Marrying Mom. Olivia Goldsmith

the tickets, a limo. Bruce, I think you and I should both go and make sure that we at least get Mom in front of the target.” Sig turned to Sharon. “Sharon, we need you as the secret weapon. This was great work so far. But now you have to research the next phase.”

      “What’s the next phase? I can’t do anything else.”

      “Yes you can. Just find out the next big charity events in New York. I’ll see which one my firm helps to sponsor and if any of these three clowns is going to attend. Then you dig out everything extra you can on our first target.”

      She handed the three folders back to Sharon. “Needless to say, Mr. Phelps, if anything goes wrong with this mission we will disavow all knowledge of—”

      Bruce interrupted her. “You’re right. This is Mission Impossible.”

      Sig put down the folder she held. “Well, one thing I know for sure: you can’t catch fish without bait. Sharon’s done her job and I’m doing mine. We’ll see what you can do with Mom when she gets here.”

      at La Guardia airport all three Sibs waited nervously. A group of people was coming out of the jetway entrance like nothing so much as cattle moving down the slaughter chute. Then, behind them, strode Phyllis. “It’s amazing,” Bruce said sotto voce. “She’s like Keyser Söze in Usual Suspects. She limps among them without revealing her lethal talents.”

      “Shut up,” Sig warned. “Here she comes. She’ll hear you.”

      “Try to look happy to see her,” Sharon said, but neither Sig nor Bruce were listening. “Hi, Mom,” Sharon sang out in a falsely cheerful voice.

      Phyllis walked up to the three of them. “How did you know I was coming?”

      “Mrs. Katz called.”

      “Figures. She can’t keep anything to herself.” Phyllis nodded. “So? No flowers?” she asked. Then she looked directly at Sharon and said, “You must have gained another twenty pounds, Sharri.” She looked her daughter over while Sharon shrank from her gaze. “I always gained weight when I was sexually frustrated. Has Barney become completely impotent?” she asked. Then she kissed her fat daughter, who recoiled.

      “Let the games begin!” Bruce declared.

      Phyllis turned to her son. “So, how’s the gay greeting card business? Have you gone mahula yet?” She pecked Bruce on the cheek. Then she waved her hand in the air. “My God! You’re wearing more perfume than I am!”

      “At least it’s good perfume.”

      Lastly Phyllis turned appraisingly to Sig. “A lot of people think red and black go together, Susan.” She shrugged. “Don’t ask me why.”

      “Maybe because they’re a classic.” Sig smiled.

      “Or maybe because they’re a cliché?” Phyllis responded and shrugged again. “But hey, if you want to look like a drum majorette … burr-rump-a-bum-bum.” Phyllis winked at Sig, then glanced around at the cosmopolitan bustle of the airport. Here the Christmas chazerei looked good: tinsel, wreaths, red ribbons, and white snow—well, gray snow—out the window. “Let’s get over to baggage claim before some jerk walks away with my luggage.”

      Numbly, the three shell-shocked Sibs began to walk beside her. She smiled expansively. “It’s great to be in New York again! Talking to Floridians was like chewing on avocado: everyone down there is soft. Up here people are like bagels: when you chew on them your jaw gets some exercise. I had a lovely conversation on the plane.”

      “Can you imagine being stuck next to Mom?”

      “Oh my God,” Sharon breathed. “I’m getting claustrophobic just thinking of it. Where’s my inhaler?”

      “He asked for my phone number,” Phyllis added in a self-satisfied tone.

      “What was he selling?” Bruce asked, puffing on his Marlboro despite the No Smoking signs.

      “What difference does it make? She doesn’t have any money,” Sig reminded him.

      “Be like that,” Phyllis sniffed. “He was very nice.”

      Bruce sighed deeply. “It’s started,” he said in a singsong. “Sharri is fat / Mom is no fun / Sig is unmarried / And I’m a bad son.”

      Phyllis turned and looked at him and his cigarette disapprovingly. She waved her liver-spotted hand in front of his face. “You know, you’re killing both of us with that smoke.”

      “Not fast enough,” Bruce muttered.

      Phyllis pretended not to hear and speeded up, heading toward baggage claim, looking ready to chew out everyone. Her three stunned children followed.

      “Unbelievable. No matter how often I’m with her, in between sightings I forget what it’s like,” said Bruce.

      “That’s what they say about UFOs,” Sig reminded him. “Yet doubters still persist.”

      “No wonder I’m fat,” Sharon mumbled resentfully.

      “No wonder I’m unmarried,” Sig added.

      “No wonder I’m gay.”

      “Bruce, you’re gay?” Sig asked, pretending shock. Bruce looked at her murderously.

      “Forget Operation Geezer Quest. Let’s just kill her,” Sharon suggested, blood in her eye. “And I didn’t gain twenty pounds. Fifteen, tops.”

      “Twenty,” their mother called back from way ahead of them.

      “God, she still has her faculties,” Bruce commented.

      “Not for long,” Sig threatened. “Come on. Let’s get her to your place and brief her.”

      “My place? Why my place?” Bruce almost squeaked. “We’re closer to your neighborhood,” he told Sig.

      “Yeah, but there’s no room for her to stay over at your apartment. Plus there’s Todd. He’ll move her right along.”

      Despite the crowds, Phyllis had spotted her bags right away and dived for them. She was still fast, for an old woman. In minutes they were standing in the cold outside of baggage claim, waiting for Todd to pick them up in his van. Even in her winter coat, Phyllis shivered. Sig tapped her foot, irritated and impatient. They had to indoctrinate their mother ASAP, get her to cooperate, and get her into the Pierre Hotel suite Sig had already reserved. But it wouldn’t be an easy sell.

      “Can’t we do something else?” Bruce asked.

      “No.”

      “Why?”

      “Why? Because I say so, that’s why,” Sig told Bruce.

      Phyllis laughed. “You sound just like me,” she said to her daughter.

      “I do not,” Sig retorted.

      “Do too.” Bruce and Sharon confirmed with a nod. Just then, thank God, Todd drove up with his van. It took them almost fifteen precious minutes to load all the assorted crap into the battered vehicle that Bruce used for card deliveries.

      “Do we need anything else?” Todd asked cheerfully when they were all settled in at last.

      “Just Valium and a baseball bat,” Sig said through her teeth.