Am I Right or Am I Right? by Barry Jonsberg Read Free Book Online Page B

phone number and was even now desperately trying to track me down? Maybe he had been mugged on the way home from work and his wallet, with my number in it, had been snatched. Perhaps he was somewhere saying, “I don’t care about the credit cards and the two hundred bucks, but Calma’s phone number is an irreparable loss.” Maybe he was frantic with anxiety.
    Eventually, at 2:35 p.m., I called him.
    We arranged to go to the movies on Friday.
    I forgot to stay mad at Vanessa.

Chapter 7
    Keeping the Fridge up to speed
    Dear Fridge,
    I am writing this slowly because I know you can’t read fast.
    It is spring and the sap is rising. I am not referring to your ex-husband, incidentally. No, I am merely identifying the season and its signifiers: primal juices are abundant within nature, new shoots appear, blossoms unfurl. So too beats the primeval rhythm within the human breast, a beat to which I am not immune. In short, dear Fridge, this Friday evening I am following the well-trodden path of romance, whereby a young English gentleman, the classically named Jason, with accompanying Greek god looks, will escort me to a place of entertainment and possibly thereafter to realms of amorous bliss.
    Thought you should know.
    Love,
Calma
    Dear Calma,
    About time you got a date.
    Incidentally, it might be spring where your young man comes from, but in the tropics it’s too bloody hot for rising sap, new shoots, or unfurling blossoms. Sorry to be practical.
    Have a great time on Friday. Watch those primal juices. Haven’t they told you about them in Health Education?
    Love,
The Fridge

Chapter 8
    Finding the Fridge is a fibber
    The Fridge was up to no good.
    Now, this might be news to you, but I have a reputation as an amateur sleuth. Not an undeserved one either, if you’ll forgive me inserting my own trumpet and giving a resounding rendition. Call it a gift, but I can spot duplicity (what a brilliant word that is) from twenty miles without a road map. I can smell a lie. I can taste a half-truth. I’m allergic to deception. I’m part bloodhound. In fact, only last year I helped solve the mystery of the unmuzzled pit bull…but that’s another story and I don’t want to revisit it.
    Anyway, it was but the work of a moment for me to piece the parts of the jigsaw together and come to the conclusion that the Fridge was telling me whoppers. However, the pieces of that jigsaw came in subtle ways. And the problem I’ve got is how best to tell you the details without boring you senseless. You see, if I’m going to be honest, the separate events are not in themselves of stunning dramatic quality. Plus the evidence accumulated gradually, over days.
    So…I’ve decided you are going to have to do some work as well. Don’t worry, it’s not physically demanding. All I ask is that when you see the word FastF™ (Calma Harrison, patent pending) on the page, then you mentally press the fast-forward button on an imaginary remote control. Listen, use a real remote control if it makes you feel better, but not much is going to happen unless you’re reading this when the rest of the family is watching a movie, in which case you’ll find your popularity suddenly plummets.
    It’s a narrative device I’ve just invented, where we can skip the dull bits of normal existence and focus on the relevant stuff. I can tell you’re dubious, but give it a go. Okay?
    Let’s practice.
     
    Well, it’s Sunday night and getting dark. The rain is coming down like stainless-steel rivets and the tree frogs are carrying on like foghorns. I think I’d better do that homework….
    FastF™
     
    Slap me round the face with a wet fish! It’s Monday morning and my homework’s done. The sun is boiling the blacktop and…
     
    Get the general idea? Okay. Let’s give it a go with “The Strange Case of the Dissembling Fridge.”
    I told you earlier that the Fridge was out when I got back from Vanessa’s on Sunday afternoon. I didn’t give it much thought. She’s