Ticket To Happiness or the Self-Indulgent Truth?

Introduction

I was walking through the woods one day not long ago, when a man who appeared to have something important on his mind came up to me, and out of nowhere, struck up a friendly conversation. I say, out of nowhere because having come from Chicago, when somebody suddenly approaches you like that, you brace yourself and get ready for what could be, a very unpleasant situation. But after seeing that he had two big green pods in his hands, I dropped my guard a bit, and began to wonder just what in the world these things could be. I guessed that they were either walnuts or chestnuts but he said no to both, and began talking to me about their origin and what they meant to the people in the Ozark region... “Nope,” he began. “They ain’t chestnuts or walnuts. They’re buckeyes.”
“Can I eat ‘em?” I asked, feeling assured that I’d asked a reasonable question because I thought, after all, since they looked so much like chestnuts, then surely they must be edible. But he answered with a smile on his face and a firm, “No. Can’t eat ‘em. Squirrels eat ‘em but not people.”
“Well, what are they for then?” I questioned, feeling just a little let down that I hadn’t just discovered a new culinary delight.
“They’re for good luck,” he said. “Hillbillies around here keep ‘em in their pockets. Imma hillbilly. I keep one in mah pocket too. Where ya from?” he asked suddenly.
“Chicago,” I answered, “but I’m a hillbilly too now. At least, a hillbilly-in-progress.” He laughed at my jest and continued... “You keep ‘em. Put one in yer pocket an give one ta yer wife,” he said, taking note of my better half now seated in our family sedan, waiting for me. “Give this to ‘er,” he said, putting both buckeyes in my hands, then taking a step back as our conversation came to a close.
“You’re sure I can’t eat ‘em?” I asked again, as he started to walk away. Who knows why really, maybe I asked him one more time just for good luck. “Ah’m sure. Just keep it in yer pocket.”
Getting into the car, I started to explain to my wife what had just happened and before I could tell her what these big green pods were, what do you think she asked me? “Can you eat ‘em?” she said, innocently enough.
“Nope.”
“Then whaddaya do with ‘em?”
“Ya peel ‘em,” I said, “and keep ‘em in your pocket for good luck. But Mary?” I asked, starting the car and turning to meet her eyes with mine. “You think my luck will change and actually get better?”
“Maybe so,” she answered. “Guess we’ll just have ta wait an see.”

Chapter 1

On my many walks around the downtown area of Springfield Missouri, I often passed the same gas station. In the late morning and early afternoon, only a trickle of customers came wandering through the big, electric glass doors and since this day was so far, not any different then any other, I found myself walking in, just to beat the heat, at about ten a.m. on a hot, sweaty Wednesday. Feeling the rush of cool, almost cold air over my skin was in drastic contrast to the nearly one hundred degree day outside, and I welcomed the sudden change in temperature, which all at once revitalized me and sharpened my senses to my surroundings.
Walking over to the tall, refrigerated cases of juice drinks and beer, I made my selection and was just thinking of taking it to the cashier, when a conversation between two men seated near the door caught my attention, and momentarily took my mind off what I was doing.
“Gonna play Powerball this time?” asked one of the men, bearded and rough looking around the edges, like a fur trapper out of the mid nineteenth century.
“Nope,” replied his friend, tugging on the shoulder straps of the denim overalls he had on with his thumbs, staring out the window at the passing cars and trucks. “Ah’m not feel’in up ta Powerball taday. Gonna try my luck at somethin else. Lotto ah think. Besides,” continued the scruffy man. “Everyone in the Ozarks been at Powerball lately. Damn game’s played out if ya ask me, an Lotto’s just a buck for two plays. Wait here,” he said, rising from his seat, walking a direct, determined path between himself and the waiting cashier.
Coincidentally, I reached down into my front pockets looking for the few single dollar bills I thought I carried with me when by chance, my left hand came across the buckeye, given to me just one day before. Bringing it out into the light, my first reaction was to put my thumb over it and rub it, but for what, I thought? At the time, I believed it was just a natural reaction of mine to subconsciously want to run my thumb over something that had such a smooth surface. But in the moments that followed, I began to think there might be some other, much deeper reason involved. A reason I later came to think of as destiny. And my destiny or fate, whichever the word you choose to call it, took an incredible turn that day. But for better or for worse, I still can’t decide. I guess, it’s all in how you look at it.
Stepping up to the cashier, I set my bottle of juice on the counter and awkwardly searched for the last two dollars to my name at the bottom of my pocket. Bringing out the crumpled bills, I unfolded them and put them on the counter, waiting for the cashier to tell me exactly what the tab was. “Dollar thirty-nine,” he said, smiling, leaning his weight on his hands as he rested them on the top of the glass counter. “Feel’in lucky taday?” he continued. “Lotto’s worth an even mil. Wanna give it a shot?”
“No,” I answered in a low, shy and muted tone. “I don’t think so.”
“What’s that?” he replied, leaning his head forward in an effort to hear me better. “No game taday?”
“Well... I don’t know. I’ve never played before. Just thought it was a waste of money. Whaddaya think?” I said, hesitating. “Which one would you play if you were gonna try?”
“Like I said, Lotto’s jackpot starts out at a cool million bucks. Gets better’n that if nobody wins it before Saturday. I’d give Lotto a try if I were you. Only a buck for two plays. That’s what I’d do... Lotto.”
“Well... hold on now. That is a lot of money isn’t it,” I said, fishing through the bottoms of my pockets for any loose change I might be hiding. Finding three dimes and one lonely nickel, I laid them on the counter and told the cashier, “I’m short four cents. Doesn’t look like I’m gonna play taday. Maybe it’s just someone’s way of telling me not to, who knows.”
“It’s okay, I got it,” he said. Then, almost without hesitation and as if the thought were predetermined, he reached into a small dish of pennies near the register and pulled out the four I needed to complete the transaction. “Looks like this here’s yer lucky day sir,” he continued, as he handed me the Lotto play slip.
“I don’t know,” I mumbled. “What do I do now?”
“Just pick two sets a six different numbers like it says,” he said, as I turned to leave with my head pointed down at the ticket in my hands. “Hey mister, don’t forget yer juice. You paid fer it.”
“Right,” I answered. “Thanks, I was forgetting it wasn’t I.”
“Hey, I forget all the time. Probably forget my head if it wasn’t attached. Anyways, yer on yer way now ain’tcha. Good luck!”
“Thanks,” I said, and in picking up the cold bottle with my right hand, I walked back through the electronic double doors and at once felt the odd sensation that I’d somehow sealed a deal. But as the intense heat of the sun began to change the temperature of my skin back to the uncomfortable level I’d felt when I’d walked in, I slowly began to forget about the purchase I’d just made, stuffed the ticket in my pocket, and began instead to think of the mile or so I had to go to reach the air-conditioned comfort of our humble, small house. Twisting open the cap of the bottle, I took a long chug of the cold drink, and set a course for home.

“Where were you?” asked my wife, as I pulled open our sliding glass door and walked into the dining room.
“Just tak’in my morning constitutional,” I replied. “What’s new?”
“Nut’in much. I thought you were gonna wait for me,” said Mary, sitting on the living room sofa, watching her favorite morning TV shows. “Now I’ll have to get on the treadmill instead.”
“Sorry,” I answered. “Just wanted some fresh air and you were still sleeping. Why don’t we go to Wilson’s Creek,” I offered, in an effort to appease her.
“You talked me into it. I’ll meet you in the car.”
Getting to the car after talking about taking a walk was no easy task. Daisy - one of our dogs - always seemed to know what we were up to and if one of us mentioned a walk, she’d come up to me and stare at me with those big brown eyes of hers, giving me a sad look that always seemed to say, what about me? Why can’t I go? Then, automatically and to relieve my guilt, I’d put the ball in Mary’s court and have her make the final decision on wether or not to take the dogs with. “No, they’ll ruin it,” was Mary’s stock reply. Since neither of our four dogs could calm down long enough to stop pulling us along on their leashes, we usually chose not to take them with. Later in the day, I’d have to bring them on separate walks around the immediate neighbor-hood, without the company of my wife, and all the while being dragged from lawn to lawn as they sniff their way around, following their noses with complete disregard for me, their tried and true master. “They’ll pull our arms out,” she continued to say. “You know that. C’mon, lets go.”
“Yeah, but look at her,” I said, pleading my case on Daisy’s behalf. “She’s giving me that sad look again. What am I supposed to do about it?”
“Get in the car, that’s what.”

Wilson’s Creek - a place we like to walk around, not too far from our home - is an old Civil War battlefield, set aside by the federal government as a vast seventeen-hundred and fifty acre state park where people can hike on trails, ride their horses or drive around to check out the many locations in which North and South clashed one hot day in late August, shedding their blood all in one terrible effort to just plain, get their own way. Running into each others rifle fire, getting cut to pieces by canister - designed to explode and send its contents of metal fragments hurtling through space and flesh alike - or getting mowed down by cannon balls, all were the methods of the day, and all were equally as hazard-ous to a young mans health, many of whom died on that field, some one-hundred forty-five years ago. But now, in the present day world, we’ve been given the opportunity to think over the results of their actions, and we - for the most part I believe - can appreciate what they did for us, in freeing an entire race of people put to slavery, and in bringing together each state of an otherwise divided Union, can hold their memory in great esteem, and respect those who so bravely gave their lives to defend our constitution and the fundamental reasons for the creation of a free nation, the United States of America.
Arriving at the park, I pulled the car into one of the many places to stop along. Getting out, I took a deep drag of fresh country air and wondered what the action of combat must have been like. On occasion, I’ve questioned myself, and wondered how I would’ve performed given such conditions as those these young men were faced with. Even though I disagreed with those who fought to defend the south, I have to admit, they fought bravely, as bravely as any Union soldier. After all, that’s what made the war so long and horrible isn’t it? The conviction one has to fight, given a certain set of circumstances and the struggle to forge new policies into the law of the land until, beyond reproach, you’ve beaten down the enemy and won your way. Evidently, all that really is necessary to start a war is a grave difference of opinion, and at the time, there were many such differences.
“Pretty, isn’t it?” asked Mary, looking out over the great expanse of lush green grass and rolling hills, unable to tell exactly where the huge park begins and where it ends for all of the open land around us.
“It’s great,” I answered, with my arms folded across my chest, having caught me in a mood of contemplation, thinking over the war and its participants. “It’s a beautiful day too. I was just thinking about all the people who died here, probably on a sunny, pretty day just like this one. Strange, isn’t it?”
“How do you mean?”
“Just strange how people can fight and die on otherwise calm, pretty days like today. When I think of men and boys dying at war, I think of cold, grey weather, but that isn’t necessarily so is it?”
“Yeah, I guess. C’mon,” answered Mary, anxious to get on with our walk. “Snap out of it. Enjoy the day. Just be glad you didn’t have to go to war.”
“You’re not kidd’in,” I replied. “I lucked out.” But still, inside, I couldn’t help wondering what I would have done at the time. Would I have fought bravely, or would I have turned tail and run the other way? I like to think not.
On our way to a hiking trail, we came across one of the authentic cannon that took up strategic locations against each other on that day. Walking to its side, I ran my hand over the dark, heavy, cast iron barrel of the gun and noticed a date stamped into it which read; 1861. Still trained on a position called Bloody Hill for all the men who died there, I strained to see through the trees that had grown in over the past century and a half to get an idea of what it must’ve been like back then. It made me wonder how in the world - between all the screaming, shouting, rifle fire and cannon bursts - did soldiers manage to keep from shooting the wrong people? I suppose they sometimes did, and that day in August must’ve been no different. What a terrible feeling that had to have been, to later find out that some of the bodies you piled up were men fighting on your own side. What do you say? Oops, sorry?
Walking down a steep trail, we left the antique, muted weapon to itself. Fossil hunting was a priority on our list of things to do, and as I kneeled and began searching for the ancient impressions of bones we still have never found to this day, my cell phone suddenly began ringing a tune in my pocket...The first few lines from; It’s A Small World After All played over and over until - before we both nearly went nuts - I opened it and took the call. “Hello,” I said as I usually did. “Who is it?”
“It’s your realtor,” answered the caller. “I have a contract for you to sign.”
Hmm, I thought to myself. I know our house is up for sale, but he couldn’t have sold it this fast. Only a few months had gone by since we’d hired a realtor and signed a contract with him, granting him exclusive rights to sell the home.
“I don’t understand John,” I said into the phone. “What kind of contract?”
After telling the Broker I did home inspections just a few days prior, I thought he’d found someone who wanted one. I was about to say thanks for referring me, but his response to my question was something I never would have imagined in my wildest dreams.
“What do you mean, what kind of contract? I sold your house, that’s what kind. When can we meet? I need you and your wife to sign.” Dropping the phone from my ear, my arm-hanging limp at my side, I turned to Mary and told her the news. “Do you believe it? He sold the house. I’m in shock.”
“Holy shit,” she answered. “He sold our crummy old dump. What now?”
“We meet him, I guess.”
“John,” I said into the phone. “Are you still there?”
“Yes, when can we meet?”
“How about an hour,” I replied. “I’m in the middle of Wilson’s Creek battlefield. We never expected you to sell it so quickly.”
“I’m a Broker Reid,” he said very plainly and distinctly. “It’s my business to sell homes. I’ll see you in an hour.” Closing my cell phone, I turned to Mary to tell her what surprise I felt, but in putting my hands in my pockets to rest them as I normally did, a strange feeling of coincidence came over me. It seemed there was an unfamiliar rock at the bottom of my pocket, and as I pulled it out to the light of day, I realized it was no rock at all. It was the buckeye, given to me the day before by that friendly older man who, as I recalled, told me it was; for good luck. “Mary,” I said. “Do you suppose... do you think this had anything to do with the house selling, or am I go’in crazy? Is it possible? Remember that guy... he told me it was for good luck.”
“I remember. Who knows? You know me,” she continued. “I always did believe in a spiritual force. You’re the one who never believed.”
“I’m beginning to,” I said. “This thing has me thinking. What if it’s like some kinda Aladdin’s lamp? I’ll tell ya Mary, if there’s any truth to this thing, I’m gonna find out just as quick as I can.”
“Oh yeah? Just how do you intend to do that?”
“I’m gonna go on rubbing it, that’s how. Who knows Mary,” I replied. “Anything can happen, anything at all.”
“Who knows, maybe you’re right Reid. We’ve got nothing to loose but some bad luck, so go on, rub it and make a wish...”

“Where’s that damn Lotto ticket Mary? Help me look for it will ya? I can’t remember where I put it.”
“You’ve got such a bad memory. It’s because you’re getting old.”
“You’re the old one, not me. I’m never getting old, I refuse. Just help me look will you?”
“What did you do when you came home? It was only yesterday. Just backtrack. Think of what you did.”
“We went to Wilson’s Creek after I bought the thing, just like I told you. What if I lost it there? Damn.”
“Check the car. It might’ve fallen out of your pocket in the car.”
She was right about my memory I thought, on my way out to the garage. It was getting so bad, I could hardly remember the events of a few previous days. Partly because they were uneventful days to begin with and partly because of my fading, short term memory. I dreaded the day when I’d wake up next to my wife of twenty-five years - only to ask her who she was - fearful of the probable scenario... “I’m your wife, you old goof.”
“Oh yeah,” I imagined myself saying. “Prove it.”
“How am I gonna prove it if you can’t remember anything?”
“How about a marriage certificate? That’s a way to prove it, isn’t it?”
“Forget it,” might be her reply. “You look for it, I’m going back to sleep.”
Opening the big garage door, I typed out the entry code on the driver side of the car - one of the things I proudly committed to memory besides my phone number, name and age - and began searching for the lost Lotto ticket. I had no idea if I’d purchased a winning ticket. Something like that was extremely far fetched, but since the incident with our house selling so quickly - the day after I’d been given the buckeye - I wasn’t going to take chances. Who knows, I thought. What if I could continue this streak of good luck? What if it wasn’t just a coincidence, but the intervention of some kindred spirit who knows I’m down on my luck. What if?
For me, the chance was just too tempting not to follow up on, and as soon as I got the car door open, I got down on my hands and knees, searching every crevice of the seats and floor, only to come up with two dry, hairy french fries, a dime and an old address from a job interview I went on that never panned out. Oh boy, I thought, as I crumpled the useless road instructions in my palm and stared out one of the car windows into oblivion. It appeared as if my good luck streak wasn’t a streak at all, just another bump in an otherwise smooth road to Nowhere-ville.
Walking back into the house, I glumly passed Mary and sat down in my desk chair with my head in my hand.
“Looks like I’m never gonna find out if I won or lost,” I said, watching the leaves shake from the wind on the tree outside our bedroom window. “It’s just as well. Our chances of winning were something like three million to one.”
“What pants were you wearing,” asked Mary, stubbornly unwilling to give up the quest.
“What? Huh?” I replied, shaken from my lousy mood. “Uhh, the ones I’ve got on I think. Why?”
“You probably never took it out of your pocket if I know you. Check your pockets.” Digging down into my two front pockets, I was rewarded with the buckeye, a dog treat, an old gum wrapper, and what do you know... of all things, the Lotto ticket. “See,” answered Mary. “I told you so. God, how hard was that? You’re making me miss my talk shows, don’t you have something to do?”
“What would I do without you Mary?”
“Probably forget where you live.”
“Is that a good thing, or a bad?” I asked, as she walked out of the bedroom and into the living room. “Oh well,” I said to myself. “Some things are better left unsaid.”

I didn’t have long to wait to find out what the winning numbers were, since the following Saturday promised to tell all. Drawings for Lotto in Missouri are every Wednesday and Saturday. Jackpots begin at one million dollars and have the potential to grow to a whopping six million bucks, depending on when winning tickets are drawn. The jackpot we were waiting for had already grown to four million dollars and as usual, Missourians were eagerly awaiting the results. Knowing that I could find out with ease by visiting the Missouri Lotto website on my computer, I did just that on that warm August morning. Clicking the power on, I waited for files to load while I walked around the room pacing, made myself a cup of coffee to distract myself and finally, sat down with great apprehension to determine the course of my financial destiny.
“What’s taking so long?” asked my overly anxious soul mate. “C’mon, I don’t have all day!”
“The files have to load Mary. It’ll just get confused if I start clicking on things now. Hold on just one more minute. There,” I said, after what seemed even to me like an eternity. “It must be done, I don’t hear the hard drive whirring around anymore. I’ll get on-line.” Our telephone connection was extra slow and a dinosaur compared to other services, but at the time, we didn’t have much choice in the matter. “Are you on yet?” she asked me. “Did we win anything?”
“Hold on would ya. God Mary, how am I supposed to do anything with you bugging me like this? I still have’ta get to the Lotto website... Okay,” I replied, after another desperate eon of crawling time. “I’m there.”
“And, did we win or what?”
“No, dammit! You won’t believe it, we’re off by one digit of one number.”
The numbers on my play slip read... 16-18-23-35-37-44, and all we needed to win the jackpot was a 28 in place of the number 23. “Do you believe it?” I said, running my hands through what was left of my decrepit hairline. “I can’t believe my luck. I really thought we had a chance. Hell,” I said, as I listened to myself whine like an overtired baby. “I can’t believe it. I just can’t believe it. We were so close to becoming millionaires. So close,” I said, as I let my head fall to the surface of my computer desk with a loud thud, subconsciously expressing the disastrous effects of what was supposed to be a game, but instead, had grown to outrageous proportions of agony and frustration. “So close,” I continued to mumble like some forgotten recording going around and around. “So close...”
“Oh God,” answered Mary. “I can’t believe our luck. It’s just the same as it ever was..., rotten. Can I see the ticket?” she asked, feeling the need to confirm in her mind the unfortunate stroke of bad luck we’d been given. Taking the play slip from my desk, she gently ran her fingers over the surface of it, as if to reveal some hidden information we’d only lightly gone over, but missed in our haste.
“It’s dead Mary. What’s the use in depressing yourself? Look,” I said, pulling my head from my desktop. “I think we probably won some other secondary prize. Could be six or seven hundred bucks. What the heck, we matched most of the numbers didn’t we? That’s enough to pay the electric bill, some of our credit cards and go out for dinner. Whaddaya think?”
“I think there’s something on the card, that’s what I think. Something sticking to it,” she said. “Look at this, it’s some sticky stuff from those dog treats you carry around... it’s coming off. Look!” she shouted. “Look at this! That’s not a 23, it’s a 28! You couldn’t read it. The sticky junk made the eight look like a three! We’re rich Reid! We’re fabulously wealthy!”
“You’re kidding me?” I said, unable to believe we’d really won. After all, I’d practically never won a thing in my life and this winning ticket came as a tremendous shock wave to me. “Can I see it? C’mon Mary,” I insisted. “Let me take a look at it. Wholly cow,” I proclaimed, examining the play slip. “We beat the odds. We really beat the odds. Three million to one. It’s hard to believe isn’t it?” But even as the words left my mouth, an uncomfortable premonition had taken their place, and settled in to stay along with what appeared to be our lucky streak and more then mild, good fortune. Never one to wreck any happy occasion, I dismissed the thought as best I could but wondered what the future would bring. Like a pebble tossed into a still pond, would there be repercussions like rippling waves for years to follow? What new responsibilities would I have to carry like new added weights, I wondered. But instead of telling Mary anything of my new concerns, I dropped them as best I could. I knew she’d be calling me a worrier and besides, it was time to party. Time to revel in our new good fortune, and time to explore all of those things that were only just moments before, completely out of reach.

Chapter 2

“Hey Reid,” came a voice over my home phone. “It’s Gordon, how ya do’in?”
“Do’in okay I guess. How are you do’in?” I asked.
“I’m okay,” he said. “Do’in just fine.” But as our Chicago style salutations came to a close, I couldn’t help wondering just who the heck I was talking to. The only Gordon I knew had left for military school when we were kids in seventh grade and let me tell you, he was one wild little guy. As I recalled - from my foggy, fading memory - we were hanging out one day around a low wooden fence, just shooting the breeze as bored kids have been known to do. The fence I remember was made out of regularly spaced, horizontal 4x4 beams that framed into the same size vertical posts and on that day, old Gordy had hopped up to the top beam, about four feet off the ground and wondered out loud what would happen if he jumped up and came down on it. Myself and another middle school friend of mine just stood and watched as Gordon got ready to make his move, and what we witnessed that day was just this side of unbelievable. Like a master of Karate, and with no formal training, this one-hundred twenty pound boy leapt four feet into the air over his target - far over our heads - and came crashing down on that beam. Needless to say, it snapped like a twig and astonished both me and my awestruck friend, but we never really got the chance to congratulate Gordon as the following week, he’d vanished into thin air. All that I could find out was that he’d left for military school and later, after thinking about it, I finally realized that his parents had given up on him. Sad when you think about it, because he really wasn’t a bad guy, it’s just that he was - to put it mildly - uncontrollable.
“So Gordon,” I said. “It’s nice to hear from you, but I’m sorry, I can’t seem to place you.”
“C’mon man,” he insisted. “It’s old Gordy. You know, Gordon Steinberg.” Finally, when I heard the name in full, it dawned on me - this really was old Gordon. The same one who’d busted up the fence that day. “Holy cow Gordon, I haven’t seen you in years. What’s go’in on?” I asked.
“Oh, I been busy. Never had the chance ta call anyone really, till now anyway.”
“How so Gordon? What did you end up do’in anyway? I lost track a you a long time ago.”
“Oh,” he muttered, after some hesitation in his voice. “Guess you could say, I been around the block, know what I mean?”
“No,” I replied. “I can’t say that I do, but if you don’t want to tell me, that’s alright. I didn’t mean ta pry.”
“No that’s okay, I guess it don’t matter now. You remember,” he began. “A long time ago, after I didn’t see you guy’s no more?”
“Yeah, sure,” I answered. “I remember. We wondered what happened ta you. All we heard was you went off to military school.”
“Yep, that’s true,” he agreed. “But that was just for starters. After I got out, I felt like I been in jail, so I figured what’s the difference, my life stinks anyway an I... well I... I stole a car.”
“You’re kidd’in me Gordon.”
“Nope,” he said. “I ain’t kidd’in.”
“Didya get in trouble?” I asked naively. “Did the cops get ya?”
“Nope... well... not right away, anyway. It took ‘em a while ta catch on to me. I got pretty good at it if I do say so myself. Things went pretty good there, for awhile.”
“Whaddaya mean?”
“Till I got caught. I ended up do’in five years in Joliet. Man I’ll tell you, that place stinks. I mean it really smells bad there, especially in the summertime. You don’t wanna end up there man, whatever you do.”
“Yeah, I hear ya,” I answered. “I think I read something like that in the newspaper once. The Sunday Tribune or something. But anyway,” I continued. “You got out, then what?”
“Couldn’t find a job Reid. No one would hire me, be’in an ex-con an all.”
“So what’d ya do?”
“What could I do? I stole another car. Not just any car though. A real nice one. It was a brand new black Cadillac with everything on it, the works. Power this, power that, cold air, ran like a top.”
“So, did ya wind up sell’in it for parts, or what?”
“I would’ve, but since the car belonged to an alderman, I didn’t get the chance. Cops were all over me like flies.”
“Oh no Gordon,” I said, after suddenly realizing that there were some people in this world with even worse luck than mine. “So what happened?”
“So whaddaya think happened? I wound up back in the slammer, that’s what. Eight years this time. Geez, that alderman guy was pissed off. How was I supposed ta know whose car it was? My luck, ya know?”
“Yeah, Gordon,” I said. “Sounds pretty crummy, but anyway, you’re out now right? Hey,” I asked, feeling like it might be a good idea to change the subject. “What’s the weather like up there in Chi-town? It outta still be nice an warm right?”
“Nice an sweaty you mean. Hey look Reid,” he said. “Why don’t I just get ta the point?”
“Shoot,” I replied, before I realized that a man like Gordon might actually do just that, given the right set of circumstances.
“Well...” he began. “It seems like I’m a little bit down on my luck lately, you know. Work is scarce for a guy like me Reid - be’in an ex-con an all - an anyways, I got ta think’in when I heard you won the Lotto an all...”
“How in the world did you hear that, Gordon?” I asked, knowing how we’d lost touch with each other so many years ago.
“Oh, you’d be surprised buddy. Word can travel pretty fast, especially in the slammer.”
“I see what you’re getting at Gordon,” I said, after finally putting together the reason for his phone call. “But as it is right now, I’m broke. I don’t have a pocket to piss in. We’re just gett’in by here, really.”
“But, I don’t understand,” he began. “You just won four million bucks didn’tcha? What’s the problem?”
“They don’t pay out sums like that for weeks Gordon. Then, when they finally do get around to it, we’re mov’in straight to a better house. I promised my wife, I owe it to her after all these years.”
“So... does that mean ya can’t see yer way ta loan an old buddy a few bucks. I’ll pay it back, honest. Soon as I get on my feet.”
“Tell you what,” I answered, after some careful deliberation. “Why don’tcha give me your number, an I’ll get back to you. I’ll run it past my wife and see what she thinks, whaddaya say?”
“Sounds okay,” he replied, with just a bit of dejection to his voice. “But yer not gonna ferget me now are ya? I know, its been a long time since we talked, but gosh Reid, I wouldn’t be call’in if I didn’t really need the dough. I got my pride too ya know. It took a lot for me ta call. Yer talk’in to a desperate man here.”
“I know Gordon. Hey buddy,” I said, feeling like I ought to wind up the call and get off the phone, as nothing would be resolved in the next few minutes anyhow. “My wife wants ta go shopping an I’m gonna help her lug the packages. I promise I’ll get back to you, okay?”
“Okay man. Hey,” he said, after giving me his number. “We gotta get together sometime, ya know? It’d be like the old days, just hang’in out.”
“Yeah Gordon, we should,” I said in agreement, and hung the telephone handset back in place.
“Who was that?” asked Mary, soon after I’d hung up. “That was a long call.”
“Yeah it was, wasn’t it,” I answered, still thinking over what Gordon had said and the problems he’d encountered in his life.
“Was it an old friend, or what?”
“Geez Mary, you wouldn’t believe it if I told you. Talk about old friends, this one goes way back.”
“But it’s nice that he thought of you isn’t it?”
“I suppose. C’mon,” I said. “I’ll tell you all about it on our walk. We are walking today aren’t we?”
“Sure, but It’ll cost ya,” quipped Mary.
“You mean the walk’s gonna cost me money?”
“Yep. Your mister money bags now aren’t you?”
“I guess. At least, that’s what people are beginning to think. You know Mary, I’m gett’in the idea that being rich may not be all it’s cracked up to be.”
“It’s a hellava lot better then the alternative.”
“But we don’t even have the money yet,” I said.
“I can dream, can’t I?”
Isn’t that just part of the problem, I thought to myself, as we got into the car and started up the muscular, gas chugging V8 engine I was so proud of. People always dreaming, always wondering what it would be like to live like someone else, or even to be someone else. Someone wealthy or famous, or both. After all, I wondered, who is completely satisfied with the way they ended up? Certainly not old Gordon, that’s for sure.

The hills are alive, with the sound of music...That’s about it I thought, as I observed Mary spinning around in an open field at Wilson’s Creek that day. I guess you’d have to be a bit older to remember that 1965 classic film. As for myself, I was always partial to action movies, but I have to admit, Mary does a good Julie Andrews impression. Some of Mary’s performances are better then others but this time however, she put on a good show. I think winning four million bucks may have been the key to her inspiration. Her emotions just seemed to pour out all over the grass that day and the backdrop for the scene - the seventeen hundred some acres of tall grass and wild flowers of the battlefield just suited the purpose perfectly. The only thing we were missing was a video camera to film the action, but I resigned myself to committing my wife’s performance to memory, even though in my case, that is not so spectacular a resolution.
After the show, I decided to walk my starry eyed mate along one of the more well traveled paths of the park, where I knew we’d eventually come to a bridge which overlooks the creek the battlefield was named for. When we arrived at the spot, I did what I always do when we get there, and I began to stare into the passing water below, looking for any signs of life in the quickly moving current. Sometimes we get lucky and we get to see quite a bit of wildlife while we’re there. On a recent occasion, we’d seen a medium sized bird called a Kingfisher. Smaller then the Great Blue Heron, but bigger then Robbins or Crows, it stood out with its long thin bill and dark blue body, streaking along under the bridge at high speed, searching the waters below for small fish until it came to rest in a tall tree hundreds of yards in the distance. I wouldn’t have been able to identify it, were it not for the bird clock Mary got me for Christmas some time ago. Dang thing comes in handy sometimes.
Anyway, on that day, as I fixed my gaze into the clear running stream, I noticed a turtle moving slowly along near the shoreline. It wasn’t all that fascinating but it proved to be more interesting then the water itself and I watched as it made progress and moved towards us from our vantage point on the bridge. “Won’t be long til it gets here,” I said to my wife.
“Reckon?” she replied.
“Yep. Just hold on ta yer hat cause the wind it’ll create when it passes might give us whiplash.”
“Think so?” she answered. “You’re just being facetious. Anyhow, it couldn’t move any slower then yer work speed Reidy,” she snidely remarked.
“You’re so funny, I forgot ta laugh,” I answered, as any socially skilled six grader would have. But no sooner did I have the chance to revel in my keen strategy, then the cell phone in my pocket began to sing its familiar song, shattering our harmonious union. Two verses of It’s A Small World After All filled the air around us, before I grudgingly opened the tiny, bothersome beast. “Yeah,” I answered, still slightly peeved over Mary’s merciless attack. “It’s your nickel.”
“Reid, is that you?” asked the caller.
“None other.”
“Boy am I glad I finally reached you. You got no idea how hard it was ta find your number. How ya do’in buddy! Long time no see.”
“I’m okay,” I said, as a strange feeling of deja vu came over me, having received a similar call only hours before. “What can I do for you?” I asked, as I watched a school of tiny fish swim under the bridge, disappearing from sight.
“Hey man,” answered the exuberant, nameless voice. “It’s not what you can do for me.”
“No?”
“Hell no. It’s what I can do for you,” he said, reminiscent of one of the late president Kennedy’s famous speeches - Ask not what your country can do for you, ask what you can do for your country - even though the general gist had been inverted.
“You’ve got my interest up,” I remarked. “But I still don’t know who you are.”
“Oops, sorry old buddy,” he said. “Hey, you remember who put the tacks on Mrs. Brock’s chair dont’cha?”
“Tacks on Mrs. Brock’s chair?” I reiterated. “No, sorry. Can’t say that I do.”
“Well, how about the time we put grasshoppers in Rachael Cohen’s lunch. You remember that dont’cha?”
“Not off hand,” I said. “Sorry, my memory’s not what it used to be. Maybe if you told me your name, I’d remember.”
“Gosh old man, you really are los’in it aren’cha. It’s Jerry. Your old pal Jerry Goldberg. You remember me now, right?”
“Jerry Goldberg,” I repeated out loud. “I knew a Jerry Goldberg along time ago... in kindergarten I think. Damn, I was only five years old then. That’s the only Jerry Goldberg I can think of right now.”
“Bravo!” said the caller. “You got it. That’s me! Boy, that didn’t take too long, did it?” he said, with a note of sarcasm in his voice.
“Well, look Jerry,” I began, not wanting to be rude, but at the same time, I was getting tired of being on the phone. “I’m out in the middle of nowhere right now, taking a walk with my wife. Can I call you back?”
“What?” he asked. “And pass up the deal of a lifetime! Are you crazy?”
“I don’t think so,” I answered. “That is, I didn’t think so til now, anyway.”
“What kinda remark is that?” asked Jerry. “I come ta you with an open heart and a helping hand an this is the way you treat me. I swear, you’ve changed.”
“Forty-five years can do that to a person,” I said, anxious to get off the phone. “Can’t we get to the point?”
“Okay then, if it makes ya feel better to be rude after all these years, I’ll just say what’s on my mind.”
“Yes Jerry, please just say it. What’s on your mind?”
“I can sum it all up in one word buddy boy...”
“Yes please, sum it up.”
“Land.”
“Is that the word?” I asked impatiently. “Land?”
“You know it man! The magic word is land. L-A-N-D, land.”
“What about it Jerry?” But just as I had asked the question, I’d closed my eyes and missed a baby Quail pop out from its nest in the tall grass and run to the other side of the road. Mary did her best to describe what had happened, but a description of something generally palls in comparison to having seen it with your own eyes. Now I was really getting mad at Jerry for keeping me on the phone, but he was intent on bothering me all the more... “Look, Jerry,” I continued. “I really gotta go. Why don’t we talk about this another time.”
“There may not be another time Reid. People are buying up acres as we speak, an you’re in a great position now to buy whatever you want.”
“Whaddaya mean Jerry? Who told you that?”
“Oh shit, you’re loaded pal, everyone knows it. Word gets around. Everyone knows you’re a millionaire now, an this is the best way ta invest. A sure thing.”
“If you really wanna know Jerry, I haven’t seen a dime a that money an I won’t for weeks. Where is this land deal anyway?” I asked, slightly curious to know.
“Missouri,” he replied. “Southeast Missouri.” But even as he spoke, a Great White Heron landed in the stream, plucked a fish from the water and flew off. Beating its huge wings to gain altitude, I caught only a glimpse of the impressive bird, as it flew off over distant trees and on into the azure blue horizon. “Southeast Missouri?” I repeated. “You mean the boot heal?”
“Yep,” he replied. “How’d ya know?”
“There’s nothing there but swampland,” I said. “But it’s a great place ta go fishing.”
“Oh yeah,” he answered, slightly annoyed. “Since when?”
“Since the last ice age. Look Jerry, I really have ta go. Sorry,” I said, as I pressed the ‘end call’ button on the phone and closed it.
“Wow, did you get to see the Heron that landed?” asked Mary, as I put the phone back in place on my belt. “Pretty bird.”
“Just barely,” I said. “He wouldn’t let me off the darn phone. You’ll never guess what he wanted.”
“Try me.”
“The past two calls I received were old friends all right. So old, I never expected to hear from them again, but ever since word got around that we won the Lotto jackpot, well... you know the rest. They just want me ta give ‘em money we haven’t even seen yet. They’re com’in outta the woodwork Mary, what do I do?”
“Just turn your phone off. If it’s important, people will leave a message.”
“Is this the way it’s gonna be now?” I asked my wife, as I stared down into the water to the very bottom of the streambed, discovering with my eyes, ancient rocks of different sizes and colors, weathered by time and current. Some of the rocks were so large, I imagined it would take a small bulldozer to remove them, and some so small, you could put them in your pocket and walk away with them, but all of them as common to the area as the Buckeye I carried in my pocket. “Is this the way it’s gonna be now?” I repeated, hypnotized by the tranquil, rippling water passing beneath me.
“You know what people say...,” she replied, turning to meet my eyes with hers. “Watch what you wish for, it just might happen.”

Chapter 3

When it came time to close the loan on the new house we picked out, I did something I always wanted to do, but never thought I could - I paid with a suitcase full of cash. It was worth it just to see the expression on the closing agents face and it gave Mary and I a great feeling of security, knowing that we didn’t owe the bank a dime.
Compared to what we’d been living in, the new place was a palace. Four thousand square feet gave us plenty of room to move around in without bumping into each other, and the ten acres of land it was on gave Mary ample space to play Julie Andrews all she wanted. In fact, we were deliriously happy, but it didn’t take us long to find out that all those rooms in the house weren’t going to clean themselves, so we mutually decided to hire a maid to help out around the place. All we had to do was look in the phone book to find one, but the kind of maid I had in mind wasn’t all that easy to find... “Lets do something non-conventional,” I suggested.
“Like what?”
“How about a topless maid?”
“Yeah, right,” answered Mary.
“No, really,” I said. “I hear they’re real thorough and they don’t cost much more then other maids.”
“You gotta be kidding. Do I look nuts to you?”
“Well...” was all I said, even though she’d given me a perfect opening in which to agree, and it wasn’t very often that we agreed on anything.
“Never mind. Don’t answer that. C’mon,” she urged. “Get serious, we have to make a decision.”
“Okay, tell ya what,” I replied. “You call ‘em in and I’ll interview ‘em. Fair enough?”
“Not really, but It’ll give you something to do with your time and I’ve gotta go food shopping, the cupboard’s bare.”
“Very well then, I’ll even help make the selection here,” I said, as I leafed through the pages of our phone book. Taking the buckeye out of my pocket, I closed my eyes, made a wish and rubbed it for good luck. Handing my wife the phone, I read the number out loud to her, sat back in my chair and waited to let destiny take its course.

I was in my study, tinkering at my computer when the doorbell rang out. The bell was actually a chime that sounded more like the bell atop the Cathedral of Notre Dame then the kind of doorbell I was used to, but at any rate, when someone pressed it, you knew they were there. Grasping the big brass handle in my right hand, I opened the heavy, oversized oak door and stood aghast at what was before me. In shock, there wasn’t much I could do but stand in the doorway, stare and breathe air - the kind of brain functions that normally carry on in the body without having to make any conscious effort - that was about all I was capable of at the time.
“Aren’t you gonna ask me in?” said the young lady on my porch. “It’s hot as hell out here and I sure could use somethin ta drink.”
“Uh... uh...”
“Oh c’mon, you can do better then that,” she said. “Haven’t you ever seen a girl before?”
“Sure,” I muttered.
“Well... so?” she replied, still staring at me through the dark lenses of her sunglasses. “Let me in then, I’m not gonna bite you.”
“Okay, sure,” I said, inviting her into the entrance hall with a wave of my arm. “Yeah, wow. What got into me? I’m sorry, I usually don’t act like that. It’s just that I didn’t expect someone...”
“Someone like me?” she said, interrupting me and giving me the feeling that my mind was an open book.
“Yeah,” I said. “I kinda expected someone older and if you don’t mind my saying so... not as pretty.”
“Well, I guess maids come in all shapes and sizes don’t they. So,” she continued, removing her glasses to reveal the most beautiful sparkling blue eyes I’d ever seen. “You gonna interview me, or what?”
“Yes, certainly,” I replied, thanking my lucky stars for the day I’d been given that small, acorn looking, hunk of tree I’d been carrying around with me for the past few weeks in my pocket. After all, people never tire of telling you that money doesn’t grow on trees, but my case was a true exception to the rule.
Leading my welcome visitor to the living room - where I thought I would best be able to relax and calm down - I came to rest in one of the overstuffed new chairs we’d bought and began where I’d left off in the foyer... staring in awe with my mouth agape. “If you don’t wanna start, I can,” she said, taking the bull by the horns. “The name’s Vera. Vera Goode.”
“You’re kidding me right?” I asked, doing my best to suppress the nervous laughter that wanted to come out.
“Nope, I ain’t kidd’in. That’s my real name, and I might as well tell you right from the start, I don’t do windows.”
“Hmm,” I muttered. “I wonder why so many people have a problem with windows. Are they that hard to clean?”
“Not really,” answered Vera. “It’s just a lotta shit I don’t feel like do’in. You okay with that?”
“I guess, but somebody’s gotta do ‘em. I suppose I can if they get really bad.”
“Whatever. Anyway,” she continued. “Is this a live-in job, cause I need a place ta stay. I don’t feel like liv’in outta my suitcase anymore. I tried that. It’s not much fun, I’ll tell you that right now.”
“I’ll bet,” I said. “It sounds like you’ve been through some rough times.”
“You know it,” she replied. “But I’d rather not go into that. So?...”
“What?”
“Is it a live-in job or what?”
“Oh yeah, sorry. Sure,” I answered. “We can swing that. There’s plenty of room here. Too much really for just my wife and I, so heck, how about the guest room on the first floor. You got your own bathroom/spa with environmental controls you can set for a light tropical rain, steam, or mist. Whatever you like, it’s cool. I always wanted something like it, but I was never able to buy it til now.”
“Oh yeah,” answered Vera. “Nouveau riche?”
“I suppose you could say that,” I said. “But I’d rather not go into explanations right now.”

“Touché,” she quipped, with a look of sullen disinterest on her flawless face. Adjusting her large, heavy breasts with both hands as if they were cumbersome weights, she continued by adding... “I gotta get outta this bra, it’s kill’in me.” But just as she’d innocently made her wishes apparent to me, who should walk into the room but my adoring wife, Mary. “Hi,” said my wife, never one to assume me guilty of any crime until proven, beyond the shadow of a doubt. “What’s going on?” she asked, as anyone would have.
“Hey Mary,” I replied. “This is Vera. She came to apply for the job.”
“Super,” responded Mary, sitting down in a chair next to mine. “I need help around the place. It’s so big, it’s just too much for me to handle alone. Have you done this kind of thing before?”
“Oh yeah,” answered Vera.
“Well... can I ask, where?”
“Around,” said Vera, most evasively.
“Uh... okay,” was all Mary could say, but she soon followed up with, “Reid, can I see you in the study for a minute?” And when I heard that, I knew there were going to be repercussions and a price to pay for wanting to hire the likes of Vera. “What is it pumpkin?” I asked innocently, on our way into the study. “What’s wrong?”
“You know what’s wrong,” said Mary, throwing the ball right back at me as most wives would have. “She is rude!, and you expect me to hire her? Plus, I don’t trust her. What’s her job history like?”
“Her job history?”
“Yes! What did she do before this.”
“Well... I, er...”
“You don’t even know, do you?”
“Well, it’s just that we didn’t get that far yet my dove. I’ll go back and ask her if you want me to.”
“Of course I want you to. Haven’t you explained your own job history every time you’ve applied for work? Doesn’t everyone? Why should she be exempt?”
“You’re right lambchop. I’ll go right in there and make her talk. How’s that?”
“That’s a start, anyway. God, do I have to do everything?”
“C’mon Mary,” I pled. “I just didn’t get that far with her yet, that’s all. You came home before I could ask her those things.”
“Well, make sure you do.”
“Right honey pie. You’ll see, I’m an expert inter-viewer. I’ll get her ta spill the beans, you’ll see.”
“Yeah, right. And another thing...”
“Yes, my swan.”
“If I ever catch you two, it’s curtains for you buster.”
“But dumpling,” I said, holding Mary’s lithe body close to mine, putting my arms around her as I spoke. “You know my love for you is beyond reproach.”
“Just make sure you remember that when she goes home at night.”
“Well babykin,” I said tentatively. “That’s the thing. I told her this was a live-in position.”
“You what! No way!”
“She’s got no where else to go baby. She’s homeless. What was I supposed to do?”
“Shit, now what? Are there any more surprises? I go shopping for two hours and the whole place turns upside down. What’s next? Are her cousins moving in? What about her parents? Do they need a place to stay too?”
“No, lambchop. Nobody mentioned any relatives.”
“There better not be. And stop using those ridiculous descriptive adjectives. Lambchop my ass. You go in there and get her job history, pronto.”
“Yes dear.” I said, as I left the study, having made the determination in my mind to be firm with Vera and get as much information about her past as I possibly could. After all, I had to agree with Mary. Who knows what Vera had been up to before she answered our call? And the clandestine way she treated the issue only served to create more suspicion. I could see that I had my work cut out for me. It was up to me to find out what was going on in that gorgeous head of Vera’s, and dadgummit, I was going to find out.
Walking back to the living room, I expected to find her sitting on one of the love seats where I left her, but I found no sign of her shapely torso anywhere in the room. Wondering where she went, I quietly searched from room to room until I came to the guest room. Noticing that the door was closed, I gently knocked, thinking that any loud noises might alarm my lovely wife and alert her to this unforeseen problem, but no answer came. Hearing nothing but the sound of gently running water, I turned the unlocked door handle and cautiously called Vera’s name, but again, I heard no reply. Looking into the room - or trying to anyway - I saw nothing but steam. The furniture; the bed, in fact everything and anything in the room had become lost behind one great wall of man-made, or I should say in this case, woman-made fog. “Vera,” I called out again, slightly louder then before. “Vera, are you there?” but still, I got no reply. Walking blindly, running on only my memory of the layout of the large guest suite, I searched in vain for the source of the steam and tried to make my way to the bathroom, but walked deftly into a nearby wall. Falling from the force of impact, I landed flat on my back and laid there helplessly, rubbing my head, until the unthinkable finally happened... “Ouch! Shit!” said Vera, as she tripped over me, landing directly on top of me, as naked as the day she was born. “What the hell are you doing here?” she asked, in that brazen manner of hers I’d already become accustom to.
“I live here,” I replied. “Remember?”
“Yeah, but excuse me, don’t people normally bathe alone?” she said, as her right breast unavoidably grazed my face.
“Wholly shit Vera, you’re naked! What if Mary comes in?”
“Don’t ask me, I didn’t plan this. It was your idea, not mine.”
“I couldn’t find you,” I said excitedly, as my heart beat harder and harder with each passing second. “I was just about to ask you about your job history.”
“I thought you gave me the job,” she replied. “Remember? You told me it was a live-in position.”
“Yeah, but I didn’t realize the living-in part had already started.” Then, finding myself lodged between two of the biggest natural breasts I’d ever seen, the stunning realization of knowing she was on top of me began to set in. “V-V-Vera,” I stuttered. “I’ve gotta get outta here. My marriage is on the line.”
“So? Who’s stopp’in ya. You know where the door is, use it.”
“Okay,” I said, barely audibly. “Just let me up and I’ll get outta here.” Rising from her prone position, Vera stood - I supposed - as I still couldn’t see anything in the room further away then two feet, and I made my way to the bedroom door, crawling on all fours. Feeling the carpet ahead of me, looking out for any other obstacles like the wall I’d hit on my way in, I finally found my way back to the door, got up on my feet, and closed it behind me. Wow, I thought, as I stood in the clear air of the hallway, catching my breath. Is this the way it’s gonna be now? I wondered, recalling that I’d said the very same thing to my wife only weeks before on our visit to Wilson’s Creek. “I’ll just have ta roll the dice and see what happens,” I said to myself. “A’course, it wouldn’t hurt ta break out the old buckeye neither,” I added, fishing around in my pocket for the small, wood-like source of my admiration. “With a girl like Vera around, I’m gonna need all the luck I can get, and then some.”

“So?” asked Mary, when I met her in the kitchen. “What’s her job history like? Aren’t you going to call her references?”
“I’m glad you asked,” I boldly replied. “I was just getting to that.”
“You were just gonna call, right?”
“Well I... I thought that I was a pretty good judge of character, don’t you think?”
“And?”
“And, so, I thought I’d just let her start. We can pretty much judge her work ethic from watching her for a while, don’t you think?”
“I think,” said Mary, “but I wonder about you sometimes. Do you really think you can trust that... that porno star in there? Who knows what’s going on in her mind? She could steal you blind when you’re not looking.”
“Don’t you worry dear, I’ll keep my eye on her.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” answered Mary. “It looks like you got your wish after all, doesn’t it.”
“What’s that my dove?”
“The topless maid you wanted. I don’t know how you did it, but you did it.”
“What do you get the man who has everything,” I answered. “I’m getting tougher to shop for, ain’t I?”
“You just keep your hands off that vixen in there, if you know what’s good for you.”
“Mary, there’s no reason to go calling Vera names like that. You hardly even know her. And stop worrying,” I said, as I gave the buckeye in my pocket an extra rub for good measure. “Nothing’s going to go wrong.”

Days passed and turned into weeks but still, the place was just as dirty as when Vera had first arrived. In fact, she did hardly anything, but when she did decide to do some work around the place, it was hard for me to take my eyes off her body in motion. It was like watching the pages of a risque men’s magazine come to life before me, and when weekends rolled around, she was fond of laying out by the pool in our yard, in the two pieces of yarn she called; a swimsuit. Of course, our bar tab with the neighborhood liquor store rose to an all time high too, but that didn’t bother me. Money like that was hardly a factor for consideration anymore, and I liked to see Vera get happy. Like most people, she got giddier when she got sloshed and she became a lot easier to talk to - not as defensive as she usually was when sober. Then one day, as I was sitting in my study with the door open, a thought occurred to me. Not about Vera, but about the prospect of making more money. I was opening a bag of beef jerky, about to break off a chaw - a habit I’d picked up from living in the Ozarks - when I started thinking about all those people here who enjoy it as much, or even more, then I do. I remembered I had a boss who even made his own and on occasion, he’d bring it to work for us to try. I liked it when I tried it, and he told me there were different types to choose from. “You kin make it outta just about anything,” he said. “Whatever ya got handy. Beef; turkey; venison, anything.” And sitting there, I wondered if I could use a little of the money I’d won from Lotto, invest it in my own company and package my own brand to sell around town. I could start out by underselling other brands to get a foothold in the market and hell, I knew some of the grocers and businessmen around Springfield so I figured, why not give it a try. The only thing I was really lacking was a name for my new product, but as I stared out the windows of my home office, watching the inflatable toys in the pool slowly migrate from one side to the other in the gentle breeze of summer, I came up completely empty. In fact, the only thing I got out of my long, ponderous thought was eyestrain from the intense sunlight pouring in on my face. Then suddenly, I heard a voice call to me from what seemed, out of nowhere. Where exactly it was coming from, I couldn’t tell and it shocked me when I realized there’d been someone else in the room with me all along. “Whatcha up to?” asked the faceless voice.
“Vera?” I asked. “Is that you?”
“None other,” she said, as she pushed the door of my office closed to reveal herself, standing there with no top on, with a grin on her face the likes of which would have made the Cheshire cat from Alice In Wonderland jealous. “You should see your face,” she continued. “You’re as red as a beet.”
“You’ve got no clothes on!” I said. “What if Mary walks in!”
“Relax, would ya. She’s out shopping. It’s just you an me now buddy boy,” she said, drawing nearer to me. “When the cat’s away, the mice will play.”
“Oh no they don’t. They can’t play, I just can’t Vera. Please, put a top on before she comes home and finds us.”
“I know you’ve been watching me. I have eyes,” she said, sitting down in front of me, on top of my desk. “What are you waiting for, an invitation?”
“No, no. I don’t need an invitation.” I said, but just as visions of my angry wife began flashing through my mind, I’d already begun to lose control of the part of me that said ‘I can’t’ and was just about to indulge the part that said ‘I can’, when suddenly, the front door bell rang out like the summoning of parishioners to church. “Quick, put some clothes on! Someone’s here!” I yelled. Getting up, I ran out of the office and slammed the door shut behind me. Close call, I thought, as I paused at the front door to smooth out the wrinkles in my pants and shirt. I wonder who that could be now? And with my hands still shaking from all the excitement, I took hold of the big brass handle, pressed down on the thumb latch and slowly, opened the door.
“Hello,” I said, trying hard to act natural. “What can I do for you?”
“You can sign for this here package mister, that’s all I need.”
“Oh, okay. Any idea what’s inside?” I asked.
“Nope, don’t know. They don’t tell me, I just deliver.”
“Hmm... what if I shake it a little ta find out?”
“Don’t know why people always wanna shake packages,” he answered. “Might be glass in there or someth’in else breakable, but you go ahead if ya want. It’s yours now, see ya” he said, and with that, I watched as he turned and walked down our winding concrete path on the way back to his delivery truck. Wow, that guy was so rude, I thought. Has to make a big deal over shaking a little package. But when I brought the box inside and laid it down on the floor, I couldn’t help myself or stay my curiosity, and I shook that darn package until the contents seemed to slide from one side to the other. “What is it?” asked Vera, walking into the foyer to find out what I was doing.
“Just a package delivery,” I answered. “Try’in ta find out what’s inside.”
“I know a good way,” she said. “Open it.”
“But, what if it’s Mary’s stuff? She hates it when I open her mail.”
“Don’t worry about it. Where’s it from?”
“Hmm,” I replied, after much consternation. “Someplace called; Vicky’s Secret.”
“There ya go. That’s mine,” said Vera. “Hand it over here.”
“What is the secret anyway?” I asked. “I’ve heard a this place but I never could figure out what the heck the secret was.”
“You’ll see,” she replied, as she picked up the package and disappeared into the guest room.
When Vera came out, I couldn’t believe my eyes. “You’re naked again,” I said. “I can see right through that thing.”
“Do you like it?”
“Of course I like it. Wouldn’t anyone? Look Vera,” I said, trying my hardest to get my mind off her, knowing that Mary might walk in with only a moments notice to react. “I’ve got something on my mind.”
“So... tell me about it. We’re friends aren’t we?”
“Sure we’re friends but...”
“But what?”
“Well, it’s like this Vera. I’ve been thinking lately that you’re just interested in my money. You’re not interested in the real me.”
“To tell you the truth,” she said. “Money doesn’t hurt, and lets face it, from the looks a this dump, you got quite a bit of it.”
“Yeah, I don’t know. Forget it. Forget I even said that will ya?”
“No problem.”
“There’s something else on my mind though. It’s a business idea I’ve been thinking over.”
“So, tell me about it,” she said, standing in front of the doorway to the guestroom in her sheer, see through nightgown.
“Okay, I can do that. I’ll meet you in the study,” I replied. “I do my best thinking there.”

Coming to rest in my office chair, Vera came into the room right after me, took up a position behind me and started rubbing my shoulders. “You’ve gotta relax,” she said. “You worry too much.”
“Yeah, you’re right,” I agreed. And closing my eyes, I let Vera work her magic on me until she’d massaged my upper body into raw bread dough, ready for the oven. “Wow, that feels good,” I remarked. “Where’d ya learn how ta do that?”
“I may be young,” she said. “But I’ve been around the block. Anyway,” she continued. “What’s this business venture you’ve got on your mind? You’re not gonna lose all your dough now are you?”
“I sure hope not. But everything I’ve got, I owe to a stroke of good luck, so I’m hoping I can just continue on that way.”
“Hopefully,” remarked Vera, kneading the muscles of my back like a cat. “Anyway, what’s this idea? My curiosity’s killing me.”
“Alright,” I said, ready to spill the beans. “It’s jerky.”
“Jerky who? Who’s jerky?”
“It’s not a who, it’s a thing,” I answered. “It’s something you eat.”
“Oh yeah, like beef jerky. I get it,” she said. “What about it?”
“I’m gonna make my own. I’m gonna package it, sell it and hopefully turn a profit after six months or so. Whaddaya think? The only problem is, I can’t think of a name for it. I try an try and I just come up dry. Ya got any ideas?”
“Are you berserk?” replied Vera, suddenly stopping the massage she’d been giving me. “You’re gonna take a chance on losing what you got here on some crappy old beef jerky? Does Mary know what you’re planning on doing?”
“No, I haven’t told her yet. I guess that means ya don’t like the idea.”
“You guessed right. I think you’re berserk, but go ahead. It’s your money, I can’t stop you.” After scolding me, I watched Vera walk out of my office and followed her every motion until I lost sight of her. She was physically a true work of art I thought, but emotionally or intellectually, a little rough around the edges. I’d never been reprimanded by an employee before, but then, I’d never had an employee before either. First time for everything, I thought, as I reversed the direction of my chair and focused on the great outdoors outside my window. Hmm, what was that she called me? I wondered to myself. “Berserk, wasn’t it? The nerve a that girl, I swear. Berserk... Berserky, that’s it!” I shouted, rising to my feet with what I thought was one, swift, stroke of genius. I’ll call it Berserky Jerky! That’s it, it’s done, it’s finished. Now, I thought, I can put my mind to rest for awhile and work on getting my product to market.

Chapter 4

Right from the very start, I decided to offer as many different types of jerky as I could think of. If people wanted snake or gator jerky, I’d have given them that too, but I didn’t feel there was much call for items of that nature and focused on the more mundane like beef, turkey, and pork. I talked a manufacturer in the city into helping me make my dream a reality - for a percentage of the action of course - and when the first twelve-ounce bags rolled off the assembly line, I brought them home for Mary and Vera to try. Neither of them had ever eaten the stuff before, so I knew they’d be tough customers to convince, but Mary would be especially difficult to win over since it was in part, her money I’d been using to make it. “Hi honey, I’m home,” I shouted, walking through the threshold of the front door and into the foyer. Noticing Vera in the living room dusting in a new outfit that must’ve come straight from Vicky’s Secret, I walked over to her, showed her the bags of jerky, and asked her which one she’d like to try first.
“Do I have to?” she asked me.
“Yes, consider it a part of the job,” I answered. Tearing open the bag of beef jerky first, I stuck my hand in and pulled out two long strips and handed one to Vera. “Well?”
“Well what?” she replied.
“Go on,” I urged. “Don’t be bashful, take a bite.” Watching the expression on her face as she tore off a hunk of the tough, dry meat and began to chew it, I asked her what she thought of it.
“It sucks,” she said, never one to mince words.
“Is that your final answer?”
“Yes, can I go back to work now? You didn’t invest much, did you?”
“Yes, go back to work,” I replied. “And yes, I did invest quite a bit. A few hundred thousand.”
“Oh God, I can’t believe it. Mary will kill you.”
“Not if you don’t tell her,” I said. “This is a secret between you and me, okay. I’m not gonna tell her anything she doesn’t need to know, it’ll only worry her.”
As I’d finished speaking, I got that eerie feeling a person gets when you know you’re being watched but haven’t committed the feeling to conscience thought yet, turned around, and met Mary’s eyes with mine as she descended the stairway from the second floor. “Hi honey,” I said. “You’re just in time.”
“For what?”
“To try my new brand of beef jerky, that’s what. How’s that for excitement?”
“You got me foaming like a rabid dog,” she answered sarcastically. “I can’t wait.”
“Here ya go babe,” I said. “Check it out.”
Opening the bag of turkey flavored jerky, since the beef didn’t seem to have gone over very well, I offered her a strip of it and readied myself for what I hoped would be, a favorable reply. “Do you eat it, or hammer nails with it?” she said, reacting much in the same way as Vera had.
“You eat it, honey. Here, watch me,” I remarked, tearing off a chunk with my front incisors like any other rugged mountain man or cowboy out of the past. “Mmm,” I remarked. “Good stuff.”
“You gotta be kidd’in,” said Mary. “Why would ya bring this stuff home anyway? Wait, don’t tell me. We’re going camping, right? Great, I’ll get my gear together. I’ve got an idea, why don’t we go buy an RV today. We don’t have to spend much and we’ll see the country. I’ve always wanted to see the country in one big road trip and now’s our chance. Hell, Vera can come too if she wants to. Whaddaya think?”
“That sounds swell dear, but it just wasn’t what I had in mind.”
“Then, what did you have in mind?”
“I just wanted you to try the jerky, that’s all.”
“Oh, is that all?” she replied, losing some of the energy and excitement she’d gained while thinking over the prospects of a vacation. “I guess I got carried away, didn’t I.”
“A little,” I said, “but we can go on vacation if you want. I’d just like to wait a bit, to find out how my new product is doing. After that, I can go anywhere you want. You name the place an I’ll go, how’s that?”
“Sounds great,” she replied. “Now what’s this about a new product? What new product?”
“You’re look’in at it babe. Berserky Jerky!” I proudly exclaimed. “See, read the package. Whaddaya think?”
“How much?”
“It’ll sell for about two bucks I guess. Cool, ain’t it?”
“No, I mean how much did it cost you to produce it? Food products don’t package themselves.”
“A few thousand dollars my dove, that’s all I spent so far, I swear.”
“If you lose our money on a hair-brained scheme, I’ll kill you, do you hear me?”
“Yes, my sweet. Loud and clear,” I said, and turning from my wife, looking for approval in Vera’s chiseled face, I watched as she rolled her eyes skyward, as if to say that the whole situation, including myself, was far beyond hope.

It was time I thought, after some months had passed, to find out what kind of competitor Berserky Jerky was on the open market, so I placed a call to my accountant, Ralph Uppins, to find out what was going on. Ralph and two other accountants had been handling my portfolio ever since I received my first Lotto payment, but he was the easiest to talk to. He didn’t talk over my head like the others and he explained things in plain language that even an unworldly hillbilly-in-training like myself could understand. Another thing I liked about Ralph was the pretty secretary he hired soon after we met. I supposed what I paid him to look out for my best interests in a world full of predators was enough to meet her salary and then some. It gave me a good feeling to know that I could finally make a difference in this world, and that the money I gave him was going to a very good cause.
On that day, when I walked in, I remember her sitting there with her mile long legs crossed, nail file in hand, hard at work on her nails as was to be expected. Hell, if that was good enough for Ralph it was certainly good enough for me, I couldn’t complain. From where I sat, the view was all too good.
“Hey there Miss Willing, how are ya,” I said, opening the office door and taking my seat as I usually did on arrival.
“Mr. Laurence, how nice to see you,” she responded. “Please, call me Ima.”
“Sure thing Ima. You sure are look’in sharp taday. And hey,” I added. “Just call me Reid. Is Ralph real busy taday? I’m sure anxious ta find out how my new product’s doing. Did he tell you ‘bout Berserky Jerky yet?”
“Hmm... no. Not that I recall. He’s probably got too much on his mind to tell me everything that’s going on. You know Ralph. Work, work, work.”
“Yeah, I guess. Anyway, I’ll just sit here an wait for ‘im if ya don’t mind,” I said. But just as I was about to crack open Ralph’s new photo packed issue of National Geographic, who should come into the waiting area but old Ralph himself. “Hey buddy,” he exclaimed. “Good to see you. Come on in, I’ve been wanting to talk to you but I didn’t want to talk on the phone about business. You know me, I just don’t like phones. C’mon in Reid,” he said. “Have a seat old boy,” he added. Closing the door to his tastefully decorated office suite - complete with shower facility and workout center - I sat down in a soft, plushy leather chair while he began to rattle off numbers about my earnings in the stock market and the like. As he was talking, I was reminded of the way he normally didn’t talk over my head, but I guess there was an exception to every rule. “Hold on a minute Ralph,” I interjected. “Just say it in English this time. Ya know I’m not the brightest bulb in the chandelier.”
“Okay, okay,” he muttered, turning his chair to get a good view of what was going on outside his window. “I get like this sometimes when I have to give people news. It’s a bad habit of mine. I really should stop.”
“No harm done,” I answered. “What’s the scoop? How’s Berserky Jerky com’in along?”
“Well... ya see Reid, that’s what I wanted ta talk to you about.”
“I’m all ears,” I said, eagerly awaiting the news.
“It seems that your new product is not doing what we’d hoped it would do.”
“Okay,” I replied, shaking my head up and down, showing Ralph that I was indeed, listening closely, following his every word. “Just what kind of sales has it been making?”
“Do you want an exact figure, or a ballpark number?”
“Oh... I don’t know. How about an exact figure.”
“Exactly...” said Ralph, turning his chair back around, looking me square in the face. “Exactly, nothing.”
“You mean,” I said, not quite sure that I’d heard what I thought I heard. “It hasn’t even sold a bag? Not even one bag?”
“That’s correct Reid. Berserky Jerky hasn’t sold one bag. It’s just about as lame as a one legged hooker. Oh, Damn... forget I said that would you. That’s not a very good analogy. It’s just not selling. That’s the cold, hard truth. Sorry.”
“Shit, I really thought it would sell, you know. I thought my chances were really good,” I said, digging in my pocket for the buckeye that until now, hadn’t let me down. It was the good luck piece that I carried constantly. It sold my mess of a house for me; it made me rich; it even found Vera for me, but now, what now? This was the first time in a string of events that I’d been let down and I was financially in about as deep as I could be. Even for me, it was not a pretty picture. I had a lot of bills to pay out now, and Mary was counting on living off our savings for the rest of our lives. What was I going to tell her now? ‘Sorry honey, I seem to have lost a few hundred thousand dollars.’ I didn’t think that would go over very well.
“What do I do now Ralph? I’m not broke, am I?”
“Not right now you’re not. But after I pay out what you owe the manufacturer for production and storage costs, let’s just say... it’s not a very pretty picture.”
“Shit.”
“You can say that again. Anyway, I’m sorry I had to tell you old boy. I knew it wouldn’t be easy. Hey,” he added. “Martha’s mak’in her famous lasagna tonight. Why don’tcha come over? Bring Mary. I got a new pool table in the game room we can try out. Ya gotta see my new TV. too, it’ll knock your socks off. It’s sixty inches. Takes up the whole wall.”
“No, I can’t Ralph, but thanks. Tell the wife I’m sorry. I’m just not in a party mood. Maybe some other time,” I said.
Standing up, I walked dejectedly out of Ralph’s office, said good-bye to Miss Willing and went directly to a bar to drown my sorrows and to somehow, put my lousy situation in stall so I wouldn’t have to face my wife.

The blinking neon sign out front said; Joe’s Bar & Grill. “Don’t they always?” I said to myself, as I pushed open the door and took a seat at the bar. “What’ll it be?” asked the stalwart looking bartender from behind the counter. “Got a preference?”
“Something with alcohol in it,” I answered. “I’m here ta do some serious boozing.”
“Com’in right up,” he replied. “How about a double scotch? That’s serious enough, ain’t it?”
“Sounds like a good start,” I said, as he poured out the more then ample sized drink. “Say,” I started to ask, looking around the room for any patrons I hadn’t seen when I first sat down. “Where is everyone? Looks like I’m the only one here.”
“As luck would have it,” replied the proprietor. “You are. I guess you ain’t the only guy with troubles. Can’t seem ta bring people in lately, I might have ta close my doors. Wasn’t always like this ya know. This place used ta thrive.”
“What happened?” I asked, getting interested in the bartenders plight, finding my mind temporarily eased from my own woes, as I pondered another’s.
“Oh, bunch a new places opened up around the city here,” he remarked. “Renovating old buildings in the town square. Hell, I can hardly pay my rent anymore. Sure, property values are go’in up, but the little guys like me are gonna suffer, see what I mean?”
“Yeah, I understand,” I said, taking a long chug of the drink he put down in front of me.
“So what’s your problem Mack? I told you mine,” he said, calmly wiping the smooth black surface of the bar as he spoke.
“Oh, it probably wouldn’t even interest you.”
“Try me.”
“Alright, if you really wanna know. I won a lotta money at Lotto, an now I’m hard at work los’in it,” I stated. Finishing my drink, I inadvertently slammed it down on the counter as I asked him for another.
“If ya don’t mind my say’in so,” offered my newly found, stout advisor. “You ain’t the only one who ever lost money. It might be of some consolation to you if you considered that.”
“Thanks,” I said. “I’ll try. Wow,” I exclaimed, “thish shtuff really goes ta your head don’t it,” I remarked, slurring my words, feeling the effects of the alcohol.
“You don’t drink much do ya?”
“Not really, once in a blue moon. Hey buddy,” I asked, as I downed the second double he’d put in front of me. “How’s ‘bout another. Whew, thatsh shome powerful shtuff.”
“If you think you can handle it.”
“Sure, I can handle it just fine,” I answered. “By the way, I didn’t catch yer name.”
“Name’s Joe, like it says on the sign.”
“Good ta meet’cha Joe,” I said, and as I extended my arm to shake hands, I collapsed head first into the unforgiving surface of the bar and passed out, stone cold drunk.
Hours later, I woke up with a marble sized bump on my forehead where my head hit the bar. Rubbing it, I looked out the window to find that day had turned to night and I wondered what time it was. I never did carry a watch - it made me nervous to know that time was constantly moving, pushing us to do things and make progress - so I looked for Joe to ask him, but he was nowhere in sight. Hmm, I thought. He must be in back somewhere. So I waited for a while and called out his name, but still, no answer. “Wonder where he went,” I mumbled under my breath. Staggering from the aftereffects of the scotch and the hard knock I’d taken, I got up out of my seat, reached into my pocket for cash and pulled out two crumpled dollar bills and the buckeye I’d been carrying. Exactly what I had on me when this whole damn thing started, I thought, as I laid the two singles on the bar in a clump. Looking around, I found a pencil and a napkin, and began scratching out a note that read; Thanks for the drinks. I know I owe you more then this. Be back soon with the rest. Reid.
Knowing that Mary would be wondering where I was all this time, I made my way for the door and started to walk to my car when I suddenly realized that Joe’s blinking neon sign had been turned off. “Seems strange,” I said to myself. “Why would he just disappear like that?” Oh well, maybe I’ll find out later, I thought, as I got into my car, pulled out of the space and set a course for home.
Driving along, I couldn’t help thinking about the possibility that someone, or something, had put Joe there for me to meet that day. At any rate, he reminded me of the fact that many others had been in my shoes before and had lost money. I wasn’t the first I guess. That was what he wanted to tell me. Then all at once, I found myself wondering if my chance meeting with him might have been part of some greater plan? A plan to teach me one of life’s lessons? The whole action of winning money, then losing it, then having to learn to survive the aftermath and deal with it. A scenario of unavoidable destiny? If that was the case, I wondered, then why did I feel so damn stupid?

After weeks of hiding the facts from my wife and Vera, I finally decided to break down and tell them about my losses. I was never much good at keeping secrets and besides, if I was unable to stay ahead of my monthly bills, they were going to find out anyway. So that was it, I thought. I had it in my mind that I would tell them that Saturday and started looking around my office for the bottle of whiskey I kept behind a book, meant for just such an occasion. Just because the event was sobering, didn’t mean I had to be sober, and as I watched Vera tanning from my office window, I took several long chugs off the bottle. In just a few minutes, I could feel the booze working on me and as I sat there drinking my courage, I watched Mary come out with a cold drink in her hand and sit down in a lounge chair next to Vera. Double or nothing, I thought, as I raised the bottle to my mouth and thought over the prospect of telling them both at once. They’d lately come to like each other much more then I thought possible and though I hated to break up the party, I had to spill the beans, but there was one thing I could do before walking outside to meet my doom. One thing to take the edge off. One thing that I still had faith in and still hoped would save me... the buckeye in my pocket. It had clearly let me down I thought, otherwise I wouldn’t be in the position I was in, but I still believed in it.
Taking it out, I held it up in my right hand and let the natural light from the window play on its surface. Those portions nearest the light shone most radiantly and the wood grain lines in it became more apparent then before. It seemed to me to have lines in it that I hadn’t noticed before and it made me wonder if the buckeye wasn’t growing in some way, along with the wishes it granted or the lives it affected. If this were true, I wondered what it would look like in the years to come. Would it retain its dark brown hue, or become one great mass of wavy, grainy lines, growing in time almost as an aging mind achieves wisdom over years. Who knows I thought, anything’s possible. At least, that’s what people say at times when something unexpected or unforeseen happens. And so, rubbing the smooth, natural indentation on its upper surface, I took another long chug of booze, pulled my sagging trousers up my waist and bravely made my way to the glass sliding doors that led to the backyard pool. This won’t hurt much, I thought. Just like a visit to the dentist. It’s just something I have to do, and as I opened the big door - my body, precisely poised between indoors and out, right foot leading the way and about to touch down on the outdoor concrete slab - when suddenly, my cell phone began to ring and the music from; It’s A Small World After All filled the air. Caught in this momentary, real and figurative limbo, I felt as if I were not just between tangible spaces, but between intangible as well. And all those things unaccountable to the senses, spiritual and indefinite became suddenly clear and definite. It was then that I opened the phone and received the call, and just as my foot came to rest on the outdoor pavement, I felt as if I’d made this otherworldly connection. Even so, the call I was about to receive was very much, of this world...
“Hey buddy,” announced the caller. “You know who this is don’tcha?” Thinking that this was probably just another one of those contacts from my ancient past, I very unenthusiastically answered the phone. “No, I really don’t know who this is,” I said. “But go ahead, surprise me.”
“It’s Ralph.”
“That’s swell Ralph,” I answered, still unaware of who it was and the nature of the call. “But If this is about the Lotto money I won, you can forget it. I don’t have anything to give away or loan out. The well’s dry. You’re beat’in a dead horse. Give it up...”
“What’re you talk’in about?” asked the caller. “This is Ralph. You know, Ralph Uppins, your accountant.”
“Oh, Ralph. I’m sorry,” I said, in an effort to sound apologetic at a time when I felt like stuffing a handgun in my mouth. “I didn’t know it was you. I thought it was just someone else about to ask me for money, or sell me swampland, or some crap like that. I’m feel’in pretty low right now, if you really wanna know,” I admitted, turning away from Mary and Vera, cupping my hand over the phone to keep the girls from hearing my conversation. “I was just about to give Mary the bad news.”
“Well don’t,” replied Ralph. “Don’t tell her anything like that. Just go an git yerself a bottle a that bubbly stuff an find yourself a seat boy. Your jerky’s sell’in like hot cakes. They can’t stock it fast enough! An hey, pour one for me too will ya?”
“But you told me I was bust, I don’t get it.”
“Bust? You’re richer then ever. Don’t ask me how, but everything just turned around. Berserky Jerky is a big success.”
“Wowww,” was all I could say. I was speechless, as I closed the phone and walked out onto the pool deck.
“Who was that?” asked Mary. “Anyone I know?”
“Just Ralph, my accountant.”
“What’s the news?” asked Vera, interested in what I might have to say. Knowing I’d been worried about losing everything and going broke.
“The news is, I’m rich,” I announced proudly, feeling like a newly knighted squire, or a man of great accomplishment. “Lets go somewhere,” I said. “Someplace far away. Lets spend some loot. C’mon, whaddaya say? I feel like I’ve been through the ringer.”
“Why Reid? What’s gotten into you?” asked my wife.
“It’s a long story,” I replied. “I’ll tell you on the plane.”
“Where are we going?” asked Vera.
“Why don’t I surprise you,” I answered. “But for now, lets not waste anymore time. Last one packed is a rotten egg.”

Chapter 5

“Are you gonna tell us where we’re going?” asked Mary. “Or do we hav’ta beat it outta ya?”
“Don’tcha wanna be surprised?” I replied, on our way to the Springfield airport. “I thought you liked surprises.”
“A diamond is a good surprise,” said Vera, mockingly. “But when it comes to a trip, a girl always wants ta know where she’s headed. How else are we gonna know what to pack?”
“Okay, if you really must know, I’ll tell you.”
“Yes... c’mon, spit it out,” said Mary. “Where?”
“South. We’re headed south.”
“South where? Would you tell us already!” asked Vera, getting tired of the game I was playing.
“Definitely, south of the border.”
“Oh great!” replied my wife, exuberant over my choice in vacation spots. “It’s been such a long time since I spoke Spanish. Acapulco is so much fun, I can’t wait!”
“Sorry honey,” I said smiling, prolonging what I thought was a game of harmless deception. “But we’re headed a little further south then Mexico.”
“That’s it,” answered Mary, slapping her hands down on her legs for emphasis. “Pull over, I don’t want you ta have an accident while I’m choking you.”
“I’ll help her,” said Vera, equally as angry with me for teasing them.
“Okay, okay. God, I didn’t think you’d get so worked up over a little teasing. If you really must know right now, we’re going to Moroni. There,” I said. “Are you happy now? Geeze.”
“Moroni?” replied Vera. “Where the hell is that? Take me home. Are you joking? Is this a gag?”
“Take me home too,” answered Mary. “Couldn’t we just go to Florida? What’s with Moroni? Where is it anyway?”
“It’s a tiny island off the coast of Mozambique,” I said. “The perfect place to go deep sea fishing. You’ll love it.”
“Are you crazy?” said Mary. “You’ve never been fishing in your life.”
“A mild oversight,” I replied. “The situation will correct itself. I’m a quick learner. Besides, nothing can stop the wheels of progress now. We’re nearly at the airport.”
“Great,” answered Vera. “Thirty years old an I’m on my way to being tortured and eaten by cannibals. I hope they’re swift and merciful.”
“Don’t worry about it,” I said reassuringly. “Your not gonna be eaten by cannibals. Cannibals don’t even exist on that island.”
“Do I have your word?” asked Mary. “Are you sure?”
“Sure I’m sure,” I said, certain of my decision to bravely explore the great unknown. “I know for a fact, that the ritual of tribal cannibalism isn’t practiced anywhere within a full twenty mile radius of Moroni.”
“Thanks for making that clear,” replied Vera. “I feel better already.”

The plane trip to Africa went smoothly, after I finally got my traveling companions to calm down enough. They acted as if I were kidnapping the both of them, when all I honestly wanted to do was have some fun and go somewhere I’d never been. The stress of nearly losing everything in my entrepreneurial quest was getting to me, and I was ready for some fun-in-the-sun relaxation. I always wondered what deep sea fishing was like and I thought that an out of the way place like Moroni was just what the doctor ordered. A snorkeling adventure was also on my to-do list, but I thought I’d better hold off for awhile before taking the plunge. I wanted Mary and Vera to get used to their surroundings before I made any more demands on their sensitive female psyches. After all, I was the man; the explorer; the one they were counting on to help pave the way in this great uncharted and until now, previously unexplored territory known as, the Comoros Islands. At least, it was unexplored by me and I had absolutely no idea where the hell I was going, or what was waiting for me. But so what, I thought. Was Columbus worried? Was Leif Eriksson? Was Reid Laurence? Of course I was, but Mary and Vera didn’t have to know that, did they?

The airport on the coast of Mozambique in the city of Pemba was peaceful and amicable. “There, you see now?” I told my wife as we waited for our luggage. “All that worry over nothing.” “I sincerely hope you’re right. I just would like to know why we couldn’t go to the Florida Keys or some other nice, safe place like that?”
“Mundane,” I answered. “Drab, unimaginative, dull.”
“You sound like you’ve been reading your thesaurus again,” replied Vera. “Just speak plainly.”
“Alright, I will then. I’m innocent I tell ya. I just thought we could all use the adventure and excitement in our lives. Now then,” I said, as our last piece of baggage showed up on the conveyor belt. “We have a boat to catch. Follow me, and lets not dawdle girls.”
“I’m tired,” replied my wife. “How long till we reach the hotel?”
“My feet hurt,” said Vera. “When can I sit down and take my shoes off?”
“Africa isn’t the place for stiletto heals Vera. Look around,” I said, recanting her for what I thought was an inappropriate shoe selection. “Do you see any women here in six inch heels?”
“It’s not my fault. You wouldn’t tell us where we were going till the last minute.”
“Yeah, quit picking on her,” replied Mary. “It wasn’t her mistake. When do we get there already?”
“Soon,” I said. “We get there soon. About another two hours, but it really depends on how fast we can find the ferry boat we’re supposed to be taking.”
“So find a cab and tell the driver where we need ta go,” answered Mary. “God, how hard is that? Do I have to do everything?”
“No my swan. I have everything under control, you’ll see.”
“C’mon then,” said Vera, irritating, but hotter looking then a new set of snow tires. “Lets get crack’in.”

Flagging down a cab was no problem. In fact, cabbies were practically begging me to choose them and God help the customer who picked a cab out of sequence, as the first one in line had to be the one you’d get into or all hell broke out among the drivers. Did I use words like peaceful and amicable before? I might have spoken too soon, but once we got into the right cab and left the airport, things got a lot better. Better at least, until we got to the boat dock. I had just a little bit of trouble communicating with a gentleman who I assumed was captain of our ship, but in a tight spot, Vera came through with flying colors. I was glad we’d taken her along, when I asked him, “Can you take us to Moroni?” and all I got for an answer was a blank stare and a gesture he made to a sign which read...We Speak Swahili Only.
“Great,” said Vera. “Anyone here speak Swahili?”
“Not lately,” replied my wife. “You got us into this mess Reid,” she said, turning to me. Irritated with the language barrier I hadn’t anticipated. “Now you get us out of it.”
“Whadda you want me to do?” I answered. “I came to fish and have a good time. I didn’t come to learn new languages.”
“That’s okay,” said Vera. “I know a universal language this guy’s sure to understand.” And as Vera put her leg up on one of the vertical posts used for docking boats, her dress fell back to the middle of her thigh. When she started to speak, she not only got our captains attention, but also the attention of several ships mates who were standing around the dock at the time with their tongues hanging down to the ground, gawking.
“Do you speak English?” she asked of the man who’d pointed out the sign.
“Oh, yes maam,” he answered, doing his best to get a look up Vera’s sheer, summer dress. “You bet.”
“Good. Does this boat go to Moroni?”
“Oh yes, it does. You hop in, I can take you there right away. I am Captain Itsandra. This is my crew,” he said, pointing to three of the men who were casually lined up, standing next to each other on the pier. “This is Suvlaki on the left. He is tall, no?” He is tall, yes, I thought. He must’ve been six-foot seven and about one hundred-thirty pounds. The well fed American in me wanted to feed him something right there on the spot, but we had no time for such pursuit. “...And in the middle is Baklava. Him very good worker. Baklava!” shouted Captain Itsandra. “Why you stand there? Get their bags!” And while Baklava scrambled to get our luggage on board, the captain introduced the third young man who seemed unable still to break free of Vera’s spell, and stood frozen in place on the pier. “Ouzo!” shouted the captain once again. “You quit staring at that lady there and help them on board. Why I have to tell you this? Ouzo is sorry maam.”
“No need for apologies,” replied Vera. “I’ve been stared at before.”
“Yeah, I’ll bet,” said Mary, walking up the ships plank with Ouzo close behind her, carefully observant of her balance on the narrow passage from pier to ship.

Our accommodations at the Hotel Nzwani were better then I expected. Ceiling fans throughout the lobby helped to circulate the hot, humid air and the staff looked sharp and attentive. We had two adjoining rooms waiting for us and the beds were soft and comfortable, complete with canopies and mosquito nets, put in place for what we later found out was an all out war on bugs. But these weren’t just any bugs. These were big bugs. The kind that made wives think about packing up to leave and the kind that made husbands agree with their decision. But I felt the determination of an adamantine warrior. I was going to enjoy my vacation no matter how big the bug threat, as long as they stayed off my pillow and out of my shoes.
We had sliding glass doors in our rooms which opened up to a beautiful view of the Indian Ocean and in the far distance, the east coast of Mozambique where we’d made our journey from. The coast of Moroni was littered with fisherman and their boats, and the sight of it all made me wonder about what I might catch in the pretty, unpolluted, clear waters. All of this earthly good caused a sudden foray within me that only a swim on the sandy beach could quell, and I dashed off to the bathroom with my swimming trunks, mask and snorkel, all the time wondering about what great watery vista might be waiting for me below the more superficial, serene blue surface of what appeared to be, a living dream.
“Go’in for a swim honey!” I yelled. “Gonna see what I can see.”
“Don’t drown on me,” replied my wife. “Be careful.”
“Yeah,” said Vera. “If you get hurt, we’ll have ta go home, an we just got here. I wanna see this untamed frontier of yours.”
“Sho Vera, you’ve finally come around,” I said, trying to move my lips and speak through the snorkel I had in my mouth. “You she the light now, don’tchew?”
“I she you’re gonna trip on your flippersh,” answered Mary. “But the mask you’re wearing is a definite improvement.”
“Shank you my dove. I sha’nt be long,” I said, marching through the open sliding door as if it were some line of demarcation between the everyday drab and a whole new world, just waiting to be discovered.
The water was the prettiest I’d ever seen. Of course, I hadn’t seen much beyond the usual lakes and rivers of the good old USA and this was definitely, a big change. On my walk down to the shore, I was drawn to a natural inlet, which curved around and formed its own barrier to the rest of the deeper water outside it. I found that it was deep enough to dive into, when I jumped in with my gear on and knew I couldn’t touch bottom. It fascinated me, as I moved my legs and pushed the flippers on my feet through the water for the very first time, paddling my way around to see what I could see.
There, beneath the waves were the tiniest of coral reef fish, the kind I’d seen on TV but never thought I’d see in person. And when they showed themselves to the bright, filtered sunlight, I was awed by their dazzling show of color.
Swimming to the surface, I let the top of my snorkel expose itself to air as I kept my head submerged and took a deep breath. Gaining confidence, I swam out beyond the protection of the small bay, but as the water increased in depth, my vision seemed to decrease proportionately and many of the tiny fish I’d been looking at only moments before, had now become hidden from view.
There, in the dark water below me, slowly wagging its great tail fin from side to side, I saw what I thought was a shark swimming in a large circle, interested in something that I couldn’t see from where I was. Cutting my adventure short, I swam for shore, impressed by what I’d seen but a little shaken by my brush with such a dangerous animal. Swimming in the same water with this stealthy predator was a lot like visiting the zoo with the gorilla cage wide open. Even though he may be a distance away, it’s not a comfortable feeling knowing he’s there, on the loose.
Back in the hotel room, I found Mary and Vera dressed in their swimsuits. Not wanting to alarm them, I tried to hide the fact that I’d seen a shark and instead, I started talking about all the pretty tropical fish I’d seen. “You should see ‘em,” I said. “They’ll knock yer socks off.”
“I’ll bet,” answered Vera. “See any sharks in the water? This is the Indian Ocean ya know.”
“Yeah, I know. Just one little one is all. I don’t think he could eat much. Just a leg or two woulda filled him up.”
“Are you kidding me?” asked Mary. Outraged that the sighting of such a beast might put a damper on her vacation. “I came all this way ta swim in shark infested waters. Great Reid, now what?”
“Now we do what we came to do, that’s what,” I replied. “We rent a boat and we go deep sea fishing. How’s that?” I continued. “Any takers?”
“No,” said Mary, not the least disheartened. “I came halfway across the world ta sit in my hotel room. C’mon putz. You too Vera. Last one ta the boat dock’s a rotten egg.”
“Hold on. Just a minute,” I said, rummaging through the personal items in my luggage I’d brought with for the trip - consisting of any and all of those things small enough to be taken along, which remind one of the comforts of home. “Eureka!” I exclaimed. “Found it.”
“What now?” asked Mary, anxiously waiting to leave the room.
“Whaddaya think?” I asked in return. “My lucky charm, that’s what.”

We were within walking distance of the dock from our hotel and when we arrived, we found our old friends; Captain Itsandra, Suvlaki, Baklava and Ouzo resting on the deck of their boat. From a distance, it looked as if they were contemplating something, talking quietly amongst themselves, passing something between them. What exactly it was they were passing around I couldn’t say, but I did see smoke rising and began to wonder if the wooden deck of the boat had caught fire. If it had though, I thought, then why were they acting so calm? It was then that I started to think they probably didn’t realize they were on fire and when I reached the boat, I ran up the plank in a panic just as fast as I could, to hopefully, get word to them in time to put the fire out and save the boat. “Captain Itsandra!” I shouted. “Quick, quick! There’s a fire on board! Whadda we do? C’mon,” I continued. “We have’ta act fast!”
“What you say mon? There’s no fire here. What’s he talking about?” he asked, as the three members of his crew all shrugged their shoulders in near unison. “You crazy mon. All dat fast pace in America got you crazy upset. Here,” he said, holding out his hand, revealing the source of the fire to me. “You need this more then me mon. Take some.”
“Sorry,” I replied. “I don’t smoke cigarettes, but it’s good to know the ship’s not on fire. Wow, I guess I over reacted didn’t I?”
“You certainly did,” answered Suvlaki in perfect English. “For a moment there, I thought we might actually be ablaze. Why don’t you relax and have a toke? It’s some of the best ganja in the Mozambique region.”
“Toke?” I questioned. “You mean... you’re smoking marijuana?”
“What else?” replied Ouzo, also in perfect English.
“Oh... okay,” I said, after some deliberation, giving in to their kind offer and unaware of what effect this psychotropic drug might have on me. “But tell me,” I added, puffing on the sweet smelling cigarette. “How is it that you two speak such terrific English? You sound better then I do and I grew up in America, speaking it every day.”
“Oh that,” answered the Captain. “They meet at the university, that all. Hey look,” he continued. “You hogg’in the joint mon. Give it here.”
“Sorry about that,” I said, but as I handed the cigarette back to Captain ItsandraI, I noticed Vera and Mary walking up the ship’s plank behind me and ran out of time to question the men any further. Besides, I was slowly losing my ability to analyze a given situation to any great depth - attributing this effect to what we’d been smoking and for the moment, all I wanted to do was sit down and gaze into the water.
“What’s go’in on here?” questioned my wife. “Let’s get the show on the road. Did I see you smoking?” she asked. “You don’t smoke.”
“Not until now, anyway,” replied Baklava, in a quiet state of mind and with precise enunciation.
“Wow,” remarked Vera. “Where’d you learn to speak like that. You sound like an English professor.”
“Oxford,” said the three men simultaneously, giving their cover away completely, and revealing their true selves.
“You’re kidd’in,” said Vera, overtaken by surprise. “That’s some tough school.”
“You know it lady,” replied Suvlaki. “The three of us did six years each there. Captain Itsandras’ the only one who didn’t go.”
“Why not,” asked Vera. “Everyone else went.”
“Someone had to pay de bills lady. Here,” he offered Vera. “You Americans so uptight. You take a puff on this. You feel much better.”
“Don’t mind if I do,” she said, taking the cigarette from his hand. Watching her, the deep drag she took on it made me think that she was no stranger to it.
Before long, Mary, Vera and I were as high as kites. I was now past a stage of introspection and wanted to get on with our adventure and Mary and Vera had become talkative and giddy, sitting on the boat deck on chairs, passing the cigarette between them without a care in the world. But as of yet, the Captain and his crew had no idea why we were there, or what we wanted. I suppose the visit itself had become a source of adventure and for a while, the idea of actually moving my body to go deep-sea fishing had slipped my conscious mind, along with a lot of other more mundane thoughts.
At the moment, the biggest problem at hand was to find a way to get everyone up and moving. Normally, that wouldn’t have been difficult at all, but considering the circumstances, it was next to impossible...
“Say... Mary,” I asked, necessarily interrupting a raucous conversation she was having with Vera. “We were supposed ta do someth’in taday, weren’t we?”
“Yeah, someth’in,” came her reply.
“Well, is this the way you wanna spend your day, just sitting here laughing? I thought we came here looking for adventure?”
“So go find some,” she said, unwilling to budge. “Whaddaya want from me?”
“Yeah,” added Vera. “Nobody’s stopp’in ya.”
“C’mon you two, snap out of it,” I argued. “We were gonna go deep sea fishing, remember? I brought my lucky buckeye and everything.”
“So go tell Captain Itsandra you wanna go fish,” answered Mary. “What do you expect me ta do about it?”
“I expected you to be a conscious and willing participant, but you’re smoking yourself to oblivion,” I said. Angered by our conversation, I walked back to where I’d left the Captain and his mates, only to find them equally as difficult to move, in this, my hour of need.
“Can you take us out to sea?” I asked. “I’d like ta go fishing.”
“Hmm,” he began, after another deep drag on his cigarette. “What’s in it for me? I don’t do this for peanuts mon. We have a business to run here, don’t we?” he said, referring to his shipmates; Ouzo, Baklava and Suvlaki. “We take you out, sure,” he added. “Fifty bucks.”
“Okay,” I answered. “That ain’t so bad. Fifty bucks for the day. Here ya go,” I said, pulling two twenties and a ten dollar bill out of my front pants pocket and offering them to him.
“Dat get you one, maybe two hour mon,” he said. “Dat all you want?”
“Whadda you mean, ‘one, maybe two hours?’” I asked. “That’s a little vague isn’t it? How much for the day.”
“Hundred bucks get you fishing for the day Mon. You won’t be sorry. We show you a good time, you see.”
“You drive a hard bargain, but okay,” I said, slapping a new fifty-dollar bill into the Captain’s hand. “You got yourself a deal.”

There were plenty of hours left in the day, the sun was shining and the water in the Mozambique Channel, smooth and calm. The three of us strapped ourselves into swivel chairs that bolted down to the deck and we were ready for action, but as time went by, and as luck would have it, neither of us caught a thing. The wind felt good and the smell in the air was as fresh as an ocean breeze - probably because that’s what it was - but we just couldn’t catch one fish between us, until finally, our luck began to change.
“I think I’ve got a bite here,” I said to my wife and Vera. “Look, he’s pulling on the line.”
“Don’t let ‘im go!” yelled Vera. “Can you bring ‘im in a little? Wind up that thingy on the handle,” she said in her excitement, meaning of course, the reel. (Neither of us were expert at the sport of fishing, but you can’t blame us for trying, right?)
“Okay!” I exclaimed. “I’ve got some slack in the line now. Should I wind up the reel?”
“Yes, yes!” shouted Mary. “Of course. Wind it up. Bring him in if you can.”
“He’s a fighter!” I yelled. “Help me out. I don’t think I can do it alone.”
When the girls heard me, they immediately worked on un-strapping themselves from their chairs and came to my aid. As the three of us pulled on the heavy-duty fishing pole, my prize catch seemed to be getting closer to the boat, and when it did, I wound up the reel a little more each time. In the excitement, I didn’t notice Captain Itsandra behind us, watching, until I instinctively became aware that there were eyes on us. Turning around, I saw him standing there, a few feet behind me with a knowing smile on his face and a great, big net in his hand. “There you go now mon,” he said, when he saw me turn and look. “Didn’t I tell you you’d catch fish today? Was I wrong?”
“Nope! You were right on the money,” I shouted. “I think we’ve almost got ‘im. We’re gonna need that net, aren’t we?”
“Right!” he said, running to the rear right corner of the boat where he expected the fish to come in. “I can help you now much better from here. I help you pull him in,” he said, taking the thick nylon fishing line in his hand, and yanking on it until, behold! The catch of the day had all but risen from its watery depths! As it emerged, I had visions of mounting it over the fireplace at home. That way, I could tell guests about our trip to Moroni and show off my strange, exotic trophy as I explained the arduous fight he’d given us all. But then I thought, even the best-laid plans are sometimes led astray, by chance, or fate, or what have you...
“You catch a sardine mon. Look,” exclaimed the captain. “How tiny he is. You want to throw him back, right?”
“It’s a young pilchard,” explained Ouzo, walking over to us. “Roughly two and a half inches long I’d say, wouldn’t you?”
“Damn fine trophy fish,” said Baklava, snickering. “We can mount him right here, why wait?”
“You don’t have’ta get sarcastic,” I replied. “That’s the first fish I ever caught. Just wait, you ain’t seen noth’in yet.”
“Is this gonna take long?” asked Mary. “I’m getting hungry. It’s coming up to dinner time.”
“Just give me another hour,” I pled, unwilling to leave without first, having achieved my goal. “We’ve gotta catch something worthwhile,” I added. “I know we can do it. A lot of people do. There’s a whole bunch of cool fish down there. All we have ta do is bide our time. We’ll catch something, don’t worry.”
“I hope so,” replied Vera. “If not, we can always eat sardines, right?”

Determined now more than ever, I cast my line out into the Mozambique Channel one more time, still hoping for the fish of my dreams to come along and snag the thick fishing line, making that dream a reality. I’d even gone as far as to consult the buckeye good-luck charm I carried, nearly rubbing the wood grain finish off the top of it in my desire to succeed, but it seemed that all I could catch that day was what I’d already brought up, and that two and a half inch sardine was ruining my reputation as a fisherman before I’d even begun. In fact, the only luck I was having was when I finally convinced Mary and Vera to keep trying for awhile longer. I thought that if all three of us kept trying, then at least one of us had to catch something. In my mind, our outing was fast becoming a matter of statistics and the three of us working at it had increased chances over just one of us. So on we talked and fished until most of the daylight hours had waned to early evening and just when even I had begun to think of giving it up for the day, the unexpected happened - or what I should say is - the unbelievable...
“Oh my God! I think I’ve got a fish!”
“You’re kidd’in me Mary,” I said. “Holy shit, look at the line stretch. You really do have one! Can you pull ‘im in?”
“Yeah,” she replied. “Just a little at a time. He’s really pulling my arms out, but I think I can.”
“How come I can’t catch one?” asked Vera. “What did you use for bait that time?”
“Baloney,” answered my wife. “Try it, it works like a charm.”
“I thought you brought that stuff along to eat,” I said, as I recalled watching her pack some items into her purse before we left the house. “I didn’t know you were gonna fish with it.”
“Sure, why not?” she asked me. “Fish gotta eat, don’t they?”
“Yeah,” I answered. “I know that, but...”
“But what?”
“I didn’t realize baloney was on their menu.”
“You like it, don’tcha?”
“Sure I like it, but...”
“So, they like it too - when they can get it, anyway,” she answered, straining to apply a greater opposing force to the fishing line as she explained the virtues of using baloney for bait.
“I didn’t even know you brought it with you today,” I remarked.
“You told me you wanted ta go fishing, so I put it in my bag.”
“Okay, whatever works I guess. You sure you don’t need help with that line?” I asked, worried that as a member of the opposite sex, she’d lose the battle with this deep sea fighting fish - or whatever it was she’d snagged - and we’d wind up the same way we’d begun, with nothing to show for our time and effort.
“No, I’m fine,” she replied. “Just get the net. In fact...” she added, about to give metaphorical birth to whatever it was that was emerging from the oceans great, murky depths. “Don’t bother with the net, just help me get ‘im inta the boat.”
Unable to believe my eyes when I saw what had risen to the surface, I stood motionless for a few moments and was no help at all to my worn and weary better half. Luckily, Captain Itsandra had been watching us from the opposite end of the boat and when he saw what Mary had caught, still struggling and wriggling on its hook, with half a piece of baloney sticking out of the side of it’s mouth, even he was astonished.
“I don’t believe it mon,” he exclaimed. You caught the fossil fish! The ancient one. What you want to do with him? You want to keep him?”
“Huh?” I said, still surprised with Mary’s catch. The mere size if which at five feet in length was enough to impress most people, but the fish’s strange appearance was what really caught my attention. Its fins just didn’t look like any I’d ever seen. In fact, it looked as if it might start crawling around on the deck at any moment, using its appendages like legs and at the time, I didn’t know how right I was.
“You’ve caught the ‘living fossil’ alright. That’s the moniker that stuck, anyway.”
“Whaddaya mean Suvlaki?” I asked. “What’s with the name ‘living fossil’?”
“What he means is,” replied Ouzo, “is that you’ve caught a Coelacanth, pronounced; see-la-canth. It’s a relative to the first fish that came ashore to live on land - an event which occurred around three-hundred and sixty million years ago - and believed to have gone extinct about seventy million years ago, until people of the western world came here and began catching them in the late nineteen thirties.”
“You forgot to tell him,” added Baklava, “how this event eventually gave rise to reptiles, birds and mammals and many of the species we’re familiar with today.”
“Well... shit,” was all I could think of saying.
“That’s right,” said Mary. “Be careful what you wish for, it just might happen.”
“So what are we waiting for?” I exclaimed. “Lets get ‘im ta shore an take some pictures. Mary,” I said. “You’re now the proud owner of a five foot long ‘living fossil’. What do you have ta say for yourself?”
“I’m hungry. Lets get this over with.”

When we got to shore and suspended the fish on a hook for pictures, we observed that we weren’t the only ones interested in what we’d caught. Besides some of the people who lived in nearby villages who happened by just to watch, our picture shoot was attended by some local paparazzi, unbeknownst to us at the time and hungry for a story. Thinking nothing of it, we took our pictures, pulled our newly found sea monster down from its strategically hung position and headed inland for dinner and a good nights rest.
As I lay there in bed that night, I couldn’t help thinking over what Mary had told me from time to time, about being careful what you wished for. So far, many of my wishes had been granted, probably due - for the most part - to the buckeye I carried with me. But just how these events would impact my life, I had no way of knowing and at the time, I thought, why should I care? Especially since my life had taken a turn, so much, for the better.

Chapter 6

Waking up the next morning, I couldn’t help noticing the huge cockroach that had climbed the insect net during the night. He was staring me down, trying to intimidate me and I knew it. He insisted on doing battle with me to prove his superiority, so when I got out of bed, I looked for the nearest blunt instrument - secured a mop handle I found in a closet - and challenged him to a war of attrition.
Fighting to the end and having done him in - lucky for me because he was at least a good three inches long - I disposed of the corpse before Mary and Vera woke up and scoured the crime scene of any incriminating evidence. No body, no crime I thought, as I prepared to take my morning shower and get dressed.
Walking down to the lobby, I decided to get a newspaper to find out what was happening back in the states. There were papers from all over the world at the hotel newsstand and when I picked up a copy of the Chicago Tribune and looked at the headline, I couldn’t believe what I was reading. There, in big, black letters the shocking news line read...

BERSERKY JERKY HEIRESS LANDS ANCIENT FOSSIL FISH!

In fact, nearly every paper I picked up had a similar, if not exact headline or front-page article on the previous day’s event. I was shocked when I saw it. How in the world? I thought. How did this happen? Looking further down the front page, I noticed a picture of Mary - very similar to the one I’d taken of her - standing beside the Coelacanth she’d caught and beaming from ear to ear.
Paying for the paper, I was on my way back to the room to give the girls the news when my cell phone started ringing. The ring tone from the song; It’s A Small World After All played on for awhile as I opened the door to our room and sat down in a desk chair, ready to take the call...
“Hello,” I said, innocuously.
“Mr. Laurence?” asked the caller, in a resolute tone.
“Speaking. What can I do for you?”
“Allow me to introduce myself Mr. Laurence. My name is Charles, Charles Uppins. I’m a representative from the Greenlove organization. How are you today?”
“I’m fine,” I replied. “Hey,” I said after a brief moment of thought, stretching my memory to its upper most limits. “Your name... Charles Uppins. Have you got a brother or a cousin named Ralph? My accountant’s name just happens to be Ralph Uppins.”
“No sir, I don’t have a brother or cousin by that name,” he answered.
“Well, do you mind if I call you Chuck?” I said. “Is that alright with you?”
“That’s fine,” he said. “But if you don’t mind, I’d like to get to the reason for my call.”
“You sure you don’t have a long lost cousin named Ralph?” I said, persistent in my search. “It might be someone you never even met. I’ve got cousins I never met. It happens you know.”
“I’m sure I don’t sir,” he said. “Now, allow me to get to the point here, Mr. Laurence.”
“Shoot Chuck, I’m all ears.”
“Have you seen the morning paper sir?” he asked.
“Yes, I have,” I replied. “It just so happens, I’ve got one right here in front of me. What’s up Chuck? I mean... what’s the problem?”
“The problem is, your wife caught a fish on our ‘red list’ yesterday sir. And if you don’t mind my saying so, you don’t seem very disturbed by it.”
“Oh,” I answered. “You mean that big, long fossil fish or whatever it is?”
“It’s a Coelacanth sir, pronounced see-la-canth. A very rare fish, indeed.”
“Yes, I know how to pronounce it, thank you,” I said. “I guess I didn’t realize how rare it is. You say it’s on your ‘red list’? Just what the heck is that Chuck? Some kinda hot sheet or someth’in?”
“Mr. Laurence, a red list happens to be a very important list of endangered species. The Coelacanth your wife caught yesterday is on that list. Do you know what the fine is for catching and killing an animal on the red list?”
“Ahh... no I’m sorry, I don’t,” I said, after some deliberation.
“It’s a ten thousand dollar penalty sir, with up to five years in prison.”
“Shit,” I muttered. “I didn’t know that. Is it too late to give it back?”
“It’s dead isn’t it?” asked Chuck.
“I guess.”
“Then it’s too late to give it back.”
“Damn, I didn’t know it was an endangered species,” I said. “What can I do?”
“Nothing you can do now sir. It’s just a bit unfortunate that you’re famous. Nearly everyone knows you masterminded the product, Berserky Jerky. If it wasn’t for your fame, we probably never would have known what happened, but as it turns out, we have to take action on this. It just wouldn’t appear right to the rest of the world if we didn’t. Do you understand me sir? Have I made myself clear?”
“Yes,” I replied. “I understand.”
“Very well then Mr. Laurence. You should be hearing from one of our attorneys sometime soon. Until then, Mr. Laurence, if I were you, I’d watch my step.”
“Right,” I answered, with a note of sarcasm in my voice and closed my cell phone to end the call.
“Who was that?” asked my wife, waking from her silent slumber and pushing the insect net aside to rise from her bed.
“Oh, nothing,” I mumbled. “Just someone who wants ta sue me, that’s all.”
“What? For what?”
“It’s a long story Mary. Why don’t I tell you over breakfast,” I said, as I rolled the newspaper up under my arm. “Be careful what you wish for,” I said, staring out the glass sliding doors to the beautiful clear waters of the Mozambique Channel. “It just might happen.”

When I explained what the phone call was about to Mary and Vera, they had about as difficult a time believing it as I had, but lets face it, pictures don’t lie, so I unfolded the newspaper and showed them both the picture of Mary standing next to her catch. Realizing I was relating the awful truth, they both began to brow beat me over my strange choice of vacation spots and it was finally decided that we should leave Moroni and head out to a more normal - as Mary put it - or suitable locale. Agreeing to leave, to save my skin and avoid any further humiliation, I went upstairs to pack and wondered what we were going to do with the fish we caught. Since it was dead and just about everyone in the world who could read knew it by now, I thought, why not take it with? Heck, what’s done is done, right. I can’t bring the damn thing back to life so why not wall mount it at home like I was gonna do in the first place. So without further ado, I looked around for the biggest garbage bags I could find, set the Coelacanth neatly inside them and in turn, laid it in the biggest suitcase I could find that I’d brought along. That way, I thought, no one would be the wiser and I could at least go ahead with my plan to wall mount my trophy fish no matter what legal hassle might be waiting for me back home.
In summation, as far as our quick jaunt to Moroni is concerned, I did have a good swim, saw many cool tropical fish and with Mary’s help, scored a ten out of ten on the Richter scale of interesting aquatic life and at this point, I was ready to call it a day anyhow. Especially when you consider that my luck had turned sour for the time being, and the possibility of doing a term in prison loomed over me like the Sword of Damocles. So when Mary and Vera came upstairs to pack, I gave them no further argument and instead, merely helped them pack their garments until nothing was left to do but call a cab and leave.
When we arrived at the airport in Mozambique I couldn’t help noticing one proud looking German shepherd as we checked our luggage in. Anyone could see that he was a well trained animal by the way he calmly sat, attentively watching the small crowd of passing people walking back and forth from place to place, each to their own destination.
Setting our luggage on a conveyor belt, a metal detector automatically checked each piece for any kind of contents we might be hiding and then some, to our dismay. But as all our bags passed through one by one, I knew we had nothing to hide and therefore felt no cause for alarm, that is, until the dog started barking, pointing to one of my bags with the end of his powerful snout and tugging on the guard who in turn, tried to restrain him.
“That’s my bag,” I said unabashedly, wondering what the problem could be. “What’s go’in on?”
“De dog thinks he has found someting in your bag sir,” said the security guard. “Will you please to follow me?” he added, picking up the piece of luggage and motioning me to follow him to a security room behind the baggage checkpoint.
“This won’t take long,” I said to Mary and Vera. “After all, I’ve got nothing to hide.”
“I hope not,” replied Mary. “We’ll miss our flight outta here. Try ta speed it up, okay?”
“You bet. I’ll be right back.”

When the guard opened the door to a cramped little security room they used to search through belongings; personal articles; and other literally dirty laundry, I didn’t have time to take a seat before he asked me if I would please, open my suitcase. Calmly, I did what I was told, thinking that the sooner I acted on his request, the sooner I’d be on my way.
“Whew!” he said, as it opened. “Someting smell like fish. What is in dese garbage bags you have here? Is it someting dead?”
“Yes,” I answered. “It’s a trophy fish I intended to bring home with me.”
“Let me see,” he replied, and still undaunted, believing I had nothing to fear, I pulled the garbage bags out of my case with the fish still inside and carefully unwrapped my strong smelling prize, revealing the Coelacanth within.
“Oh no,” muttered the guard. “Dis look bad, very bad indeed. Don’t you know dis is a fish on de ‘red list’ mon. An endangered species.”
“Yes,” I said. “I know that know, but how many times can I get in trouble for the same thing? I’ve already been threatened by the people at Greenlove. Why can’t I just take it home? I mean, I’ll probably have’ta appear in court when I get back anyway, so what’s the big deal. Man, I didn’t think it was a capitol offense to bring your catch home with you. It’s just a damn fish!”
“Dis not just a damn fish! Dis is a Coelacanth mon. You get five years for dis, don’t you know! You are under arrest,” he said, seizing the wrist of my right hand as he reached for the handcuffs on his belt. “What you got to say for yourself now, mon? Don’t you know, you made a beeg mistake? What else you hiding?”
“Nothing,” I replied. “I’m not hiding anything.”
“We make sure of dot right now. Take your clothes off.”
“Why? What for? I told you everything. I’m not hiding anything. Besides, you handcuffed me to my chair. I can’t take my clothes off with one hand.”
“I fix dot. Here,” he said, freeing my wrist from its restraint. “Now you strip down all de way. I don’t have all day.”
“I wanna see my wife,” I said. “We’re missing our flight, can’t you see?”
“You don’t need no airoplane where you go’in mon.”
“I have to talk to her, please,” I asked, as earnestly as I could. “She’s standing right outside. She’s expecting me to leave with her.”
“I tell you what I do,” said my captor. “I give you five minutes with her. Dat’s all. Den I’m calling de police.”
“Okay,” I said. “If that’s the best you can do, you got a deal.”
“You bet dat’s de best I can do. And no funny stuff. I got my eye on you,” he said. Opening the door, he motioned for Mary to come in and wondering what was happening, Vera’s uncanny sixth sense led her to suspect there was trouble afoot, but what she didn’t know, was how right she really was.
“Which one of you is his wife?” asked the guard. “He got five minutes to talk to his wife, dat’s all.”
“I am,” said Mary.
“Den you got to stay outside,” he said to Vera.
“But I work for Mr. Laurence,” said Vera, as she slowly unbuttoned the top of her dress, revealing most of her large, perfect breasts. “There must be something I can do...”
Lucky for me, Vera was in a ‘take charge’ kind of mood that day and when the security guard saw her standing in place like the half naked statue of the goddess she resembled, he for the most part, forgot what he was doing, or who he was mad at.
“Ahh... let me tink now,” he said, after a few moments filled with empty air and a lot of staring in Vera’s direction. “You know, I tink dere is someting you can do lady.”
Turning to me, he warned me not to go anywhere for the next few minutes - as if I could, handcuffed to the chair the way I was - and I assured him I would not. I only hoped that whatever Vera had in mind to do, she would hurry up and do it. Mary was getting more anxious by the moment, while I sat and wondered what the inside of a Mozambique prison might be like. I didn’t think I’d make a very good girlfriend to anyone and what’s more is, I didn’t want to find out. “He’s sending me ta jail, Mary. Do you believe it?” I said, as little beads of perspiration began to form on my forehead.
“Why in the world would you bring that damn fish with, especially after all the trouble you got into over it? You brought all this down on yourself. I can’t believe you sometimes. I’ve gotta good mind ta go home an leave you here, you know that?”
“But Mare,” I said. “You’d leave without me, after all we’ve been through? I can’t believe who I married. Your supposed ta stick by me when the going gets tough, not jump ship.”
“You expect me ta hang around here, half way around the world while you do time in prison over a smelly old fish you never should’a packed? Mister, you’ve got another thing com’in. I don’t know any wife who’d do that. I’d have’ta be nuts. Do I look nuts to you?”
“No, my dove. Where do ya think the security guard went with Vera,” I asked, changing the subject to get our minds off all the trouble I’d attracted.
“I don’t know, but you need all the luck you can get right now buster. If I were you, I’d make a wish on that buckeye a yours right now, before it’s too late.”
“That’s a good idea Mary. I would, but it’s in my right pocket and I can’t reach it with my hand cuffed to the chair like this. Think you can help me out?”
“Oh... do I have’ta do everything around here?” she said, reaching her hand into my pocket. “It’s not there. I can’t find it. Where’d you put it?”
“I don’t know. I can’t remember.”
“Well try. Sooner or later they’ll be back and I’ve got better things ta do with my time then visit you in the slammer. Where is it? Try and remember.”
“I can’t.”
“What about the luggage?” she asked, thinking that I might’ve packed it in with our clothes and belongings.
“I don’t know. Why don’t you look.” I replied, as Mary began to search through each and every small compartment of the bag I’d packed the fish in, since it was the only piece of luggage available to us at the time, anyhow.
“There’s no sign of it anywhere in the bag,” she said to me, disgusted with the whole turn of events. “You’re on your own now buster. I hope you got a thing for stirr’in fudge, ‘cause your gonna get a lotta practice where you’re go’in.”
“Wait, hold on,” I said. “I think I know where it might be. Here... It’s here in my other pocket all the time.”
“Great Einstein. Start rubb’in it, or whatever you do ta make your dreams come true. We may not have much time left.”
“I can remember when you used ta be nice,” I said. “Where did the woman I married go?”
“She left when you dragged her on safari to Africa. Did you make your wish yet?”
“I’m doing it now,” I said. “All you can really do is rub the top of it like this, see? Hopefully, something positive will happen.”
Minutes more went by. I couldn’t even say how much time had elapsed and still, there was no change in our situation. Vera was still missing in action, Mary was still resentful of the day I’d asked her to marry me and I was beginning to wonder if there was any power left in the buckeye at all, or could I have used up all of my wishes? I had no idea if there was a limit to its effectiveness, or if its energy was without boundary and the man who’d given it to me was not at the present time, available for consultation. So I waited it out in that little sweatbox of a room as best I could, until finally, we heard a knock at the door.
“Come in,” said my wife and as the door opened, Vera appeared in its threshold, tired and disheveled looking, with one of the shoulder straps of her dress dangling and with her shoes in her hands, but nevertheless, present and accounted for. “What happened ta you?” asked Mary.
“Oh, don’t worry about it,” she replied. “Just my way of saying thanks for helping me when I was down on my luck. Besides, it’s nothing a dry martini wouldn’t fix. How are you two do’in?”
“What’s with your shoulder strap?” I asked. “And why are you carrying your shoes? Don’t I pay you enough?”
“I’ll tell you later,” she said. “Do we still have time ta catch our flight?”
“Barely,” said Mary.
“Then c’mon, let’s get the hell outta here,” answered Vera. “What’re we waiting for?”
“What’s go’in on?” I asked. “I thought I was in trouble.”
“Not any more. You’re free to go,” replied Vera.
“Super,” I replied. “But I’m handcuffed to a chair. I can’t go anywhere unless I take the chair with me.”
“Oh crap, I forgot about that. Wait... hold on a minute. I’ve got the answer right here,” she said. Reaching behind her head, Vera pulled a bobby pin from its position in her hair, causing the nearly perfect coiffure to collapse and unwind, until it finally reached its destination, flowing gently to her shoulders. “I used’ta work in a magic act. This won’t take long,” she said, as she applied the hairpin to the tiny lock on my handcuff. “Presto! See, I told you it wouldn’t take long. You’re free as a bird. Do I get a raise for this?”
“For all you’ve done,” replied Mary. “You deserve it.”
“She does?” I asked.
“Yes, she does. Now c’mon, we’ve got no time to waste.”
“Can I take my fish?”
“Screw the damn fish! Get your stuff an lets get outta here,” replied my loving wife. “I swear, if anyone knows how ta get themselves in trouble, it’s you.”
“Don’t worry about me, my dove,” I answered. “I’ll just need a minute ta get my suitcase in order. Why don’t I meet you at the gate.”
“Okay, but hurry up,” said Mary. “Last one on board’s a rotten egg.”
“You said it pumpkin,” I replied, and as soon as the door closed behind them, I re-packed the Coelacanth in the two large, black garbage bags, stuffed it back in my suitcase and slammed the lid closed. Grabbing my case and running as quickly as I could, I made my way to the proper boarding gate, where our passenger jet and freedom both lay waiting patiently for me. After all, I thought as I boarded the plane, life’s too dull without taking a little risk every now and then.

Chapter 7

When we got home, the first thing I did was take the Coelacanth to a good taxidermist. I couldn’t wait to see that big monster hanging on my wall so I could tell everyone about my great fishing expedition to Moroni. I wanted to see the look on people’s faces when I showed them this beautiful, prehistoric denizen of the deep. Reactions like; widening eyes, hanging jaws, and other such facial expressions of surprise, along with exclamations like; holy shit! or what the f____ is that! Those were the kind of reactions I’d expect. After all, those were the kinds of ways I thought I’d react if I were seeing it for the first time, so why wouldn’t others react similarly?
The next thing I did when I got back to familiar turf, was go to see Ralph, my accountant. I wanted to know what the sales forecast for Berserky Jerky was and what I could expect out of it in the long run. I’d never really bought Mary a decent ring because I never could afford one, but if sales were going to continue, then I thought, why not get her one? I also wanted to tell him about the coincidental meeting I’d had with Chuck Uppins over the phone. The name was so rare, I thought surely, there must be some connection between the two.
Arriving at Ralph’s office, I opened the door and found his pretty secretary, Ima Willing, sitting there as usual with her long legs crossed; jaws going a mile a minute on a stick of gum she was chewing and nail file in hand, working hard on what were already, flawless, red nails. But this was the position I expected to find her in, unless of course, Ralph had something else for her to do. I must say that it did occur to me from time to time that Ima wasn’t a rocket scientist, but so what, neither was I. Heck, we all have our functions in life, don’t we? So what’s the sense in worrying about it? Where’s that gonna get us?
“Hi there Ima,” I said, without to much delay. “How’s it go’in?”
“Oh swell. I got noth’in ta complain about. Ralph says he’s gonna gimme a big raise. I can hardly wait.”
“I’ll bet,” I muttered, as even I could guess what new position - or positions for that matter - were in store for her.
“What?”
“Oh nothing,” I answered, trying to cover my tracks. “Is Ralph around?”
“Sure Mr. Laurence. Go right in. He was on the phone with his wife, Martha, but I don’t see the harm in you walking in. The way Ralph talks about you, it’s like you’re practically family.”
“Gee Ima, that’s nice to know,” I replied. “It’s good ta have friends, isn’t it.”
“Oh yeah. Ralph and I have gotten a lot closer since I was hired. He says he has important plans for me. Undercover plans... you know, things I’m not supposed ta talk about.”
“Sounds good Ima. Catch you later,” I said, as I opened the walnut paneled door to Ralph’s office and sat down in one of the expensive looking leather chairs around his desk.
“Hold on a second Martha,” said Ralph into his desk phone. “Just gimme a minute here Reid,” he continued. “We’re winding this up.”
“No problem,” I replied. “Take your time.”
“Yes honey... right honey...” I heard Ralph say. “I’ll remember honey. Okay, lemme repeat this back, tell me if I got it all, okay. Here goes... you want a triple cheeseburger loaded; a coney dog and a Reuben, double the sauerkraut, on dark rye, with a chocolate shake, double chocolate.”
“That’s right,” answered Martha, in her normally booming voice, loud enough for me to hear where I was sitting. “But don’t forget the fries. A large order, and dear...”
“What’s that?” asked Ralph.
“Make sure you get something for yourself. You know how I don’t like sharing.”
“Yes dear, I’ll remember. Good-bye my love. Wow,” remarked Ralph, as he set the phone back on its cradle. “That woman sure can pack it away, I’ll tell ya.”
“I thought you told me she was on a diet,” I said, recalling a previous conversation we’d had.
“Yeah, that was awhile back,” he replied. “I remember... She just couldn’t stick to it. Anyway, what’s go’in on? What made you come back from Moroni so soon?”
“Oh, it’s a long story Ralph, about five feet long ta be exact.”
“Huh? I don’t get it? Hey wait a minute,” he said, making eye contact with me, jumping out of his chair to his feet. “I saw Mary in the newspaper. What the hell was that thing she caught anyway? Newspaper said it was prehistoric. I never even knew it existed.”
“Yep, you got it. I mean... that’s why we left. She caught a Coelacanth and I ended up getting in trouble. Shit,” I remarked. “They wanted ta toss me in jail and throw away the key. Can you believe it?”
“No kidd’in,” said Ralph. “Over a fish?”
“Yep, just a fish.”
“What’s this crazy world com’in to Reid?” asked my accountant. “Sometimes I think the world’s gone mad, know what I mean?” he added, walking around his desk in a thoughtful mood until he’d made one complete revolution around it, finally coming to rest once more in the desk chair he left.
“I know what ya mean,” I answered. “Say, by the way Ralph. How’s Berserky Jerky do’in. Any change in sales?”
“I’m glad you asked,” said Ralph. “Allow me to illustrate your companies projected sales with a few little graphs I prepared. You see this horizontal line here,” he continued, as he pointed to a flat, red line on the graph. “That’s bad. That’s how we started out. Now you see the black line here?” he said, pointing to another line which rose to a mountainous peak and then ran off the chart into infinite space, I presumed. “That’s good. In fact, that’s real good. What that means is that, whatever problems you got, money ain’t one of ‘em.”
“Geez Ralph. Who woulda known. Only yesterday I was walk’in around with one buck ta my name practically, an today...”
“Taday,” interjected Ralph. “Yer roll’ in dough. You fell in the toilet, buddy.”
“I what?”
“You fell in the toilet,” he repeated. “That means you’re rich, that’s all.”
“Oh,” I said. “It sounded like I had an accident or something.”
“Nope, not unless you think be’in rich is an accident. I can always take some a those pesky greenbacks off your hands if ya want. Miss Willing needs a raise you know.”
“No that’s okay,” I said, as the thought of the ring I was going to buy for my wife flashed through my mind. “I have some spending plans of my own.”
“Well, don’t spend too much. Money doesn’t grow on trees ya know. I mean, there may be a time - I hate ta say - when it won’t always be there, know what I mean?”
“Yes Ralph,” I said. “I’ll try and be frugal.”
“Good Reid,” he said. “Well, does that about wrap it up? Was there anything else on yer mind?”
“Umm, ya know, there was one more thing. There’s a lawyer who called me, says he’s with the organization Greenlove...”
“Yes,” asked Ralph. “What about it?”
“It’s his name. I was wondering if you two might be related. He said his name was Chuck Uppins and when I heard that, I immediately thought of you. Do you think you two might be long lost cousins or something? I mean, you have’ta admit, there ain’t many Uppins in the world, not that I’ve met anyway. You two are the only ones.”
“I really can’t say Reid. It’s possible. Anything’s possible.”
“Oh well, I was just curious,” I replied. “I’ll see ya later,” I said, as I got to my feet and headed for the door.

Boy that was good news, I thought, as I got into my car and started up the engine. I might even buy me a new car, with cash! But wait, I realized, after I’d driven a mile or so down the road towards home. Since the last vacation was such a bomb, why don’t I take Mary and Vera on a trip they’ll really enjoy? Thinking that I’d just had a great idea, I spent the rest of the way home from Ralph’s office planning my next big move. A trip that Mary and Vera would remember for years to come. A trip that would take us some fifty million years into the past and then some... I hoped. A trip that would revitalize the trust in my relationship with my wife, by reuniting us through a common interest and the thrill of the hunt. A fossil hunt, that is, to beautiful Dinosaur National Monument, located directly on the border between the expansive, breathtaking states of Colorado and Utah.

When I told the girls about the trip, they were not as exuberant as I thought they’d be. I supposed that ladies with newfound wealth are more interested in places like Paris or Cancun, London or Monaco. The kind of chic, fashionable places attracting those who feel the need to be seen, or to see others, spending money and having fun in a manner they always thought would make them feel better about themselves. But I sometimes wonder if being seen and spending cash is all that it’s cracked up to be. As for myself, I always imagined I’d be rafting down the quick and perilous curves of the Colorado River, or backpacking through some uncharted territory before I’d ever be seen drinking champagne, listening to people chatter away in a language I can’t understand. Which is what attracted me to Moroni in the first place. How was I to know I’d get in so much trouble over a stinking little fish? Life is full of strange curves, isn’t it?
Anyway, when I explained that our destination was only a few states away from where we lived, talking them into making the trip became an easier task. After all, there would be no customs officials going through our bags, or shark infested waters, or any of that. And best of all, I suggested that we make the trip by car, so that we could see the sights along the way. This proved to be a very good sales point when it came to persuading Mary and it didn’t take me long to convince her that the vacation would be both casual, and relaxing. We didn’t have to get dressed up, and we could see all the major points of interest that our great country had to offer those who were fortunate enough to be able to see them. So then, in accordance with my plan, the first stop along the way to the great dinosaur park would be Kansas City. The land of more than two hundred fountains, (which by the way, is a pretty accurate number).

Along the way to KC, we found some interesting places to stop and smell the roses. We found farmers selling fresh Missouri peaches and apples and other such treats and as I recall. I bought five pounds of peaches one day and we ate them all, every last one. Not as filling as cheeseburgers but then, much better for my cholesterol count - at least that’s what Mary tells me. I still have trouble believing that anything that tastes as good as a burger and fries can be all that bad, but then, I never said I was a dietitian or health consultant now did I?
One hundred and fifty miles later - long after the peaches and apples had worn off - we finally drove into town and decided that since we hadn’t had Chinese food in a while, why not try some in the big city? So before looking for a hotel, we stopped at what we thought was a nice enough looking little restaurant called; Wun Hung Low’s, walked in and waited to be seated.
Waiting in the vestibule of the vibrantly colored eatery, I looked around to see if anyone was watching me, stuck my hand in a dish full of fortune cookies - being as hungry as I was - and proceeded to pull out five or six of the tasty treats to eat while we were waiting and who knows, to snack on at a later time if I so desired. Opening the first one, I gobbled down the half without the fortune in it, and pulled the harmless looking piece of paper from the other, as I munched down on this crunchy, ethnic delight.
“What’s it say?” asked Vera. “Anything interesting?”
“Yeah, read it to us,” replied my wife. “Let’s hear it...”
“Ahh... lemme see,” I said, as I unfolded the tiny scroll and held it up to read aloud. “It says...Have a nice trip, it’s better then a fall!”
“Your kidding,” said Vera. “Is that really what it says?”
“Yep,” I answered. “Would I lie? Here,” I offered. “Why don’t you girls take one and tell me what yours say, okay?”
“Alright,” said Mary. “Don’t mind if I do. Hmm...” she muttered, as she broke the cookie in two and pulled the fortune from within it. “It says...Exercise caution; The past will reveal itself to you! Do you believe that?” she said, looking up from the small, unpretentious piece of paper. What past? What the hell? I hate riddles. What’s yours say Vera?”
“I think I ate mine,” said Vera, yanking the little scroll from between her two, top front teeth. “Ahh, okay, here we go... It says... Your underwear is up your crack! Do believe that shit? Honestly,” she continued, as she suddenly realized the coincidental truth of the fortune and reached around to pull the string of her thong free of her butt crack in one momentous motion.
“But the fortune...” said Mary. “It was true, wasn’t it? Your underwear really was up your crack, wasn’t it?”
“Oh so,” replied Vera. “It usually is. I just don’t notice it anymore, but when I read that thing, it just made me aware of it, that’s all.”
“Yeah but, it was true,” insisted Mary. “Spooky isn’t it?”
“It is spooky Mare,” I answered, addressing my wife by her nickname. “I wonder if there was any truth in yours, about the past and all that.”
“I don’t know about her fortune, but here comes the hostess,” said Vera, as a pretty, slightly built young Chinese girl in a beautiful red silk dress approached us to lead us to our table.
“That’s a pretty hot dish right there,” I said under my breath.
“You keep your mind on dinner, putz,” said my lovely wife. “If ya know what’s good for you.”
“Yes, my dove. Of course,” I replied, as the Asian beauty in front of us, led us to a secluded booth and smiling, handed us our dinner menus.
As we perused the dinner menus in our hands, our waitress for the evening arrived at our table and we ordered a round of drinks to start off with. On her way back, as she delivered the order, I couldn’t help noticing the red nametag she wore that stood out against the background of her stark, white blouse. It said; Suk Uppins, and as I read it, it occurred to me that she might be some distant relative of my accountant; Ralph Uppins, or the lawyer from the organization Greenlove; Chuck Uppins. Even though she was obviously oriental, who knows, I thought. She might’ve married one of Chuck’s cousins. So without further delay, I closed my menu and diplomatically, introduced myself.
“Hi there,” I said, as suavely as the situation would permit, since I was already in the presence of the two lovely ladies I’d arrived with. “My name’s Reid... Reid Laurence. And your name is Suck, I presume.” Flushing with red, her face suddenly gave away the color of her mood, but unbeknownst to me - as I couldn’t understand what set her off - she regained her composure and began, in a scolding tone of voice... “My name is not Suck, it’s Suk! Pronounced S-o-o-k, Sook!”
“I’m sorry,” I said humbly. “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings,” I added, as Mary and Vera took turns giving me long looks of indignation. “I was just going to ask you, if your any relation to a Ralph Uppins. I didn’t mean any harm. He’s my accountant back in Springfield.”
“No,” she said, seeming to have calmed down a bit after the blunt faux pax I’d made. “I don’t know any Ralph. Are you ready to order now, or do you want me to come back in a few minutes?”
“Are you sure?” I continued, thinking that since there were so few people named Uppins, then surely she must be related.
“Sure of what?”
“Sure that you’re not a relative of some sort. I’m just curious to know.”
“Yes,” she said curtly. “I’m sure I don’t know any Ralph Uppins. Would you like to order now?”
“Reid!” Interjected my wife, in her own brief way. “Would you leave her alone? Can’t you see she doesn’t know Ralph. Would you just order dinner already, we’re hungry.”
“Okay, okay. I get it,” I said, surrendering to my own substantially growing, pangs of hunger. “You don’t have’ta tell me twice. There’s just one more thing I’ve gotta know...”
“What’s that?” asked Vera, equally as anxious as my wife to get on with our dinner.
“I’ve just gotta know...” I muttered, looking up into our waitresses captivating, brown eyes. “Do you think you might be related to a Chuck Uppins? He’s a lawyer I met over the phone.”
“No,” remarked Suk in perfect English. “I can safely say that I’ve never heard of a Ralph, or a Chuck Uppins. Now, are there any other people on your mind you’d like to bring up with dinner, or would you care to order?”
“Reid!” said my wife, who’s own face was flushing red with anger. Exactly why though, I couldn’t say, as I truly believed my questions were innocent and my intentions good. “Will you leave her alone? You are really making me angry!”
“Yes Mary,” I replied. “I only wanted to know...”
“I know what you wanted to know and you’re annoying her, can’t you see? Just Order!”
“Alright, okay,” I answered, always willing to oblige. “Hmm...” I muttered to myself. “I think I’ll have the... almond press chuck... or duck, that is,” I said, after correcting myself from what was, I presumed, having Chuck on my mind.
“...And,” said Suk. “Is that all?”
“Ahh, no Suk... soup. That is,” I said. “I’ll have some soup, Suk.”
“What kind?” asked Suk, reticently.
“Oh God,” blurted Mary, suddenly. “I’m going to kill you. Will you please, just order?”
“Hmm, that’s a good question,” I said, returning my full attention to Suk. “How about the hot sour soup, Suk? That sounds good, yeah.”
“Anything else?” replied our waitress, with more then a bit of annoyance to her voice, but just why, I couldn’t say.
“Not for me,” I said decisively. “I’m done.”
“Well thank God for small favors,” replied my wife with odd impatience, or to me it seemed odd anyway. “Aren’t you gonna order desert?” she went on to ask me, but soon followed up with... “No, never-mind, I shouldn’t have said that. Vera, are you ready to order?”
“Hours ago,” answered our lovely employee. And as the two girls at my table rattled off their dinner orders, I slowly sipped my tea and watched as the exotic and beautiful hostess who’d seated us floated by every now and then in her shimmering smooth, silk gown, passing menus to patrons and smiling brightly. A magnificent Asian centerpiece, capturing light and radiating her own in a display of ancient tradition mixed with a knowing, casual flare of the modern world around her. She easily dominated the scene, and emanated this confidence, all without having transpired, a word.

After dinner, we looked around for the nearest hotel we could find that would take us in on such short notice and settled on the Regal 69. A regal enough looking place, I thought. Adorned with castle-like ornamentation around every facade and enough dark woods and red velvet furniture to make any blue blooded person feel natural and at home. So as Mary and Vera found a space for the car, I strode up to the front desk to investigate the possibility of our stay. “Hello young man,” I said to the clerk. “I would like two adjoining rooms, if that’s possible.”
“Yes sir, I’ll check,” he replied, as he turned to his computer monitor to look at a list of available suites. “I can get you two rooms on the same floor,” he answered, “if that will suffice.”
“I guess that’ll have ta do,” I responded, with a down-turned grin and a debonair tilt of my head. “I’ll just wait here for a minute for my wife and our employee if you don’t mind,” I said. “By the way,” I remarked casually. “I can tell why you call this place Regal. Any dolt could tell you that. But what’s got me are the numbers; 69. What’s up with that?”
“I’m not quite sure, sir,” responded the clerk, whose name tag I could see read simply; Sun. “It may be because we’re in 69 cities, or that we have 69 members on the board of directors. You know,” he replied, quite knowledgeably but unsure. “That sort of thing.”
“You sure it isn’t all about some sexual position or something like that,” I replied, lecherously. “I bet people come here to meet in secret all the time, Sun.”
“Well, sir, they’re really not supposed to. If they do, we don’t know about it and also, it’s very difficult for us to control that issue, but let me just say that we do the best we can to run as morally perfect an establishment as possible. It’s very important to the chairman of Regal 69 that we don’t run the risk of having a bad reputation follow us around. I’m sure you can appreciate that, sir.”
“Why yes Sun, I can appreciate that. You’re right. And by the way,” I added. “Can I get a room with mirrors on the ceiling? I think that’s really cool, don’t you?”
“I see your point sir,” he answered. Once again referring to his computer to find an appropriate match between room and patron.
“I have a room on the fourth floor with a mirrored ceiling,” said Sun. “Will that suffice?”
“I think so,” I said. “As long as it has a jetted tub, big enough for four people. That outta do.”
“Hmm... that could be a tough nut to crack,” replied the clerk, as Mary and Vera returned from parking the car. “But I’ll see what I can do...”
“Can we get a room,” asked my wife, as she approached the front desk. “I’m beat. I gotta lay down.”
“Ditto,” said Vera. “At least when we went to Moroni I got ta sleep on the plane, but this has been one long day.”
“You said it,” answered Mary. “So how about it Reid? What’s the situation here?”
“The situation’s good,” I replied. “Just leave this ta me.”
“It just so happens,” interjected the desk clerk, “that I have two adjoining suites with mirrored ceilings and a large jetted tub.”
“What did he say?” replied Mary. “Did I hear right? Did he say mirrored ceilings?”
“Yes pumpkin, that’s what he said. Isn’t it great! You can look up an see yourself. Cool huh.”
“Oh God, what did I marry?”
“But lambchop, I thought you’d like it.”
“Never mind. Whatever. I just wanna get in bed. I don’t care anymore.”
“Will that do then sir?” asked Sun.
“Yes,” I responded with a casual nod. “Very nicely. Thank you Sun.”
“Very well,” he replied. “Here are the key cards to the rooms, and may I say that I hope your stay here is an enjoyable one.”
“I don’t see how it can miss,” answered Vera. “Does the bed vibrate?”
“Damn!” I said. “I forgot ta ask.”
“Would you like a room with a vibrating bed sir?” replied Sun. “I think I can arrange one for you.”
“Thank you Sun,” I remarked. “But I think we’ll just go with what we’ve got. The girls are tired and they just wanna lay down. You know how that goes.”
“Yes sir,” replied our helpful clerk. “If you need anything, don’t hesitate to call the desk.”
“Thanks again Sun,” I said, as I grabbed our bags and headed for the elevator. “You’ve been most helpful.”

Later that night, after we’d become situated in our rooms and I’d finally grown tired of staring at my sleeping wife in our ceiling mirror, I decided to bust loose and go for an evening swim in the hotel pool. Following a bunch of arrows directing me to my destination, I found the outdoor swimming hole in pretty good time. Taking a look around, I couldn’t help but notice that there were enough pieces of statuary around it as would make any Roman emperor jealous. But then, something else had attracted my keen sense of perception and walking closer to the pool, I strained my eyes and tried to focus them on a moving object I saw in the water.
It was a girl, I thought, as I came closer. She was swimming continuous laps in the pool and as far as I knew, never took notice of me, even though I was by now, close enough to put my hand in the pool and touch the warm, clear, blue looking water. I suppose I didn’t notice her at first because she barely made a splash in the water as she delicately glided through it. She swam as if her body were one big cutting tool, parting the fluids surface as any knife would have and the sun darkened skin of her well-tuned physique only made every motion seem more natural. She belonged in the water, and her athletic presence was even more exemplified by the jet-black hair which followed her, like the amorphous rudder of a ship, flowing behind her head and marking her trail as she went.
Just watching her in the pool made me wonder what it would be like to actually be in the same water with this beautiful, mysterious female and so, without further hesitation and with a running start that would’ve made Jessie Owens gape in awe, I threw myself into the pool in cannonball position, creating as huge a splash as possible and along with it - or so I hoped - as much in the way of making my presence known as was humanly possible. Upon taking notice of my athletic entry, this wondrous woman suddenly stopped in her tracks, removed the goggles she was wearing and gave me a look that could have killed any lesser of a man, but why, I just couldn’t say.
Thinking this might be as good a time as any to start up a conversation - not of any intimacy of course, as I’ve been happily married for many years now - I quickly swam to her side and asked her a question which I thought might break the ice and reveal my good intentions...
“Do you know what time it is?” I asked, eager for her reply, but then, none came. So thinking that she just didn’t hear what I said, I asked her again, but this time, just a shade louder then the last... “Can you tell me what time it is?” I delicately yelled, burbling half of my words into the watery depths and half above the surface. But still, no answer came. In fact, I was about to come to the conclusion that the poor thing must be deaf when suddenly, and without warning, she stopped swimming, stood up in the water, removed her goggles and said... “What the hell do you want? Are you nuts?” At last, I thought, I’d scratched the surface and had succeeded in getting her to reply.
“I hope not,” I said, thinking that I just may have stirred her emotions, being the man that I was. “I’m Reid Laurence.”
“So? Am I supposed ta be impressed?”
“Haven’t you heard of Berserky Jerky?” I asked. “I’m the guy who started it all. That’s my company. Berserky Jerky.”
“Do I bow now or what? Look mister,” she continued. “I don’t know who you are and I don’t care. I just wanna finish my laps, so if you’ll excuse me, I’ll get back to what I was doing.”
“Don’t mind me,” I replied. “I just saw you swimming and...” But even as I spoke, a familiar voice rang out in the warm night air like nails on a chalkboard, and brought with it the shocking conclusion to what I always thought would have been a most memorable and exciting conversation. “Are you bothering that girl Reid!” yelled my wife from the open window of our room. “You get your ass in here an go to bed! Now!”
“Right Mary,” I said, returning what I could see was my wife’s glowing interest in my general welfare and happiness, with a wave of my hand. After all, I thought, she just wants me to get as much sleep as I can. Tomorrow’s another long leg in our journey and I’ll be needing plenty of rest. So reluctantly, I said good-bye to the mystery swimmer I felt I’d almost met, picked up the bath towel I’d brought with and walked back to the room. But for some reason, the memory of the girl in the pool that night burned deeply to the recesses of my mind and I will probably, never forget her.

The next day, we awoke to the sound of someone knocking on our door. “Who is it?” asked Mary, still half asleep, but inquisitive nonetheless.
“Maid service,” came a voice from the hallway.
“That’s weird,” replied my wife, turning to me, politely lowering her voice so that whoever was in the hallway couldn’t hear. “Sounds like a man out there, doesn’t it?”
“Yeah,” I said. “I thought that voice was a little low too. Can you give us a minute here?” I said, loudly enough for the person on the other side of the door to hear, and putting on our robes, I unlocked the dead bolt on our door and opened it. “Hi there,” I said, wondering where I’d seen this person before, as he looked all too familiar. Then, I took notice of the nametag he wore on his shirt and called him by name. “Moon,” I remarked. “Is that your name... Moon?”
“Yes sir,” he answered. “That’s my name, don’t wear it out,” he added, softly laughing.
“You look like someone I know,” I said. “I just can’t think of ‘im right now.”
“Could it be the guy downstairs?” replied Moon. “He’s my twin.”
“You’re kidd’in me,” I said. “Ya mean Sun is yer twin brother? The guy who works the desk downstairs?”
“Yep, none other. Why mister? What’s wrong with that? Ain’tcha never seen twins before?”
“No... it’s not that... I mean, yeah, I’ve seen twins before, I guess I just didn’t expect it.”
“Would you leave him alone Reid?” said Mary, abruptly.
“Yeah, quit pick’in on ‘im,” said Vera, walking into the room dressed in nothing but sheer lace panties and a halter top.
“I’m not picking on him,” I replied. “And by the way... look at you Vera,” I added. “You’re half naked. Don’t you have any clothes you can put on?”
“I just got outta bed. Whaddaya want? An ya know what? You’re not my father, either. I’ll wear whatever I feel like wearing.”
“So you switched from picking on this poor man here to Vera,” interjected my wife. “Why did I marry a bully? Don’t you get tired of picking on people?”
“Should I come back later?” asked Moon. “Did I show up at a bad time?”
“Could you give us just a few minutes Moon?” I requested. “I just wanna take a shower an get dressed.”
“That’s fine Moon,” agreed Mary. “Just stay close ta the door in case we need you. I can’t trust my bully husband anymore.”
“Good idea,” added Vera.
“You’ve gotta be kidding,” I said. And tired of the losing battle I’d been fighting over practically nothing, I retired to the bathroom where I showered up and braced myself for what was to be, a very long day ahead.

Chapter 8

How best does one describe the town of Kansas City? One big Mardi Gras? A carnival of people and a smorgasbord of food, or merely a rest stop for young, aspiring alcoholics? Whatever the case may be, no one seemed to care, I thought, as we strolled along one of the busier main streets of town, deciding on what shops to visit or what restaurants to eat at.
The city itself definitely did not suffer from a lack of inhibition free tourists and residents of all shapes and sizes; yelling for cabs; tripping over their own shoes and high heels; hanging on lamp-posts, or just plain greeting each other. In brief, I would have to conclude that Kansas City is not a boring place to be and if it’s barbecue you desire, then hold on to your hat and get ready for some of the nations finest, which is what we finally ended up doing, in a strange, circuitous way...
As we walked along observing the crowds of alfresco diners wondering where to go, we chanced to meet a young man who suddenly stopped to talk to us. Observing that although his clothes were slightly disheveled, he was still well dressed and neatly groomed and as he began to talk, he slurred his words in a way that made him difficult to understand, but nevertheless, helpful and informative.
“Hey,” he said, not one to mince words. “Ya got two girlsh an I got none. Kin ya loan me one? Howsh about it babe?” he continued, feasting his eyes on Vera as if she were a main course at an all you can eat buffet. “Wanna giff it a whirl?” But as luck would have it, his own did not hold out, and just as he’d finished speaking, he began to cough and didn’t stop until he finally grabbed his mouth and... you guessed it, puked all over the sidewalk. That in itself wouldn’t have been so bad if it were not for some of the passing strangers who were unfortunate enough to get some on their feet. Sometimes, it just doesn’t pay to get dressed up and put good shoes on. You never know what drunk is going to let loose on them.
“Are you okay?” asked my wife. Always there to offer a hand to the sick or infirm. It’s just that at the time, offering a helping hand was not a highly recommended plan of action, considering the barf on his own.
“Oh, yeah. Wow,” he said. “I guess I shoulda shtopped drink’in before that lasht kamikaze.”
“Can you walk?” questioned my wife.
“Babe, I kin walk a tightrope if I wanna. I jus don’t like show’in off.”
“Alright then,” I added. “It was very nice meeting you. We’ll see you around. Bye now.”
“Wait a minute Reid. We can’t just leave him here like this,” replied my wife, as I tried in vain to leave the scene. “He can hardly stand up.”
“Yeah, hold on a second,” said Vera. “He looks like he could use some help.”
“He was fine before he met us, wasn’t he?” I argued. “He’ll be fine after we leave, too.”
“I’m hungry,” mumbled the barely standing boozer. “I’m hungry an I think I’m gonna be sick again.”
“Just don’t barf on me,” I said brazenly, and spying a narrow walkway between buildings, I took him by the shoulders and gently guided him to it, hoping to avoid any further torrent of used kamikazes.
After our new found friend relieved himself once more, Mary and Vera still insisted that we not let him wander off on his own and considering the shape he was in, I gradually got used to the idea of letting him come along with us and join us for lunch. In fact, his presence paid off when - after sobering up some - he proved to have a very fine working knowledge of the restaurants in town and led us to one of the better known places called; Reidy’s Rib House, widely known for their delicious barbequed spareribs, as the name would imply.
Once seated at a table for four in one of the three large dining rooms of the restaurant, we learned that, oddly enough, our new friend’s name was Nova Star. When I asked him about it, he told me that his parents were movie stars and had given him an odd name because they wanted him to ‘stand out from the rest, in a world filled with peons’ and make him feel good about himself. But in the long run, all it had succeeded in doing was make him feel uncomfortable and different, when all he really wanted was to mix in and become one of the crowd. But as Nova explained himself to us, I couldn’t help but wonder about the last three people we’d met with first names describing either stars, or moons or such. It made me wonder if there might be some connection between the Buckeye I persistently carried with me and the stars, or the astrological representations of them. Why not? I thought. What else could have been responsible for the many strange things that had been happening since I’d won the lottery and what else was responsible for these odd chance meetings? It seemed that by deduction, careful reasoning and of course, who could forget... the process of elimination, there was only one conclusion left to draw, and that was that the Buckeye in my pocket had been leading me all along and that it, and only it, was responsible for all that had recently happened in my life. But then, what of it? I thought. So what. Should I take the Buckeye from my pocket, insisting that I won’t be led around or influenced by anything or anyone more powerful than I, and dash it to the ground, or do I merely go on as I have been... rich; happy and content with myself and the world around me? I ask you, what would you have done? For the time being, I settled for the latter plan of action, since again by deduction and thoughtful reasoning I thought the better of destroying my good-luck charm and along with it, my happiness and wealth. I believed, as most men would have, in not rocking the boat and so, as Nova talked on about his life and how his parents drove him to desperation and alcohol, I fiddled with the Buckeye, brought it out into the open and rubbed the top of it, in an effort to try to make this poor lads life better then it was and to hopefully get him on an improved path over the one he’d been on.
After getting to know him, we exchanged phone numbers, and for the rest of the time we spent with him that day, made small talk and in the end, wished him all the best. Even though I have to say that at first I did not think very highly of him, considering the way he tried to pick up Vera, but he did impress on me the fact that I was really not much different then he, and that I also had been broke and miserable only some weeks before, so who was I to kick a man when he was so obviously, already down.
Regretfully, we left Kansas City for other such places of interest, but I always thought that one day soon I would return to dine outdoors in the summertime; banter with the residents, or meet up with other sons of movie stars who’d generally lost their way in the world. So, without further delay, or rather, without delaying too much more then we thought necessary to say farewell, we got back in the car and got on the Kansas Turnpike headed west, for the great city of Topeka, located on the Kansas River and home to the notable Menninger Neuropsychiatric Clinic and museum, which boasts a large stash of documents written by the famous, Doctor Sigmund Freud.
When we arrived, the first thing I had in mind to do was visit the clinic, since my own state of nagging neurosis spurred me on to discover the root or roots of what bugged me and what continues to bug me, so without ever having picked up a book by Freud, I couldn’t wait to open the literal door of the clinic to hopefully, shed a bit of light on what made me and others like me, tick. When I got there, I began to read about what he’d done and the things he achieved, even as he faced an awful opposition of other doctors and people, dedicated to not believing in, or listening to him. I think it was his stalwart determination and driving force to stick to what he knew was right that impressed me most about him. Secondly, his discoveries which led to the whole new field of psychoanalysis which he founded, also helped to impress me. It seems that a lot of people consider him to be one of the great, creative minds of the modern world and who am I to say otherwise?
When I read about what he’d written on Hysteria, I firstly, couldn’t believe he knew all this at a time in which crazy cowboys were still gunning each other down in the street, and secondly, it made me think of my own hysteric mother, who could scream the day away with ease at the drop of a pin. Where was Freud when I needed him? Where was he when my brother and I walked into the house with mud or dog crap on our shoes and had all hell to pay for it. It’s not like we planned it, you know. We just didn’t realize what we’d stepped in. Honest, it wasn’t our fault.
I suppose the field of psychoanalysis leaves me a bitter man because like cops, a good head shrinker is never there when you need him. They’re either hypnotizing some rapist to find out what happened in his early childhood or writing about their findings. In other words, a summation of what the rapist told them. Hell, I could tell them all about my past too, but nobody cares because I haven’t raped anybody. It’s a vicious circle isn’t it. The rest of us just have to take a back seat to rapists and killers and learn to wait our turn, if there comes a turn at all. Nowadays, psychiatrists will see you, but if you dare talk about something you feel is constructive - like the reason you’re there - they tell you they don’t have time and refer you to a psychologist. Don’t that beat all? Then you might ask yourself, why bother with the whole damn thing? Which is the conclusion I arrived at many years ago, but still, Freud is an interesting man who opened an entire pathway of science to a bunch of lazy old men who like to sit forever at their desks, make huge wads of money for doing so and refer needy nuts to other sources of help like dizzy psychologists so that they, are saved of any further aggravation you might have caused them by talking too much about your past. I swear, it’s a wonderful life isn’t it? But that’s the awful truth.
Unfortunately, psychiatrists have created a niche for themselves as a type of class of modern day untouchable. A microcosm of society of people who we are not supposed to get too close to and will therefore, never end up performing the job task they were presumably educated to do. The real outpour of our emotional problems is just as well spent bending the ear of a person about as qualified as a personable spouse with a talent for coping skills. A sad day indeed, for the field of psychotherapy.
Anyway, enough said about the upsurge in the lack of talented approachable professionals in the field, and after staying the night in Topeka, Mary and Vera were unable to find very many other points of interest about the place, so when complete boredom struck and our fast food snacks were gone, we got in the car again and continued to head west, to Wichita.
It seems that Wichita - a famous cow town - was one of the cities in which the Chisholm Trail passed through. The trail was a major cattle-driving route in the early eighteen-seventies and because of that and the railroad, Wichita boomed.
Anxious to see the sights, but hungry enough to eat road kill, we drove around the city and decided to stop at a quaint looking little café on Woodlawn Avenue. Walking in, we decided to take seats at the counter and noticed that there weren’t many other patrons there that day besides two grisly looking characters seated at the opposite end of the shiny, long, Formica counter. Sipping coffee, and speaking in low tones to each other, they appeared to be looking us over, carefully scrutinizing us as if we’d become part of something they’d been long considering, or yet, part of some greater plan. In turn, it made me feel considerably uncomfortable to think that our presence had caused this odd dissection of persona and I wondered to myself if it was just my paranoia getting the better of me, or if what I suspected all along, was really happening.
As we ordered and even as we ate, this strange surveillance continued and when we were done, a great feeling of relief came over me. I couldn’t wait to pay the check and leave, get in the car and go someplace, anyplace, as long as we got away from that strange pair who, by my estimation, could have been capable of anything and everything. Who knows, I thought. They could just be waiting for some unsuspecting out-of-towners like us. Find some hapless, naive tourists to pounce on, then take their money and ditch their bodies in the woods.
I sure wasn’t going to hang around anymore then I had to and as soon as the waitress came over to us with our check, I put down a tip and walked immediately to the cash register, waiting to pay. Unfortunately, I didn’t have long to wait until the two characters who’d been watching us got up to do the same, and came up from behind me as I stood there nervously waiting.
How best should I defend myself? I thought, as the bigger of the two stood close enough to nearly touch the coat I was wearing. Then I remembered the knife in my pocket. I always kept a knife on me, ever since I left Chicago. It wasn’t a very big one, but scary enough, I thought, to keep someone from attacking me, especially if I put it to their gut and started screaming. So, that was my plan and as the hostess finally arrived at the register, I put my hand in my pocket and fumbled around, looking for the weapon. To my dismay, the only thing I found in my right pants pocket was my Buckeye and as a subconscious reaction to the looming danger I felt, I rubbed the top of it and continued to search for the knife. “That’ll be... thirty-three dollars and seventy four cents,” said the hostess, as I finally found what I’d been looking for in the inside pocket of my coat.
“Fine,” I said, handing her a credit card from my wallet.
“I hope you enjoyed your meal,” she said, running the card through the register’s peripheral hardware.
“It was great,” I replied, removing the lock on the blade in my coat pocket and transferring it to another pocket where I could easily get to it if I needed it. “It was just great,” I repeated, smiling to try to assure her that everything was fine, in case I had to take sudden action to defend myself.
“You come back an see us now, you’re always welcome,” she added, smiling back at me.
“I just might do that sometime,” I answered, finalizing our conversation with a nervous wink of my eye and in turning to walk away from the counter to join my wife and Vera, I was unexpectedly stopped by one of the waiting men behind me, who calmly began to speak... “Hey buddy,” he said, in a low, gravel pitched voice. “You ain’t go’in nowhere.”
“Oh yeah?” I replied, all the while trying to hide my shaky voice as I shifted my right hand to my coat pocket and felt the smooth lightweight plastic sheath of the knife, now grasped firmly in the palm of my hand. He’ll never knock it outta my hand, I thought. It’s just him and me right here and we’re gonna finish this right now. Maybe if I can scare ‘im enough, he’ll leave us alone. If I have to, I’ll just explain myself to the cops, cause I’m sure not gonna be some bastard’s prey. “An why is that?” I answered.
“Well... nobody’s stopp’in ya, but yer forgett’in your credit card right there on the counter,” he remarked, pointing a long index finger at the card I’d left behind in my haste. “Don’tcha want it?” he continued. “There’s a lotta thieves around ya know, just ach’in ta get their hands on a card like that. Hell, they’ll wreck yer credit sure as I’m a stand’in here.”
“Ah... yeah. Sure, I want my card. Thanks for telling me,” I answered, dropping my guard for a moment, but still holding onto the knife in my pocket for dear life.
“Say,” he muttered in the same low voice. “You look like someone I know. My buddy here an me, we’re sure we seen you before.”
“Yeah, you look real familiar,” added his friend.
“A lotta people look alike,” I replied. “You’ve probably just mistaken me for someone else. A face you remember, but a name long forgotten. You know, that type a thing. Happens to us all.”
“Oh... I remember ‘im alright,” said the same man. “Name was Fess.”
“Well...” I answered, more nervous then ever, as my eyes darted back and forth from Mary and Vera to the two thugs standing behind me, who were now blocking any escape I could have made to the front entrance. Even as I spoke, I wondered all the while what evil plan these two had hatched in their corrupt, depraved minds. “I can tell ya right now, that’s not my name. My name’s Reid. Reid Laurence.”
“Well then,” replied the other to his friend. “Ah guess that settles it, don’t it. I told ‘im you weren’t Fess, but he didn’t wanna believe me. Now ya know, dont’cha,” he said, turning to his friend. “Now why dont’cha let the poor guy go on his way. We bothered ‘im enough fer one day. We’re sorry mister. It’s just that you really did look a lot like Fess, an he was sure you was.”
“Yes sir,” said the other man. “You look jus like ‘im. You could even pass fer his brother, I bet.”
“What was his last name?” I asked, as my curiosity piqued to a high point. “It’s possible I might know ‘im.”
“Uppins,” said the man who’d first approached me. “His name is Fess Uppins. Ya know ‘im?”
“No, but that’s odd,” I replied. “I do know a Chuck Uppins; a Ralph and I swear, I just recently met a Suk Uppins in Kansas City. Small world, isn’t it?”
“You bet it is mister,” replied the same man, still standing closest to me. “I wonder if old Fess had a sister or a cousin er someth’in. How’d she spell that anyway? Was it S-u-c or S-u-c-k or what?”
“No,” I answered. “Wow, she got really mad at me when I pronounced it like that too. It’s Suk, pronounced S-o-o-k. Man, she really got mad at me. Makes ya wonder about some people don’t it? All I did was mispronounce her name a little, an she was all over me like flies on... well, you know.”
“Ah know what ya mean, mister. The slightest thing ticks some people off. Ya jus never know when some people are gonna blow their stacks over nuth’in. Hey,” he said. “You have yerself a good day now, we gotta get mov’in on. That’s our rig out there in the park’in lot. She’s a dousy ain’t she? Ya seen her when ya come in? Got a sleeper cab; nine speaker stereo; microwave, the works.”
“Yeah, wow. That is a cool truck,” I remarked, straining my eyes to get a better look out the big restaurant picture window. “Well, I’ll be see’in ya,” I added, gesturing to Mary and Vera with a wave of my hand to let them know I was ready to go.

“What was that all about?” asked my wife on our way to the car.
“Yeah,” asked Vera. “If I’d known how long you were gonna take, I’d a ordered dinner too.”
“Oh, nothing,” I said. “He just thought I looked like someone he knew. Some guy named Fess Uppins. Gee,” I said, thinking out loud. “You think he might be related to Ralph? I’ll have’ta ask ‘im when we get back.”
“Yeah,” answered my wife, opening the car doors for herself and Vera. “You do that.”

Chapter 9

With the fine city of Wichita in our rear view mirror, we looked forward to a new destination on the map of our travel plan and settled on Dodge City; home to the famous Boot Hill Cemetery and the lawmen who helped fill it... Wyatt Earp and Bat Masterson.
It took us a whole day to get there from Wichita, but I thought that it would be worth it, considering that Mary has always been infatuated with graves; spirits; cemeteries; ghosts and the great beyond, or another dimension. Whatever you choose to call it, the idea always sparked her interest and this visit promised the special opportunity no ghost chaser could afford to pass up... the opportunity to inspect the graves of those real life trouble makers and cowboy’s, who’d purposely and sometimes inadvertently, carved a whole town out of mean trail dust and sweat. The sweat of themselves, others like them and the cattle they drove. But who can forget the wheat farmers in the area, who fed the settlers; cowboys; cattle rustlers and others off the fruit of their labors. How does a person get along without a simple staple food like the bread we’ve become so accustomed to? Try making a sandwich sometime without it.

When we arrived in Dodge, the first thing we did was shake the trail dust off our clothes and head for the nearest saloon, where we handed in our six-guns and made ourselves comfortable at the most hospitable empty table. (Had you going there, didn’t I! Even though we had no six-guns, the mood and history of the place inspired me at the time and made me wonder about what it must’ve been like to carry one, like a clothing accessory; a handbag; a wallet or a watch on a chain. I suppose it made some people feel well protected, but at the same time, it was a death trap and a deadly way to settle an argument.)
After a few drinks, we hit the road stumbling and meandered our way to Boot Hill where Mary’s dreams and thoughts often took her, inspiring wonder of those aforementioned arguments that in her mind, were never really resolved.
The whole point of a spirit that cannot rest, is that they are presumably unhappy in the way they passed on and are therefore, walking this eternal path of frustration and sometimes, anger. But, never having come face to face with any departed soul, I could never say that my wife was either in the right, or wrong. That is, the situation never had presented itself, until our trip to Boot Hill, where in fact, some very difficult things to explain actually did happen and the paths that we were on - between the living and the dead - suddenly seemed to cross and join...

“Who’s this Wild Bill guy?” asked Mary, as we stood on the hill of the cemetery, taking note of its many well known residents who now lay forever in eternal, silent slumber. “What’d he do? Was he bad, or good?”
“He was some a both, ah reckon,” replied Vera. “Suffice it to say, you didn’t wanna cross him. Ain’t that right Reid?”
“That’s right. I’ve seen the movie about his life, so I should know. He had some kinda eye problem too... cataracts I think. He was slowly going blind.”
“So how could he see who he was shooting?” asked Vera.
“Oh, he was well known for his marksmanship,” I replied. “I heard he shot a man in Springfield Missouri, not far from where we live, in the town square.”
“What for?” inquired Mary, slowly gaining interest in the nature of the man - who despite the great amount of pride he had while still alive, now lay before us at our feet like any of the other muted deceased.
“The guy won his watch in a poker game,” I answered. “And had the nerve to wear it after Wild Bill told him not to.”
“And... So? Why did he shoot ‘im?” asked my wife.
“Well... because, the guy wore his watch. It’s like I said.”
“That’s it?” questioned Mary in disbelief. “He was killed for wearing a watch?”
“Yep. Wild Bill had a lotta pride, but it didn’t get ‘im very far. Hmm...” I muttered, as I mulled over what I’d just said. “Let me rephrase that, because when you think about it, his macho pride was a big motivating factor to the embodiment of his personality, driving him to perform many of the brave actions that constituted the achievements of his life.”
“You might wanna rephrase that again,” answered my wife. “He was only thirty-nine when he died. Look here,” she continued, pointing to the gravestone. “Born 1837 - Died 1876. He didn’t die from natural causes did he?”
“No, he didn’t. He was shot in the back during a card game.”
“Then where did his pride get him?” said Vera, as she adjusted her chest in the sports bra she was wearing with both of her small, feminine hands. “Never mind, I’ll tell ya,” she added. “Six feet under, that’s were.”
“Right Vera,” agreed my wife. “Men, humph. Have you ever heard of a woman who died out of girlish pride? Men are so silly.”
“I have to agree with you Mary,” I said. “But at the same time, it was people like him who helped the Union win the Civil War. He was a spy for the North you know.”
“So, maybe men have their place in this mess,” she murmured, staring down at the gravestone. “But if you ask me, it’s a mess they helped to create in the first place.”
“Say Mary, that reminds me,” I remarked. “You think you could find a place for me? I’ve been meaning to talk to you about it.”
“Not in front of Vera, I told you. Lets talk about it later.”
“Hey, come over here,” shouted Vera unexpectedly, attracting our attention to a different section of the cemetery. “Look! I found Wyatt Earp’s grave!”
“Cool!” exclaimed Mary. “Can you read what it says? The stone is so worn away I can’t make it out.”
“Hmm... if you put your fingers over the letters,” said Vera. “You’ll get a better idea of what’s written here. Just give me a minute...” she continued. “It says he was born in eighteen forty-eight...”
“And...” asked Mary, anxious to know anything else of interest about the grave.
“And he died in nineteen twenty-nine.”
“Wow! He lived a long time didn’t he,” I said. “It’s a wonder nobody ever succeeded in killing him. He must’ve made his share of enemies. I guess he just got lucky. Eighty-one is pretty old.”
“It is, isn’t it. You know, there’s more written here if you’re interested,” added Vera.
“Let’s hear it,” said my wife and I, nearly simultaneously.
“Okay,” answered Vera. “Just give me a second. The stone is so worn out and old, it’s hard to tell, but here goes...

Here lies old badass Wyatt
Some would shoot ‘im but didn’t try it.
If you knew ‘im you’d understand
He was the baddest in the land.”

“Gee,” I said. “That’s the best epitaph I’ve ever heard. I wonder who wrote it?”
“Quite possibly the-lecherous-old-boozing-type-of-guy-who-has-the
-nerve-to-call-himself-a-writer-who’s-standing
-here-next-to-me-now, type of guy, perhaps?” asked Mary, forever eager to solve any question left open to discussion.
“Now whatever gave you that idea? Never mind,” I continued. “I’m sorry I asked. Look... It’s getting late,” I remarked, observing the bright orange sun in the western sky, slowly dropping from sight. “I say we find ourselves a hotel, get some dinner, an turn in. Whaddaya say?”
“Best idea you’ve had all day,” agreed my wife.
“How about the hotel we passed on the way here?” asked Vera. “We’re pretty close to it from where we are.”
“It’s a deal then,” I said. “Lets see if we can get a room.” But even as we departed from the cemetery, the eerie feeling that we’d not left - or somehow taken some of it with us - seemed to permeate our very souls and the talk at dinnertime was more about our visit to the cemetery then anything else, as each of us had easily let on.

The hotel we stayed at, called; The Deadman’s Hand was indeed close to the cemetery - maybe a little too close, in my mind - sitting on the outskirts of town, only a few blocks away from the grave sites we’d visited earlier that day.
During dinner - at a downstairs café in the hotel - Mary asked me if there was any specific meaning to the name of the establishment and it just so happens, the answer was within my computer-like memory bank of trivia connected information and in seconds, I was able to deliver proper output on the subject at hand...
“I don’t know,” I said, but after a brief pause of some thirty minutes, I felt I had the answer... “You remember,” I began, “when I told you that Wild Bill died playing cards?”
“Yeah,” replied Vera. “Just spill the beans already. What’s the story?”
“Well, it just so happens that the hand he held at the time - a pair of eights and a pair of aces, all black cards by the way - became famous and well known as, need I say?...The Deadman’s Hand.”
“Gives me the creeps,” replied Vera, as she cut into the polish sausage on her plate.
“I’ll tell ya what gives me the creeps,” I said. “The way you cut into that like you mean it. You remember that girl who cut off her husbands member and threw it into a field?”
“Member of what?” asked Mary.
“C’mon, you know who I’m talking about. It didn’t happen that long ago.”
“If I say her name, do I win a prize?” replied Vera, mocking the very nature of my question and applying pressure to a nerve of a very sensitive matter.
“Don’t bother,” answered my wife. “Just mind your p’s and q’s and it won’t happen to you,” she said, turning to look at me. “Besides, the last I heard, a surgeon stitched his cocktail wiener back on and it works, so what are you afraid of?”
“An angry lady with a knife, that’s all.”
“So don’t piss me off,” added my lovely wife, as she picked up her steak knife with a smile to illustrate her intent and drove it, point first, into the blood red meat on her plate.

Later that evening, as we retired to our room and became bored with television, we decided to turn in and get some much-needed rest. Hitting the light on my nightstand, I turned to say goodnight to Vera who occupied the double bed next to ours, only two feet away from us. I then kissed my lovely wife and slowly but surely, fell asleep, only to be awakened some hours later by what sounded very much like, a man in great pain...
“Owwwww!” came the voice - as plain as day - sounding as if it were coming from inside the closet.
“W-w-what the hell is t-that?” asked Vera, trembling with fear in the bed next to ours.
“Owwwwwwww!” came the voice again, even louder and longer then before.
“Oh shit,” said Mary. “What’s in the closet? You hung the clothes up didn’t you?”
“Y-y-yes, I did. N-nothing’s in the closet,” I replied, as best I could. “Nothing... I’m sure.”
“T-t-then, what’s with the noise?” asked Mary. “Is the h-h-hotel h-h-haunted? Shhhhit,” she continued. “My f-f-first meeting with a g-g-ghost and I’m t-t-too s-s-scared to talk.” Pulling the blanket up over her head, Mary lay next to me, shaking and scared out of her wits. “T-t-talk to it Reid. Ask it w-w-what it wants.”
“Ok-k-kay,” I answered. “Here g-goes nuth’in. S-s-say, mmmister ghost. Whhho are you?” I asked, scared but very much interested in communicating with whoever, or whatever, was making the horrible racket in our closet. But to our dismay, the only reply was the same high pitched, “Owwwww!” that we’d already become all too familiar with.
“Ask it again,” said Vera.
“Okay,” I said and again, I tried my hand at communicating with whatever it was that had succeeded so well in frightening three, full-grown adults. “Who are you?” I asked again, but this time, to my surprise - and wether it was luck or not I did not know - I received a deliberate answer, to my innocuous question...
“Who do you think?” came the reply, spoken in the kind of drawl that had helped make the old west as popular and legendary as it is.
“H-h-hold mmmy hand,” whispered Vera and reaching out, I felt the cold, clammy touch of her normally smooth, warm skin but had only to assume that her touch had changed in response to the fear she felt. “D-d-don’t let go,” she added, too scared to say much more.
“I don’t know who you are,” I replied to the spirit, as firmly as my voice would allow. “All I can do is guess.”
“Then do so!” replied the same voice, loudly booming from wall to ceiling in anger and frustration.
“Okay, okay,” I said. “Just don’t hurt us... Lemme see here... Oscar Wilde?”
“Noooooo!” he replied, in a terrible tone of pain and lament.
“Ahhhh, okay... Rod Serling?”
“Noooooo, you idiot!” he replied again. “Look, I’ll give ya’ll a hint... whose grave did’ja visit taday?”
“Wyatt Earp’s! You’re Wyatt ain’tcha!” I shouted, thinking surely I’d guessed correctly this time around.
“Noooooo! And since you are wrong on every score, I can see that I must tell you. I am the ghost of James Butler Hickok.”
“You’re kidd’in,” I replied. “Whose that?”
“Does the name Wild Bill ring a bell?” answered the spirit. “Do I have’ ta spell it out for ya?”
“Oh my God!” said Mary. “We’re in the same room with the real Wild Bill Hickok. Why have you contacted us Mr. Hickok?” asked my wife. “What can we do for you, and why were you yelling ‘owwwww’?”
“I was shot in the back,” answered Bill. “It hurts.”
“After all these years?” asked Vera, always the skeptic.
“Yes,” said Bill. “But I’d rather not go into that. There’s some’thin I want’cha ta do fer me. Some’thin far more important then the way I died.”
“What?” asked Vera. “What can we do for you?”
“I want ya’ll ta write mah epitaph, an it’s gotta be a better one then’s on Wyatt’s grave.”
“But why us?” I questioned, wondering what, if anything, made the three of us different then any other living souls on the planet.
“Neva mind all that,” replied Wild Bill. “Ah decided on ya’ll an that’s that. Besides,” he said, suddenly and dramatically appearing to us in the dark room as if he were almost alive, as he turned to face me. “You the Berserky Jerky man ain’tcha? Hell, any man makes jerky can’t be all bad. Ah ate a bunch a that stuff in mah day. Now, if you would be so kind, ah sure would appreciate you gett’in ta work on mah epitaph. Ah could rest a whole lot better if you would.” And then, with as little warning as he appeared with, he vanished into thin air, leaving no trace or clue that he’d ever been in the room at all, except for the fact that our beds, which were only some two feet apart at the start of the evening, were clear across the room by morning light and whose hand Vera and I held onto that night, is a question left unanswered to this day.

The next morning found us weary and unsure of everything but one very unscientific fact - that we’d been contacted by a spirit to do his bidding and in order that his soul might rest in eternal peace, we had but one thing to do, that being, to carry out his last request and create an epitaph the likes of which would not only rival, but surpass the quality of his friend’s, Wyatt Earp. And so, at breakfast that day, we sat down and with pencils and paper napkins supplied generously by the hotel cafeteria, we labored and began to construct the theme of the inscription as best we could and as I recall, by lunch we had finished the task, and our completed poem went exactly like this...

Though words have escaped me, at times in my life
I swore to old Bill I’d see past my strife,
So I wrote this here down, in an hour or two
An relate it this day, in this way, ta you...
Wild Bill was all man, that’s easy ta see
With balls made a steel, it was sure tough ta pee.
So he killed some bad dudes, who cares about that?
An died ‘fore his time, from some little known rat.

“So that’s it then?” asked Mary. “It’s done?”
“Yep,” I answered. “That’s the best damn poem I ever wrote. I can’t imagine anything better, can you?”
“So what’s next?” questioned Vera. “Why don’t we look in the phone book for someone who does gravestone inscriptions and let’s blow this town. I don’t think I slept a wink last night. I’m so tired I could fall asleep standing up.”
“Tell me about it,” said Mary. “I’ll never walk through a cemetery again as long as I live.”
“You mean, you’re never gonna drag me through another morbid graveyard?” I asked, finding my wife’s admission too hard to believe and too good to be true.
“Yes,” she said, as she looked down at the ground for something to focus on as she spoke. “Well... that is, maybe. I don’t know. Lets just go. For now, I don’t wanna meet any other spirits. It was all very emotional. That poor man’s still in pain. I really feel bad for him.”
“Alright,” I said. “It was pretty scary at that, wasn’t it, but I bet he’ll rest now, knowing what a great epitaph we wrote for him.” And as we closed the figurative book on the life and times of Wild Bill Hickok and opened the literal phone book to locate an engraving artist, the three of us began to feel as if our task was completed, but most importantly, as if we’d done poor Wild Bill’s soul a good turn, allowing him to rest, as all dearly departed should, in eternal peace.

Chapter 10

Gitt’in outta town by sundown was foremost on our minds as we decided to ditch our car in Dodge City and take a small plane to the Dinosaur National Monument - our original destination. The only part that worried me was getting over the Rocky Mountains in a little piper cub, but sometimes, I thought, you’ve just gotta take a chance. Naturally, you can’t live your life curled up in bed forever, or going merely from point ‘A’ to point ‘B’ for the duration of your time here. Sometimes, you’ve just gotta break free of those mundane worries, throw caution to the wind and go for it. So in summation, that’s exactly what we did, we went for it and rented a plane and a pilot, as neither one of us knew up from down when it came to flying.
At the airport, I couldn’t help thinking how much our pilot looked like one of the characters from the movie; The Family Jewels staring Jerry Lewis, with his coke bottle glasses; jet black hair and pencil thin mustache. The only thing missing, I thought, were white socks with dress shoes, but when I looked down at his feet, what do you think I saw? Yep, you guessed it. So when I put all this together, I started to wonder about his flying skills and as I boarded the plane, I took the buckeye out of my pocket and began rubbing the top of it, as if there were no tomorrow, just in case, there was no tomorrow.
As we put our seat belts on, I looked over to find Mary and Vera laughing to each other over the same thing, but they obviously didn’t seem to be as worried about it as I was...
“Did you see that guy?” asked my wife. “He looks exactly like Jerry Lewis. Oh, my God... what was that movie he was in were he played like, eight different parts?”
“Family Jewels!” replied Vera. “It was hilarious! The scene were he played ‘Bugs’ the gangster was my favorite. Remember when tons of weapons fell out of his coat when he bent over! It was sooo funny, I laughed my head off!”
“Aren’t you a little worried about this guy’s flying skills?” I asked, as I continued to rub the buckeye in my hand. “I mean... look at him. Is he trying to worry people or what? If you ask me, he’s doing an excellent job of it. I’d feel a lot more comfortable if he looked more like Robert Stack from the movie, Airplane. At least he gave you the impression he could fly.”
“Oh, don’t worry about it,” said Mary. “You’re such a worrier.”
“Yeah,” replied Vera. “And while you’re at it, answer your phone, it’s ringing.”
“Oh, damn. I didn’t hear it. Thanks,” I said and reaching into the inside pocket of my coat to retrieve the tiny contraption, I answered with a nervous sounding... “h-hello?”
“Hey Reid,” said a familiar sounding voice - a voice I knew I’d heard before but couldn’t, for the life of me, place just then.
“Hi,” I answered. “Who is it?”
“It’s Nova, man. Nova Star. You remember me, don’tcha? We met in Kansas City.”
“Oh yeah, Nova. Sure, I remember you. Hey, it’s good to hear from you,” I said, a little surprised that he’d called, but nevertheless, glad that he did. My only reservation was that he’d called just as we were about to take off. “What’s go’in on? How’s life treat’in ya?”
“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about,” he said. “Things have never been better! All of a sudden, after you left, I met this girl...”
“That’s great Nova. I’m really glad you met someone,” I replied sincerely. “Are you seeing a lot of her?”
“We’re together all the time. We got married!”
“You’re kidding me. You got married already? We practically just left Kansas City. You really work fast.”
“Well,” said Nova, gathering his thoughts before he spoke. “It’s like, as soon as you left, all this stuff just started to happen. All this positive stuff that’s rarely ever happened to me before. That’s why I called. I wanted to say thanks. It all seemed so coincidental, I thought that somehow, you or your wife or something must’ve helped make this happen.”
“That’s real nice of you to say Nova, but I didn’t do anything much besides...”
“Anyway,” he interjected. “You’re not gonna believe the rest.”
“There’s more?”
“Yeah, there’s more! This long lost cousin of mine, a cousin I think I met once or twice in my whole life...”
“Yes?” I said, wondering what else could have happened in so brief a time frame.
“He kicked the bucket an left me a small fortune! Can you believe it? I bought a house and a car and paid in cash!”
“Wow Nova, that is cool,” I said, trying to keep my composure as the nose of the small plane began to lift off the runway. But as trees in the distance gradually became not so distant, I started to wonder if we’d be lucky enough to clear them, or wind up wrapped around their branches like a child’s misguided kite. “Ahh, Nova,” I continued, practically rubbing the top off my buckeye as I spoke, still doing the best I could to remain calm. “I’m really glad things are going well for you, but I really have’ta go now.”
“Anything wrong?”
“You might say that... ahhh, yes. In fact,” I blurted out, as the treetops drew nearer and nearer. “It wouldn’t hurt to say a quick prayer for me if you could. I gotta go now, bye.”
Powerless to do anything much but sit in our seats with our fingernails dug deeply into padded armrests, we scraped the tree tops with the fuselage of the plane and as we did, hundreds of crows flew screaming and complaining in a massive exodus of confusion and feathers. “Wow,” said Mary. “We made it. Had me worried there for a minute.”
“Holy shit! Had you worried for a minute? We almost died back there!” I said. “This guy doesn’t know what he’s doing. Our chances might be better if I flew this rig and I don’t know a thing about flying.”
“Remember, be careful what you wish for,” said my wife.
“Yeah, it just might happen,” added Vera. “Look... do you see what I see, or is it just my imagination?”
“Nope, it’s not your imagination,” replied Mary, as she unbuckled her seat belt to help our fallen Captain up off the floor where he’d stumbled, emerging from the cockpit of the plane.
“Walk much?” I whispered to Vera.
“I think he flies more then he walks, if ya know what I mean,” she muttered, pointing to a bottle of brandy still rolling around on the floor of the cockpit.
“Oh crap,” I said. “He’s drunk. We’re dead. We’re never gonna make it off this plane alive. Dammit, why couldn’t we just drive to Colorado? Whose lame idea was it to fly?”
“Yours,” answered Mary. “Why don’t you and Vera grab the controls while I help him up off the floor. Someone’s gotta fly this thing.”
“Don’t worry about it,” said the captain very confidently. “She’s on automatic pilot. There’s nuth’in ta worry about.”
“But you’re stewed,” I replied.
“Says who?”
“What about the bottle on the floor?” I answered. “It didn’t empty itself, did it?”
“Oh that. I just take a little ta steady my nerves, that’s all that is. Now, how’s ‘bout help’in me back to the controls.” So, without further hesitation, I lifted him up by wrapping my arms under his and plopped him back down into the pilot’s seat, where he sat for a few moments with a puzzled look on his face, observing the control panel as if it were all new and bewildering. Wondering what was on his mind, I broke the silence and asked him - in so many words - what the problem was... “Is something wrong? It’s the same control panel you left just a few minutes ago isn’t it?”
“I suppose.”
“Then, what’s wrong?”
“I don’t know, I can’t remember.”
“You can’t remember what?”
“I can’t remember why I’m here.”
“You what! Whadda you mean ‘you can’t remember why you’re here?’ You’re the pilot! This is your plane. We’re your passengers. Of course you remember. Don’t fool around like that, you’re stressing me out. I can’t take this.”
“What’s going on?” asked my wife, joining us in the cockpit to find out what we were arguing about.
“He says he can’t remember anything.”
“He what?”
“That’s what I said.”
“Aphasia,” muttered the Captain. “The doctor says I have aphasia.”
“Great,” I said. “What the hell is that? First he almost kills us on those trees back at the airport and now he can’t remember who he is. Why is the FAA letting you fly, anyway?”
“Don’t get snippy with me buddy and for your information, the doctor wasn’t sure what I had.”
“And why is that?” I asked summarily.
“He couldn’t remember.”
“I don’t get it,” asked Mary. “Why couldn’t he remember?”
“He’s got Alzheimer’s,” replied our pilot. “He does the best he can though for a guy with Alzheimer’s. That’s why I keep go’in to him. Ya gotta give’im credit.”
“This is insane!” I said. “A guy who can’t remember going to a doctor who can’t remember. Couldn’t the two of them just forget who they are on their own time? Who’s gonna fly the plane?”
“Better quit gabb’in an grab them controls sonny, I don’t like the looks a that mountain ahead.”
“Whoa! Looks like I better take the bull by the horns,” said Vera, who’d been watching the cockpit windows from the aisle of the plane and noticed the mountain in our path.
“Can you fly?” I asked, hoping and praying I’d hear her say, yes.
“I’ve been up a few times before with a boyfriend who flew, but its been awhile.”
“Please do!” exclaimed Mary. “You don’t have memory lapse’s too, do you?”
“No,” replied Vera, taking the controls in her hands and pulling back on the wheel to point the nose up. “My memory’s fine, it’s just that I never had very many lessons and...”
“And what?” asked my wife and I in unison.
“And I’ve never landed before.”
“Oh shit. Now what? Can he help?” I asked, in regard to our disadvantaged Captain.
“The name’s Rolf. Rolf Uppins and I been fly’in since you were shit’in yellow turds, so let’s have a little respect, an gimme them controls.”
“I thought you forgot what you were doing?” asked Vera, as she slowly released her hands from the flight controls.
“It comes an goes. I’m okay now. Don’t worry ‘bout a thing. I got more fly’in time then all yer ages put together. You just go sit yerselves down an take it easy. I’ll get ya where yer go’in, relax. There’s just one thing I wanna know...”
“What’s that?” I asked, feeling relieved that we had our pilot back at his controls, functioning as he should be.
“Could ya just tell me where it is we’re go’in? It seems ta have slipped my mind.”

I was never so happy to get out of an airplane, as when we landed that day in Grand Junction, Colorado. Still a little shaky from our flight, I thanked the pilot profusely for sparing our lives and landing the plane safely, but he thought little of the whole ordeal, telling me I was too high strung to ever become a pilot...” Look at me sonny,” he said, holding both hands out in front of himself, watching them shake steadily like leaves in the wind. “Nerves a steel.”
Anyway, it was nice to know he thought so highly of himself and our complaining did little to damage his ego, and with a memory like his, I thought he’d more then likely forget the whole thing anyway. So after saying good-bye, we walked directly to a car rental agency, found something nice with four wheels that ran safely on the ground and headed north from Walker Field Airport to our destination - the Dinosaur National Monument.

Finding a hotel wasn’t to difficult a problem, but considering our last stay, we had determined that it would be a good idea to find one that wasn’t haunted. We were going to need a good, peaceful night’s sleep to do what we’d planned, so when we arrived in the nearby town of Blue Mountain, the first thing we did was to ask the proprietor if there were any angry spirits hanging around, fond of waking the guests in the middle of the night... “You’re kidd’in me, right?” he replied.
“Just asking,” I said. “Doesn’t hurt to make sure. You just never know these days...who’s haunted an who’s not.”
“Yeah, sure. Look, you want a room or what? It just so happens you’re the first person in twenty years that’s ever asked me anything like that.”
“Yes, I do,” I responded. “Of course. I want a room.” And after I’d obtained our key - having endured what I would call a kind of unnecessary roughness on behalf of our clerk - we bedded down and got ready for what was about to become, a very long day ahead.
Sleeping soundly through the night, we rose, found a fast food joint for breakfast, and took off for the fossil park. I couldn’t agree with Vera on her selection of what to wear that day, considering that most people don’t hunt for fossils in string bikinis, but then that’s Vera for you - a woman of good intentions, who doesn’t mind a few people gawking from time to time.
When we arrived, we went straight to the main office and acquired a few basic sets of tools used for digging in areas set aside for tourists and went about the task of looking for those fossils that had so far, eluded me.
As far as appropriate dress is concerned, Mary looked like a professional archaeologist, decked out in a wide brim sunhat to repel glare and harmful rays; a surgical mask, as a barrier to airborne dust contaminates and dirt - a definite requirement - tall black boots, laced to the top for the extra support one might need during a strenuous day of digging; and beige dungarees, the likes of which would have made Jane Goodall jealous. But as for myself, I wore what I always wear at times like this...my old army fatigues, complete with matching hat, boots and dark, air force style sunglasses. Dress to meet the occasion, I always say and prepare yourself for any possible dangers in the field. Even if you don’t expect any, it never hurts to be prepared.
At long last, it seemed, I had finally made it to a place where I could explore, as Sir Isaac Newton so aptly put it... “the great ocean of truth” which “lay all undiscovered before me.” You can bet, I was ready for action at this point, but never so negligent as to begin any excavation without first having consulted my trusty buckeye. And so, as Mary and Vera took up their respective positions in the park, I removed the good luck piece from my pocket and made a wish so sincere in its appeal, that Zeus himself, ruler of the gods high on Mt. Olympus, would undoubtedly have granted without hesitation. Then, and only then, did I choose a spot for myself and begin in earnest, to dig and I didn’t stop until three hours time had elapsed. But it seemed to me, that on that day, the gods - in all their infinite wisdom - had forsaken me, as I had nothing to show at the end of that time but much sweat and very sore hands.
“Hey Vera,” I said dejectedly, approaching her to find out what luck, if any, she’d had. “How’s it go’in?”
“Alright I suppose. Found a few things you might be interested in,” she said, as she showed me the bounty of her labor which consisted of a wide assortment of small bones; ancient shells and fragments of long departed Jurassic beasts.
“Not bad,” I replied, impressed with some of the more complete impressions of sandstone Crinoids - left behind as ancient seas retreated - and other bones of small fish that had died and settled to the bottom of the same, long forgotten waters.
“You’re good,” I admitted. “Those guys over there staring at you probably feel that way too,” I said, pointing to a group of three men who were standing around, watching Vera’s every move.
“Oh, them,” she said. “Who cares. Hey, if they got a problem with what I’m wear’in, they can kiss my...”
“That’s about what they’d like to do, Vera. But hey, don’t mind me. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
“I can take care a myself,” she remarked. “Don’t worry about it. Anyways, whadda you got to show for yourself?”
“Besides a terrific headache from this blazing sun... nuth’in,” I confessed.
“Better luck next time,” said Vera, standing erect to stretch her shapely legs and torso, which only succeeded in making her audience gawk all the more. “Ya think Mary’s found anything worth talk’in about?”
“Who knows. I’ve just about given up on this place, but I guess it doesn’t hurt to ask. Why don’t you pick up your stuff and lets go see,” I replied, bending down to help pack the many fragments she’d uncovered, into a backpack we’d brought for the occasion.
“Yo, Mary!” I exclaimed, as we neared my wife’s position on the gently sloping hillside she’d settled on. Surrounded by low vegetation and some prominent outcroppings of light beige sandstone, she waved, still crouched and deeply focused on what she was doing. “Still go’in at it, huh?” I asked, as we got within range.
“Well sure,” she replied. “Why not? Isn’t that what we came for?”
“I rectum,” I answered, as any casual observer might. “I just haven’t had much luck here, that’s all. How ‘bout you? Got anything worth talk’in about?”
“Yeah, here... hold on,” she answered, picking her backpack up and opening the flap to expose several whole, small fish skeletons and some very long, jagged teeth, probably belonging to some prehistoric shark who at the present time, had no further use for them.
“Wow Mare, you’re the wiener and still champion. I think you did better then Vera. You must have a knack for this kinda thing,” I said, as I searched in vain for a smooth, flat, outcropping of rock to sit on and rest. Finally, I settled for a tiny cliff-like formation that appeared to have been dusted off and cleared of rubble, by my inquisitive better half. Taking a seat, I couldn’t help but notice how uncomfortable my makeshift chair was and decided to go back to standing. Something, it seemed, had poked me so hard, it’d nearly gone through my pants and as I rose, I turned around to find out just what it was that had caused such a rude interruption of my reverie. “Damn! That hurt like hell,” I said, rubbing the side of my rear end in reaction to the pain. “What the heck did I sit on?”
“Don’t know,” answered Mary. “I started working there, but nothing seemed to pan out. All I could find were the teeth I showed you.”
“Feels like I sat on a spike,” I said.
“Did’ja like it?” asked Vera.
“I’ve had better dates,” I replied, running my hands over the bumpy ridges of rock and finding, what I believed was responsible for the stabbing pain I’d felt. “Look here,” I continued. “These ridges you dug up... they look like more teeth, don’t they? Humor me,” I said. “Help me dig up this little area. I got a feel’in Mary found something here.”
With the three of us focusing our effort on the same spot, it wasn’t long before we’d found something of interest, but with so much debris and rock in the way, it was still difficult to draw any conclusions as to exactly, what it was. In time, large depressions - roughly three inches in diameter - began to show themselves, but we were still left to our own unskilled guesswork to determine what they may, or may not have been.
“Whaddaya think?” I asked. “Any ideas?”
“When I find out,” answered Vera. “You’ll be the first ta know.”
“How ‘bout you Mary? Whaddaya think it is? Is it anything at all, or did the rock just dissolve in those places, leaving holes behind?”
“Do you really wanna know what I think?”
“Yeah, Mary. Why else would I ask?”
“And you’re not gonna laugh?”
“Now why would I laugh? C’mon, tell me. Whaddaya think it is?”
“Well... I think, what we got here, is nothing less then a big ass skull. An I bet,” she added, feeling over some of the more prominent ridges with her hand. “That if we dig up here, we’ll find two more big holes.”
“Ya mean eye sockets!” blurted Vera.
“Eye sockets?” I mumbled out loud. “Then you think these other holes here could be nostrils?”
“Yep, wouldn’t ya say so?” answered Mary. “What else?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “I’m a virgin dinosaur hunter, so go easy on me. All this is new ta me.”
“Don’t be afraid,” said Vera. “It won’t hurt, just keep digging.” And in several hours more time - well into the late afternoon - we’d begun to unearth one of the greatest things I could ever have imagined finding... the enormous skull of what appeared to be the terrible thunder lizard... Tyrannosaurus Rex! (Of course, it could have been a cousin like Giganotosaurus or another distant relative like Carcharodontosaurus but then, when faced with important scientific decisions like this to make, amateur paleontologists like myself tend to settle on the best categoric description they can muster at the time. It just so happens, my first guess was correct and in fact, we had found, a Tyrannosaurus Rex.)
Before leaving the park at sundown late that afternoon, we stopped off at the main headquarters to tell them what we’d found, and all this talk about discovering a new important fossilized skull created quite an uproar. Although we believed we’d found only the head, closer observation revealed much more. In fact, the next day’s dig revealed the entire fossilized skeleton of a fully-grown, sixteen-foot tall, forty-foot long specimen, the likes of which the park administration had never seen.
Photographers from nationwide newspapers and magazines soon flooded the park, asking to take pictures of the newly exposed dinosaur frame, but their interest and curiosity didn’t end there. They were just as much interested in the one who’d found the remains as they were the dinosaur itself and since we’d first given credit to Mary for initially clearing the area of rock and debris, I thought it only fitting to say that she was the one solely responsible for finding it. And so for hours, Vera and I sat and watched as an endless sea of media crowded around my wife, asking questions, taking pictures and requesting her, above all, to pose silent and smiling, next to her discovery. It wasn’t long before the newspapers began calling the huge cluster of bones by my own dear wife’s first name and soon, everyone was calling this ancient fallen beast, Mary, on her behalf. I suppose that alone would have been enough to give some of us a big head, but it seems to me that some people are just prone to excessive pride while others are not. To quote the great Isaac Newton once more, when he said, “I do not know what others may think of me, but to myself I seem to have been only like a boy playing on the seashore, and diverting myself in now and then, finding a smoother pebble or a prettier shell than ordinary, whilst the great ocean of truth lay all undiscovered before me.” That, in itself seems a good lesson in modesty to learn, considering all that he did for science and math, while still, he wished to remain humble to the public and his peers. My point is, that Mary remained herself throughout the entire ordeal and when her picture appeared in many of the nations important newspapers, all she really wanted to know was, “what’s for dinner?” I suppose what I really mean to say is, that some people never do change, even though they may grow and get wiser, or find something really significant. You might even expect them to change, but Mary just stayed Mary. No better, and no worse for what she’d done.
Back at our hotel room, I suddenly recalled the fortune cookies we’d opened at the restaurant; Wun Hung Low’s when we arrived in Kansas City. Mary had opened the one that read; Exercise caution, the past will reveal itself to you! And little did we know at the time, what an incredible portent that proved to be. “Remember your fortune Mary?” I asked, as we packed our bags and got ready to leave.
“What fortune?”
“You know, the cookies we opened in KC, remember? Yours said the past would reveal itself and it really did. It musta been talking about the T-rex.”
“Gee, I didn’t think a that,” mused Vera. “I guess it didn’t dawn on me because the cookie I got was just a big pain in the ass, remember? Your underwear is up your crack! Now what kinda thing is that ta tell someone, I ask you?”
“But it was true, wasn’t it?” I said. “It’s spooky when you think about it. Mary’s fortune really came to pass. You know, I never had any kind of luck before someone gave me this buckeye,” I added, removing it from my pocket to show the girls. “I really think that this is what’s responsible for everything that’s happened to us.”
“What about Wild Bill’s ghost?” asked Mary. “What was so great about that? He damn near took ten years off my life!”
“I dunno exactly,” I admitted. “I just feel some kinda connection ta things with this in my pocket. I’m thinking it just lets events happen that normally would never have happened.”
“Like a genie in a bottle?” said Vera.
“I guess you could say that, but this thing never stopped at just three wishes. I’m thinking it was the luck behind this buckeye that made me rich. It totally changed my life.”
“You mean, Berserky Jerky?” asked Mary.
“Yes! And winning the lotto too. All of it. Hell,” I continued. “I never had any business sense and now look at me... I could buy my own island.”
“It rubbed off on Nova too,” said Mary. “You know what I’m thinking?”
“What’s that,” I asked.
“All this makes me feel like you’re not so bad after all. Like maybe after all the bad luck you had, you were destined to find some good, because...”
“Because what?”
“Because it was just your turn to have some good things happen to you and someone, or something, believes you’re worthy enough. That’s one way of explaining it anyway.”
“So... does it ever come to an end?” I asked both Mary and Vera, worried now that I’d be left on my own to flounder as before, wandering around the streets of Springfield with my last two dollars in my pocket.
“Who knows?” replied Mary. “Do you really wanna know though? That’s kinda like knowing when your life will come to an end, isn’t it? Why don’tcha just relax an treat this like a train ride. Take it to the end of the line and find out where it goes. Don’t worry about it, you’ll find out when you get there.”
“You always did have a way of reducing things to their simplest forms,” I answered. “What about all the hidden meanings here and the strange forces at work? Doesn’t all that intrigue you?”
“Sure, but why bother over analyzing it or worrying about it? Whatever happens, happens. Remember what that girl in the movie; The Wild One said to Marlon Brando?”
“That was the one about the motorcycle gang that takes over a town. What?” I asked, readying myself for my wife’s own, grand finale. “What did she say? Tell me.”
“She asked him; What do you do when you get on your motorcycle? Where do you go? And his answer was; Don’t be square. You gotta wail. You just go.”

Chapter 11

It was about this time I suppose, soon after we got back from our trip, that I commissioned a local artist I met in Eureka Springs, Arkansas, to paint a self portrait of me. I knew of other wealthy people around town who’d done similar things, so I figured why not? And at the risk of seeming pompous or conceited to visitors, I placed the cheerful looking masterpiece on my office wall next to the Coelacanth we’d brought back from Moroni.
Then one day, as I sat at my desk, watching my stock shares in Berserky Jerky rise in value for the umpteenth time, I chanced to look out my window to find Vera, sunning herself on the deck as usual, complete with the vodka gimlet in hand which so often accompanied her. It was then I think, that I began to wonder what it would be like to stay young forever. Not just young though, but young and happy. To be young at heart is great but then, what about the old hairy body I’ll be forced to drag around with me everywhere I go? What about that? I wondered. Is there any way out? I thought, as I fixed my gaze on the image of myself which hung on the wall before me. Hardly, I reasoned, but at the same time, I found myself inadvertently rubbing the top of the buckeye in my pocket, as I toyed with the idea of remaining young and high-spirited forever.
After a week or so of swimming around in the pool and trying to walk off some of the extra pounds I’d been packing on out of sheer laziness and fine food, I got the idea in my head that it would be fun to throw a party for our friends and neighbors and not to have to worry about how much we spent for a change. In the recent past, any extra expense was always of grievous importance but lately, since our finances had changed so drastically, I thought it would be fun to utilize this new found financial freedom and spread around some good cheer. In the meantime, I could think of no other better way to spread good cheer around my own place than to buy myself a present, so I did and a sizeable present it was, too. We should remember though, the wise words of the notable architect, Daniel Burnham who once said, “Make no small plans; they have no magic to stir men’s blood and probably themselves will not be realized.” So I followed his advice and purchased a yacht - the likes of which had never been seen in the Ozark region -at the risk of being slated as ostentatious by some, if not all of my neighbors and friends in the area.
Delivery of this new and expensive toy was set for the day before our party and when it arrived, even I was in awe of its enormity, glamour and appeal. Parked in the yard behind the pool, I can best describe it as a totally separate entity, but a most attractive one. Something like the Taj Mahal or the Space Shuttle; things built by man which stand out from their surroundings because they were meant to and because they are unique. That’s the way this new ship appeared to me, and so because it made such a dramatic impression on those who came into contact with it, I christened it; Ralph, after my accountant, who I believed was at least partially responsible for making it all possible.
Climbing the ship’s ladder; Mary, Vera and myself were anxious to get on board and witness for ourselves what this impeccable, maritime luxury cruiser had to offer. With enough room to sleep six people, its rich dark wood wall paneling, plush carpeting and lush furnishings all gave one the impression that we had never left home, and indeed, in some ways it was even better than home. The bathroom, for instance, was built for a king and on a cold day, you could turn up the heat and never have to deal with the harsh outside air. Marble walls, and black slate floors embellished the space, accented with gold door handles and lavish plumbing fixtures, which all combined to make me feel as though I never wanted to leave. “I’ll just sleep here,” I said to Mary, as I watched her and Vera walk along inside the vessel, touching the smooth surfaces of the walls and furnishings with their hands the way a person might get to know their lover in the dark.
“In the bathroom?” asked Vera.
“Sure, I’ll just deck out in the tub with a blanket and a pillow.”
“Not tonight,” replied Mary. “We’ve gotta get costumes for the party tomorrow night. It’s a masquerade party isn’t it?”
“Ahhh... the whole thing’s a masquerade if you ask me,” I said, feeling just a bit out of step with some of the wealthy older families that were going to be there the next evening.
“Yeah, but you don’t have ta be yourself tomorrow,” said Vera. “You can be anyone you wanna be. Best of all, you don’t even have to act yourself. It’s like being buzzed without actually getting high, you get me?”
“I think so,” I answered, not wanting to appear thick headed for a lack of understanding. “You mean I can barf on someone’s shoe an not have’ta get all apologetic an upset over it?”
“Yeah, I guess you could say that,” replied Vera, and doing her best to keep from being rude - a task in itself for Vera - she turned away with a slightly worried look on her face, scratching her head, caught up in a rare moment in which other more important things seemed to occupy her mind other than berating me, as was usually her way.

It’s funny how some of your true personality can show through the superficial concealment of a costume, even when you’re trying hard to maintain anonymity behind your mask. Mary looked so natural in the Jane Goodall uniform she wore at the dinosaur park that she decided to put it on again for the party. The only thing different about what she had on this time, was a change in hats... from the wide brim sun hat she wore when she found Mary, her T-rex counterpart, to a safari hat, which I believed to be the better choice, considering how well it went with the beige shirt and matching shorts she wore.
After seeing her dressed in it, the three of us decided it would be a good idea to walk around in our costumes and get used to them, avoiding some of the awkward feelings that sometimes accompany a fully grown adult who parades around in a Halloween-like atmosphere.
Vera - as brazen as she was - felt most comfortable in her string bikini, so that’s exactly what she wore. Just to add a bit of charm and dignity to this ensemble, she bought a shiny, glamorous gold mask which went very well with the six inch, gold, spiked high heels she put on and when she announced, “Look at me! I’m going as a stripper!” I replied by saying, “I never would’ve known.”
As for myself, I had decided to attend the party dressed as a pig and when Mary and Vera both asked me why, all I could really respond with was a simple, “I don’t know. I just feel like dressing up like a pig. You think people will think it’s funny?”
“I reckon,” answered my wife, but you better run if someone thinks of barbecuing.
“Don’t worry ‘bout me,” I said. “Vera’s the hot dish I’m worried about. What if one a the neighbors gets fresh? What then? She’s practically naked.”
“Imma big girl now an I can take care a myself,” responded Vera. “So lay off or I’ll smoke your ears an give ‘em to the neighbors dog.”
“My, my,” I replied. “Touchy, aren’t we?”

Later that night - as the party was set to begin - I decided to play doorman, mainly to find out what kind of reactions my costume would get. I have to admit, there were some pretty strange costumes, but mine was definitely one of the strangest. It didn’t always get laughs, but there was a certain shock value to it and in general, responses ranged from, “Oh my God! Where did you get that?” To... “You finally found yourself, old boy!” So if wild reactions were what I was looking for, I suppose I succeeded, but there was another more involved reason that I had for wearing the costume, a reason that even I couldn’t quite put my finger on. A reason that lingered in the back of my mind like somebody’s dinner that wasn’t quite ready to eat yet. Although it steadily cooked, it was still anyone’s guess as to what exactly was in the pot. Oh well, I thought to myself, as I opened the door for our guests. Whatever it is that’s bugging me will surface sooner or later. It’s probably no big deal anyway. And so, after I determined to stifle any remaining deep thoughts with the proper amounts of alcohol, I found it much easier to forget any and all of those things that might even be loosely described as a problem, and started to really enjoy myself. I ran around the house, inside and out, showing off my new yacht and reveled in the superficial humor behind my costume. After all, it did get some laughs and to a party animal like myself, that was the whole point... or was it?
As the party livened up, a few of the ladies took liberties with me and either honked my snout, yanked on my curly tail or played with my ears, but I thought that was only to be expected and besides, I really didn’t mind. In fact, I was enjoying the attention I was getting when I realized I had lost track of both Mary and Vera. Walking with my scotch in hand, on my way to the kitchen, I passed some of the more notable costumes that were present that evening. Along the way, I met a most voluptuous devil, who was a lady who would have looked good no matter what she wore, or didn’t wear; another lady dressed as Cinderella; the Wookie from Star Wars; the carnivorous plant from the movie, Little Shop Of Horrors and the list goes on... but in the condition I was in, I’m lucky to have remembered as much as I have.
When I finally did get to the kitchen, I found my wife engaged in a lively conversation concerning her last paleontological dig with the robot, C3PO and a nineteen-twenties version gangster, complete with pinstripe suit, spats and Thompson sub-machine gun. “I can’t believe you found a T-rex!” I overheard the robot say from a short distance away.
“Well... my husband helped,” replied my wife. “You might say he... came through in a pinch.”
“How in the world did he know it was there?” inquired the gangster, interested in how we’d come across such a discovery in the first place.
“It’s funny,” said Mary. “You see, when he came over to where I was digging, he sat down on this ledge that I’d cleared off and when he did, he got a tooth right in the...”
“Hey, Mary!” I shouted from the threshold of the kitchen door, just as she was about to relate the most embarrassing part of the story - embarrassing for me, anyway. “How ya do’in?” I asked, unintentionally letting my Chicago dialect show through. “I lost track of you somewhere between this scotch and my last Cosmo-politan. What’s go’in on?”
“Oh nothing,” she answered with a smile. “I was just talking about how we discovered Mary and how we both kind of shared in finding it.”
“Sounds like a real pain in the rump, don’t it porky!” quipped the gangster, suddenly and without warning.
“Yeah,” added C3PO. “You are what you eat buddy! Haw, haw, haw...” he continued, laughing hysterically while bending stiffly at the waist, barely moving his thin robotic arms as the real robot might have done.
“Well Mary,” I said to my charming wife, trying to ignore the grilling I’d just received. “I just wanted to know how you were doing. I guess three’s a party an I’m just a nosey piggy.”
“Oh, they’re just having fun,” answered my wife. “Why don’t you show everyone your new boat? You’re not tired of it already, are you?”
“No, I’m not tired of it,” I replied. “That’s a good idea. I’ll go back to the boat an hang out. Who knows,” I added. “I may find someone who appreciates me more for who I am, rather than what I represent.” And off I went, walking aimlessly around the house, until I remembered that I still didn’t know where Vera was, and mainly out of curiosity mixed with a pinch of jealousy, I continued my search.
After I couldn’t find Vera in the house, I went outside to the pool area to have a look for her, but there was still no sign of her anywhere. At last, I got the idea that she might be on the boat, since that was the only place left that I hadn’t looked for her and I climbed the ships ladder to see what I could see. When I boarded Ralph, I could hear voices coming from below deck but I couldn’t see anything, as all the lights had been turned off, so I turned them back on as I went and followed a trail of hastily removed clothing until I found the source of the matter. There in the master suite, wrapped around each other like two sex-crazed snakes was Vera and someone else I’d never seen before. Slightly startled by the bright ceiling light I’d switched on, but nowhere near enough to have caused them to stop what they were doing, I sat down in a nearby chair - probably driven out of jealousy - and calmly took a sip from the drink I’d been holding. Looking up from his topside position, momentarily taking notice of me, Vera’s new found friend suddenly spoke and gave me what little he could spare of his mind - or a piece, as they say... “Get lost piggy,” he muttered, and swiftly resumed fondling and kissing my shameless maid.
“Whadda you mean, ‘get lost piggy’? You’re on my boat, in my bedroom, on my bed, with my maid, and you’re telling me to get lost? Somehow, I don’t see the logic in that.” But in the heat of passion, my unwelcome guest proved reluctant to observe my reasoning and once more, tried to drive me out of my own room. “You still don’t get it, do ya porkchop? Can’t ya see, we’re busy?” I have to say, all that these last insistent remarks had done was make me even angrier and I had reached the limit of my patients necessary to seek restitution. It was then that I decided it was time to break out the big guns... figuratively speaking of course and replied by asking. “How would you like ta be escorted out of here by two of the meanest bastards you ever met, an tossed out into the street the same way you came into this world... naked an stupid? I could arrange that for you if you like. Believe me, it’s no problem.”
Getting up from the bed, Vera’s unrepentant boyfriend finally began to gather his clothes by following the trail they’d made in reverse and without further sarcasm, left the premises and was never heard from again - as far as I know, anyway. But Vera, more than a little frustrated at having been interrupted in the middle of one her favorite natural pastimes, proved to be another problem to me of a type I hadn’t anticipated...
“Do you always barge in on people like that? Couldn’t you at least knock? Don’t I have any privacy here?”
“I, I... I don’t know what to say, Vera,” I stammered, caught off guard by Vera’s sudden argument. “I was just looking for you. Just making sure you were all right. Then I found this trail of clothes on the boat and ended up following them. One thing just led to another, I swear, I didn’t plan this out. I didn’t know this would happen, really.”
“Yeah sure,” she continued, while fastening the tiny top of her swimsuit around her large, natural breasts, stuffing them into their respective, confining spaces and exhaling with relief at having successfully contained them. “I’ll never see him again,” she muttered. “Thanks ta you.”
“Did you really want to?” I asked her. “I mean, considering his demeanor, I think you could do better. He didn’t seem to be very nice.”
“I wasn’t gonna marry the bum,” she replied. “Oh, c’mon. Let’s get back ta the party. All’s well that ends well, right?”
“No hard feelings then?” I said, in an effort to maintain our friendship.
“Yeah, sure,” she said. “Lets get back ta the party. We’re miss’in it stand’in here gabbing.” And when we got back to the house, we spent the rest of the evening trying to guess who the real people were behind their masks, conferring with each other from time to time as to who’s guess was the better; swimming in the moonlit pool - as Vera was already conveniently dressed for it - and swimming in alcohol, of all types and mixes, which made the party all that much more memorable, or difficult to remember, I can’t remember which.

One thing I do remember, is that while sitting in my study the morning after the party, I glanced up at my self-portrait just to have a look at it as I sometimes do, and the strangest, most eerie thing occurred. Looking away in disbelief, I thought that surely what I’m witnessing must be a visual hallucination brought on by insufficient sleep and all the alcohol I’d consumed the night before. So I walked to the kitchen, made myself a very strong cup of coffee, stretched to get my blood circulating and came back to my desk, only to find that what I’d thought I imagined previously, wasn’t illusory at all, but real.
Walking to my painting, I lifted it up and off it’s hook to get a closer look. Bringing it to the window, I let the natural light of the sun illuminate the portrait as if to add a visual and literal clarity to the subject, but as the bright rays of light poured down into the colors and carefully delineated lines of the painting, they only served to show more clearly what I feared had come true... that the painting had actually changed from what the artist had originally created. But how could this be? I wondered. Paintings don’t change by themselves, yet this one had, and to make matters worse, it’d changed in the most embarrassing ways. All that I was left to think, was that someone who’d attended the party had played some nasty joke on me and altered the portrait, but who? And if so, when? As I was present in the house for most of the party, I couldn’t imagine how anyone, even an expert, could have made these additions - as unflattering as they were, or in any case - in such a brief time frame. Then what was I left to think? That the painting had altered itself? And again, I was forced by simple deduction to draw the same conclusion as I had before. But how so? How could this be possible?
My thoughts ran in circles and I sat back down in my desk chair, as if to gain a new, different perspective on the matter. Finally, I resolved to put the painting in the attic, until I could think of something better to do with it. The way it looked now, I didn’t want to let Mary and Vera see it, or anyone else for that matter. So when I brought it to the attic, I placed an old sheet over it and stuffed it away in a far corner facing the wall, where I could be sure, no one would see it. And just to make doubly sure, I locked the door behind me and put the key safely out of sight in my desk drawer, where I could be that much more confident, that no one would ever find it.

Determined to at least try to get the problem of my unusual painting off my mind, I decided that what I needed to do was to buy myself a present. But then I thought, why stop at just one gift to myself, when two such expensive toys might have twice the power of anti-anxiety over me. So I immediately thought of calling my accountant to ask him if he knew where I could go to buy what I had in mind. Picking up the phone, I eagerly typed out the numbers for Ralph’s toll free hotline. An easy to remember; 1-800-BIG-MONY. After a few rings, Ralph’s secretary picked up and answered... “Good afternoon, Ralph Uppins accounting. How may I help you?”
“Hi Ima, it’s Reid. How’re you do’in? Long time no see.”
“Oh, hello Mr. Laurence. Good to hear from you. How was your vacation? I saw Mary in the paper! You must be very proud of her.”
“Oh yeah, I am,” I said. “She’s always been the one to find stuff like that. Anything from little fossils an cool pieces of quartz to dinosaurs. You name it, she’s found it. You know, once we took a walk an she found an old tin cup dating from the civil war. Who knows what she’ll find next? Maybe a new husband.”
“Not if she has to dig him up, Mr. Laurence!”
“Touché Miss Willing. Ya got me there. Hey, is Ralph around? I need ta ask ‘im a quick question.”
“Hold on, I’ll get ‘im for you,” she replied. And sitting there at my desk with my cell phone to my ear, I listened to the radio station that Ralph used to fill time gaps for clients who called in and ended up waiting. Just then, the radio disc jockey started talking about the most expensive restaurant that Springfield Missouri had to offer... the extremely well known; Chez What. I have to say, he made the place sound so good, I thought I’d surprise Mary and Vera and take them there that night. What the heck, it didn’t matter to me what I spent anyway, and to me, going to a French restaurant is like being on a diet; the portions are so tiny. So how could I gain more weight from it? I’d probably lose a couple pounds. But just as I was thinking of what to order, Ralph got on the phone and interrupted my reverie...
“Hey buddy, ya caught me at lunch,” he said, munching on something in my ear as he spoke. “What kin I do for ya? You’ll have’ta talk fast, my steak’s gett’in cold. Damn!” I heard him say, suddenly disgusted with something. “Excuse me Reid, could’ya hold on a second...” Then I heard him put the phone down hard on his desk, as he started yelling for Miss Willing to come in. “Ima! My potato’s cold, could’ya warm it up a bit?”
“Right away Mr. Uppins,” she answered. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”
“Yes,” he replied. “We’ll talk about that later. By the way, has my wife called?”
“She did, but I told her you were busy. That’s what you wanted me to say, wasn’t it?”
“You got it,” he said in reply to her. “Sorry about that interruption Reid,” he continued, as he returned his attention to me. “I hate cold food don’t you? Anyway, what can I do you for?”
“Well, it’s like this Ralph,” I began. “I’m gett’in tired a the same old car I been driv’in, an I was thinking about buying something just a little more special. That’s why I came to you, I thought you might know what’s go’in on in the car business.”
“Just what did’ja have in mind?” answered Ralph, suddenly gaining interest in a conversation that included cars, as the absence of any loud chewing noise was a dead giveaway.
“Oh... I don’t know. Something expensive.”
“Like?”
“Well, I don’t know exactly Ralph, that’s why I called.”
“Sounds kinda vague Reid, but as far as I know, the priciest car you can get in Springfield right now is probably... a Mercedes-Benz. Does that ring your bell?”
“Tell you the truth, Ralph. I was looking for some-thing in a little higher price range. Is there anything like that around here?”
“Not in this town, buddy. You’d have’ta special order it. You’re talk’in big money. You mind my ask’in how much you’re fix’in ta spend?”
“Sky’s the limit Ralph. You’re only on this earth for a short while. I’m just look’in to make myself happy, you know? Some odd things have been going on lately.”
“Well, if that’s the way you feel about it, why don’cha buy a Saleen. It’ll set ya back some though.”
“How much?”
“More than half a mil. I hear it’s a rocket on wheels too. Damn thing’s got 600 horses under the hood. You better be careful in it, or it’ll get away from you. Still want it?”
“Yeah Ralph, I do. Can you order one up in silver for me?”
“Sure thing, if I get ta drive it when it arrives!”
“That’s fine,” I replied. “I’ll drive it over to your office when it gets here. You know my address right?”
“Yep, unless ya went an bought a new house on me! Later buddy,” he added, with a touch of urgency in his voice. “Gotta run now. I’m meet’in some fella’s for lunch.”
“But I thought you just ate?” I asked.
“Oh that was nuth’in. Just an appetizer. Catch ya later.” But when Ralph hung up, I couldn’t help but to continue thinking over what he said about his steak being ‘just an appetizer’. Wow, I thought. He sure can pack it away. Sounds a little piggish to me but then, who am I to judge? After all, I had just finished putting an order in for the most expensive new car in the world... the Saleen S7. More expensive than the Porsche Carrera GT, or even the grandiose Mercedes-Benz SLR Mclaren.

It wasn’t difficult for me to talk my wife and employee into going out to dinner. In fact, I can’t imagine anyone who wouldn’t want to go, since it beats slaving over a hot stove by a long shot and anyway, we were steadily running out of canned convenience foods for Vera to open up, so I figured the idea had occurred to me at a very good time, considering the alternative.
Everything about the Chez What was fancy and pricey. From the moment we pulled up, we were surrounded by people whose job it was to make us feel special. All I had to do was pull up to the door and let the valet whisk my car away to a waiting space in the lot. From there, we were ushered to a pleasant corner table in the dimly lit eatery, where the ambience was perfect for the quiet dining experience one was led to believe awaited them.
Seated there, captivated by the attention we were given, we hadn’t long to wait before a neatly dressed waiter arrived at our table to give us menus and ask us if we’d prefer a drink before dinner. “Sure thing,” I answered and automatically, I ordered a scotch on the rocks, but not just any scotch. It had to be the best the restaurant had to offer. Turning to my wife, I asked her if she’d like some wine with her dinner, which was kind of like asking Jethro from the Beverly Hillbilly’s if he’d like another serving of granny’s dee-luxe ‘Possum Pie. “Ohhh, of course,” she cooed and without hesitation, I calmly asked the waiter to see the wine list, but almost as quickly as I’d asked, I retracted my decision, thinking instead to make the order as plain and simple as possible, while at once, letting it be known that the money we were spending was truly, of no consequence. “Just bring us the most expensive red wine in the place. We’ll take a bottle, please.”
“But sir,” replied our waiter. “I think it only wise of me to inform you that the cost of the bottle may be somewhat... prohibitive.”
“Oh really,” I remarked. “Just how much are we talk’in?”
“Our best Cabernet Sauvignon is a nineteen-seventy Chateau Lafite Rothchild, direct from the vineyards of Southern France and sells for six-hundred dollars a bottle.”
“Hmm,” I muttered, and after a few seconds of pause, I said, “tell you what. Why don’tcha bring us two, ‘cause who knows, one might not be enough. And here,” I added. “Let this serve as an example of my good intentions,” and handed him a neatly folded fifty dollar bill because after all, I couldn’t have him thinking we were just common riffraff, who intended to look for a back door to the place and run out on their bill.
“Very good sir,” he replied, and went off to the cellar of the restaurant to search for the bottles of our choice.

While the waiter was gone, we opened up our menus to get a feel for what the place had to offer. They had just about everything that you could imagine, but being the creature of habit that I was, I decided to order something that looked familiar to me and settled on the smoked salmon. “It outta taste like lox an bagels, right Mary?” I said. “You think I can get some cream cheese with it?”
“I have no idea,” she replied. “You know, I bet you could get a Brie that you could use as a spread. That should do it.”
“Okay, so that’s it for me,” I answered. “What’re you gonna have Vera? The menu’s huge, ain’t it?”
“Oh, I think I’ll go with a cheeseburger, fries, an a coke.”
“That’s it?” I said in amazement. “We come all the way out here to the Chez What, the fanciest place in southwest Missouri, an you’re gonna order a burger an fries? Are you kidd’in me?” But just as Mary was about to admonish me, or tell me to mind my own business - whichever came to mind first I suppose - the waiter arrived back at our table with the wine that we’d ordered, popped open one of the bottles and poured out a sample from the dust covered relic. Offering it to me, I couldn’t help but remark that the bottle looked so old, it could’ve passed for something my wife might’ve dug up on one of her fossil hunts, but I’d finally reached the limit of Mary’s patients and she responded with a sharp, well placed pinch to my right thigh. “Ouch!” I remarked unsurprisingly. “What’ja do that for?”
“Mind yer manners buster,” she said softly. “This isn’t a place to appear uncouth.”
“Okay, okay,” I said and after nodding my head in accordance, accompanied by a smile to the waiter to show that the wine was indeed, well beyond my expectations, I held up my glass and proposed a toast. “To Mary and Vera,” I said, as we clinked each of our lead crystal glasses together,” and to the new car I just bought.”
“The what?” asked Mary. “What’ did you say? Did you buy a car?”
“Yeah, I guess I did Mary. I wanted it to be a surprise, but I opened up my big mouth anyway, didn’t I,” I said, gulping down the contents of the glass. “Damn nice one too. You’ll love it.”
“What kind of car?” asked Vera. “Those new fuel saving cars are cool. They run on practically nothing.”
“Well, this isn’t exactly a fuel saving type of car. It’s a Saleen S7!” I said. “Isn’t that exciting!”
“I wet my pants,” replied Mary, facetiously. “Some-thing tells me it doesn’t sound like something we can take on vacation.”
“Oh, you’ll love it, I’m sure Mary.”
“Saleen?” Questioned Vera. “Sounds like a kinda boob job ta me.” But as the interest in my new car began to wane and thoughts again drifted to visions of burgers and lox, Vera and I - largely out of curiosity - began questioning my wife to find out what it was she had in mind to order. “Oh, I think I’ll start off with the Tomates farcies a la languedocienne and move on to the Sucettes de Volaille and finish up with the Bavarois au Cassis et aux Framboises. That’s all, nothing special really.”
“Huh?” I muttered. “What?”
“Go for it,” replied Vera. “Here’s to good friends,” she added, raising her glass in appreciation of our company.

Chapter 12

Dinner was very good and I might add, I recommend the place highly to anyone visiting Springfield. The only thing that caused concern in my mind, was the weird portrait I’d stashed away in our attic and how it’d appeared to change in such a strange way. So when we got home from dinner that night, I left Mary and Vera alone in our home entertainment room watching the movie Rocky XV - complete with tortilla chips, salsa and freshly made popcorn - found the flashlight and attic key I kept in my desk and walked carefully up the steps to the attic, like a ghost hunter in the dark.
Wondering what to expect, I removed the door key from my pocket and slowly turned it in the lock until the soft click of the mechanism rang out in my imagination with all the resounding force of a gong.
Walking through the threshold of the door, I trained my flashlight on a path before my feet and made my way to the dark corner of the attic where my self-portrait sat, covered by a sheet, facing the wall. Do I really need to know? I thought, as I got nearer. I could just leave it the way it is, covered and turned to the wall. In time, I’d forget it was there and simply go on with my life, frivolously spending my time and money in ways that I believed made me a happier, more content person because, when I thought about it, I deserved it. Before I won the lottery, I didn’t have a pocket to piss in, but afterward, I had pockets galore. In fact, if I were to continue in that vein, I’d be soaked through with pee, but that is only a mere technicality, and a metaphor at that, I think.
My curiosity growing and getting the better of me, I pulled the artwork from its corner location and slowly removed the white sheet that concealed it. Then, as I shined the flashlight directly on it, I realized once again that my worst fears had come to pass and that the painting - although locked away, covered and hidden in the dark - had changed once more. Clearly, what were once plainly my ears in the portrait, had by some peculiar metamorphosis, changed to something that more so resembled... how best do I explain this atrocity? This abomination to man and to God... but the ears of some beast. Yes, beast. Not human at all, but the ears of some animal, I knew not what.
But that wasn’t all by a long shot. The nose in the portrait and even my facial bone structure had changed so dramatically, that it was becoming difficult to tell that the painting had ever been a portrait of myself at all!
Gathering the sheet in my shaking hand, I covered the painting and turned it to face the wall as I’d found it and doing my best to bury its memory in my mind, I left the attic and locked the door behind me, vowing to keep this awful event in my life a secret for as long as I was able. No one would believe me anyway, I thought. Mary would say that I must’ve changed it myself, and that this was just some strange prank of mine, but I knew better. Only I knew the frightening truth, and I also knew that I must keep this secret to myself, for as long as I possibly could, or people might think me insane.

The next day, I awoke and walked to the nearest mirror to assure myself that in reality, my physical appearance hadn’t changed and as I stared into my reflection and ran the fingers of my right hand over my bristly, morning beard, I relaxed at the sight of my own true self. A self, or identity that I’d been familiar with for a very long time, and a self that I’d learned to come to grips with through the years.
What was this monstrosity in the attic above? I asked myself, standing before the mirror. A little known impostor? A figment of my imagination? A reflection of a troubled mind? But what problem or problems had I? Were there things that even I didn’t understand about myself which haunted me, making me mistake a thing which could not have been real for something that was? Only time would tell, I thought. But for now, I had only enough time to try to make myself happy. To make myself forget and to cheer myself up beyond reproach. Whether this misfortune be self-imposed, or a violation by some paranormal source, whatever the case may be, I felt I had only one life to live, so I decided then and there to get on with it.
I had an idea in mind. An idea that might cause a stir with the neighbors, but nevertheless, one that I felt I had to pursue and I got on the phone with a sculptor from Kansas City. What I wanted to do, was to place statuary around my pool, but no ordinary sculpture would do. I wanted to make my house the envy of all, and to do that, I borrowed ideas from none other then the ancient Roman emperor; Hadrian.
I commissioned a sculptor by the name of Frank Nero to design seven statues, representing each of the seven major gods and goddesses of old Rome and whether or not they were depicted with clothes on, or partially clothed, or completely naked was of no concern to me. My whole point was to make myself as comfortable as I possibly could and if borrowing from the past proved a vehicle to this, than so be it. If my neighbors thought it odd or ostentatious of me, then that was something I’d come to grips with at the proper time. For now, I thought, Zeus - or Jupiter as the Romans called him - would help me rule over my palace (as it was fast becoming), and all of those people who didn’t like what I was doing just didn’t matter worth a darn because, as I sincerely thought, Reid Laurence had more important matters to think about. More urgent dinner engagements, and more lavish presents to buy!

When Mr. Nero came out to look at my pool, he wasn’t entirely impressed. I still hadn’t moved The Ralph, my boat, to its proper mooring at Table Rock Lake and even I knew that it was sticking out like a sore thumb. “That thing out there...” he said to me, groping for words and in his own strange way, trying not to offend me.
“You mean, my boat? Isn’t it great! Imported wood paneling, beautiful furniture, the works.”
“Yes, that thing,” he answered, pointing to one of the most expensive yachts that anyone had ever laid eyes on in the Ozark region. “It won’t be staying, will it? I mean...it’s not a permanent lawn fixture, is it?”
“Oh, no,” I answered reassuringly. “That boat’s go’in ta Table Rock Lake just as soon as I get around to it.”
“Well, if you ask me,” replied Mr. Nero. “The sooner, the better. I can hardly imagine what the pool area will look like with that thing looming there like a giant...”
“A giant what?” I asked naively.
“Penis,” he remarked. “It looks like a giant penis. I was trying not to offend you, but my patience is wearing very thin. I need room to work to get a better idea of what my design will look like in its finished form and I can’t work around obstructions.”
“That’s fine. Frank,” I answered. “Can I call you Frank? Is that okay?”
“Yes, you may.”
“Don’t worry about the boat. If it bothers you that much, I’ll move it tomorrow. How’s that?”
“Excellent,” replied Mr. Nero. “Here is my card,” he said, as he handed me a business card from his wallet which for all practical purposes, looked very much like a penis. Not wanting to offend him, I took the card and politely put it in my wallet. “Call me once you’ve moved it, will you? And now that you know how I prefer to work,” he added quickly. “There should be no difficulties between us.”
“Great Frank,” I answered. “I’ll call you around noon sometime. Is that okay?”
“That will do nicely,” he said and embarked on the trip back to his car, leaving me wondering to myself about the shape of the card in my wallet. Was it just my imagination, I thought. Or is this card just a wallet-sized wiener?
After the sculptor left, I started looking through the yellow pages for someone who would come out and get The Ralph and move it safely to its dock for me. But the pages of movers were endless and confusing and after a while, I began calling numbers willy-nilly. Finally, I came to a place called; Bowl Movers, whose motto was simply; If it just won’t budge, call Bowl...For all your movement needs! Quick! Fast! Painless! And I settled on them. After all, anyone with a big enough truck could move the darn thing, so I didn’t see what the big deal was and decided to give it a try...
“Good afternoon, Bowl Movers. How may I direct your call?” came a lady’s voice over the phone.
“Uh, I’m not sure,” I replied. “I’m looking for someone to help me move my boat to its dock. Do you do that kind of thing?”
“A boat?” she asked incredulously. “What kind of boat?”
“Well...it’s, it’s a kind of a...”
“Is it bigger than a John Boat?” she asked, interrupting me before I could get the words out to describe it to any great length.
“Ah, yes. Yes it is,” I replied. “It’s definitely bigger then a John Boat.”
“Is it bigger than a Bass Boat?” she asked in the same vein.
“Yes, it’s bigger than a Bass Boat. It’s about the size of a...”
“Hold on one minute please, I’ll get my supervisor,” she interjected, cutting me off just as I was about to tell her how big the thing actually was, which was really starting to frustrate me. Slowly but surely, I got the feeling that she was just one of those people who regularly talked over others, never letting them say what it was they had on their minds to say and those are some aggravating people, to say the very least.
Hanging on the phone, listening to the office radio play the old rock song; Crystal Ship by The Doors, I waited for the supervisor to answer and began trancing out, mesmerized by the droning, melodramatic effect of Jim Morrison’s lyrics...

The Crystal ship, is being filled
A thousand girls, a thousand thrills
A million ways to spend your time,
When we get back, I’ll drop a line...

Boy, I thought, a bunch of girls and thrills sure sounded good to me at the time, but just as I had successfully envisioned myself on board such a vessel of dreams and wishes-come-true, I was shocked back to this world by a sudden and curt, “This is Miss Otis, how may I help you?”
“It’s about my boat,” I began. “As I was telling the last person on the phone...”
“That would be Miss Figsby.”
“Alright then,” I said. “Miss Figsby, whatever.”
“Who am I speaking with?” she asked, with a note of irritation to her voice.
“My name’s Reid, Reid Laurence. But I...”
“Here at Bowl Movers, Mr. Laurence, we do not refer to our employees as ‘whatever’. We maintain the utmost respect to employees and clientele alike, and do you know which of those is the most important to Bowl Movers, Mr. Laurence?”
“Huh, which? Which of what?”
“Which is the most important to us? Our employees, or our clients?”
“Uh, if I had to guess... I’d say, the customers, right?”
“Wrong. Because without happy employees, Mr. Laurence, there would be no Bowl Movers. Do you understand?”
“Uh, yes, I think so. I just wanted to know if you could move my boat Miss Otis. Honest, I meant no disrespect.”
“A boat, really. And just how big is this boat?”
“Well, it’s...”
“I’m very busy, Mr. Laurence. Do you have length and width dimensions? Is there something we can go by? We need numbers. Numbers are very important to us.”
“All I know for sure is, that it’s a really big boat,” I said. “You’ll need a big semi to move it. That’s the way it was delivered, anyway.”
“Alright Mr. Laurence. I can send a mover out next week to evaluate the situation. Will someone be home next Tuesday?”
“Oh gosh no, Miss Otis. I mean, yes, I’ll be home, but next Tuesday will be way too late. I need someone to move it right away, by tomorrow morning, at the very latest.”
“Oh my,” she said softly into the phone. “Tomorrow morning... that doesn’t give us much time does it? I suppose we could make it a rush order, but we charge twenty percent more for such short notice.”
“Whatever, I mean... whatever the cost, I don’t care. When can I expect him?”
“Mmm, lets see...” she said, checking over appoint-ment details on her computer. “How about ten a.m., will that do?”
“That’s great,” I answered, and hung up my phone, but no sooner had I laid it down on my desk, then another call came in requiring my careful attention. “Hello,” I answered, in one of those obnoxious moods I get into when things are going right. “You’ve reached the law offices of attorneys; We, Cheatum and How. If you’re using a touch tone phone, press “1” for English, or “2” para Espanol.”
“Huh?” I heard over the phone. “Is this 417-878-REID or isn’t it?”
“Oh, sorry,” I said. “Yeah, that’s me.”
“Well ah got a car for a Mr. Reid Laurence. Is that you?”
“Yes sir!,” I replied, anxious to hear the news. “What can I do you for?”
“Would you like us to deliver it tomorrow? Are you gonna be home?”
“You know it!” I said, as I imagined myself behind the wheel of my new Saleen S7. “I’m ready whenever you are!”
“Alright, tell you what. We’re on the road now, but we can make it there by tomorrow at about ten in the morning. Will that do?”
“Oh that’s tremendous!” I said. “Just bring it in, I can’t wait.”
“See you then,” replied the caller, and hung up the phone, leaving me in new car heaven. And as I imagined the beautiful lines of the Saleen’s exterior, the look and feel of the car’s smooth leather seats and richly appointed interior, I sat down at my desk in a heap of bliss and joy. All at once though, I realized that I had two things going on at the same time on the very next day. That shouldn’t pose a problem, I thought. Just a pick up and a drop off. These are professionals, I reasoned. They know what they’re doing. Tomorrow will move like clockwork.

The next day, my new car arrived as promised on the back of a trailer pulled by a big pick-up truck. It was covered in beige, protective canvas and I couldn’t tell exactly what it looked like until the driver brought me over to it and revealed it, as a waiter might have proudly and dramatically revealed a perfect pheasant under glass.
It was awesome. My jaw dropped as the driver opened the door of the car and started it up for the first time. The sound of the perfectly tuned seven-liter engine, coupled to twin turbos, sent a cold chill running down my spine and I watched, as he carefully backed it down the trailer’s ramp. Finally, having descended to the ground, I walked up and stood close to the car for the first time and ran my hand over its perfect silver coat and magnificently styled lines and curves. This really was the car of my dreams, I thought.
Opening the driver side door, I got in and gently pressed down on the accelerator. Listening to the engine come to life, taking in the oxygen around it through a specially designed port in its roof, turning this commonly regarded element into an internal rage of fire and brimstone and letting it out as if to say, let’s go... if you’ve got the nerve.
It was just about at that time - just as I was ready to put it in reverse and take it for a test drive, when who should appear but two drivers from Bowl Movers, ready to take my boat to its dock at Table Rock Lake.
“So that’s it, huh?” asked the short, heavy-set driver named Ted. His name, clearly stitched into the front of the dark blue work shirt he had on was easily readable, and when he turned his back to me to get a better look at the boat, I could read off the company name complete with motto, in large, white letters; Bowl Movers, If it just won’t budge, call Bowl... For all your movement needs! Quick! Fast! Painless!
“That’s some boat mister,” he added. “Oh, here, before I forget...Yo, Jed!” he yelled at the top of his lungs to his co-worker. “Bring out that paperwork fer mister Laurence here, an step on it!”
“What is all this stuff?” I asked, as Jed laid a stack of papers in my outstretched arms that must’ve measured an inch in thickness.
“Just routine paperwork we need ta get yer John Hancock on. Nuth’in much. Insurance forms, waivers, same old thing again an again. Waste a time if ya ask me. We ain’t never had an accident at Bowl, ever. But there’s always that chance, I guess.”
“Well...” I said, hesitating slightly as I thought over the amount of time all this signing would take me. “I guess I’ll get busy on these in my office,” I replied. “Your welcome ta come inside if you like. I can offer you some hot coffee.”
“Sounds good ta me,” answered Ted. But just as the three of us turned to walk inside, the other driver who’d delivered my car came running up to us with a clipboard in his hands.
“Mr. Laurence,” he said, huffing and puffing from his jog. “I almost forgot to give you this.”
“What is it?” I asked, as if I didn’t know.
“Insurance forms, waivers, documents that declare you received the car in good condition, a lotta routine stuff. I just need you ta sign it all before I go.”
“Wow,” I remarked, taking a look at the new stack of paperwork I had to sign off on, easily as big, if not bigger than the previous. “How’d you like ta come in an have some coffee with us? It looks like I’m gonna be busy for awhile.”
“Yeah, I guess that’d be okay,” he answered, shifting his gaze to the ground as he thought. “‘Bout how long you think this’ll take?”
“Well, if my pen don’t run outta ink and I don’t get Carpal Tunnel Syndrome... about an hour an a half to two hours.”
“Ya got any computer games?” asked Jed.
“I’ll see what I can do,” I said, as I opened one of the sets of sliding glass doors to the house and walked diligently to my office, preparing myself for the long haul ahead.

Having completed what felt like a lifetimes worth of paperwork, I bid farewell to the men from Bowl and then to the driver who brought me my car. I was anxious to drive the shiny new mechanical monster which stood idle in my driveway, and as I got in and lowered myself down into its leather-racing seat, I remembered that Ralph had asked me to pick him up. So, as I started the car and revved its mighty engine, I planned the quickest pathway to my accountant’s office and set off down the road. Naively, I pressed down on the accelerator as I would have in any other car, but since the Saleen S7 was not like any other car - familiar to me at least - I ended up smashing the back of my head into the drivers headrest, nearly giving myself whiplash.
Recovering from this duel of man versus machine, I decided it would be a better idea to tread more lightly on this so far, unpredictable gas pedal, before I ran the car off the road and into a ditch, or worse. So, gathering my shaken wits, I headed for Ralph’s office and proceeded with the utmost caution.
Having arrived, I opened the door only to find Miss Willing in a most compromising position, with her back facing the door putting files away in the lowest possible cabinet Ralph could find. He was most subtle when it came to such things, and Miss Willing really believed she was working. I guess it pays to go to college after all. You get to think through some of the most compensating and gratifying problems imaginable.
“Why hello Ima,” I said. “Fancy meeting you here. Is Ralph around?”
“Oh, Mr. Laurence. Yes, he’s here,” she answered, rising to her feet and adjusting her skirt. “I’ll tell him you’re here. What’s new?” she added. “I haven’t seen you in a while.”
“Things are just swell Ima. I got my new car taday an I was just keeping my end of a bargain I made with Ralph. He said he wanted ta test drive it when I got it, so here I be. Why don’t you come along,” I said. “It’ll break up the monotony in the day. Whaddaya say?”
“I’d be delighted,” replied Miss Willing. “What kind of car is it?”
“It’s a Saleen,” I answered proudly. “You don’t see many of ‘em on the street.”
“A what?” she asked. But just as I was about to explain myself, Ralph came out of his office with a napkin tucked into the collar of his shirt and barbeque sauce smeared on his face and chin. “Reid!” he said, still chewing whatever it was he’d been eating for lunch that day. “How’s it going old boy? What can I do you for?”
“I’m here as promised buddy! My car came in today! It’s a stoned gas, I swear. I’ve never driven anything like it. I almost broke my own neck getting here. Damn thing’s a rocket on wheels.”
“I told you so, didn’t I?” answered Ralph, removing the napkin from his shirt to wipe off some of the sauce he somehow knew he was wearing. “Just gimme a minute ta get my hat,” he shouted, and seconds later, he emerged wearing one of the biggest, black cowboy hats I’d ever seen, but I had to admit, it was stylish. “C’mon!” he said. “What’re we wait’in for. Fork over those keys!”
“Is it okay with you if Ima comes along?” I asked, as I put the car keys in Ralph’s outstretched hand.
“Course it is,” he answered. “Put them files down Ima. Nuth’ins wrong with a little excitement every now an then. Let’s go! Times a wast’in.”
Getting into the car was a task for Ralph - being as large a man as he was. It was like trying to stuff a great big foot into a new shoe that was one size too small, but in time, we worked through the problem.
After a few minutes of tucking and squeezing here and there, Ralph finally sat properly in place behind the wheel, contentedly gliding his hand over the smooth surfaces of the dash and interior, acquainting himself with the car and its controls.
Starting the engine, I could tell that Ralph was just as impressed as I was with its roar as it came to life. “Sounds like an angry animal,” he remarked, and rightly so I thought. “Lets see what this baby’ll do,” he added. And off we went into the heavy lunchtime traffic of Springfield, Missouri, narrowly missing a bus; a truck, and a pedestrian, in that sequential order.
“Ralph,” I said, as I held onto my seat for dear life. “Don’tcha think we outta slow down a little?”
“Nonsense ol’ boy,” he replied. “This car was made ta be driven fast.” But as the telephone poles to the side of the road started to look like a picket fence, I began to worry even more about the speed we were traveling at, and peered over Ralph’s right arm to get a look at the speedometer.
“We’re do’in seventy in a forty-five zone Ralph! Humor me an slow down a little, will ya?” But before my crazed financial advisor had time to answer, I searched my pocket for the buckeye I carried with me and brought it out into the open. Putting my thumb over the natural impression on its top surface, I rubbed it this time not just for luck, but for its life saving properties as well, if in fact, any such wish was within its power to grant.
“Okay, okay,” answered Ralph, annoyed with me as if I were unnecessarily nagging him. “How ‘bout I slow down when we get closer ta the light up ahead. There’s a tailgater behind me I wanna shake.” But when I turned to look over my shoulder to see what he was talking about, all I saw was Ima holding on to the back of my seat with a terrible look of fear on her face. There was no other car behind us for what must’ve been at least two city blocks. Probably because no other car could catch up to the Saleen and because of the way Ralph was driving it. But I didn’t have time to complain about the fictitious tailgater of Ralph’s imagination, as the looming danger of a slow moving garbage truck in front of us proved to be much more of a threat at the time. “You’re gonna hit that truck!” I yelled, as I wondered how long it would take my body to die after being decapitated by the monstrous vehicle in our path.
“No problem,” replied my out of control accountant. “The car’s got brakes, am I right? Boy, if I knew you were gonna be this nervous...”
“He’s right Mr. Uppins,” said Ima, from where she sat in the tiny back seat. “Your driving is scaring me too. Can’t you slow down a bit?”
“You’re a couple a killjoys if ya ask me,” replied Ralph, mashing the pedal of the powerful four-wheel disc brakes of the car, causing smoke to rise as we came to a screeching halt, barely a foot from imminent disaster. “I gotta good mind ta get outta this car right here an have you drive, you know that?” he finished saying, as he looked at me squarely in the eye.
“That’s the best idea I’ve heard so far,” I answered, opening the door on my side of the car, allowing us to switch positions. “There are a few more things I wanna do with my life before I walk through those pearly gates people talk about. There ain’t no sense in speeding things up ta get there... get my drift?”
“Yeah,” said Ralph. “I thought I smelled someth’in funny.”
“Amen,” said Ima. “I’m with you Mr. Laurence.”
“Traitor,” replied Ralph.

“I really must be going,” I said to Ralph and Ima as I turned the car around and headed back toward his office near the intersection of Battlefield Avenue and National. “I promised a designer I hired that I’d call him and it’s getting late.”
Stuffing the buckeye back into my pocket as I spoke, I noticed how sweaty my palms had become from the scare Ralph had put us through. I never expected him to turn an innocent afternoon drive into a wild rodeo-like adventure, but then I supposed there were other things I didn’t know about Ralph as well. Things that I thought might be better left undisclosed. Then, in the car, it suddenly occurred to me that although Ralph and I were two different animals, we were still very much alike. Although he liked to drive as if he were the only one on the road, I myself had developed such an alarming penchant for buying myself such presents in the first place, that it was hard for me to blame him for getting carried away, before first faulting myself. “You take care now,” I said to them both, as I pulled the car up to Ralph’s office building. Still shaken, Ima climbed out of the cramped back seat and nodded her head in acknowledgement. But as Ralph worked to pry himself from the confining space of the passenger seat, he only looked at me as if he were about to give me an important piece of advice, straightened his oversized cowboy hat, pointed his finger at me and said, “Now don’t you do nuth’in I wouldn’t do.”
Gazing back at him and after thinking over his words, allowing them to fully register in my mind, I answered with, “that gives me plenty a room ta move, dont’cha think?”
Pushing back the sides of his suit coat, allowing his hands to rest on his hips for emphasis, Ralph grumbled... “wise-ass!”

Chapter 13

“Hi Frank, it’s me Reid,” I said into my cell phone. “You can come over now, the boat’s gone.”
“Are you sure?” he asked.
“Of course I’m sure. The movers pulled away hours ago. Believe me, it’s gone.”
“Alright. I trust that you’re telling me the truth. I’m bringing two statues with me that I know you’ll just adore.”
“Great!” I answered. “Are they your work?”
“Of course they are. Who’s else would they be? I’ll see you in an hour,” he said, and hung up the phone.
Oh boy, I thought. I’ll soon be the proud owner of two original works of monumental sculpture. I’ll be the envy of everyone. Just wait till Mary and Vera see them, I pondered, as I leaned back in my chair and looked out my office window to the pool area and beyond.
I didn’t have long to wait before Frank showed up in a great big pick-up truck with two big, brawny helpers he brought along to do the heavy lifting part of the job. These two guys both looked like they lived in a weight room, but when I saw the size of the statues they’d brought along, I realized what we were up against. They were colossal! At least eight feet tall even without the pedestals they rested on. If Michelangelo were alive today, I’m sure he’d have been jealous. But as I stood in my driveway, gazing at the two stone gods in the back of Frank’s truck, he began shouting orders to his helpers and stirred me from my reverie. “Mario! Luigi! Lets go you two! We don’t have all day.”
“Where’re they go’in?” asked one of the men, as he pulled on one of the statues from its base while the other pushed from its head.
“Just bring them out to the pool deck for now okay?... and whatever you do, don’t drop them!”
“Right Mr. Frank,” replied the other mover.
“...And don’t be sarcastic,” answered Frank. “Remember? We’ve been through this before. And don’t handle either statue by its neck, the granite’s too thin there.”
“Looks like your helpers got their work cut out for them,” I remarked, as Frank took a very brightly colored handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his forehead with it. “Maybe I should lend a hand?” I added.
“Oh, my God,” said Frank, with one hand positioned on his waist and the other tightly pressed to his head, still grasping the handkerchief in a manner of great distaste. “Getting them to do anything right is nearly impossible. Would you mind? A third man in the middle might be a good idea. The statues are very heavy.”
“Not at all,” I said. And as the first of the granite gods began sliding out from the bed of the truck, I ran around it and positioned both of my arms underneath, trying to provide support. I proved to be about as helpful to the two men as tits on a boar, as the head of the great monolithic figure flew past me while its pedestal found its mark with a thud on the driveway, landing with near perfect precision before the mover’s feet.
“‘X’ marks the spot,” I said, impressed with the movers agility at handling such great weight.
“Nu’thin to it,” replied the man who’d pulled the statue from its pedestal. “Ya jus get used to it. Know what I mean?”
“I suppose,” I answered. “Given enough growth hormones and steroids. Anyway, are you Mario or Luigi?” I asked.
“What’s it to ya?”
“Oh, just so I know what to call you I suppose. I won’t sell your information over the Internet, I promise.”
“Wise guy, huh?”
But just as I began to wonder where this little tête-à-tête would lead - probably, I thought, with me taking a swim in my own pool in a concrete overcoat - who should come to my rescue, but our man Frank. “What is taking so long?” he asked, in a whiny voice I knew I could never get used to. “Get the second statue off the truck! C’mon, lets go, chop, chop!”
“I’ll giv’em a chop, chop,” muttered one of the men, as he began pushing the next great mass of stone from its place in the truck. “Yeah,” said his co-worker, just out of Frank’s listening range. “Only problem is... whadda we do with’im after we chop ‘im?”

“Less talk people and more work!” shouted Mr. Nero. “We need to get the statuary to the pool a.s.a.p.!” But Frank and I didn’t have long to wait before the second giant came hurtling from the truck as the first one had, landing in the same precise manner, right in front of the movers feet.
In no time at all, Mario and Luigi had carried both exemplary pieces of Frank’s work from the driveway to the pool deck and set them down in two spontaneous, but likely positions, symmetrically opposed to each other about the long axis of the pool. “What do you think?” asked Frank. “Aren’t they magnificent?”
“They’re great,” I answered, “...but.”
“Never mind,” replied Frank. “I know what you’re thinking. Boy’s!” he shouted. “Don’t get too comfortable now! Reverse them, pronto. I want Zeus where Apollo is and visa versa, got it!”
“Yeah, yeah,” muttered a mover.
“A little less complaining, please! Remember, we talked about that?”
“Sure thing Mr. Frank,” answered the other, drawing attention to Frank’s feminine side by referring to him as, Mr. Frank.
“Honestly, you just can’t get good help,” said Frank, momentarily taking his attention away from his workers to let me know how he felt about the matter. “Nobody cares about their work anymore and nobody gives respect. They just wanna get paid.”
“I know what you mean,” I answered, finding some truth in what Frank had said.
“Now then,” he continued saying, as the statues took on their opposite positions on the concrete deck. “What do you think now?”
“I think they’re terrific, but...”
“Wait. Hold on. I know what you’re thinking,” said Frank. “We need them turned just a little boys, just tangent to the curve of the pool edge.” But as the two men stared at each other, wondering what Frank wanted them to do, the master sculptor lost his patients and, walking over to the statues, gave them each a brief twist, adjusting them as he’d instructed. Looking back at the two bewildered men in disgust, he shook his head, rolled his eyes and walked back to where I was standing to observe the new, slightly corrected positions.
“There now,” he remarked. “That was more difficult then it should’ve been, but we’re done. What do you think now?”
“Ahh, do you want my honest opinion,” I said.
“Of course I do. What in heavens name is it! Tell me.”
“Well... it’s just that.”
“Don’t be shy man, spit it out! What is it?”
“Well... it’s like this Frank. I feel I really must tell you. I don’t want to insult your ability, Frank. The statues look terrific. It’s just that I’ve never seen genitals that huge in my life. They’re bigger than horses Frank. Is that really humanly possible?”
“Alright,” replied Frank. “Boys! He doesn’t like them. We’re taking them back. Load them up, lets go, pronto.”
“No please,” I said. “I didn’t mean it that way. They’re fine Frank. Just leave them in place where they are.”
“And?...” asked the sculptor.
“And what, Frank.”
“What about the other three we spoke of? You do want me to finish, don’t you? Or does my stark yet truthful representation of human anatomy make you jealous enough to cancel our contract?”
“No Frank. I’m not jealous and I don’t wanna cancel. Please finish the other three and deliver them to me when they’re ready.”
“Alright then, I shall,” answered Frank, as he and his helpers left, noticeably angered by my remarks, but what was I to do. He asked me what I thought, so I told him the truth. I guess the whole thing really didn’t matter that much, it’s just that the statues appeared to me to be just a wee bit bigger then life, in more ways then one. But I wasn’t worried about what people thought. To me, the statues were a bold statement I wanted to make and the fact that Frank had endowed them each with larger then life genitalia didn’t make a heck of a lot of difference. After all, they were gods, weren’t they?

When I went inside to tell Mary and Vera to come out and look at our new artwork, they seemed anxious to see it. It just took awhile for them to drop what they were doing and join me poolside. But thirty minutes later - after they’d finished watching the end of whatever important t.v. show it was that Mary had on, and after Vera had slipped into her new designer swimsuit - we were finally all ready to look at, and give opinions on, the new statuary.
Normally, with their sunglasses and wide brim sunhats on, hiding a good deal of their faces, it would have been difficult to judge their thoughts through facial expressions, but as both women stood gazing at the two enormous stone gods, any child could have interpreted the looks on their faces. It’s just that with no children around to help clue me in, I really had no idea at all what they were thinking, so I was forced out of necessity to do the obvious thing, and ask. “Whaddaya think girls? Aren’t they great? Reminds you of a Roman villa, doesn’t it? Just picture yourself, two thousand years ago, swimming around in a pool like this in the lap of luxury. Striking, isn’t it?”
“More like shocking,” blurted my wife. “You can’t be serious Reid. This is embarrassing. Look at them. That’s not a penis, it’s a fire hose.”
“I don’t know...” said Vera. “I don’t mind the looks of ‘em. I’ve just got two questions on my mind.”
“What’s that?” I asked.
“Where can I find a man who’s built like that; and is he married?”

Chapter 14

It’d been awhile since I’d checked on the painting I stuffed away in the attic, and to tell you the truth, I was a little scared to do it, for fear of what I might find. The way it had changed by itself was shocking enough, but what I feared it might be becoming was enough to frighten even the most brave of men. But what was I to do? How could I ignore a situation like this that was going on right under my own nose? Or worse yet, in the attic of my own new house? So one day, when Mary and Vera were out food shopping; clothes shopping; furniture shopping or shopping for shoes... one or the other or all of the above, I got my nerve up and went to my desk drawer for the attic key I’d hidden away, walked slowly up the stairs to the door I’d been keeping locked and ever so cautiously, opened it.
As if in a dream, I moved to the corner of the room where I’d hidden the self-portrait - covered by a sheet - and turned on the ceiling light so that I could be sure that what I was seeing was indeed, the truth and not some visual hallucination, fed by imagination and aided by lack of light.
Sliding the painting from its position, I leaned it against the wall and carefully removed the sheet. Astonished at what I saw, my sudden and instantaneous reaction was to destroy the awful monstrosity and winding up my arm, I put my fist right through the canvas, causing a huge tear through its rough center. Then, as I walked backwards, taking in the terrible incident like the scene of a crime or some horrible accident, I tripped over my own two feet, hitting my head on the floor of the attic and knocking myself out cold, for exactly what length of time, I cannot say.

When I came to, I found Mary and Vera standing over me with their hands over their faces in tears, doing their best not to look me in the eye and acting as if I’d been hurt much more then I could ever know. “I fell,” I said, “but I’m okay now, really.”
“Oh no,” muttered my wife. “He doesn’t know.”
“Doesn’t know what?” I asked. “What are you talking about?”
“Look,” replied Vera, handing me a mirror from a make-up kit in her purse. “Look at your face... You’ve changed. I don’t know how or why, but your face has changed horribly.”
“Oh my God!” I gasped in astonishment. “My face! My face!” I screamed. “I’ve become a creature, an animal, a... a... pig! I’ve got the face of a pig! Do something Mary! What happened to me! This must be a dream. Tell me I’m dreaming.”
“What can I do Reid? There’s nothing I can do about it!” exclaimed my wife, nearly as upset as I was to see me in such an awful way.
“I know!” remarked Vera. “There’s plastic surgery, right. I know an excellent surgeon in Beverly Hills. In a few years, he’ll have you looking just like your old self, you’ll see.”
“A few years!” I blurted out. “Just a few years of painful surgery? Is that all? Oooh nooo... what did I do to deserve this. Tell me God. What did I do?”
“I’ll tell you what you did,” answered Vera.
“No, let me,” replied Mary. “I’ll tell him what he did.”
“Somebody please tell me. What’d I do? What’s going on?”
“First, stand up. I can’t talk to you while your laying there blubbering like a baby.”
“But look at me Mary! I’m a pig now! I changed into a damn pig! I’ll tell you why, too. It’s that painting. That awful painting. I never should’ve commissioned it in the first place. It ruined me. I never told you two, but the painting slowly changed into a pig. That’s why I hid it away up here, so you wouldn’t see what it was becoming. Then when I wrecked it, I somehow took on all the changes in it. I became the painting! Just like the old story by Oscar Wilde; The Portrait Of Dorian Gray!”
“Do tell,” said Mary, acting as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened at all.
“What’re you talking about?” I replied. “My life is wrecked and you’re mocking me. This is no time to be putting me down. You should be helping me.”
“I can’t bear ta watch this anymore Mary. If you don’t tell ‘im, I will.”
“Okay, okay,” replied Mary. “You can’t blame me for having fun though.”
“What is it? Tell me,” I insisted. “What can be so important at a time like this?”
“Here, look...” replied Mary, grasping the huge snout I’d grown since I’d lost consciousness and regained it. “This outta solve your problems. Presto-chango. Ta-da!”
“You mean...” I muttered, surprised and embar-rassed.
“That’s right, it’s a mask. Nothing more then a mask,” said Vera, as the entire daytime nightmare came sliding off my face with barely any effort from my reproving wife.
“It’s the pig mask you wore to the costume party we had. Don’t you remember?” explained Mary.
“Of course I remember,” I said. “But the painting. The painting really changed. How in the world did it change?”
“I thought you’d never ask,” answered Vera.
“You mean, you did it?” I asked. “You altered it?”
“None other! You like my work? Pretty good, huh?”
“But why?” I asked. “Why all this? What the hell did I do, anyway?”
“What the hell didn’t you do?” asked Mary. “Where do I begin? Let’s see now... You hired Vera and fell all over her naked for one thing.”
“That was a mistake, I couldn’t see in all the mist. I didn’t plan that out.”
“Then you built a house big enough for four families and surrounded it with expensive, tacky sculpture no one needed.”
“I decorated the pool Mary, that’s all.”
“You bought a boat too big for any lake in the entire, Ozark region.”
“I thought we’d have a little fun, that’s all.”
“You didn’t just buy a car. Oh no. It had to be the most expensive car you could possibly find. A Saleen, for God’s sake. Have I left anything out, Vera? It seems to me there must be something I haven’t mentioned. I know I should’ve made a list, I’m getting so forgetful.”
“Alright so,” I remarked, interrupting her before she had time to recall more of the atrocities I’d committed. “You made your point. The point is, you think I turned into a pig. But couldn’t you just have told me? Did you have’ta scare me half to death?”
“Would you have listened? I really doubt it. Someone had to give you a wake up call. I waited as long as I could, really. You got way out of hand.”
“I guess you’ve got a point there Mary. I did lose my head a little, didn’t I?”
“Just a wee bit,” agreed Vera.
“So what happens next? I mean, whadda you wanna do with everything?”
“That’s up to you, isn’t it? It’s your money and it’s your life. I just wanted you to see the error of your ways, that’s all.”
“Well heck,” I said, thinking over the recent past and how my new lifestyle had gotten its start in the first place. “The whole thing really began when we met that guy back in Wilson’s Creek, didn’t it? Remember when he gave me the Buckeye?”
“Of course I do,” replied my wife. “And if you don’t mind my saying so, I think the best thing you could do for yourself is to get rid of it.”
“Now wait a minute here. I thought you just said this was up to me? Didn’t you just say you were gonna let me decide what to do and all. What happened to, ‘it’s your money and it’s your life’?”
“I changed my mind. I’m entitled to aren’t I? Now, let’s see you throw that thing out. Here,” continued Mary. “Give it to me. I know what to do with it. You’ve got more money then you know what to do with now. I want you to give some to charity and stop buying junk you don’t need. Give me that thing.”
“Alright, alright,” I answered, giving in to her prodding. “Here,” I said, taking it from my pocket and grudgingly, handing it over. “Take it. See if I care.”
“What’re you gonna do with it?” asked Vera.
“You’ll see,” said Mary. “Let this be an end to your gluttonous behavior,” she added, as she marched to the front door of our house with purpose to her step, aided and abetted by our traitorous, so-called housekeeper. “In a few seconds,” she said, opening the door and walking out to the front lawn. “You’ll be a new man. The man I used to know, before this whole mess got started!” Then, without pity or remorse, she threw my lucky Buckeye out into an open field, where the grass and weeds grew so long, no man would ever dare to go - at least not without a good insect repellent.
“Satisfied?” I asked, after all had been said and done, feeling as though the last shot had been fired and this metaphoric war, now over.
“Yes, I am. In fact, I’m feeling much better already. I’m feeling so good I think I’ll get an early start on dinner and make something really special, how’s that? You deserve it after what we put you through.”
“That’s great,” I struggled to say, doing my best to hide the way I really felt about the whole thing. But who wouldn’t feel bad, I thought. That Buckeye was the key to everything. It was responsible for my winning the lottery, my success with Berserky Jerky... everything. I felt so bad, I knew that there was only one thing left for me to do. One thing only now occupied my thoughts and ran rampant in my mind. I knew what I had to do. “I’m going to my office Mary,” I said solemnly. “Please don’t disturb me.”
“Okay,” I remember her saying, “I’ll call you when dinner’s ready!” And with that, I turned away, walked down the hall, opened the door to my private office, sat down in my chair and grieved for a considerable length of time, exactly how long though, I really can’t say. Then, as I sat in my chair with a kind of stolid determination, I knew what must be done. I knew what I had to go through with. It was the only way out.
Slowly, I unlocked a drawer of my desk which I hadn’t opened in a very long time. Reaching inside, I removed its contents. I brought what I believed to be the answer to all of my problems out into the open and watched as rays of sunlight enhanced its smooth, shiny surface. So this is it, I thought to myself. After all this time, I finally realize what it is I have to do. Oh well, isn’t there an old saying that goes... all’s well that ends well?” And I rubbed that darn Buckeye just as hard as I could, just for the hell of it. Boy, was I glad that nice guy gave me two of ‘em!