Death by Polka

Chapter 4

4As I looked out over the crowd in the banquet hall, the Furies glared back at me in disgust. There were three of them, all dressed in black, all with raven black hair, and they were my sisters.

Bonnie, the oldest and tallest, stood in the middle. Her brown eyes framed a big, angular nose that gave her the look of a hawk. Her hair was long, draped over her shoulders, but not nearly as long as mine.

Charlie stood at her side. She was shorter and rounder than any of us, with plump cheeks and dark blue eyes. Her hair was cut in a kind of dowdy helmet ‘do that made her look older than she was, older than any of us.

Then there was Ellie, the youngest. She looked like an anorexic teen, all skin and bones and giant blue eyes so pale they were almost white. Those eyes peering out from her shag haircut with the spiky bangs looked perpetually challenging, always ready to go off.

Which, actually, described her personality. All three of the Furies’ personalities.

Boy did they have capital “T” tempers. They were always, always fighting with each other, shifting alliances, holding grudges on top of grudges.

But today, for once, they were united against a common object of resentment. Me, in other words. I had the honor of having brought them together in harmony. I could see it in their body language as they all clustered together and stared up at me through slitted eyes. I could feel it in the air, and I could guess what had brought it on.

They were mad that I was the only sister called up on stage. It didn’t matter that I didn’t want to be there; I knew my sisters, and I knew this was eating them alive.

It was just the latest in a series of injustices. First, I’d gone off to Los Angeles while they’d all stayed in town and given birth to the ADHD Dozen. Then, I’d gotten engaged, while the best they’d been able to manage was a string of deadbeat baby daddies. Now this.

I knew I’d pay for it later, but I chose to ignore them for now. Basil Sloveski was waving a number ten white business envelope over his giant silver pompadour.

“All right, folks!” The corners of Basil’s eyes crinkled as he grinned. Up close, I could see his whole overtanned face was a web of fine lines. “Without further ado!”

The crowd roared (except for the Furies, who just rolled their eyes) and pumped beers in the air. The ADHD Dozen squirmed their way up front and lined up along the stage, screeching and dancing like idiots.

“How about a drum roll, guys?” When Basil said it, Eddie Sr.’s ancient drummer hopped up on the stage, raised his bony arms in a weight-lifter’s pose with fists curled toward his shaggy white head, and dropped down on the squeaky red stool behind his drum kit.

As the drum roll started, Basil slid a fingernail under the corner of the envelope flap, then dragged his nail along the length of the flap, tearing it open with a ripping sound.

My heart pounded, and I held my breath. As badly as I didn’t want to be there, I was actually caught up in the suspense. Polish Lou’s showmanship had broken through even my tough exterior.

The kids down in front couldn’t stand the suspense either. They were hopping up and down, clawing at the stage, having conniptions. Milly spoke for all of them. “What? What’s it say?”

Basil slipped two tanned fingers into the envelope and drew out a folded sheet of paper. He cleared his throat as he unfolded it, playing up the drama.

Then, he started reading. “Dear fellow polka lovers!” The drum roll continued in the background as Basil’s voice rang over the crowd. “As you know, I’ve been called the Prince of Pennsylvania Polka.”

The crowd roared its approval.

“But now that the Prince is dead, who will rule his kingdom?” Basil paused and looked around the banquet hall for dramatic effect. “Who will be my successor?”

“Who? Who?” squeaked one of the kids down in front.

“Who will carry on the tradition of great polka music as leader of my band, Polish Fly?” read Basil. “Who will continue to broadcast three hours of polkatacular tunetasticness every Saturday morning and Sunday afternoon on my radio show, Kocham Taniec?

“Who will organize the annual Polkapourri festival that has become an institution for Johnstown and the entire tri-state area?

“And who will manage Polish Lou Enterprises now that Polish Lou is gone?” Basil stopped reading aloud, though his eyes kept scanning the page. He got a funny look on his face, a kind of smirking frown, like he wasn’t sure he’d read the letter correctly. Then he shrugged, nodded, and gazed out at the crowd. “I’ll tell you who!

“She will!” With that, Basil swung an arm around and pointed directly at Peg.

The drum roll ended with a rim shot, and the crowd cheered like crazy. Eddie Sr. and Eddie Jr. played wild strains on their accordions. In front of the stage, the kids spun and jumped and gyrated like human popcorn in their little suits and dresses.

Glancing at the Furies, I saw the three of them looked more thoroughly disgusted than ever. One thing they all had in common and shared with me was an undying hatred of Polish Peg.

As for the Clown herself, she beamed and waved with pure delight. If I hadn’t known any better, I might’ve thought she’d just won the Miss America pageant or an Academy Award.

Clapping politely, I turned away and looked for the best place to step down from the stage. The crowd was slightly thinner by the corner, so maybe that would be a good exit point.

Just as I took a step toward the corner, Basil called out behind me. “And she will, too!”

I swear, everyone in the banquet hall gasped at once. Except me.

“That’s right!” said Basil. “I’m talking about you, Lottie!”

At the mention of my name, I spun to face him. “Me, what?”

“You’re the co-queen of Lou’s kingdom, that’s what!” Basil lunged over and grabbed my arm, then hauled it high like I’d just won a prize fight. “Ladies and polkamen! Meet the new rulers of Polka Land! Lou’s own daughter, Lottie...” Basil grabbed Peg’s arm and hefted it overhead alongside mine. “...and his partner, the love of his life, Polish Peg!”

The crowd went berserk. Cameras flashed in my eyes as Eddie Sr. and Eddie Jr. launched into “Hail to the Chief” on their accordions.

Dazed, I leaned forward and looked past Basil at Peg. The look on her clownish face said it all.

She was as surprised as I was. And just about as happy.

Which, let me tell you, wasn’t happy at all.