOh,” I say. “That’s, uh, too bad.”
    â€œDepends on your point of view.”
    â€œThe point is,” GL brings us back, “you get me to Jackfish and you’re done. Spicer here gets his kiss and his movie, and, Al, you can take off. If you keep going west you can nip over the border into Minnesota. That would give you some breathing room. And AmberLea can run the camera and learn a thing or two from her gramma before it’s too late.”
    I’m looking at the map while she says it. “Hey,” I say, “how come we didn’t just keep going up Highway four hundred? It’s shorter.”
    â€œBecause I need something from here before the new owners move in,” says GL. “From behind the deer head.”
    The stuffed deer head is on the living-room wall above the couch. Al is the tallest. And the heaviest. The couch groans and sags as he stands on it. He reaches up. “Behind the base,” orders GL. Al fumbles around and comes up with something that he passes down into GL’s impatient hand. It’s a tarnished locket on a fine chain. GL totters to a chair, jams her glasses back on and struggles with the thing. She gets it open, looks at it for a minute, then snaps it shut. “Get me my purse.” AmberLea brings it. GL shoves in the locket, snaps the purse shut, then waves for AmberLea to help her stand up. “I’m off to bed,” she says. “I get the front bedroom. Amberlea, you get the middle and you boys take the back. And you two”—she swings a finger from me to AmberLea—“no hanky-panky, got it? I’m up in the night and I’ll know.”
    AmberLea turns into a tomato. I look away; I can feel my own face burning.
    â€œEarly start tomorrow.” GL turns away. “Don’t burn the midnight