This case had turned dark indeed. He’d have lots of shrugging and moping, much groveling and kowtowing to do, before this was over. But that came, Momo knew, with the territory. Leaning his tired bones into the pushbroom, he swept a swatch of moonlight off the front stoop onto the grass.
It was his duty, as a citizen and especially as a practitioner of the law, to call in the Kops. A few more sweeps and the stoop was moonless; the lawn to either side shone with shattered shards of light. He would finish the walkway, then broom away a spill of light from the road in front of Bobo’s house, before firing the obligatory flare into the sky.
Time enough then to endure the noises that would tear open the night, the clamorous bell of the mismatch-wheeled pony-drawn firetruck, the screaming whistles in the bright red mouths of the Kops clinging to the Kop Kar as it raced into the neighborhood, hands to their domed blue hats, the bass drums booming as Bobo’s friends and neighbors marched out of their houses, spouses and kids, poodles and ponies and piglets highstepping in perfect columns behind.
For now, it was enough to sweep moonlight from Bobo’s cobbled walkway, to darken the wayward clown’s doorway, to take in the scent of a fall evening and gaze up wistfully at the aching gaping moon.
LI’L MISS ULTRASOUND
June 30, 2004
Mummy dearest,
It’s great to hear from you, though I’m magnitudinously distraught that you can’t be here for the contest. Still, I’m not complaining. It’s extremely better that you show up for the birth—three weeks after my little munchkin’s copped her crown!—and help out afterwards. The contest is a hoot and I want to do you proud, I will do you proud, but that can be done from a distance too, don’t you think? What with the national coverage and the mega-sponsorship, you’ll get to VCR me and the kid many times over. And of course I’ll save all the local clippings for you like you asked.
It made my throat hurt, the baby even kicked, when you mentioned Willie in your last letter. It’s tough to lose such a wonderful man. Still, he died calmly. I read that gruesome thing a few years ago, that How We Die book? It gave me the chills, Mom, how some people thrash and moan, how they don’t make a pretty picture at all, many of them. Willie was one of the quiet ones though, thank the Lord. Nary a bark nor whimper out of him, he just drifted off like a thief in the night.
Which was funny, because he was so, I don’t know, noisy isn’t the right word, I guess expressive maybe, his entire life.
Oh, before I close, I gotta tell you about Kip. Kip’s my ultrasound man. I’m in love, I think. Kind face on him. Nice compact little bod. Cute butt too, the kind of buns you can wrap your hands halfway around, no flabby sags to spoil your view or the feel of the thing. Anyway, Kip’s been on the periphery of the contest for a few years and likes tinkering with the machinery. He’s confided in me. Says he can—and will!—go beyond the superimposition of costumes that’s been all the rage in recent years to some other stuff I haven’t seen yet and he won’t spell out. He worked some for those Light and Magic folks in California, and he claims he’s somehow brought all that stuff into the ultrasound arena. Kip’s sworn me to secrecy. He tells me we’ll win easy. But I’m my momma’s daughter. I don’t put any stock in eggs that haven’t been hatched, and Kip isn’t fanatical about it, so it’s okay. Also, Mother, he kissed me. Yep! As sweet and tasty as all get-out.
I’ll reveal more, next missive. Meantime, you can just keep guessing about what we’re up to, since you refuse to grace us with your presence at the contest.
Just teasing, Mummy dear. Me and my fetal muffin will make you so proud, your chest will puff out like a Looney Tunes hen! Your staying put—for legit reasons, like you said—is a-okay with me, though I do wish you were here to hug, and chat up, and share the joy.
Kip brightened when Wendy came in from the waiting room, radiant with smiles.
Today was magic day. The next few sessions would acquaint Wendy with his enhancements to the ultrasound process. He wanted her confident, composed, and fully informed onstage.
“Wendy, hello. Come in.” They traded hugs and he hung her jacket on a clothes rack.
“You can kiss me, you know,” she teased.
He shook his head. “It doesn’t feel right in the office. Well, okay, a little one. Mmmm. Wendy, hon, you’re a keeper! Now hoist yourself up and let’s put these pillows behind your back.
That’s the way. Comfy? Can you see the monitor?”
“Yes.” Eagerly, she bunched her maternity dress up over her belly. Beautiful blue and red streaks, blood lightning, englobed it. A perfect seven-months’ pooch. Her flowered briefs were as strained and displaced as a fat man’s belt.
“Okay, now,” said Kip. “Get ready for a surprise. This’ll be cold.” He smeared thick gel on her belly and moved the hand-held transducer to bring up baby’s image. “There’s our little darling.”
“Mmmmm, I like that ‘our’!”
“She’s a beauty without any enhancement, isn’t she? Now we add the dress.” Reaching over, he flipped a switch on his enhancer. Costumes had come in three years before, thanks to the doctor Kip had studied under. They were now expected fare. “Here’s the one I showed you last time,” he said, pink taffeta with hints of chiffon at the bodice. There slept baby in her party dress, her tiny fists up to her chest.
“It’s beautiful,” enthused Wendy. “You can almost hear it rustle.” What a joy Wendy was, thought Kip. A compact little woman who no doubt would slim down quickly after giving birth.“Okay. Here goes. Get a load of this.” He toggled the first switch. Overlaying the soft fabric, there now sparkled sequins, sharp gleams of red, silver, gold. They winked at random, cutting and captivating—spliced in, by digital magic, from a captured glisten of gems.
“Oh, Kip. It’s breathtaking.”
It was indeed. Kip laughed at himself for being so proud.
But adding sparkle was child’s play, and he fully expected other ultrasounders to have come up with it this year. It wouldn’t win the contest. It would merely keep them in the running. He told Wendy so.
“Ah but this,” he said, “this will put us over the top.” He flipped the second switch, keeping his eyes not on the monitor but on his lover, knowing that the proof of his invention would be found in the wideness of her eyes.
Eudora glared at the monitor.
She had won the Li’l Miss Ultrasound contest two years running—the purses her first two brats brought in had done plenty to offset the bother of raising them—and she was determined to make it three.
Then she could retire in triumph.
She had Moe Bannerman, the best ultrasound man money could buy. He gestured to the monitor’s image. “She’s a beaut.
Do you have a name yet?”
“Can the chatter, Moe. I’ll worry about that after she wins.
Listen, I’m dying for a smoke. Let’s cut to the chase.”
Moe’s face fell.
Big friggin’ deal, she thought. Let him cry to his fat wife, then dry his tears on the megabucks Eudora was paying him.
“Here she is, ready for a night on the town.” He flipped a switch and her kid was swaddled in a svelte evening gown, a black number with matching accessories (gloves and a clutch-purse) floating beside her in the amniotic sac.
Eudora was impressed. “Clear image.”