ACUMEN OF DESIDERATUM

by

Phaedra Weldon

SMASHWORDS EDITION

* * * * *

PUBLISHED BY:

Caldwell Press on Smashwords

Acumen Of Desideratum

Copyright © 2010 by Phaedra Weldon

Smashwords Edition License Notes

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ACUMEN OF DESIDERATUM

by

Phaedra Weldon

Psst. Hey. Mike.

"Can I help…" Mike Ross straightened up from behind the counter of Crystal Reveries in Roswell, Georgia, to answer whomever called his name, only to find himself alone. "You?"

No customers waited at the antique cash register or anywhere else in the shop.

So who called his name?

An eerie stillness wrapped itself around his ankles, traveled up his legs in a clockwise motion and then pushed the hairs on his arms outward. A miasma of colored rocks glinted at him beneath the fluorescent lights as ceramic angels and corpulent cherubs spun round in motionless glee on the shelves near the front window. Bayberry incense smoke spun and curled in the air almost in rhythm to the silken sounds of Enya's "On Your Shore." Outside the wonderland of crystals, candles, and new age pomp, cars sat in two perfect rows along Alpharetta Street as the evening traffic reached its zenith in the January chill.

Convincing himself the sound of his name was nothing but his overactive imagination, Mike knelt back down behind the counter and continued to search for his divorce papers. He remembered tossing them here in a fit of disgust after arguing with his soon-to-be ex-wife over the ongoing custody battle of their daughter, Brendi. The papers had landed somewhere among the day's receipts, layaway items, stereo and dirty coffee mugs. He'd been shocked as well as leery when Teresa, the soon-to-be ex, phoned later on and asked—in a voice reminding him of sweet, pastel, butter mints—for a meeting. A day ago they couldn't stand the sight of one another. Now she wanted to talk things over in the loft of The Livery Bar and Restaurant, a local fine dinning establishment a few blocks down the road.

His hands were shaking as he shuffled through the mess. He wasn't going to let that woman take his daughter away from him.

Never.

Teresa took the house, the bank accounts, the car, the boat...and most importantly, his heart. Brendi was all he had left. Besides the crystal shop. And even that couldn't compare to the companionship of his only child. She was the one good thing to come out of their marriage. To lose her would mean to lose a part of him.

Hey you, behind the counter. The voice was nasal with a Trenton, New Jersey accent.

Mike slowly looked over the counter until nothing but his forehead, eyes, nose and shaggy mass of brown hair was visible. He turned the music down. "Hello?"

Psst. Idiot, I'm over here, the voice said behind him.

The counter sat in the center of the shop, giving Mike an excellent view of every item. Behind him sat white painted wooden shelves, laden with wood and ceramic icons of Egyptian Gods, Greek Goddesses, African fertility dolls and a wide variety of Jesus figures.

Beside a well-endowed African fertility god sat the doll a young man had left on the counter a week ago after attempting to convince Mike to buy it from him, claiming it was a genuine Anima Cozen, whatever that was. Made of molded tan plastic, bendable arms and legs, the doll stood seven inches high, with starched dread-locks that stuck straight out from the round head as if juiced with a thousand volts plus. A cherubic face held black plastic eyes, the sort that closed when the doll was on its back, opened when the doll was propped up as it was now. A long pointy nose with wide nostrils dipped down to ruby red lips accenting its gold, green and red dashiki top and pajama bottom pants. Beside the glitter of crystals, gems and delicate ceramic painted angels, it was easily the ugliest thing in the store.

The doll raised its right hand and gave a stiff wave. Here, stupid. Or are you blind as well as audibly impaired?

Mike's hip slammed painfully into the corner of the cash register as he stepped back. The doll's mouth had not moved yet the voice echoed inside the store walls. He knuckled his eyes and peered at the doll again. Had the stress from the custody battle finally snapped his sanity to the point of breaking?

Look, are you going to step over here, or should I come to you?

With no customers about to see him make a fool out of himself, Mike swallowed and held his hands up in front of him in a defensive posture. "Um...are you talking to me?"

The doll cocked its head to the right, assuming the pose Teresa took when she was about to let him know she thought he'd said something stupid. Well bright boy, I'm not talking to those little cherubed faced, fat naked babies you got hanging from the ceiling.

Mike glanced up at the five inch ceramic angels fastened to the ceiling with fishing wire swaying in short circles, pushed along by the heat from a nearby vent. "Dolls don't talk."

Really? Someone forgot to inform me of that little tidbit. Will you please step over here? It's really a pain to have to broadcast myself into that cerebral mess you call a mind.

Unclear of what else one was supposed to do when confronted with a talking doll, Mike strode hesitantly to the shelf that stood at chin height, bringing the doll at eye-level. "Better?"

The doll bobbed its head up and down twice as the plastic made a popping sound like snapping bubble-wrap. Much. I'm called Acumen of Desideratum. But call me Acki.

Mike blinked. Acki was good. He'd never remember that first mouth full of words.

Acki stood and hesitated at the shelf's edge as he peered down at the floor. Apparently coming to the conclusion he wouldn't fall, he sat down and dangled his legs over the side. And you're Mike. Store proprietor and father and general do-gooder. Now, my purpose is to ask you what you want.

"What I want?"

Yeah. What's up, what's the problem? I did hear that harridan yelling at you yesterday over the phone. You know, when that long-haired freak was in here eye-balling me.

The smell of bayberry fluctuated as Mike rubbed the edge of his prominent nose. The long-haired freak mentioned had to be his friend Dags McConnell who had stopped by yesterday to visit before going to work. Dags had taken a special interest in the little doll while they talked, asking all sorts of questions about it of which Mike had no answers. "If you heard me and Teresa arguing, then you already know my problems."

Lay 'em on me anyway.

Tell a doll his problems? Hell, why not? Maybe the talking doll was his stress giving him a way out so he wouldn't blow a cork at the loft later. "I'm in the middle of a divorce. I have one daughter named Brendi who I am completely devoted too. Her mother is threatening to take full custody. She called me today and wants to talk about something very important over desserts tonight."

Acki nodded, two head-bobs, popping plastic. And you're afraid she's going to tell you what?

Mike blinked. He had really admitted to himself what was bothering him. He thought a few seconds before answering. "I'm afraid she'll win, and worse, that Brendi would rather be with her mother. I've already had to endure Teresa's rejection...I'm not sure I could handle Brendi's."

Acki bent his left arm, the elbow flattening like a folded straw. Then I see my services are definitely needed.

"What services?"

I'm the answer to your problem. I will give you one wish.

A slow nod crept up Mike's lower neck and he too bobbed his head up and down. "Uh-huh. What's the catch?"

Oooh. Smart one. Good. The catch is you have to kiss me.

The laugh began somewhere around Mike's midsection, shook his stomach then exploded outward. "Kiss you? You have got to be kidding. I'm not kissing a doll. That's somehow...I don't know. Perverted."

The doll shrugged. That's the deal. You make a wish, you kiss me.

"What do you get?"

Let's just say it's something I'm missing.

Mike's first instinct was to close shop and call it a day. This was too weird. But curiosity was a trait born in most humans. Through the enforced patterns of behavior in school, the social mistakes of college, compounded by the stress of the work-a-day world, the trait was usually pounded flat. The Ross family had never fit in with conventional thinking. Mike's curiosity was sometimes catalogued as a character flaw and it was roused. "So...how does this work?"

Make your wish.

"Just like that?"

Sighing, Acki smacked his tiny palms down on his knees with a sharp tap. Plastic on plastic. You want a map?

"I don't know...there's so much I could use." Money being the key factor in most of his troubles. Money for lawyers, money for a house, money to eat. The shop was a mediocre success at best, and though it did keep a roof over his head, he wanted more for his daughter's future. If the court saw him as unable to provide, he didn't stand a chance. It was Teresa that made all the money.

Acki sighed. I can give you a hint. Wish that she wasn't leaving town and taking your daughter with her.

Mike backed up a step. "What? Leaving town?"

She's taking little Brendi away. You should wish for her to give you full custody before she just takes off. Acki tilted his head. It looked as if it might pop off. Why else would she set up some secret, serious meeting and be all nicey-pooh?

"How is it possible you know this?"

Hello. You're talking to a doll.

Mike turned and looked at the counter, at the cash register. Take Brendi away? Teresa wouldn't do that, would she? There had been that job offering in Virginia; the one she'd applied for a week ago. Was it possible it had come through?

The thought of Brendi living in Virginia caused a very large lump to tumble in his stomach, as if someone had punched him from the inside out. He'd be so lost without his little girl. It was one thing for Teresa to have custody and be in the same state...but Virginia? How could he spend any time with Brendi?

What harm could making a silly wish cause? If Teresa left Brendi with him, then she'd be free to pursue that all-important art career of hers. He looked back at Acki. "Okay. Do I just ask it as if making a wish at a well?" When Acki nodded, Mike inhaled deeply, taking in the bayberry, feeling the dry heat from the overhead vent as it ruffled his bangs against his forehead. "I wish...I wish that Teresa would..."

Yes? Acki leaned forward.

"I wish Teresa would give me custody of Brendi." There. Done. He didn't know if he truly believed the wish would work, but sometimes when natural means for accomplishing a task fell into the gutters of life's interstates, it was time to take the more super-natural back roads.

Acki raised his hands. Nothing extraordinary happened.

The moment passed. "Is that it?"

What? You wanted big brass bands, confetti and neon lights? Not that kind of doll. You'll get your wish when you kiss me.

Mike glanced around. The store was empty. What could be a better time than now? No one would see him make a fool out of himself. Mike reached out to grasp the doll in his hands. "Then come here."

Acki scrambled backward, kicked its molded bare feet at his hands. Hey, hey, hey! Watch that. He snatched up a three inch wooden wand with elegant runes burned into the wood surface and a sharp quartz crystal mounted with silver wire on the end pointed at Mike's face. Acki wielded it like a javelin. You'll kiss me when I say so.

Spying a similar metal wand on the second shelf, Mike snatched it up, aimed it at the doll's belly. "Don't you point that thing–"

The phone rang. It rang again, but Mike and Acki stood completely still, facing each other, holding their perspective weapons at the ready.

Acki nodded at Mike. You gonna get that?

With a grunt Mike backed up to the counter, keeping his gaze and his wand zeroed in on Acki. It might be Teresa. Or even Brendi. He picked up the receiver. "What?"

"Mike?" It was Dags. "You sound tense. Look, Teresa said you guys were coming up here for drinks." Dags worked as the bartender at the The Livery Bar and Restaurant.

"Yeah. Seven-thirty. Um, I'm a bit busy right now, so if you don't mind–"

"Sorry, sorry," Dags' voice was deep and full of mirth. "I've got some information on that butt-ugly doll in there. The Cozen? Do you know what that translates into?"

"No...Dags, this is not a good time. Tell me when I get there."

"Sure. But listen...I'm not sure what's going on, but Teresa said she had some heavy stuff to lay on you. As a friend, I'm suggesting you hear her out first, before jumping to any conclusions."

Mike sighed. Yeah. Right. Too late.

Acki snickered. Just sit there and let her tell you she's taking your kid away? Oh yeah. Big help that freako is.

"Will you shut up?" Mike hissed.

"What?" Dags' voice dropped a note.

"Not you." Mike looked at the ceiling in frustration. "Look, I'll see you in a little bit, okay?"

"Sure. Right. But that doll, you're not going to believe what it does."

"Oh yes I do."

"Mike, Cozen means–"

Mike hung the phone up. "Now, about that kiss."

Take me with you.

Mike lowered his wand hand. "What?"

Acki dropped his wand as well. It clattered on the wood shelf. Take me with you. That way I can grant your wish and everything will be–

Mike waved his hands in the air, the wand catching the light of the overhead fluorescents. "Oh, so you want me to take you with me so you can make me kiss you in the middle of a crowded restaurant? "

Sure. Stow me in your backpack.

Mike crossed his arms over his chest. "No."

Yes.

"No."

Yes.
"No."

Acki stood straight up. Fine. You'll loose Brendi without my help. They'll move to California, or worse, Canada. She'll learn to be French Canadian, she'll never speak English to you and you'll...ack!

Mike grabbed the doll in midsentence, bent beneath the counter and stuffed it in his brown canvas backpack. The decision came fast. Mike would do anything to keep Brendi here with him. Short of murder. He'd even kiss a butt-ugly doll in a crowded restaurant full of Roswell's richest patrons if it meant he could raise his daughter.

He never did find those divorce papers.

#

The Livery's piano loft was a small room, half the length and width of the restaurant that was once home to a funeral parlor at the turn of the century. On white painted brick walls hung a myriad of historical photographs of the town in frames dating back a hundred years. Opposite a five by five balcony overlooking the dinning room sat a small fireplace with a copper hood and wood mantel. By the top stair was a black shiny baby-grand piano. The bar sat in majestic grandeur along the back wall, a masterpiece of wood and brass.

Teresa wasn't there yet so Mike made his way around the scattering of postage-sized tables, each decorated with tiny flickering candles. At the bar he found several empty stools. It was still early and there were few patrons seated by the fireplace and a couple at the bar. "Evening Dags. Sorry I hung up on you like that. I had a...situation developing."

Dags gave Mike what the customers at the Crystal shop called his trademark 'dazzling smile,' then followed it with a smirk and a sharp arched eyebrow. The two had met several months after Dags started at the Livery Bar and Restaurant. Mike and Teresa had had a pretty bad fight. The bar had been about to close, but Mike had insisted he needed a drink, and Dags had been there, plying him with Irish Coffee and an ear to listen.

Dags was a young man in his late twenties with waist length dark hair pulled back in a neat ponytail. He was small compared to Mike's six-foot frame. Dressed in a crisp white shirt and black bow-tie, he held Mike in his dark gaze and put his hands palm down on the bar. "What will you have, Mike. The usual?"

Not in the mood for Dewers and water, Mike shook his head. "How about wine tonight. Your choice. I see you've shaved the mustache and goatee."

Dags nodded as he grabbed a glass from the rack of sparkling polished wine glasses above them. "Yeah. When one of the patron's daughters said I looked like Satan last night, I knew it had to go." He poured a glass of deep red wine and set it in front of Mike. "I'm buying if things go crappy. Got the tennis shoes warm to walk you home."

Mike sipped the wine, a fruity brand that sat uncomfortably on his stomach as he eyed Dags and set the glass on the bar. If Teresa said no to giving him custody, or even mentioned leaving the state, Mike was sure he'd split a synapse. Perhaps even two. And he wasn't sure the bartender would be prepared for that. "Do you know what she wants to talk about?"

"Dunno. But take my advice. Listen to her first. Don't jump to conclusions, okay? You're good at that."

Mike set the backpack on the floor beside his stool, leaned his elbows on the polyurethane wood surface. "I think she's going to tell me she's taking Brendi far away. Like to Canada or something."

Dags' eyes widened. "Why do you think that?"

"I...I just do." He glanced down at the backpack.

"What if it's not? Then you'll have gotten yourself all worked up over nothing."

Mike sipped his wine, averted his gaze from Dags. The backpack tapped the toe of his loafers. Should he tell Dags about the doll? Yeah. Right. And have his closest friend laugh him right out of the restaurant.

Dags leaned forward. "About that doll, it's a..." he looked past Mike and smiled, straightened up. "Here's the lovely lady now."

Mike turned to see Teresa winding her way around the tables to the bar. Dressed in a blue suit with a white silk shirt, her blonde hair gleaming like spun gold in the dim lighting of the loft, she gave Mike a warm smile and kissed his cheek. "Hiya Dags. Wine please." She took a stool beside Mike. "I'm glad you came."

She looked as lovely now as she'd looked the day he'd met her. Mike couldn't keep his eyes off of her.

After pouring Teresa a glass of wine, Dags moved to his other customers. Mike swallowed. The lump he hadn't noticed before didn't move and threatened to choke him. "Uhm...why...what's...are you...?"

"Mike, I'm moving away."

The lump in his throat fell with blinding speed to his stomach where it ignited and burned slowly. Acki had been right. The doll was right! "I see. And you plan on taking Brendi away from me, don't you?" He gulped his wine this time, not tasting the fruity blend. A glance at Dags told him the bartender was listening.

Teresa put a hand on Mike's arm. Her eyes were warm. A smile pulled at the corner of her mouth. "Mike, are you okay? I see this isn't going to be as easy as I hoped."

He gave her a stiff smile and pulled his arm away, nearly knocking over his empty glass. "Easy? You're going to take my little girl away to Canada to teach her to speak French and you call it easy?"

Both Dags and Teresa stared at him as if he'd sprouted a third eye. In one fluid motion, Dags took the empty glass, replaced it with cold water.

"Mike," Teresa glanced at Dags, who moved away. "What are you talking about? I'm not going to Canada."

"Does it matter where? You're going to take her away from me."

A tiny familiar voice spoke in his head, Kiss me now. I can fix this. If she says yes before you kiss me, it's over!

Mike glanced down at the backpack.

Dags had said to wait. To listen. Not to jump to any conclusions. The bartender rarely gave out bad advice.

Screw that creepo! I'm your salvation on this one! This is it. It's the perfect time. Kiss me or she'll take the kid! Acki shouted in his mind.

He bent down and pulled the pack into his lap. Maybe if he just discreetly unzipped it and stuck his face in. A quick peck on the plastic cheek.

Come on, bozo. We made a deal!

Teresa put a hand on his arm again. "Mike, I'm not sure where you've gotten your information, but I'm not going to Canada. I'm going to Virginia. I got that job. The one I applied for last week." Her long lashes made shadows on her peach colored cheeks.

The backpack moved in his lap, the hard plastic of the doll actually moving the canvas. Maybe if he pulled it out real quick, pretended he'd bought Brendi a doll and he was kissing it for her. "S-so you're moving?" He leaned his arms over the pack and pushed down.

"Yes," Teresa looked down at the backpack. She saw it moving too. "Mike, is Felix in there?" Felix was his house cat, a black and white cat-mutt with a vicious appetite for cheesecake.

"Ah...no. No. Please, keep telling me about this job." Damn, if she thought it was the cat, then he could stick his face in the pack and she wouldn't believe him crazy.

The backpack squirmed. Acki's voice broke through his thoughts again. She'll tell the kid horrible stories about her dead-beat Dad back in Georgia. Take me out and kiss me.

Dead-beat dad? Mike smiled at Teresa, unzipped the pack and pulled it out. Teresa's eyes widened. "Why in the hell did you bring that ugly thing?"

"Are you taking Brendi with you?" Mike held the doll tightly, brought it closer to his face. Just a quick peck, lightening fast. She'll never notice. Neither would Dags.

Dags came to them. He pointed at the doll. "There's something I need tell you about that thing."

Don't listen to him. He only wants me for himself! Acki's voice sounded panicked.

"Shut up," he hissed.

Dags moved back. "Hey...sorry. But you really ought to put that thing away."

Mike sighed. "Not you Dags, but not now." He looked at Teresa. "What's going to happen with Brendi?"

Teresa looked down, to her left, then her right, the way she always had when she needed to tell him something she'd rather not. "That's what I needed to talk to you about."

Dags reached out. "Can I see that doll? I just want to check something."

Mike almost jerked it away from him. Acki continued screaming in his mind to kiss him. This was not going well. Dags would continue to hound him and Teresa would side with Dags. Maybe if he just let him hold it for a second, then he could take it back and kiss it real quick, shove it back in the pack and they wouldn't see.

Don't let that freak touch me. Kiss me now or you will lose your daughter forever! Acki's his eyes bored holes into Mike's brain.

"Mike," Teresa sighed. "Let Dags see the stupid doll. What's more important? Discussing our daughter's future happiness, or that ridiculous excuse for a piece of plastic?"

He looked at each of them. Dags seemed so intent on him putting the doll away. The bartender's words came to him again. Listen to her. He really should. That was her main complaint about their marriage. He was always assuming things. Never listening. Always flying off the handle at little irritations, then feeling awful when he found out too late he'd been wrong. And it was to Dags he'd made these confessions of being in the wrong. Not to Teresa, to whom they should have gone.

Dags knew more than Acki did. And he was his friend. All the bartender wanted was for him to be happy. All Teresa had wanted was an attentive husband.

What the hell. He handed the doll to Dags. "Be careful with it."

Dags nodded then tossed the thing beneath the bar. It hit the bar's wall with a loud thump against Mike's knee. Dags smiled and winked. "You'll thank me later."

Mike thought about climbing over the bar and either punching Dags or retrieving Acki. He stood just as Teresa took his hand in hers. Her skin was warm and soothing. "Mike, Brendi doesn't want to move to Virginia. And I can't blame her. She's in Junior High, all her friends are here. I can't pull her away from that." She sighed. "Look, like I said, this isn't easy for me, especially since I said some pretty mean things to you yesterday. Brendi and I talked, and she wants to come live with you until she graduates. I can come see her on weekends." Her mouth turned down at the corners. "Will you forgive me? Will you take Brendi in?"

The burning lump of coal smoldered, went out as he sat back down. Of all the things he feared she'd say, this was not one of them. Have Brendi come live with him?

Teresa leaned her head forward. "Mike? Say something."

He laughed, a deep belly laugh he hadn't felt in months. He kissed her hand. "Oh, Teresa. You've made me the happiest man in the city. Of course Brendi can live with me...uh, that is, when I get a bigger apartment."

"Well, that's the other thing. Will you move back into the house once I've moved? It's in such a good neighborhood, and you'll be hard pressed to find anything else around this town cheaper. And I'll offer child-support."

"Yes, yes, yes..." Mike beamed at Dags who had his chin resting on his fist, his elbow on the bar, a sleepy smile on his face. With a wink, he straightened, turned and grabbed a bottle of champagne from the shelves. Mike chuckled. "Just what I was thinking."

"That's why I'm the best bartender in the south," he pulled two more glasses down and popped the cork.

"I...I didn't expect you to be so happy. Not with all those things I said." Teresa took up her glass and they made a toast. Dags ordered Pecan Brownie Pie, on him, to celebrate.

Teresa squeezed his arm and excused herself to the bathroom. Mike turned to Dags who was polishing a glass with a white cloth.

"Now aren't you glad you didn't kiss that thing? That's gross." Dags set the glass on the bar.

Mike leaned his head forward on his neck and whispered, "You knew?"

"I found out some things about it on the net. Anima Cozen means spirit deceive. It's a liar by trade. It's also able to tell the future and uses that to make bargains on giving wishes. The little creep was about to snatch your soul." He glanced about conspiratorially. "The thing steals the souls of anyone that kisses it in front of a loved one, kinda like a witness. But who wants to kiss it?" Dags shivered. "Ugh."

"So..." Mike sipped the champagne. "So it has to trick its victims into doing that. Oh damn. I nearly got myself into all kinds of trouble. I'd have been a soulless father."

Dags shrugged. "Or worse." He grinned. "Zombie Dad."

Mike shivered. Soulless could mean dead. He'd have had custody of Brendi anyway, but without his soul. He couldn't have loved her as deeply, or as strongly as he did now. Once again his assumptions had nearly gotten the better of him. Perhaps learning to wait, and listen, wasn't such a bad character trait to develop. And it was never too late to learn. "Oh God, Dags. I nearly screwed this up. What'll I do with the doll?"

Dags' eyebrows bounced up and down. "I've got this really grumpy dog in my neighborhood. I'll see if he needs a new chew-toy."

Nooooo! I'll get you my pretty—amd you're little bartender too!

About the Author…

Phaedra Weldon is the author of the Urban Fantasy series, Zoë Martinique Investigation, published by Berkley, available for Kindle. She most recently completed the soon-to-be released Eureka novel, Brain Box Blues. Look for it in stores Winter 2010 under the name Cris Ramsay.

© Copyright 2010, all rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

For more information about the author please her visit website at www.phaedraweldon.com

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Acumen Of Desideratum