Grant's Pet Shop Chapter 2

Dr. Sandra Grant, Assistant Professor of Parapsychology at U.C. Berkeley, slammed shut the glass shower door, wrapped as much of herself as possible in a very large pink terry towel and kicked up her dripping heels to try to catch the phone before the caller hung up. She grabbed the receiver just as the answering machine snapped, whirred, and began its standard leave-a-message message. She prayed, Let it be Robert with good news.

It was Robert McCord and it was very good news. His voice boomed, "Grant, you got it. Full funding...one hundred percent of your proposal!"

She panted, "You mean it? Really, really? Frigging fantastic. Full funding!"

Robert joked, "Please mind my virgin ears, girl. Yes, full funding. I'm over at General Houston's house right now and you wouldn't believe the shindig. Every who's who in defense contracting is here. You know how these nuke guys really love their fireworks and firewater. Anyway, the General took me to his study, unlocked his private bar and brought out a special fifty year old bottle of Glenfelten. I knew that was a good sign, but I was still surprised. Lots of happy contractors here on procurement day. Congratulations!"

Moments before in Washington, General Pratt Houston, a staunch Republican and an unyielding supporter of President George Bush, had announced to Robert in his typical patriotic fashion, "Professor Grant has a real lot to contribute to our nation’s security and the quality of life in this country. We're lucky that those idiot Persians and Arabs don't have her kind of brains and talent on their side. We are giving her a full thumbs up. It makes me proud to be an American—and of course one of the more aggressive of the lot—to make sure that studies like those of the Professor's, which not only benefit mankind in general, but the defense of our nation in particular, are supported by the world's mightiest military power. Robert, enjoy this fine whiskey and use my private line to give Professor Grant the good news."

In a lower tone of voice while giving Robert a painful squeeze on the way out, the General confided, "And tell your boys at Chalmers, Inc. that they are looking good for the semiconductor contract. W would'a taken it down today, but those assholes in the General Accounting Office need some other kind'a damn form or something. Its just a technicality—not to worry." "By the way is she...ya know, Grant, as good looking as what I hear? Tell her I look forward to meeting her in person, son. And thanks a lot for lining us up with her. Her project sure solves our dolphin problem nicely. See ya out there with the gals. I gotta a feeling we both may get lucky tonight!"

Robert continued with his report to Sandra, "What did you do, promise to sleep with this guy or something? Anything for science right?"

Sandra replied, "None of your business, you jerk! They just recognize a good investment when they see one. Speaking of sleeping with someone, what are you doing tonight, lovey?"

Three thousand miles away Robert's zipper suddenly tightened. "Why do you always seem so eager when I'm in D.C. and you're in Berkeley? Whenever we're together you play hard to get. Are you a pyscho—or should I say parapsycho—or something?"

Sandra Grant was a very slim and attractive blonde who turned eyes whenever she hurried to her office on the third floor of the ivy-covered Lawrence Hall of Science. She was young, brilliant, single and much sought after by UCB's cadre of bachelors for whom she could spare no time and had little interest. In fact, she had no steady lover or felt that she needed or wanted one—an occasional overnighter was enough. Her work was her life.

She parried, "Look, I can't help it if sometimes I do hear voices...so did Grandma Grant. But Robert, I am standing here stark naked and dripping wet from a very hot shower and just got the best news of my life. It wouldn't be normal for me not to be just a little bit excited."

Robert concluded, "You're timing is just off, that's all. I'll give you a rain check...no I mean a shower check."

Sandra answered, "I love you anyway you handsome man, but knowing you, there is probably a sweet, and undoubtedly drunk, young thing tugging on your sleeve right now so you won't die of sperm poisoning—at least not tonight. Bye and thanks for the absolutely great fucking news. Happy Fourth of July and God bless America and her taxpayers."

Sandra hugged herself with joy. Nearly a million dollar commitment to pursue her studies in extra sensory perception. Plenty of funds for travel and equipment—and to outfit a special dolphin research lab. Fantastic!

Sandra Grant was already recognized as one of the pioneers in the new and begrudgingly accepted field of parapsychology. She possessed rare, dual Ph.D.s from the University of Miami. Her first doctorate was in probability mathematics. Her training in math provided a crucial foundation for her work in parapsychology. By employing the exacting discipline of probability analysis, she was gaining insight into the phenomenon known popularly as coincidence. In fact, Grant called her work the "quantification of coincidence." After completing the requirements for her doctorate in math in a brief three-year period, Sandra had surprised her graduate advisor by continuing on and winning a second degree in theoretical psychology. Not on close personal terms with her advisor, she had only revealed that she wanted to be certain that she could find a job when she graduated. But really, all was unfolding according to a plan laid long before she had moved up the coast from Key West. She had always been on guard never to mention that she possessed paranormal abilities—or that she had been raised in a pet shop of all places...and by a psychic grandmother! She reckoned that there was only so much eccentricity that the university establishment would tolerate as she tried to make her way through the system.

Now in her second year on the faculty at Berkeley, she was venturing for the first time beyond number crunching and the painstaking analysis of mounds of probability data into the study of the causal mechanics of paranormal events. "Finally putting it all together," she liked to tell her associates. Sandra lusted to discover the mechanisms responsible for telepathy—to learn the "how" and "why" of ESP. With this new major source of funding, her experimental subjects would be Pacific bottlenosed dolphins. Now she just needed to find some ready and willing subjects to work with, bring on some assistants, find a facility and outfit it....and...on and on.

Dr. John Lilly studied the intelligence of dolphins in the 1980's and had shocked the world with his assertion that cetaceans were intelligent beings. During the course of his perception studies with dolphins, he recorded many instances of paranormal behavior. In reviewing Lilly's data and extrapolating courageously (as was her inescapable tendency), Sandra concluded that dolphins offered a unique opportunity to unlock the mechanics of ESP. Telepathy might even break the communication barrier between man and animal—

something that her Grandmother seemed to have achieved long ago. At last Sandra would be able to test her theories in a controlled environment and without the constant drain of sweating out proposal reviews. And...I might even become quite famous after all tenur, maybe even a full professorship!

"Hallelujah," she roared to the walls of her Sausalito condo. "This is going to be fun!" But really...the field of parapsychology will be advanced. And of course her research might somehow be related to the nation's defenses, but no apparent practical application of her theoretical work came to mind.

Sandra moved to the old oak table in her cozy kitchen. She knew every scratch and stain in its varnished surface. The table had been a graduation gift when she had moved to the dorm in Coral Gables. Sitting at the table brought back memories of her college days when then, like now, the table served as her connection to her grandmother.

She made sure that both of her feet were firmly planted on the linoleum floor, then pressed her palms against the grain. Within moments, she felt pressure as the smooth wood gripped her skin. Her palms tingled electrically. The table abruptly pushed hard lifting her hands as it tipped upward to a sharp angle braced on two legs. Then it pulsed slowly up and down, barely touching the floor with the tips of its front legs.

Sandra asked, "It's you, isn't it Grandma? I can feel your presence."

The table jerkily scraped forward towards Sandra until it nudged softly against her waist. She could feel a sensation of warmth around her navel. The table nuzzled like a loving pet greeting its master.

"Thank you, Grandma, for the healing. You know my project has been funded. I am so happy. Look I'm even crying."

The table lifted, then made fast, light taps sounding a little like laughter. Closing her eyes, she could see her Grandmother's smiling face and bright blue eyes.

"Tell Grandpa that I love him too. Thanks again for all you do. I'll be thinking of you both always."

The table fell lifelessly from her palms and banged to the floor. What only minutes before seemed alive and full of energy was now just an ordinary kitchen table. Her grandmother had gone.

Just sitting at the table brought back memories. Sandra closed her eyes and leaned back in her chair.

It was a warm winter day in Key West. The palms glistened, still wet from an afternoon shower. Sea gulls flew erratically in the gusty breeze that had accompanied the storm. A dark curtain of rain squalls stationed on the far horizon threatened to bring more rain so Sandra hurried home in her bright yellow rain gear, her books wrapped tightly in a plastic bag.

She paused at the front step to enjoy the special fragrance that erupted from the slightly open door—the aroma of home. The two tiny spider monkeys raced around their cage while the macaw who stood guard in a cage by the door barked, "Pretty Sandy...Pretty Sandy," until she gave him a treat. Grandmother was sitting serenely at her station behind the counter with eyes closed and fingers lightly following the motion of the planchette. Grandfather, broom and dust pan in hand, smiled and elevated his bushy brows as if to say, "There she is...at it again, talking to spirits."

Grandfather Grant lightly accepted his wife's preoccupation with the paranormal. It was apparent that she knew a lot of things that were beyond his reac—or at least beyond his power of reason. Accordingly he was careful to treat her gift with respect—especially since she always seemed to know exactly what he was thinking. He went with the flow, expecting the unexpected. Most of the time he really didn't think about it at all.

True to form, Grandma opened her eyes, smiled, and shook her head knowingly at him. She pulled a chair over so Sandra could join her.

"Grandma, please tell me who you were talking to."

"Well dear, someone that doesn't live on earth anymore...but misses us greatly."

"How does the Ouija board work Grandma?"

"I'll show you, dear. Put your fingers on this side...lightly now, and I'll put mine here. Now we'll ask the spirit to answer a question. See if you can think of one that you really don't know the answer to."

Sandra thought for a moment then asked, "Spirit do you know where I left my knit purse—the one that belonged to mother?"

"Dear one, you need to be more exact in your question. Ask the spirit to tell you where the purse is located."

The planchette moved slowly at first, then accelerated determinedly. It spelled letter by letter, "N...E...W...S..."

Grandma exclaimed, "Is it newspapers?" The planchette quickly drove to the top right of the board and stopped over the word "YES" which was neatly embossed in large yellow lettering.

"Sandy go look around Grandfather's pile of newspapers—the ones on the front porch that he saves to line the cages."

Sandra returned with the little silver purse. "Miracle of miracles, it was right on the shelf behind the pile of papers hidden by the Grandpa's hedger trimmers! Oh Grandma, the spirit was right. It really works doesn't it?"

Grandma laughed, "Of course silly, you don't think I would waste my time on a farce do you?"

"But Grandma, when you were my age, did you know about these things? How did you learn to talk to spirits? I want to do that too."

"You will child...in time. Be patient, it will happen soon enough."

"But how did you know the first time—that it was real I mean? With a board like this?"

Grandma's laugh was always a surprise—deep and masculine and full of joy. "I'll tell you about the first time. It was pretty funny now that I think about it. My brothers were little hell-raisers, always playing tricks on me. My mother and I were outnumbered by the men too, four little brat brothers and dad against only mom and I. Really it was all in fun, but sometimes it was quite a battle of the sexes going on at our house." "Well anyway...where was I? This story takes place back in the twenties when we lived on a wheat farm in Salina—back in a time before electric dishwashers—actually even before electricity had come to the rural areas in western Kansas if you can imagine that."

Sandra scooted her chair forward, raptly listening to the story. Grandpa handed her a glass of cold milk which she left untouched on the counter.

"We had a regular schedule: one washer, one dryer, one stacker. There were four of us so we rotated that way one of us always had the night off. The schedule for the week was posted on the refrigerator and after dinner, father would read off the job assignments. Well, sometimes dad let us trade off. And you guessed it, one of my rat brothers would always figure out a way to fix it so I ended up working for him."

"It was on about the sixth or seventh night in a row when I had gotten stuck with kitchen duty that I finally got mad as a hornet about it all. First I was mad, then I started crying but mom and dad had gone to play pinochle and I had no one to turn to. So I toughed it out—did the dishes in record time. As I stormed out of the kitchen I took a fork and slammed it against the kitchen door. I said to myself "stay!" and I kept going thinking that it would fall on the hard floor and make a racket. I ran to my room and pulled the blankets over my head and began sobbing about what a rotten deal I was getting and asking God why hadn't he given me a least one more sister and one less brother."

"About an hour later my parents came home. Mom came in my room and held me close. She rocked me gently in the dark—she just held me real tight for a long time. Finally she said, "Erma, please come in the kitchen." I thought to myself something like, "Darn, there must be more dishes to do."

"I was surprised to see that all my brothers and my dad were all in the kitchen—I figured that I must be in hot water for talking back to the boys. Mom wiped the tears from my eyes with the dish towel then gently turned me around I just couldn't believe it. That old fork was sticking pretty as you please right to the door. You could look close and see that nothing was holding it up—it was just doing what I told it to do. It was staying."

My mom said, "Go ahead honey, make it come down."

"I looked up at her. She was smiling and looking kind of scared at the same time. I just shrugged my shoulders and thought "down" and it dropped like a shot—clanged just as loud as I thought it would the first time. All of a sudden you could've heard a pin drop in that kitchen. No one said a thing and mom took me back to my room and tucked me beneath the covers. Her face was wet with tears when she kissed me goodnight."

"But the next day, it was like I had awoken to a new world. My brothers seemed to notice me for the first time—I was suddenly treated like a real person. From that day on they were my body guards at school and wouldn't let me do any heavy work around the house. "

GRANT'S PET SHOP