The Crazy Stories of Alice

Peru

"-- MY SISTER WAS IN THE HOLOCAUST AND SURVIVED SO YOU BETTER HURRY UP AND BRING ME THAT PIZZA OR I WILL SEND A HITMAN TO BRING IT!"
Alice, my grandmother, who forbid me to call her grandma for the sake of keeping herself 'young', hung up the white telephone violently, staring angrily at the light grey wall of her office-room.
She was sitting close to the black desk, in front of her new Macbook, looking like the Queen had just forbid drinking tea.
She had just ended the call with the girl from Domino's Pizza, who said the pizza couldn't be delivered because of the bad weather.
As you can probably tell, my grandmother was in a good mood today (sort of), so she ordered pizza.
She lights up a cigarette--her good mood clearly destroyed- and inhales.
"Bloody teenage girl. If she can't deliver my pizza, why did she even answer the phone? I'm sure that if it were you calling she would be glad to come all the way just to see that pretty face of yours." She exhales angrily, muttering things about "false hopes" or something like that and offers me one of her cigarettes.
From the small leather couch next to the bookshelves  I shake my head for a no.
"I still do not smoke, Alice," I say for the hundredth time.
I turn to open the big window behind me.
It winces a little, and opens, letting the London air and traffic noise come inside the already stinking of expensive tabacco room.
Alice points a long manicured finger with a blood red painted nail at me.
"Don't you lie to me, young boy. You think I don't know how you filthy little teenagers smoke at school? I was a young lady too, don't you forget. Oh yes, I was a bloody idiot as you are, Gabriel."
I shake my head and laugh.
Alice doesn't believe in the fact there could be teenagers with morality, or any good qualities at all, especially those who shared the same genes as her, since Alice is the most mischievous, mean (on the verge of cruel), surprising, awesome grandmother the world has ever known.
She hates teenagers just as she hates Muslims, Africans and neighbours.
Actually, she hates about everyone and everything.
"Would you believe me if I told you there are teens who do good things?" I ask, just for the point.
"Ha!" She seems almost offended by the question. "Like that Justin Biebs or that blonde that won't stop showing her tongue and shaking her arse?"
"Miley Cyrus?" I ask, smiling.
She nods for a yes.
"Anyway, how is it that you weren't in the Holocaust? I'm quite sure it wasn't an easy thing to avoid, to say the least."
She exhales slowly, a little smile on her dark plum lips.
"Well," she crosses her legs and adjusts her elegant dark blue dress.
I lean over in excitement.
If my mother didn't already tell me this story to convince me Alice is a cold hearted sociopath--the story was never told, and was probably containing even crazier details.
"A few months before that bloody piece of shit Hitler decided he wanted to make the world as twisted as he thought it should be, in the thirties, was the day my mother promised Reyes Martínez she'd come to see him in Peru. Delilah and I were only one year old.
Delilah, sadly, was stolen from my mother by a child-less rich lesbian couple and got back to France with them.
I stayed in Peru until I was ten."
She exhales a great deal of smoke.
"And what happened in the fourties?"
"I moved to Antarctica, of course."
I look at her, utterly astonished.
That's something Mum never told me.
She starts laughing.
Not her politely frozen laugh, not her mocking short one, but an honest, loud, witch-like sound.
"You foolish little tosser! Didn't know you were that naïve! Ha! Ha ha ha!"
She kicks her office table and goes twisting around with her turning leather office chair.
Highly disappointed, but also very amused by the sight, I manage a giggle.
"That's nasty, Alice. I actually believed you!" I exclaim.
She stops immediately her spinning and slams her hands flat on her office table.
"Offensive! If you had some brains in that head of yours you'd realize Delilah is much older than me. Hmf!"
She throws a post-it note block at me.
Too busy with calculating my mistake, I don't dodge and it hits my shoulder.
"Right, sorry... Delilah died six years ago at the age of ninety six-"
"Nine." She corrects me.
"But Mum said- never mind. You were around your... seventies?"
She gives me a hesitating nod.
"Not so good in Math, are you?"
I try to protest.
"Nevermind!" She dials a number on her phone and hands it to me.
"Pizza. Flirt with the bitch and make her bring me that bloody Quatro fromaggi, I have a craving."
"But-"
"Domino's Pizza, Ashleen talking, how can I help?"
Too late.
There's a dark grin on Alice's lips.
She does a hand gesture telling me to go one and hurry.
"Erm... Hi, I'm Gabriel, how are you? er- my- my grandmother called. The- er- rude one. Sorry 'bout that." I chuckle nervously.
Alice rolls her blue eyes.
The girl giggles over the phone.
"It's fine, I'm used to it," She says.
"That's sad, you don't deserve that," I say, in my best attempt to flirt.
Alice's face-palm makes me want to bury myself alive.
"Oh that's sweet." I can hear Ashleen smiling.
"Yeah, erm, listen, I was wondering if that pizza delivery can be made? I know it's snowing, I wouldn't want to endanger the staff, it's just-"
I lower my voice to a very loud whisper.
"I'm in danger here. She's very old and grumpy and she's in a terrible crave for your pizza."
Ashleen laughs.
"I'll do my best. Can I have your phone number?"
I panic.
"For the delivery, you twit!" Alice whispers.
"Oh! Yes! Sure. Of course."
I give it to her.
"Alrighty, it will take between an hour or two. Have a lovely afternoon, Gabriel."
She says cheerfully and hangs up.
"Well that was pitiful. A pretty face but a terrible tongue. Will I have to give you private lessons, boy?"
"So I can intimidate girls and make them cry or hate me like you do to mum? No thanks."
"Touché! Terrible but not completely blunt, that's comforting."
I shake my head and sigh.
"You're really a case, Alice, you know that?"