Un2talented (Book 3 of the Un2 Series)

“I’m running to the market to pick up balloons for Granny. Do you want anything?” Dorian leaned through the door and called to Cadence at the front desk.

“What in the world is Granny going to do with balloons?” Cadence asked.

“Actually, it was my suggestion that she get some. We were talking about my throat and it popped out of my mouth, pretty much from nowhere”

“Why balloons?”

“I don’t know. Granny had just called me a ‘whiny bitch’ and was checking my forehead for a fever when a vision of water balloons dumping from a bucket set against a night sky appeared to me,” Dorian explained. “Then, I blurted out that she needed balloons.”

“If she’s sending you to buy balloons, she apparently is going to need them. That woman has an uncanny sense of things. She’s very clairvoyant.”

Dorian nodded in agreement.

“The funny thing is that I was the one that saw what was needed.” Dorian made air quotes as he said: “saw”. “Maybe she’s rubbing off on me!”

“Please,” Cadence groaned. ” One Granny is plenty!”

“So, do you need anything?”

“No, but thanks.”

“Okay. Have a good shift, in case I don’t see ya!”

Dorian waved at Cadence through the window as he headed across the parking lot toward the street. The market was a few blocks away and made for a pleasant walk. The sun was bright and warm. The air was cool and crisp. It felt good as it traveled down his itchy throat. He rubbed his fingers just beneath his Adam’s apple and smiled as the memory of Granny calling him a whiny bitch echoed through his mind.

The market was of the stand-alone, mom-and-pop variety. The red brick building anchored a small shopping district that had a nice balance of stores that carried the “must-haves” and eclectic boutiques that carried the ”should-I-or-shouldn’t-I’s”. Its awning-covered entryway chamfered the corner pointing to the town’s main intersection. It still had wooden doors with long brass handles that had to be opened manually. Burt, the shop’s owner and manager for the past half of a century, opted to keep them that way to encourage social interaction.

The store’s interior hadn’t changed much in decades. Although covered in layers of paint, the pressed tin ceiling and the crown molding that ran its perimeter were original to the building. The well-worn hardwood floors and built-in shelving units that lined the back wall were created using local lumber by the first proprietor. A few metal fixtures were added decades later, around the same time the motel was built. The coolers and freezers were the newest additions, but they were built to harmonize with the antique decor. A brass cash register anchored the front service counter. Burt rubbed at its embossed detailing with half a lemon. The juice ran down his forearm and dripped from his elbow.

“Lemon and salt, that’s all you need,” Burt said without diverting his eyes from his work. “An oldie-but-goodie. What can I do you for, Dory?”

“Granny wants me to pick up some balloons and I need some throat lozenges.”

“The lozenges are in the cold and flu section on the back wall. The balloons are right there.” Burt pointed to a vacant hook in the party supply section, and then added, “I’ll have a look up top to see if I have any balloons around.”

Burt moved toward the library ladder that traveled on a rail along the built-in shelves. He rolled between Dorian and the cold remedies to a spot below the overstock shelf containing stacked rolls of crepe paper streamers and party hats. As he began to climb the ladder, his foot slid from the first rung causing him to topple toward Dorian, who lunged to catch him. Dorian managed to grasp Burt’s forearm with both hands but couldn’t stop his fall. As they stumbled backward, Dorian executed a series of shuffle steps and buffaloes that Gene Kelly would envy. He caught his balance, spun Burt once counter-clockwise, and dipped him. Burt looked up at him, amazed.

“I haven’t seen moves like that since Marjorie and I worked the Catskills!” Burt chuckled. “I didn’t know you could dance!”

“It’s news to me, as well!” Dorian replied as he righted Burt. “What do you mean, ’worked the Catskills’?”

Burt stepped into the open, pushed up his sleeves, and launched into a series of tap moves whose speed and crispness rivaled Cadence’s beatbox rhythms. He finished with a pair of barrel rolls and then dropped to his knees with outstretched arms. He was barely winded.

“That, my friend, is what I mean.”

“Burt, that was amazing!” Dorian exclaimed. He extended a hand to help Burt to his feet. As soon as their hands touched Dorian executed a quick time step. Burt raised an eyebrow

“Challenge accepted!” He upped the ante with a double-time step.

Dorian just stood there.

“Well?” Burt urged.

“Really, Burt, I don’t dance!” Dorian insisted.

“You’re just being humble!” Burt patted Dorian’s shoulder and then affectionately squeezed the back of his neck. Dorian’s feet clicked off a perfect paradiddle after which Dorian popped up onto the rubber half-moons at the fronts of his sneakers and stood there on pointe. He dropped back onto his heels as soon as Burt released his neck.

“Nope. You can’t dance. Not one bit!” Burt chuckled.

“I don’t know where that came from! I swear!” Dorian maintained.

Burt tilted his head and winked. “Sure, ya don’t.” He climbed back up the ladder and retrieved a half-dozen bags of balloons. The duo walked together to the front counter.

“Anything else?”

“Nope. Thanks.”

Burt rang up Dorian’s order and handed it back to him in a paper sack. Dorian headed for the door.

“Burt, I really can’t . . .” Dorian stopped and sighed at the sight of Burt’s doubting smile. He turned and continued on his way.

“See you around, Mr. Astaire!” Burt called after him.