36. The Powers That Be were all meeting in Chris's cabin. Normally, they would be at some luxury resort far away from the guts of the show, but Chris's situation seemed serious. They didn't want to leave him alone, and they thought he might benefit from feeling included in these planning sessions.
There must have been an army of TPTB--all dressed as if ready to club the links.
"This is how I want to see it go down," asserted No. 1.
"How's that, boss?" chimed in Nos. 2, 3, 4, 5 and 6.
"Well, I think we need to have several scenes playing at once--like in a blockbuster movie that's about to break for intermission. Emily here, the guys there, conflict here, love story there--all edited and interwoven like an intricate dance, with sweeping dramatic music to set the tone." No. 1 was nothing if not ambitious. "The audience will be sucked in, for sure."
"Oh, kind of like a cross between The Godfather and Dr. Zhivago," said No. 2.
"Exactly," No. 1 nodded.
"Um, No. 1, this is supposed to be reality we're talking about, not some book brought to the screen. We have no plot; we have no literary devices," countered No. 3.
"That's right," said No. 4. "We've got a girl and a bunch of guys who just want to be on TV. It's not like there's a lot to work with."
"Yeah, who's going to slog through the snow across the Ural Mountains to have a love affair, or take out some cops in a public restaurant?" added No. 5.
"It's OK, boss. We'll figure it out," assured No. 6. "It's not like our audience is looking for quality or anything."
Chris raised his hand and started to speak. "I could . . ."
"Don't worry, lad," said No. 1. We've got it handled. You just get your rest." Turning to his minions, No. 1 continued, "Make it so. Let's go where no TV show has gone before. Engage!"
37. Charon had taken Tanner on the boat back to Never World. Tanner was famished--he'd never even had lunch before he bailed on the shopping trip with Emily. "Is there anything to eat in this boat?" Tanner asked Charon.
"Let me check the cooler," Charon answered. He opened the lid, and handed Tanner a glass. He opened a bottle of champagne and poured some into Tanner's glass.
Tanner thanked him, but added, "I really need some food."
Charon peered into the cooler again. "Heavens! I'd forgotten all about these things buried under the pills." Tanner wasn't about to ask what kind of pills would be in a champagne cooler on a boat in the middle of a river to nowhere. He glanced over and could have sworn he saw a label that said "Tums."
"Yeah, you can try one of these." Charon handed Tanner a biscuit that looked for all the world to be preserved in concrete. Taner tried a small bite, and the whole thing crumbled into dust. It tasted like concrete, too.
Over at the bunk house, Bentley felt a little jolt and recited, "Another one bites the dust."
38. Their meeting ended, TPTB--all but No. 6--left Chris's cabin. No. 6 was told to keep an eye on Chris. The two weren't acquainted, though, and No 6. wasn't used to engaging in conversation unless it was to be a "yes man" for No. 1.
Chris started talking--apparently to himself. "I just don't know what to do. I haven't even tended the roses, and they're a special variety created just for the show--Bachelor Blooms. Isn't that a cool name? What a waste! No one cares about them. No one cares how many there are. No one cares if I say it's time to hand them out. No wine glasses to shine. No butter knives to polish. Emily's acting way too normal, and no one seems to be messing with her head yet. Unless I can unearth a juicy scandal, I'm toast, history, outta here, so 37 seconds ago.."
Chris summoned Russell Crow. "Russell, can you be my eyes and ears on these dates and in the houses? I need you to dig up all the dirt you can."
"I don't do dirt!" Russell squawked contemptuously. "That's for the chickens."
"Well, then, how about some nice gossip and rumors?" pleaded Chris.
"It depends on whether you can make it worth my while." Russell flapped his wings. "You know I'm supposed to report everything to TPTB."
"How about I give you access to the cornfield on the edge of the wildlife preserve? I'll get rid of the scarecrow for you." Chris offered.
"Now you're talking! I saw a fetching brunette over there just the other day! Humans aren't the only bachelors and bachelorettes, you know. I think her name is Lenore," Russell said longingly.
"Your wish is my command," promised Chris.
39. There Charon was, back in town for another one of Emily's castoffs. He wondered why he was having to make these trips at such odd hours! He planned to speak to the union about it.
As Charon pulled up to the dock, he was stunned to see Mike. "Hey, there, junior," Charon shouted, beckoning. "Over here!"
Mike walked over to the boat and climbed in. Charon said, "Hey, junior! I wasn't expecting you, and surely didn't think you would be leaving so soon." Charon handed Mike a fishing pole. "This will make you feel better."
"Oh, Dad just had another one of his harebrained ideas." Mike cast his line into the water. "He tried to fix me up with Ali, but she would have none of it. So now he's determined to have Emily in the family. But if he thinks I'm going to spend my date nights going to chick flicks, he's got another think coming. Geez! I never do chick flick duty until after I've gotten to third base. We didn't even finished lunch! What was he thinking?" Mike ranted. "I don't get why a TV mogul in the business of selling fake romance can't come up with something more fun to do. How are we supposed to pretend we're in love with no more than that to work with? I think he's losing it!"
"I hear ya, bro'," Charon nodded. "Shall I drop you off at the golf course?"
"Sure, why not?" Mike replied. "I might as well have it out with him right now. Then I can hop a plane back to LA and go surfing."
"Whoa! Here's a beauty!" Mike, elated, landed his fish, removed the hook, and handed it to Charon to put in the cooler. "Enjoy that, now."
Charon rowed upstream until they reached the shore that adjoined the 16th hole of the course. As soon as he had both feet on the ground, Mike turned to wave to Charon and at first didn't see the flock of chickens pecking furiously at the ground. When Mike opened his mouth to say goodbye, he breathed in a cloud of dust and started choking. It was all he could do to regain his composure. Charon laughed, "It looks like the chickens are starting to come home to roost."
Relaxing in the bunkhouse, Bentley nodded knowingly. Another one had bitten the dust.
40. Richard was getting restless. He had had such a wonderful time on his date with Emily, and felt they had made a special connection. He just wasn't sure what kind of connection it was. Still, it was important for him to stay as long as he could to find out. He was already concerned when he'd have another chance to talk to her. He knew she had a daughter and was hoping to meet the little girl as well.
Maybe a nature walk would clear his head. He'd heard there was a wildlife preserve nearby, and decided to ask if he could borrow one of the cars to go and find it. He went over to the garage. The production crew member in charge of transportation was there. Richard made his request. The crew man hesitated at first, afraid of breaking the rules of isolation, as it were, but there was something so compelling and earnest about Richard. The man exuded integrity.
"Here," the crew man said. "We just got the Beamer back from the shop. You should enjoyy that. It's all gassed up." He handed Richard the keys.
Richard thanked the crew man and drove off. He took the bridge across the river and headed toward the preserve. When he reached the entrance, he parked the car, got out, and walked to the gate. Before he could wonder where the attendant was, the gate opened, as if on a silent command. Richard entered and began walking. He'd almost reached a stand of trees when he spotted an exquisite lion with a glorious mane sunning himself in the grass.
Drawn, Richard walked toward the lion. As he got closer, though, he heard the lion roar; he hesitated.
"What's the matter?" the lion said. "Are you afraid I'm going to make mincemeat out of you?"
"Well, when you put it that way," Richard couldn't help but chuckle, "yes!"
"Are you kidding me? I'm a Disney lion--as docile as they come. And you know,
Disney lions are put in the world to do good deeds and raise awareness for wisdom and peace." The lion gently swished his tail.
"Yes," Richard answered, "Something like the Lion King, right?"
"Oh," said the lion, "not only like him, I'm his brother, Harry. Prince Harry."
"Well, I'm pleased to meet you," said Richard.
"I just want you to know, Richard, I'm here for the right reasons." The lion eyed Richard knowingly.
"I don't understand," said Richard. "Is there a special reason for us to have met/"
"Yes, indeed," answered the lion. "You will be able to count on my heart when you need it. Just think--you'll be a man with the heart of a lion. Sounds like a plan."
Richard nodded soberly. He didn't know what it felt like to have the heart of a lion, but it sounded like a good thing. He smiled at Harry. "I'm very glad to know you're here," Richard told him. "For some reason, I feel a bond with you."
The lion gave a reassuring roar. "You can count on me." The lion got up and ambled away. Richard was so moved by the encounter he was in a hurry to get back to the bunkhouse and reflect on what he'd learned. He decided to forego any more exploration of the preserve. But as he was walking back to the car, he noticed a flock of sheep in a meadow just off to the side of the stand of trees. And just inside the wooded area, looking hungrily at the sheep, was a wolf. All of a sudden the wolf disappeared. Richard breathed a sigh of relief.
At once excited and a bit unsettled, Richard drove back to the compound and returned the BMW to a grateful crew man.
The lion continued his stroll around the preserve, thinking what an admirable young man Richard was. He was perfect for the job. The lion just hoped that Beth wasn't planning to act too much like a witch, and that Emily didn't get too engrossed in her wardrobe. Sadly, Harry wasn't in control of everything.
41. Back at the bunk house, the men were getting restless. True enough, they got along quite well with one another, but they were a bit disoriented at having no real rose ceremonies while one guy after another would leave on a date with Emily, seemingly never to be heard from again. No one knew where he really stood. Only Bentley, and then Guy, had returned. Dodge had gone and come, but hadn't really spent alone time with Emily.
"I know what the problem is," ventured Jason.
"Oh, yeah?" The guys answered in unison, as if about to burst into song.
"Sure," Jason went on. "We have to go somewhere--you know, one of those places where you find romance. You've watched the show. If some resort in an exotic place calls up and says they'll give us free lodging, we can fall in love there. That's how it works."
"That's true," added Thad. "And there's something else. We haven't done any climbing or dangling or performing or fighting. We haven't dined on any rooftops. We haven't had any private concerts. You can't fall in love without those things, can you?"
"No! You can't It's written in the reality dating manual," they all shouted.
"We haven't conquered our fears," confided Owen.
"We haven't established trust," doubted Dodge.
"We haven't proven we can do anything together," speculated Ryan.
"We haven't made a connection," detached Guy.
"We haven't thought about what we could see ourselves doing," hesitated Richard.
"We haven't made out in a hot tub," chilled Bentley.
"Hey, it's not a total loss. We have Mary Ann," defended Gilles.
That was true. All the guys were half in love with Mary Ann already. She was so smart and witty, and she had a delightful, slightly bawdy (OK, a lot bawdy) sense of humor. She'd pretty much repaired their English, and she had that fun parlor game she played with the cue cards--a Bach hybrid of charades and pictionary.
"Mary Ann isn't the problem. The show's the problem. I vote we confront Chris with a list of non-negotiable demands, or threaten to walk out en masse," said Jason. "Who's with me?"
Everybody cheered. They exchanged fist pumps all around. Mary Ann brought out a tray of Margaritas. They clinked their glasses and shouted, "Boy power!"
42. Emily was getting dressed for her next evening cocktail party with the men. She chose a shimmering low cut fitted gold cocktail length dress. She selected her jewelry and accessories, also in gold--a single wide cuff bracelet with a lion visage etched into it, dangling earrings in the shape of slender obelisks, and a plain gold barrette to secure her pulled back hair. Excellent! Then, she winced just slightly as she replaced her sandals with a pair of onyx glass LowButtons. She guessed it wasn't so bad to sacrifice a little comfort--she knew she was stunning.
She stopped in front of the mirror. At first, she saw her clear reflection. Next, she saw the faces of all the men fading in and out one at a time. What was that? Bentley was not among them? That was strange--she'd enjoyed Bentley's company and was looking forward to spending some more time with him. Then the picture changed again. She saw a lion that quickly morphed into a sheep, then into a wolf. Something tugged at her memory--a conversation with Ferry Godmother about a strange name.
The picture changed yet again. Oh! There was Ferry Godmother smiling and waving at her. And what was that? Behind Ferry Godmother, barely visible, was what looked like a man in silhouette. The shape reminded her a bit of the man who'd been piloting the boat before Ferry Godmother made herself known. The next picture was even more mysterious. It didn't really have a shape at all, and Emily couldn't come up with a clue as to its meaning. Why, it looked like nothing so much as a cloud of dust or a puff of smoke!
The last picture Emily saw before she left the dressing room was Ricki, in her cute little red hooded cape.
43. While the rest of the guys were downing the margaritas and whooping it up at the thought of putting one over on Chris, Ryan took Gilles aside. "We need to talk."
"Sure," said Gilles. "Let's go in the kitchen."
Gilles turned on the water, opened some cabinet doors, and rattled some pots and pans in order that no one in the other room could hear their conversation. Ryan continued, "What's going on over in Never World? Have you gotten over there at all?"
"Not as much as I'd have liked," said Gilles. "My staff is doing a great job without me, but from what I've been able to see, everything looks in order."
"The wind farm's OK? The swaghouse is stocked? There's enough water? The helicopters are all accounted for." Ryan was clearly concerned.
"Check, check, check and check," Gilles reassured him. "It's just a matter of timing now."
Ryan nodded.
44. Several hundred miles away, a young man was busy packing his suitcase and checking that his flight reservation and tickets were in order. He'd known for almost three years now that he would be making this trip. He hadn't gone into this brave new world knowing he was destined for greatness but, having been chosen, he had learned to wear the mantle well and graciously. No question he had a sense of fun and adventure, but at his core he was a good, humble person, wanting to make a difference. This should be a defining moment.
A taxi's horn beeped outside. Our hero got into the car and steeled himself for the battle to come and the deeds he would be expected to perform. He felt up for the challenge. Millions--maybe tens of millions--were counting on him.
"Soy grande," he whispered to himself.
Friday, March 15, 2013
Chapters 33, 34 & 35) by WW (98, 106, 107)
33. Emily was starting to become suspicious that something untoward was going on with the white raisins. First, boxes of them seemed to disappear. But second, no matter how many she and others ate, they never seemed to run out. Third, they made her feel... well... different. Calmer. Happier. She noticed Chris ate them, too, when he seemed particularly upset. She thought about the men in the house and had noticed some of them ate them constantly while others didn't seem to touch them. She had thought it was a good thing when a man was there for the white raisins, but now she began to wonder.
She remembered the Ferry Godmother had told her if she had any questions, she could send a bird. She selected a particularly beautiful cardinal, put a note in his beak, and sent him on his way. Before long the cardinal returned with a note for her. "Come down to the boat," it read. She slipped on her sandals and headed down the path.
"What causes you to ask about the raisins?" Ferry Godmother asked. Emily shared her observations.
"One of the young men in the house is named Guy," Ferry Godmother said. "You haven't had a date with him yet. Do you know who he is?"
"Oh, yes!" enthused Emily. "He's very nice and very handsome."
"He's also very smart," said Ferry Godmother. "He's a biochemist doing important medical research."
"Whoa," said Emily.
"He could probably figure out if something strange is in those raisins," Ferry Godmother continued. "You could ask him."
Emily thanked Ferry Godmother and returned to her house.
Presently Russell appeared at the men's house, carrying an envelope. Bentley figured it must be his turn for another one-on-one date, so he yanked out the card and read it aloud. "GUY ~ LET'S SEE HOW MUCH CHEMISTRY THERE IS BETWEEN US. ~ EMILY." Bentley pouted and threw the card at Guy.
When the helicopter landed on the front lawn, Guy was ready. He climbed aboard with Emily and they took off. Once again they had a spectacular view of Care-A-Lion and Emily pointed out the interesting sights. Now, though, the pilot was heading a different direction and soon the roof of a major medical facility came into view. The helicopter landed on the pad on the rooftop, and Guy and Emily took the stairs down to the interior of the building. Soon they spotted a sign reading MEDICAL LABS with an arrow pointing to the right. Guy looked at Emily, puzzlement written on his face, but he said nothing.
Once inside the labs, Emily told Guy the same things she had shared with Ferry Godmother. His face lit up with an expression of interest and excitement. "What a treat!" he said. "I don't know any women who would think it's a fun date to do biochem stuff!" He gave her a hug, then sat at the bench. Emily handed him a box of white raisins.
"Have you eaten any of these?" Emily asked.
"Once," he replied. "Your description of what they do was very accurate. I never tried them again." He settled in next to the petri dishes, the microscope, and various solutions. Emily grabbed a copy of Elle from the waiting room and made herself comfortable. She knew it could take a while.
Guy, however, was quite quick. In slightly less than an hour he turned his chair and faced her. "The raisins have been soaked in a solution of Ludwig Spaeth & Dogwood," he reported. "Somebody is taking the boxes, soaking them, drying them out, then returning them."
"What is that? That Ludwig stuff?" Emily asked.
"Ludwig Spaeth is a variety of Lilac," he responded. The mixture is a new designer drug. Its street name is 'Lose Stress & Depression' and that's pretty much what it does for users."
Emily was fascinated. "So, those of us who've been eating the raisins have a false sense of calm and happiness," she said.
"Exactly," Guy confirmed. "It's dried and pulverized lilac flowers mixed together with dried and pulverized dogwood bark. Then it's mixed with water and the resulting liquid is what the raisins are soaked in. The white color is new to me, though. I don't know what produces that."
Emily began to giggle. "Dogwood bark. If it were catwood, would it be catwood meow?"
Guy chuckled.
Emily opened her bag. "Guy," she began, "will you accept this rose?"
"I'd be most happy to do so," he responded, bowing slightly. She pinned it to his shirt.
"I'm going to stop eating those raisins," Emily said, a serious tone returning to her voice. "With you, reality is more interesting."
He smiled.
34. Russell Crow had become so self-important he felt it was an intrusion on his time if the door to the bachelor house was actually closed, requiring him to peck at it with his beak. Alas, today was one of those days, and Russell gave it one peck. Soon the door opened and he hopped in. Richard held out his hand for the envelope, but Russell hopped over the coffee table and gave it to Jason. Jason grinned as he opened the envelope, assuming the card was for him.
"MIKE ~ LET'S SEE IF OUR LOVE IS REEL ~ EMILY."
"Hmmph," snorted Jason. "The chick can't spell."
"Either that or she's inviting him to go fishing," Richard offered.
"Fishing? Cool!" said Mike with some excitement as he went upstairs to get ready.
When Emily arrived she was wearing blue slacks and a red, white, and blue V-neck pullover shirt. She had on the comfortable sandals, this time a pair of red ones. She didn't appear dressed for fishing, but the guys knew the crew would bring along what was needed. Mike came down the stairs wearing khaki slacks and a blue-and-beige striped shirt with an alligator stitched over its pocket. He broke into a huge grin when he saw her. He wanted to show her he'd gotten the joke from the date card, so he had spent most of the time he had to get ready thinking of fish names.
"I cod have fixed my hair in a mullet," he said, an exaggerated grin on his face, "but I was afraid you'd snapper and carp over it. Anyhow, I'm tired of being one of the groupers here. These guys don't shower often enough, and they've smelt since they got here. I'm glad to be with you today. Wahoo!"
"Well, bless your heart," Emily enthused. "I'll bet your mama just loves to listen to your humor!"
They walked together down the path to the boat, and were welcomed aboard by Ferry Godmother. He thought it was a good sign that they were on the water.
"It's getting on toward lunchtime," Emily said, "so we're starting our adventure with a picnic at the park." The ferry docked at the edge of the Robert E. Lee Memorial Park and Emily indicated to Mike he should carry the picnic basket. She carried the blanket.
Once again, Security was pushing back a crowd. "Emily! Emily!" voices shouted. Smart phone cameras were held high in the air. "Look over here!" As before, a television crew was at the front of the crowd, demanding to have an exclusive interview with the couple. Mary Ann was helping to keep them behind the line. "We're here, on the ground, where Emily and her suitor... I think it's Mike... are having a picnic lunch," a female voice intoned. "At the end of the day she'll decided whether to keep him or boot him. The crowd here, on the ground, has come to wish the couple well, and to hope for pictures which, at the end of the day, they'll post to various social media. We are here, on the ground, in hopes of getting time with them and, at the end of the day, to add our good wishes for a happy date. After all, at the end of the day, what's better than a good relationship? On the ground, that is."
Emily had spread the blanket and Mike had begun pulling bowls and dishes and tableware out of the picnic basket. Emily found a bottle of chilled semillon and handed it to Mike to open. She dished up the fried chicken, potato salad, three bean salad, rolls, and baked beans. Mike took his plate and ate enthusiastically.
"You're supposed to talk to each other," called Mary Ann from behind the cameras.
The Fleiss mice were scampering around, looking concerned.
"Maum zed iz not nize to tawk wif my mout full," Mike said in barely intelligible tones.
"Then swallow and talk," called Mary Ann.
Emily had taken a little nibble from the end of a pickle and waited for Mike to finish chewing.
"What do you think of our relationship so far?" she asked.
He gulped. "I don't know how to say this, Emily," he began, "but I think I'm falling for you."
"Bless your heart," said Emily warmly. "I'll bet you say that to all the girls." The second part of Emily's comment had been written on Mary Ann's cue card.
"I used to," Mike admitted, "but now you're the only one."
"Well, aren't you just the sweetest thing!" Emily gave him one of her famous mega-watt smiles as she stood up. "Time to go," she said. He looked longingly at his unfinished lunch, then rose with her.
They walked back to the ferry, leaving various crew members to pick up the picnic detritus. The Fleiss mice all grabbed pieces of food before closing things up in the basket. Mike looked around the boat for fishing gear, but none was visible. He guessed the crew had already taken it to the river or lake or fishing hole or wherever they were going.
In a very short time, however, the boat docked in town. Mike looked perplexed, but then wondered if they were to go pick out fishing gear. He followed Emily off the pier and onto the downtown sidewalk. He saw a sporting goods store on the other side of the street, next to a movie theater, and hurried his pace a bit.
"My," said Emily, smiling, "aren't you just the eager beaver!"
"This'll be a great afternoon," Mike said.
"And evening," Emily added, stopping short at the movie theater.
"What are we doing?" asked Mike.
"I thought you had figured it out. We're going to the picture show, silly." Emily turned her smile on him, again.
"Uh, what picture show," asked Mike, trying to keep disappointment out of his voice.
"Oh, it's going to be a real treat," said Emily, eyes dancing. "It's a movie marathon weekend. We can't stay for all of it, of course, but we can stay this afternoon and tonight. It's a Bette Midler and Shirley MacLaine film festival."
"It's a whaaaaaat?" Mike wailed.
"We're gonna see 'The First Wives Club' and 'Anne of Green Gables' and 'The Stepford Wives' and 'Bewitched' and 'What Women Want' and 'Hell on Heels: The Battle of Mary Kay' and..."
"Hold it!" Mike yelled.
"Yes, darlin'?"
"I thought we were going fishing. You know, that stuff about the reel." Mike was almost pleading.
"No, silly, the reel is a movie reel. Get it?" She smiled again.
"Not a chance," said Mike, sounding very determined. "Good luck," he said, as he turned on his heel and walked back toward the ferry. In its place, however, was Charon, who invited him aboard.
Emily and Mary Ann watched him go, then exchanged winks. They went into the theater together.
35. Later that evening, Russell reported the day's events to The Powers That Be.
"You're going to need to put Chris on suicide watch," he said. The Powers nodded.
She remembered the Ferry Godmother had told her if she had any questions, she could send a bird. She selected a particularly beautiful cardinal, put a note in his beak, and sent him on his way. Before long the cardinal returned with a note for her. "Come down to the boat," it read. She slipped on her sandals and headed down the path.
"What causes you to ask about the raisins?" Ferry Godmother asked. Emily shared her observations.
"One of the young men in the house is named Guy," Ferry Godmother said. "You haven't had a date with him yet. Do you know who he is?"
"Oh, yes!" enthused Emily. "He's very nice and very handsome."
"He's also very smart," said Ferry Godmother. "He's a biochemist doing important medical research."
"Whoa," said Emily.
"He could probably figure out if something strange is in those raisins," Ferry Godmother continued. "You could ask him."
Emily thanked Ferry Godmother and returned to her house.
Presently Russell appeared at the men's house, carrying an envelope. Bentley figured it must be his turn for another one-on-one date, so he yanked out the card and read it aloud. "GUY ~ LET'S SEE HOW MUCH CHEMISTRY THERE IS BETWEEN US. ~ EMILY." Bentley pouted and threw the card at Guy.
When the helicopter landed on the front lawn, Guy was ready. He climbed aboard with Emily and they took off. Once again they had a spectacular view of Care-A-Lion and Emily pointed out the interesting sights. Now, though, the pilot was heading a different direction and soon the roof of a major medical facility came into view. The helicopter landed on the pad on the rooftop, and Guy and Emily took the stairs down to the interior of the building. Soon they spotted a sign reading MEDICAL LABS with an arrow pointing to the right. Guy looked at Emily, puzzlement written on his face, but he said nothing.
Once inside the labs, Emily told Guy the same things she had shared with Ferry Godmother. His face lit up with an expression of interest and excitement. "What a treat!" he said. "I don't know any women who would think it's a fun date to do biochem stuff!" He gave her a hug, then sat at the bench. Emily handed him a box of white raisins.
"Have you eaten any of these?" Emily asked.
"Once," he replied. "Your description of what they do was very accurate. I never tried them again." He settled in next to the petri dishes, the microscope, and various solutions. Emily grabbed a copy of Elle from the waiting room and made herself comfortable. She knew it could take a while.
Guy, however, was quite quick. In slightly less than an hour he turned his chair and faced her. "The raisins have been soaked in a solution of Ludwig Spaeth & Dogwood," he reported. "Somebody is taking the boxes, soaking them, drying them out, then returning them."
"What is that? That Ludwig stuff?" Emily asked.
"Ludwig Spaeth is a variety of Lilac," he responded. The mixture is a new designer drug. Its street name is 'Lose Stress & Depression' and that's pretty much what it does for users."
Emily was fascinated. "So, those of us who've been eating the raisins have a false sense of calm and happiness," she said.
"Exactly," Guy confirmed. "It's dried and pulverized lilac flowers mixed together with dried and pulverized dogwood bark. Then it's mixed with water and the resulting liquid is what the raisins are soaked in. The white color is new to me, though. I don't know what produces that."
Emily began to giggle. "Dogwood bark. If it were catwood, would it be catwood meow?"
Guy chuckled.
Emily opened her bag. "Guy," she began, "will you accept this rose?"
"I'd be most happy to do so," he responded, bowing slightly. She pinned it to his shirt.
"I'm going to stop eating those raisins," Emily said, a serious tone returning to her voice. "With you, reality is more interesting."
He smiled.
34. Russell Crow had become so self-important he felt it was an intrusion on his time if the door to the bachelor house was actually closed, requiring him to peck at it with his beak. Alas, today was one of those days, and Russell gave it one peck. Soon the door opened and he hopped in. Richard held out his hand for the envelope, but Russell hopped over the coffee table and gave it to Jason. Jason grinned as he opened the envelope, assuming the card was for him.
"MIKE ~ LET'S SEE IF OUR LOVE IS REEL ~ EMILY."
"Hmmph," snorted Jason. "The chick can't spell."
"Either that or she's inviting him to go fishing," Richard offered.
"Fishing? Cool!" said Mike with some excitement as he went upstairs to get ready.
When Emily arrived she was wearing blue slacks and a red, white, and blue V-neck pullover shirt. She had on the comfortable sandals, this time a pair of red ones. She didn't appear dressed for fishing, but the guys knew the crew would bring along what was needed. Mike came down the stairs wearing khaki slacks and a blue-and-beige striped shirt with an alligator stitched over its pocket. He broke into a huge grin when he saw her. He wanted to show her he'd gotten the joke from the date card, so he had spent most of the time he had to get ready thinking of fish names.
"I cod have fixed my hair in a mullet," he said, an exaggerated grin on his face, "but I was afraid you'd snapper and carp over it. Anyhow, I'm tired of being one of the groupers here. These guys don't shower often enough, and they've smelt since they got here. I'm glad to be with you today. Wahoo!"
"Well, bless your heart," Emily enthused. "I'll bet your mama just loves to listen to your humor!"
They walked together down the path to the boat, and were welcomed aboard by Ferry Godmother. He thought it was a good sign that they were on the water.
"It's getting on toward lunchtime," Emily said, "so we're starting our adventure with a picnic at the park." The ferry docked at the edge of the Robert E. Lee Memorial Park and Emily indicated to Mike he should carry the picnic basket. She carried the blanket.
Once again, Security was pushing back a crowd. "Emily! Emily!" voices shouted. Smart phone cameras were held high in the air. "Look over here!" As before, a television crew was at the front of the crowd, demanding to have an exclusive interview with the couple. Mary Ann was helping to keep them behind the line. "We're here, on the ground, where Emily and her suitor... I think it's Mike... are having a picnic lunch," a female voice intoned. "At the end of the day she'll decided whether to keep him or boot him. The crowd here, on the ground, has come to wish the couple well, and to hope for pictures which, at the end of the day, they'll post to various social media. We are here, on the ground, in hopes of getting time with them and, at the end of the day, to add our good wishes for a happy date. After all, at the end of the day, what's better than a good relationship? On the ground, that is."
Emily had spread the blanket and Mike had begun pulling bowls and dishes and tableware out of the picnic basket. Emily found a bottle of chilled semillon and handed it to Mike to open. She dished up the fried chicken, potato salad, three bean salad, rolls, and baked beans. Mike took his plate and ate enthusiastically.
"You're supposed to talk to each other," called Mary Ann from behind the cameras.
The Fleiss mice were scampering around, looking concerned.
"Maum zed iz not nize to tawk wif my mout full," Mike said in barely intelligible tones.
"Then swallow and talk," called Mary Ann.
Emily had taken a little nibble from the end of a pickle and waited for Mike to finish chewing.
"What do you think of our relationship so far?" she asked.
He gulped. "I don't know how to say this, Emily," he began, "but I think I'm falling for you."
"Bless your heart," said Emily warmly. "I'll bet you say that to all the girls." The second part of Emily's comment had been written on Mary Ann's cue card.
"I used to," Mike admitted, "but now you're the only one."
"Well, aren't you just the sweetest thing!" Emily gave him one of her famous mega-watt smiles as she stood up. "Time to go," she said. He looked longingly at his unfinished lunch, then rose with her.
They walked back to the ferry, leaving various crew members to pick up the picnic detritus. The Fleiss mice all grabbed pieces of food before closing things up in the basket. Mike looked around the boat for fishing gear, but none was visible. He guessed the crew had already taken it to the river or lake or fishing hole or wherever they were going.
In a very short time, however, the boat docked in town. Mike looked perplexed, but then wondered if they were to go pick out fishing gear. He followed Emily off the pier and onto the downtown sidewalk. He saw a sporting goods store on the other side of the street, next to a movie theater, and hurried his pace a bit.
"My," said Emily, smiling, "aren't you just the eager beaver!"
"This'll be a great afternoon," Mike said.
"And evening," Emily added, stopping short at the movie theater.
"What are we doing?" asked Mike.
"I thought you had figured it out. We're going to the picture show, silly." Emily turned her smile on him, again.
"Uh, what picture show," asked Mike, trying to keep disappointment out of his voice.
"Oh, it's going to be a real treat," said Emily, eyes dancing. "It's a movie marathon weekend. We can't stay for all of it, of course, but we can stay this afternoon and tonight. It's a Bette Midler and Shirley MacLaine film festival."
"It's a whaaaaaat?" Mike wailed.
"We're gonna see 'The First Wives Club' and 'Anne of Green Gables' and 'The Stepford Wives' and 'Bewitched' and 'What Women Want' and 'Hell on Heels: The Battle of Mary Kay' and..."
"Hold it!" Mike yelled.
"Yes, darlin'?"
"I thought we were going fishing. You know, that stuff about the reel." Mike was almost pleading.
"No, silly, the reel is a movie reel. Get it?" She smiled again.
"Not a chance," said Mike, sounding very determined. "Good luck," he said, as he turned on his heel and walked back toward the ferry. In its place, however, was Charon, who invited him aboard.
Emily and Mary Ann watched him go, then exchanged winks. They went into the theater together.
35. Later that evening, Russell reported the day's events to The Powers That Be.
"You're going to need to put Chris on suicide watch," he said. The Powers nodded.
Chapters 30, 31 & 32 by Belle (90, 93, 95)
30. Charon was sittin' on the dock of the riverbank, watchin' the current roll away, listening to some Otis Redding tunes on his iPod. According to his union contract, it was his day off. Instead of the ancient Greek work uniform, he was dressed comfortably in a pair of overalls with the cuffs rolled up to the knee, a plaid flannel shirt, and a straw hat thet looked as if the Fleiss mice had been nibbling on it. His bare feet were dangling in the water. Fishing line was dangling from a hand wrought bamboo pole. There was nothing Charon loved more than fresh trout. Just another sunny day in Never World.
Jarring him out of his reverie, Charon's pager went off. He swore under his breath. The message said, "Pickup at the city dock." Noooooooooo! "Beeeeeeeeth!" he shouted at the top of his lungs.
Beth came running, Ames on her heels. "What's the 9-1-1?" She asked, slightly out of breath.
"I'm being called to pick up another one of those doofuses, and it's my day off!" Charon complained.
"Double overtime, dearest," Beth reminded him. "You're almost got enough socked away to buy a stake in this place. The fish will still be here when you get back."
"Holy Toledo! I can't go looking like this!" Charon cried. "What about my image?"
"I kinda like that Huck Finn thing you've got going on," Beth told him. "Don't worry; it's not as if anyone but your passenger can see you. And he's not going to be looking at your clothes, trust me!"
Mumbling something under his breath about those useless Bachpeople, Charon checked to make sure the hidden camera and tape recorder were in working order and that there was plenty of champagne chilling in the cooler, and then rowed off to pick up Tanner.
Beth looked over at Ames. "Always interruptions," she smiled. "It's like babysitting around here."
"Ready for your tour?" she asked Ames.
"I thought you'd never ask," Ames replied.
"Well, follow me. The others from this season are in a kind of orientation boot camp right now. We've decided you're exempt, but you can't talk to any of them about what you've seen. Do you understand?" Ames nodded earnestly.
"I'm going to show you the highlights," Beth said.
31. The two walked together, the stillness of the day punctuated by Beth's narrative.
"This is where most of the Bachpeople come after they've left the show. It's a wonderful facility designed especially to assure their comfort and serve as a support system for the new life they will be leading. After all, they've become very important people in the entertainment world. Just ask any of them."
Up ahead was a large open field where several helicopters were parked. "My goodness! What are those for?" Ames asked, wide eyed.
"Aren't they fun?" Beth said. "We use so many choppers on the show that it made economic sense to have a fleet of our own. Now, in addition to taking the participants on dates, we can use them to transport people wherever we know the papparazzi are going to be. It helps them to get a little face time. We've crashed a lot of red carpets! Y'know, if Angelina's otherwise occupied, we've got an Ali or a Jillian for them. Isn't that the best idea?"
Ames didn't know what to say; he was still taking it all in. "What's that?" He was pointing to an area beyond the heliport that looked for all the world like a giant jungle gym.
"Oh, that's our outdoor workout area," Beth answered. "There's nothing more important to our people than staying fit. Gotta keep those abs and pecs in tone."
"Over there," she indicated with a sweep of her hand, "we have a bungee jump, a telephone pole climb and a zip line. Those are some of the dating favorites, you know. Then, of course, there's the swimming pool with a really nice bar, and several hot tubs. The mattresses get a lot of use, too. You've heard of deck chairs? Well, we have deck mattresses. There's an added benefit of having a place for the guys and gals bound for Bachelor Pad to practice for competitions."
"That's right; I'd forgotten," Ames joined in. "I guess I didn't stay around long enough to realize how grueling that show could be," he continued sheepishly.
"Oh, don't worry so much," Beth comforted him. "Anyone who's man enough to box in pink gloves and take a blow to the head without losing his marbles is special in my book. That's why we're going to pamper you. There's even a buzz that a lot of people think you should have been the last Bachelor. Or, should I say, the most recent Bachelor? I don't want to sound like the voice of doom." Beth smiled mysteriously.
"Well, thanks," said Ames. "It's always nice to be appreciated. Maybe someday I might even be in love."
"Awww . . . " Beth purred.
They continued their walk and stopped in front of a large, modern single story building in a U shape with nice landscaping and a sign reading "Lambton & Sons" discreetly placed among the shrubbery.
Beth held the door for Ames. "Come on in." They entered.
"This is our state of the art technical facility. There's a media room where all our residents can design their individual web sites and set up their social pages. They can come here any time they want--it's open 24/7. We even have an IT guy on duty to help and answer questions. Maybe you know him? His name is Ed. It's funny--he doesn't charge a lot. He says he just wants the run of the premises, access to the kitchen refrigerators, and, um, an endless supply of, you, know, those latex balloon-like thingies." Beth blushed. Ames blushed. "Ed's kinda messy, though. Sometimes we have to clean up after him. Oh, yeah, we also have to provide satellite TV for all the Michigan State games."
They went out the other side, Ames taking note of the hot tub just beside the door, and into the next building. "Here's the kitchen and dining hall."
What an odd kitchen it was. There were several refrigerators, a counter holding about a half dozen microwave ovens, a cabinet full of glassware of every kind and description, another cabinet with dinnerware, one with liquor, a drawer of cutlery, and a dishwasher.
"Doesn't anyone cook in here?" Ames asked.
"Oh, goodness, no!" Beth said. "Look here." She opened the refrigerators, one at a time. The first was stocked with beer, the second with wine and champagne, and the third with soft drinks, fruit juices and bottled water. "These are always filled. And the folks are much too busy with their careers to take time to cook. We have a wonderful French chef from town who caters all our meals. Come to think of it, I heard he's one of the bachelors this season."
Ames shook his head as he and Beth left this building and continued their tour. Was it because there was no cooking? Or was it because there, just outside the back door, was yet another hot tub.
The next building was a kind of a plain big box style, but colorfully decorated with what looked to Ames like primitive abstract art. It reminded Ames of something he had seen at an orphanage in Thailand, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. Again, Beth held the door and they entered.
This was mind boggling! There was shelf after shelf of merchandise! What in the world was something like this doing in what was otherwise a Bach playground? Were they in the retail business here?
As if reading his thoughts, Beth laughed and volunteered, "It's more like a reverse retail business. This is where we store all the free goodies that come here for the Bachpeople. I know, it boggles my mind, too, but apparently these companies think that if the Bachpeople mention them on their computers, it will help their sales. They get shoes, clothes, jewelry, small appliances, what have you. Just between you and me, I keep wondering how much extra ordinary people like me have to pay for this stuff just so the companies can cover the giveaways in their budgets."
"Ha ha!" Ames countered. "Instead of a warehouse, you can call this a swaghouse."
"That's exactly what we do call it," answered Beth. "We've got it down to a science. We track everything that comes in--who sent it, to whom, when it was requested, and when it arrived. Do you know that there's a company making sunglasses that will get its product here in less than 7 days? They're awesome!"
Ames could only shake his head again. There, just outside the exit from the swaghouse, was another hot tub.
32. They walked on--into another wide open area.
Well, not so wide open, as it turned out. For in front of them was a field of tall pillars capped with what looked for all the world like pinwheels. Fascinating. They were evenly spaced, and as Ames was trying to count them, Beth walked up.
"We get all of our power from these." Beth said, proudly. "We're completely self sufficient."
Ames was impressed. "This is quite a set up. How did you make it happen?"
"Oh, it wasn't as hard as you might think. One of our guys is as green as can be. You know Ryan, don't you? Come to think of it, I think he's one of the bachelors right now along with Gilles."
"Oh, right!" Ames remembered, and then chuckled. "You know, I heard that some crazed fan of his actually went on an Internet message board somewhere and wrote poetry about him. Even called him Kermit, of all things!"
"I heard that, too," Beth replied. "He does bring us a nice rainbow connection--here with all the lovers, and dreamers, and me."
"Well, good for him," Ames conceded. "I'm glad to hear he has a place to use all that energy. Oh! I made a pun!" He chuckled again.
"Yes, he's doing rather well, all things considered. There's just one thing about him that's kind of odd." Beth shook her head at the thought.
"Really?" Ames wanted to know.
"Yes," Beth nodded. "Sometimes, just before dark, you can see him out here with a big long stick that has a handle like a sword. He's brandishing it as if he's about to poke a pinata, and saying something about tilting at windmills."
"Ryan did always seem a bit Quixotic," Ames mused. "But you must be awfully glad he's here to supply all the water for the hot tubs."
"That's for sure," Beth agreed.
So engrossed were they in conversation that Ames almost bumped up against the hot tub at the edge of the wind farm. He turned to Beth. "May I ask you a question?"
"Of course. I'm here for you," Beth reassured him.
"Where is the culture?" Ames wanted to know. "Aren't there any museums? Libraries? Do you have an orchestra? It would be kind of cool to have some of the people play in an orchestra. Are there any sports teams?"
"Well, you know, culture don't come easy. I mean, you have seen these people, haven't you?" Beth sighed. "The truth is," she continued, "part of our philosophy is that culture can be a distraction from the pursuit of a career in notoriety. We want our Bachpeople to relate as much as possible to each other. The more open they are, the more likely it is that they will do and say interesting things. The more interesting they are, the better for their bottom line."
"But," queried Ames, "Wouldn't they be even more interesting if they were knowledgeable about something besides . . . just . . . themselves?"
"You'd think so," Beth agreed. "But the research doesn't bear that out. I guess the TV viewers who want culture tune to PBS. Our shows get the rest." Not wanting to insult anyone, Beth added, "Well, we also get the occasional viewer who watches for purely academic and scientific purposes. They are awfully smart people. I hope they're learning something. We get some comedians, too."
Ames was not satisfied with this answer. He'd need a reminder to bring it up again when he'd become fully familiar with Never World. "Why, this might be as much of a challenge as Harvard, Yale and Columbia put together. Or tying my own bow tie," he thought to himself.
They continued at a leisurely pace for a little while; then Beth stopped them on the edge of another field.
"This our pride and joy--the vineyard." she announced in a glowing tone.
"Oh, my," Ames gasped. "I never would have expected this! How marvelous!"
"Think about it," Beth went on. "Everybody here is connected with wine one way or another. Some are actually in the business, and heaven knows they all drink copious amounts of it! Why, the per capita consumption at this facility. . . " Beth trailed off as Russell Crow suddenly appeared in a nearby tree, squawked and scowled.
"I get it," Ames laughed. He passed by yet another hot tub as he walked over to some grapevines that had attracted his attention. Beth followed. Now Ames, being a supremely erudite man of the world, was no stranger to wine. He was familiar with varieties grown and produced everywhere from Australia, to Chile, to the state of Washington. He thought nothing would surprise him, but here were grapes of the purest white--so gleaming in the sun and spherically shaped they reminded him of the finest pearls. The grapes were in perfectly formed bunches, each identical to its neighbor. The whole scene looked like a picture photoshopped for Food and Wine magazine.
"Oh, you found them!" Beth caught up. "These are indeed special. But they're not for wine."
"What do you mean?" Ames was confused.
"We make white raisins from these grapes," Beth explained. "Have you ever had any?"
"You know," whispered Ames, suddenly sounding at once ponderous and reverent. "I feel as if I have, but I honestly don't know."
Jarring him out of his reverie, Charon's pager went off. He swore under his breath. The message said, "Pickup at the city dock." Noooooooooo! "Beeeeeeeeth!" he shouted at the top of his lungs.
Beth came running, Ames on her heels. "What's the 9-1-1?" She asked, slightly out of breath.
"I'm being called to pick up another one of those doofuses, and it's my day off!" Charon complained.
"Double overtime, dearest," Beth reminded him. "You're almost got enough socked away to buy a stake in this place. The fish will still be here when you get back."
"Holy Toledo! I can't go looking like this!" Charon cried. "What about my image?"
"I kinda like that Huck Finn thing you've got going on," Beth told him. "Don't worry; it's not as if anyone but your passenger can see you. And he's not going to be looking at your clothes, trust me!"
Mumbling something under his breath about those useless Bachpeople, Charon checked to make sure the hidden camera and tape recorder were in working order and that there was plenty of champagne chilling in the cooler, and then rowed off to pick up Tanner.
Beth looked over at Ames. "Always interruptions," she smiled. "It's like babysitting around here."
"Ready for your tour?" she asked Ames.
"I thought you'd never ask," Ames replied.
"Well, follow me. The others from this season are in a kind of orientation boot camp right now. We've decided you're exempt, but you can't talk to any of them about what you've seen. Do you understand?" Ames nodded earnestly.
"I'm going to show you the highlights," Beth said.
31. The two walked together, the stillness of the day punctuated by Beth's narrative.
"This is where most of the Bachpeople come after they've left the show. It's a wonderful facility designed especially to assure their comfort and serve as a support system for the new life they will be leading. After all, they've become very important people in the entertainment world. Just ask any of them."
Up ahead was a large open field where several helicopters were parked. "My goodness! What are those for?" Ames asked, wide eyed.
"Aren't they fun?" Beth said. "We use so many choppers on the show that it made economic sense to have a fleet of our own. Now, in addition to taking the participants on dates, we can use them to transport people wherever we know the papparazzi are going to be. It helps them to get a little face time. We've crashed a lot of red carpets! Y'know, if Angelina's otherwise occupied, we've got an Ali or a Jillian for them. Isn't that the best idea?"
Ames didn't know what to say; he was still taking it all in. "What's that?" He was pointing to an area beyond the heliport that looked for all the world like a giant jungle gym.
"Oh, that's our outdoor workout area," Beth answered. "There's nothing more important to our people than staying fit. Gotta keep those abs and pecs in tone."
"Over there," she indicated with a sweep of her hand, "we have a bungee jump, a telephone pole climb and a zip line. Those are some of the dating favorites, you know. Then, of course, there's the swimming pool with a really nice bar, and several hot tubs. The mattresses get a lot of use, too. You've heard of deck chairs? Well, we have deck mattresses. There's an added benefit of having a place for the guys and gals bound for Bachelor Pad to practice for competitions."
"That's right; I'd forgotten," Ames joined in. "I guess I didn't stay around long enough to realize how grueling that show could be," he continued sheepishly.
"Oh, don't worry so much," Beth comforted him. "Anyone who's man enough to box in pink gloves and take a blow to the head without losing his marbles is special in my book. That's why we're going to pamper you. There's even a buzz that a lot of people think you should have been the last Bachelor. Or, should I say, the most recent Bachelor? I don't want to sound like the voice of doom." Beth smiled mysteriously.
"Well, thanks," said Ames. "It's always nice to be appreciated. Maybe someday I might even be in love."
"Awww . . . " Beth purred.
They continued their walk and stopped in front of a large, modern single story building in a U shape with nice landscaping and a sign reading "Lambton & Sons" discreetly placed among the shrubbery.
Beth held the door for Ames. "Come on in." They entered.
"This is our state of the art technical facility. There's a media room where all our residents can design their individual web sites and set up their social pages. They can come here any time they want--it's open 24/7. We even have an IT guy on duty to help and answer questions. Maybe you know him? His name is Ed. It's funny--he doesn't charge a lot. He says he just wants the run of the premises, access to the kitchen refrigerators, and, um, an endless supply of, you, know, those latex balloon-like thingies." Beth blushed. Ames blushed. "Ed's kinda messy, though. Sometimes we have to clean up after him. Oh, yeah, we also have to provide satellite TV for all the Michigan State games."
They went out the other side, Ames taking note of the hot tub just beside the door, and into the next building. "Here's the kitchen and dining hall."
What an odd kitchen it was. There were several refrigerators, a counter holding about a half dozen microwave ovens, a cabinet full of glassware of every kind and description, another cabinet with dinnerware, one with liquor, a drawer of cutlery, and a dishwasher.
"Doesn't anyone cook in here?" Ames asked.
"Oh, goodness, no!" Beth said. "Look here." She opened the refrigerators, one at a time. The first was stocked with beer, the second with wine and champagne, and the third with soft drinks, fruit juices and bottled water. "These are always filled. And the folks are much too busy with their careers to take time to cook. We have a wonderful French chef from town who caters all our meals. Come to think of it, I heard he's one of the bachelors this season."
Ames shook his head as he and Beth left this building and continued their tour. Was it because there was no cooking? Or was it because there, just outside the back door, was yet another hot tub.
The next building was a kind of a plain big box style, but colorfully decorated with what looked to Ames like primitive abstract art. It reminded Ames of something he had seen at an orphanage in Thailand, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. Again, Beth held the door and they entered.
This was mind boggling! There was shelf after shelf of merchandise! What in the world was something like this doing in what was otherwise a Bach playground? Were they in the retail business here?
As if reading his thoughts, Beth laughed and volunteered, "It's more like a reverse retail business. This is where we store all the free goodies that come here for the Bachpeople. I know, it boggles my mind, too, but apparently these companies think that if the Bachpeople mention them on their computers, it will help their sales. They get shoes, clothes, jewelry, small appliances, what have you. Just between you and me, I keep wondering how much extra ordinary people like me have to pay for this stuff just so the companies can cover the giveaways in their budgets."
"Ha ha!" Ames countered. "Instead of a warehouse, you can call this a swaghouse."
"That's exactly what we do call it," answered Beth. "We've got it down to a science. We track everything that comes in--who sent it, to whom, when it was requested, and when it arrived. Do you know that there's a company making sunglasses that will get its product here in less than 7 days? They're awesome!"
Ames could only shake his head again. There, just outside the exit from the swaghouse, was another hot tub.
32. They walked on--into another wide open area.
Well, not so wide open, as it turned out. For in front of them was a field of tall pillars capped with what looked for all the world like pinwheels. Fascinating. They were evenly spaced, and as Ames was trying to count them, Beth walked up.
"We get all of our power from these." Beth said, proudly. "We're completely self sufficient."
Ames was impressed. "This is quite a set up. How did you make it happen?"
"Oh, it wasn't as hard as you might think. One of our guys is as green as can be. You know Ryan, don't you? Come to think of it, I think he's one of the bachelors right now along with Gilles."
"Oh, right!" Ames remembered, and then chuckled. "You know, I heard that some crazed fan of his actually went on an Internet message board somewhere and wrote poetry about him. Even called him Kermit, of all things!"
"I heard that, too," Beth replied. "He does bring us a nice rainbow connection--here with all the lovers, and dreamers, and me."
"Well, good for him," Ames conceded. "I'm glad to hear he has a place to use all that energy. Oh! I made a pun!" He chuckled again.
"Yes, he's doing rather well, all things considered. There's just one thing about him that's kind of odd." Beth shook her head at the thought.
"Really?" Ames wanted to know.
"Yes," Beth nodded. "Sometimes, just before dark, you can see him out here with a big long stick that has a handle like a sword. He's brandishing it as if he's about to poke a pinata, and saying something about tilting at windmills."
"Ryan did always seem a bit Quixotic," Ames mused. "But you must be awfully glad he's here to supply all the water for the hot tubs."
"That's for sure," Beth agreed.
So engrossed were they in conversation that Ames almost bumped up against the hot tub at the edge of the wind farm. He turned to Beth. "May I ask you a question?"
"Of course. I'm here for you," Beth reassured him.
"Where is the culture?" Ames wanted to know. "Aren't there any museums? Libraries? Do you have an orchestra? It would be kind of cool to have some of the people play in an orchestra. Are there any sports teams?"
"Well, you know, culture don't come easy. I mean, you have seen these people, haven't you?" Beth sighed. "The truth is," she continued, "part of our philosophy is that culture can be a distraction from the pursuit of a career in notoriety. We want our Bachpeople to relate as much as possible to each other. The more open they are, the more likely it is that they will do and say interesting things. The more interesting they are, the better for their bottom line."
"But," queried Ames, "Wouldn't they be even more interesting if they were knowledgeable about something besides . . . just . . . themselves?"
"You'd think so," Beth agreed. "But the research doesn't bear that out. I guess the TV viewers who want culture tune to PBS. Our shows get the rest." Not wanting to insult anyone, Beth added, "Well, we also get the occasional viewer who watches for purely academic and scientific purposes. They are awfully smart people. I hope they're learning something. We get some comedians, too."
Ames was not satisfied with this answer. He'd need a reminder to bring it up again when he'd become fully familiar with Never World. "Why, this might be as much of a challenge as Harvard, Yale and Columbia put together. Or tying my own bow tie," he thought to himself.
They continued at a leisurely pace for a little while; then Beth stopped them on the edge of another field.
"This our pride and joy--the vineyard." she announced in a glowing tone.
"Oh, my," Ames gasped. "I never would have expected this! How marvelous!"
"Think about it," Beth went on. "Everybody here is connected with wine one way or another. Some are actually in the business, and heaven knows they all drink copious amounts of it! Why, the per capita consumption at this facility. . . " Beth trailed off as Russell Crow suddenly appeared in a nearby tree, squawked and scowled.
"I get it," Ames laughed. He passed by yet another hot tub as he walked over to some grapevines that had attracted his attention. Beth followed. Now Ames, being a supremely erudite man of the world, was no stranger to wine. He was familiar with varieties grown and produced everywhere from Australia, to Chile, to the state of Washington. He thought nothing would surprise him, but here were grapes of the purest white--so gleaming in the sun and spherically shaped they reminded him of the finest pearls. The grapes were in perfectly formed bunches, each identical to its neighbor. The whole scene looked like a picture photoshopped for Food and Wine magazine.
"Oh, you found them!" Beth caught up. "These are indeed special. But they're not for wine."
"What do you mean?" Ames was confused.
"We make white raisins from these grapes," Beth explained. "Have you ever had any?"
"You know," whispered Ames, suddenly sounding at once ponderous and reverent. "I feel as if I have, but I honestly don't know."
Chapter 29 by WW (87)
Emily had just finished her morning rituals and was heading downstairs when she heard Russell's beak pecking at the front door. She let him in and accepted the note from him. It read, "Emily, please come see me first thing this morning. Chris." She grabbed a handful of white raisins and followed Russell out the door.
The path up to Chris's house was lovely that morning. Colorful flowers were in full bloom. Colorful songbirds were in full throat. And even though she was wearing a bright peach top over her white deck pants, she felt a little drab alongside them. Fortunately, she had bought a variety of colors in the comfortable sandals, and was able to find some that matched her top perfectly. She hummed softly to herself as she walked up the path.
She arrived to find Chris in a state of panic. "Emily," he said, in a tone that could be used to describe a near-death experience, "you absolutely must hold a rose ceremony tonight." He stared into her eyes with an intensity that made her uncomfortable. "We advertise this show with roses. Your promo picture has you holding a large bouquet of them. When we go week after week with no rose ceremony, the viewers get confused. We simply cannot have that." His eyes continued to bore into her.
She tried to calm him with reassurance and a casual voice. "Well, that's no problem, Sugar," she purred, smiling up at him. "We'll just do one tonight, no matter what."
Chris exhaled. His shoulders dropped to their normal position. He blinked his eyes.
"Thank you. Thank you," he said, as though she had rescued him from a house fire. He didn't mention that he feared a pink slip, nor did he mention he resented having no role to play. He simply smiled and wished her a happy day as he saw her to the door.
Russell arrived at the men's house just as breakfast was finishing. He saw the remains of crepes, various berry preserves, poached eggs, and the ever-present Bloody Marys and Orange Blossoms. Mary Ann sat next to Gilles and helped him fuss with the powdered sugar. Richard rose from the table and took the date card from Russell's beak.
TANNER ~ LET ME INVITE MY FAVORITE FOOT SOLDIER TO SHOP 'TIL WE DROP. ~ EMILY. "Shoes!" exclaimed Tanner. "She wants me to help her try on shoes!" He practically floated up the stairs to get ready.
The Ferry Godmother looked particularly cheerful that morning as she ushered them aboard. "What a beautiful day!" she sang out over the noise of the engines. "You'll enjoy this afternoon in town."
Tanner and Emily walked hand-in-hand along the main street, pausing frequently to look into shop windows. Each time they saw a shoe store Tanner hoped she would want to enter, but she seemed uninterested. Finally, he could stand it no longer. "Aren't we going shoe shopping today?" he asked, trying to keep the pleading out of his voice.
"Oh, no, silly," she said, smiling at him. "You solved my shoe problem already. I went to that store and bought a half-dozen more pairs. I'm set for shoes."
Tanner's heart sank. "What are we shopping for, then?"
"Dresses," she said. "I don't have enough color in my wardrobe. And I want you to advise me as I try things on."
"Oh," he said, trying not to sound as uninterested as he felt.
Soon they reached Earl & Singer, a smaller branch of the famous New York store. They rode the elevator up to the third floor and walked over to the dresses department. There was a large, overstuffed chair next to the three-way mirrors. "You just sit here, darlin'," Emily cooed, "and I'll come out with new dresses on and see what you think." After he was seated, Emily dropped her large handbag in his lap, smiled, and headed for the dressing rooms.
The saleswoman helping Emily saw a large commission in her future. She brought Emily a half-dozen dresses she thought Emily would like. The first one was fire engine red, and was made of Spandex. Emily wore it out to Tanner. He wasn't sure what he should say.
"Well, uh," he began. "Gosh, Emily, you'd look good in anything. A burlap bag. Y'know?"
Emily harrumphed. "This is not a burlap bag! This is a designer label costing almost a thousand dollars!"
"Yeah, but..." he stopped. "Emily, you're a beautiful woman. That dress does nothing for you."
Emily frowned and returned to the dressing room.
One by one, she went through all six dresses. He found fault with each of them. She was growing impatient. He was growing sleepy. He dozed in the chair. Emily went back to the dressing room, put on her own clothes, walked quietly to his chair, carefully took her handbag out of his lap, and left.
"Not such a beautiful day after all?" asked the Ferry Godmother as Emily boarded the boat.
"Actually," said Emily with a mysterious smile, "it was perfect."
That evening the men assembled for the rose ceremony. Chris came out of a side room. He smiled broadly until he realized Tanner wasn't among them. He couldn't believe it. No need for a rose ceremony? But Emily had promised! He decided to begin normally.
"Gentlemen," he began, "it's time for the rose ceremony. Our bachelorette is right here. Gentlemen, here's Emily." He extended his arm with a flourish as she walked into the room.
Chris stepped back in the shadows to get his champagne flute and his butter knife. He watched as Emily approached the silver tray of roses, then looked up at the men.
"Any of y'all not want a rose?" she asked.
"We all want a rose," came the reply.
"Catch!" Emily called, and tossed the roses toward the men.
She turned and looked at Chris, who was whimpering in the hallway. "Now, wasn't that more fun than that long, drawn-out stuff?" she cooed.
The path up to Chris's house was lovely that morning. Colorful flowers were in full bloom. Colorful songbirds were in full throat. And even though she was wearing a bright peach top over her white deck pants, she felt a little drab alongside them. Fortunately, she had bought a variety of colors in the comfortable sandals, and was able to find some that matched her top perfectly. She hummed softly to herself as she walked up the path.
She arrived to find Chris in a state of panic. "Emily," he said, in a tone that could be used to describe a near-death experience, "you absolutely must hold a rose ceremony tonight." He stared into her eyes with an intensity that made her uncomfortable. "We advertise this show with roses. Your promo picture has you holding a large bouquet of them. When we go week after week with no rose ceremony, the viewers get confused. We simply cannot have that." His eyes continued to bore into her.
She tried to calm him with reassurance and a casual voice. "Well, that's no problem, Sugar," she purred, smiling up at him. "We'll just do one tonight, no matter what."
Chris exhaled. His shoulders dropped to their normal position. He blinked his eyes.
"Thank you. Thank you," he said, as though she had rescued him from a house fire. He didn't mention that he feared a pink slip, nor did he mention he resented having no role to play. He simply smiled and wished her a happy day as he saw her to the door.
Russell arrived at the men's house just as breakfast was finishing. He saw the remains of crepes, various berry preserves, poached eggs, and the ever-present Bloody Marys and Orange Blossoms. Mary Ann sat next to Gilles and helped him fuss with the powdered sugar. Richard rose from the table and took the date card from Russell's beak.
TANNER ~ LET ME INVITE MY FAVORITE FOOT SOLDIER TO SHOP 'TIL WE DROP. ~ EMILY. "Shoes!" exclaimed Tanner. "She wants me to help her try on shoes!" He practically floated up the stairs to get ready.
The Ferry Godmother looked particularly cheerful that morning as she ushered them aboard. "What a beautiful day!" she sang out over the noise of the engines. "You'll enjoy this afternoon in town."
Tanner and Emily walked hand-in-hand along the main street, pausing frequently to look into shop windows. Each time they saw a shoe store Tanner hoped she would want to enter, but she seemed uninterested. Finally, he could stand it no longer. "Aren't we going shoe shopping today?" he asked, trying to keep the pleading out of his voice.
"Oh, no, silly," she said, smiling at him. "You solved my shoe problem already. I went to that store and bought a half-dozen more pairs. I'm set for shoes."
Tanner's heart sank. "What are we shopping for, then?"
"Dresses," she said. "I don't have enough color in my wardrobe. And I want you to advise me as I try things on."
"Oh," he said, trying not to sound as uninterested as he felt.
Soon they reached Earl & Singer, a smaller branch of the famous New York store. They rode the elevator up to the third floor and walked over to the dresses department. There was a large, overstuffed chair next to the three-way mirrors. "You just sit here, darlin'," Emily cooed, "and I'll come out with new dresses on and see what you think." After he was seated, Emily dropped her large handbag in his lap, smiled, and headed for the dressing rooms.
The saleswoman helping Emily saw a large commission in her future. She brought Emily a half-dozen dresses she thought Emily would like. The first one was fire engine red, and was made of Spandex. Emily wore it out to Tanner. He wasn't sure what he should say.
"Well, uh," he began. "Gosh, Emily, you'd look good in anything. A burlap bag. Y'know?"
Emily harrumphed. "This is not a burlap bag! This is a designer label costing almost a thousand dollars!"
"Yeah, but..." he stopped. "Emily, you're a beautiful woman. That dress does nothing for you."
Emily frowned and returned to the dressing room.
One by one, she went through all six dresses. He found fault with each of them. She was growing impatient. He was growing sleepy. He dozed in the chair. Emily went back to the dressing room, put on her own clothes, walked quietly to his chair, carefully took her handbag out of his lap, and left.
"Not such a beautiful day after all?" asked the Ferry Godmother as Emily boarded the boat.
"Actually," said Emily with a mysterious smile, "it was perfect."
That evening the men assembled for the rose ceremony. Chris came out of a side room. He smiled broadly until he realized Tanner wasn't among them. He couldn't believe it. No need for a rose ceremony? But Emily had promised! He decided to begin normally.
"Gentlemen," he began, "it's time for the rose ceremony. Our bachelorette is right here. Gentlemen, here's Emily." He extended his arm with a flourish as she walked into the room.
Chris stepped back in the shadows to get his champagne flute and his butter knife. He watched as Emily approached the silver tray of roses, then looked up at the men.
"Any of y'all not want a rose?" she asked.
"We all want a rose," came the reply.
"Catch!" Emily called, and tossed the roses toward the men.
She turned and looked at Chris, who was whimpering in the hallway. "Now, wasn't that more fun than that long, drawn-out stuff?" she cooed.
Chapter 28 by Belle (84)
It was getting warmer in the hockey arena. That was odd, Ames thought. Aren't these places supposed to be chilly? He took off his jacket. As he did so, the bottom of the jacket caught on a handkerchief that was in its pants pocket and nearly pulled it out. Ames hurriedly stuffed it back in, but a corner was still showing.
When Ames looked up, he noticed that the arena was nearly deserted. And something else was very strange. The ice in the rink was slowly melting. It was almost as if the floor was being lowered as the temperature increased and the water got deeper and deeper. Then, from the area where one of the goals had been, a tunnel opened up. Ames couldn't take his eyes away from the rink--it was now a virtual lake--and, wonder of wonders, here was a boat coming out of the tunnel!
Ames, ever curious, couldn't resist going to check it out. This would be a story to add to his archive of fascinating factoids with which to regale the ladies he might meet in the future. The boat was being rowed by a muscular man of indeterminate age dressed as if he were from ancient Greek times. Ames was drawn to the boat as if by a siren, or a world class museum, or an Ivy League dining club.
"Please, get in," said the man. "I am Charon."
Charon didn't usually reveal himself to his passengers, but there was something special about this one. He sensed a kind of bromance in the making. Ames just looked as if he could carry on a stimulating conversation about almost anything.
To Charon, that was quite an improvement over the run of the mill transport. Beth referred to them as "Bachpeople," but Charon, being the intellectual snob that he was, thought they were mostly vapid, insipid or vacuous. He did not hesitate to bash or hate on them whenever he was in the company of his fellow staff at Never World. Look what they'd sent him so far, he thought. Phony "professionals," most of them--full of themselves and only too willing to hold their hands out for swag and tribute. Charon sighed.
Ames gracefully climbed into the boat as if wafted there from the sideline of the arena. "My goodness!" he crowed. "The special effects here are even more impressive than the jumbotron in the Wells Fargo Center in Philadelphia or the Boston Garden. I'm amazed, awed and incredulous."
"Well," said Charon, "We do whatever it takes to accompligh our mission."
"And what is that?" Ames asked.
"That's a closely guarded secret," Charon replied.
"But are you taking me somewhere?" Ames asked. He noticed the boat was moving back toward the tunnel from which it came. He was intrigued, but he wasn't sure even his vaunted sense of adventure was ready for this. Getting concussed in a boxing match in Thailand was one thing; being spirited away from a hockey arena was a different head game altogether.
"Yes, I am," Charon acknowledged in a sonorous monotone.
"Well, I need to know where, and what your mission is, before I agree to go," worried Ames.
"Relax, now. It's not that you have a choice, but I don't think you will be disappointed," Charon said soothingly. "I might be able to open up to you if you can show me what you're made of," he continued.
"How do I do that?" Ames was becoming curiouser by the moment.
"Well," invited Charon. "Look around. Talk to me."
By this time the boat had come out the other side of the tunnel and was progressing smoothly down the river.
"Oh, my! The sky has turned such an amazing twilight sapphire blue, complete with swirling clouds and gigantic stars. And look at those sunflowers on the shore! It's as if Vincent Van Gogh had designed the landscape. Those water lilies in the river must have been put here by Monet. And this boat? It could have come right out of a Winslow Homer painting. On the bank there--that octagon shaped building with a spire--is it an Eero Saarinen church? And that library! I just know it--I. M. Pei! And that house--Frank Lloyd Wright, right?" Ames recited a litany of the wonders that had tantalized his Renaissance sensibilities--all without a single cue card.
All of a sudden the birds burst into song. "Vivaldi. The Four Seasons!" Ames gasped. "Beautiful! Can they do the Swedish Rhapsody?" Ames walked to the front of the boat where he saw several leather bound volumes with gold leaf.
"Sophocles . . . Aeschylus . . . Euripides! Marvelous! It's as if I'd left the earth as I know it and gone to heaven," Ames rhapsodized. Russell Crow squawked.
"All right; you passed," Charon conceded. "Are you sworn to secrecy?"
Ames eagerly nodded in the affirmative.
As they continued their journey, Charon proceeded to tell Ames the story of Never World. It was a place to which Bachpeople were taken after they left the show. Bachpeople were thought to be very special--much too rarified to rejoin the general population of pedestrian celebrity junkies. No, no. Instead, they would henceforth be on placed on a pedestal and receive the junkies' tribute. Their every move and thought would be recorded, reported to an adoring public and preserved for posterity.
Ames paid Charon such rapt attention that he was almost unaware when the boat pulled up at the shore. "Here we are, Ames," said Charon. "I just want to give you some last minute advice. If you're tempted to run off in a limousine with one of the women, don't be so impetuous that you actually fall for her for longer than a month or so. Keeping in circulation is very important."
Ames nodded and stepped out of the boat under the gaze of the beautiful Beth.
"Welcome," she said. "Let me show you around." Ames broke into his trademark charming smile. Just as Ames moved to greet Beth, Russell Crow swooped down and grabbed at the corner of a handkerchief that was sticking out of Ames' pocket. A few white raisins tumbled onto the ground. Inexplicably Ames, apparently a subscriber to the "five second rule," picked up a couple of the raisins and ate them.
Back at the bunk house, Bentley could be heard to chortle, "Snap! Another one bites the dust." Charon's boat pulled away. A lonely rose floated languidly down the river with the current.
When Ames looked up, he noticed that the arena was nearly deserted. And something else was very strange. The ice in the rink was slowly melting. It was almost as if the floor was being lowered as the temperature increased and the water got deeper and deeper. Then, from the area where one of the goals had been, a tunnel opened up. Ames couldn't take his eyes away from the rink--it was now a virtual lake--and, wonder of wonders, here was a boat coming out of the tunnel!
Ames, ever curious, couldn't resist going to check it out. This would be a story to add to his archive of fascinating factoids with which to regale the ladies he might meet in the future. The boat was being rowed by a muscular man of indeterminate age dressed as if he were from ancient Greek times. Ames was drawn to the boat as if by a siren, or a world class museum, or an Ivy League dining club.
"Please, get in," said the man. "I am Charon."
Charon didn't usually reveal himself to his passengers, but there was something special about this one. He sensed a kind of bromance in the making. Ames just looked as if he could carry on a stimulating conversation about almost anything.
To Charon, that was quite an improvement over the run of the mill transport. Beth referred to them as "Bachpeople," but Charon, being the intellectual snob that he was, thought they were mostly vapid, insipid or vacuous. He did not hesitate to bash or hate on them whenever he was in the company of his fellow staff at Never World. Look what they'd sent him so far, he thought. Phony "professionals," most of them--full of themselves and only too willing to hold their hands out for swag and tribute. Charon sighed.
Ames gracefully climbed into the boat as if wafted there from the sideline of the arena. "My goodness!" he crowed. "The special effects here are even more impressive than the jumbotron in the Wells Fargo Center in Philadelphia or the Boston Garden. I'm amazed, awed and incredulous."
"Well," said Charon, "We do whatever it takes to accompligh our mission."
"And what is that?" Ames asked.
"That's a closely guarded secret," Charon replied.
"But are you taking me somewhere?" Ames asked. He noticed the boat was moving back toward the tunnel from which it came. He was intrigued, but he wasn't sure even his vaunted sense of adventure was ready for this. Getting concussed in a boxing match in Thailand was one thing; being spirited away from a hockey arena was a different head game altogether.
"Yes, I am," Charon acknowledged in a sonorous monotone.
"Well, I need to know where, and what your mission is, before I agree to go," worried Ames.
"Relax, now. It's not that you have a choice, but I don't think you will be disappointed," Charon said soothingly. "I might be able to open up to you if you can show me what you're made of," he continued.
"How do I do that?" Ames was becoming curiouser by the moment.
"Well," invited Charon. "Look around. Talk to me."
By this time the boat had come out the other side of the tunnel and was progressing smoothly down the river.
"Oh, my! The sky has turned such an amazing twilight sapphire blue, complete with swirling clouds and gigantic stars. And look at those sunflowers on the shore! It's as if Vincent Van Gogh had designed the landscape. Those water lilies in the river must have been put here by Monet. And this boat? It could have come right out of a Winslow Homer painting. On the bank there--that octagon shaped building with a spire--is it an Eero Saarinen church? And that library! I just know it--I. M. Pei! And that house--Frank Lloyd Wright, right?" Ames recited a litany of the wonders that had tantalized his Renaissance sensibilities--all without a single cue card.
All of a sudden the birds burst into song. "Vivaldi. The Four Seasons!" Ames gasped. "Beautiful! Can they do the Swedish Rhapsody?" Ames walked to the front of the boat where he saw several leather bound volumes with gold leaf.
"Sophocles . . . Aeschylus . . . Euripides! Marvelous! It's as if I'd left the earth as I know it and gone to heaven," Ames rhapsodized. Russell Crow squawked.
"All right; you passed," Charon conceded. "Are you sworn to secrecy?"
Ames eagerly nodded in the affirmative.
As they continued their journey, Charon proceeded to tell Ames the story of Never World. It was a place to which Bachpeople were taken after they left the show. Bachpeople were thought to be very special--much too rarified to rejoin the general population of pedestrian celebrity junkies. No, no. Instead, they would henceforth be on placed on a pedestal and receive the junkies' tribute. Their every move and thought would be recorded, reported to an adoring public and preserved for posterity.
Ames paid Charon such rapt attention that he was almost unaware when the boat pulled up at the shore. "Here we are, Ames," said Charon. "I just want to give you some last minute advice. If you're tempted to run off in a limousine with one of the women, don't be so impetuous that you actually fall for her for longer than a month or so. Keeping in circulation is very important."
Ames nodded and stepped out of the boat under the gaze of the beautiful Beth.
"Welcome," she said. "Let me show you around." Ames broke into his trademark charming smile. Just as Ames moved to greet Beth, Russell Crow swooped down and grabbed at the corner of a handkerchief that was sticking out of Ames' pocket. A few white raisins tumbled onto the ground. Inexplicably Ames, apparently a subscriber to the "five second rule," picked up a couple of the raisins and ate them.
Back at the bunk house, Bentley could be heard to chortle, "Snap! Another one bites the dust." Charon's boat pulled away. A lonely rose floated languidly down the river with the current.
Chapter 27 by WW (78)
The front door was wide open, so when the date card arrived nobody was surprised when Russell just flapped into the living room and sat on the coffee table. The men were sipping caffe lattes, or Bloody Marys, or Orange Blossoms, and just about ready to eat the omelets and croissants being prepared by Gilles. Mary Ann was serving as Gilles's assistant, although it was difficult to determine exactly what her role was, given that she seemed merely to be standing near him and watching him. He, in turn, seemed pleased with her company, and often would describe for her exactly what ingredients he was adding, or what technique he was using. Mike took the date card from Russell's bill.
"AMES ~ LETS NOT LEAVE OUR ROMANCE ON ICE ~ EMILY," Mike read aloud.
"Woo hoo!" some of the guys shouted. "Things are heating up!" Ames just smiled.
The helicopter was waiting for them on the lawn outside the house, and they both hopped in. Once again, Emily pointed out the features of Care-A-Lion and Ames seemed appreciative of her narration. Before long they landed in a large parking lot outside a massive sports complex. A neon sign announced HOME OF THE CARE-A-LION TWIRLY WINDS, and showed an enormous rendering of a hockey player zooming along on ice.
"I've never been to a hockey game before," said Emily with excitement in her voice. "Have you?"
"Just once," Ames said. "It was pretty interesting."
"Well, aren't I the lucky one, then?" Emily gushed. "You can explain everything to me."
"Do you know who the Twirly Winds are playing today?" asked Ames.
"I'm not sure," Emily began, but then spotted a sandwich board near the door. "Does it say up there?"
" 'The Burnaby Beavers'," Ames read aloud. "Ah. Right outside Vancouver, BC."
Their seats were spectacular, and they rose for the parading of the colors and the singing of the two national anthems. Emily was surprised that Ames knew the words and tune for the Canadian national anthem and enjoyed his rich baritone as he sang along. Then the puck was dropped and play began.
"How many guys on each side?" Emily asked.
"Six," Ames said, smiling at her. "Five plus the goalie. He doesn't move far from the net."
Soon a whistle blew. "What's that about?" asked Emily.
"It's a penalty," Ames said. "One of the Twirly Winds was caught high-sticking. It's only a two-minute minor penalty." They watched as the player went off the ice and into the penalty box.
"But, wait!" Emily protested. "Now the Twirly Winds are one man short!"
"Yes," said Ames. "That's why they call it a penalty."
"But that's not fair!" Emily fussed, even more loudly. "BOOOO!" The people in front of them turned around and looked at her.
"And anyway," Emily continued, "what's high-sticking? What's that mean?"
"It means the player held the stick above his shoulders."
"Well, big frickin' deal," Emily huffed, crossing her arms in front of her.
Shortly, the player returned to the ice and Emily sat up straighter. "That's better," she nodded.
The whistle blew. "Again???" Emily demanded. However, this time the penalty was called on the Beavers.
"Whoa," said Ames. "It's a four-minute double minor penalty."
"Double minor penalty?" echoed Emily. "What kind of silly name is a double minor penalty?"
"It's four minutes," Ames said, his patience growing thin. "It's for one of the things that might get you a two-minute penalty, but it's a more serious version of it."
"Glad it's their guy," Emily gloated.
But then the whistle blew again.
"Now what?" Emily sulked.
"A five-minute major penalty against the Twirly Winds. Didn't you see our guy checking that Beaver guy really hard into the boards?"
Emily snickered. "Yep. Took him right out."
"Well," Ames said stiffly, "that's what got our guy the major penalty."
Emily was still considering her protest when the Beavers made a goal.
"WHAT?" she yelled. "The Twirly Winds are one guy short and the Beavers are taking advantage of that to make a goal? That's just not nice! I'm leaving!"
Ames said nothing as Emily stood.
"Are you coming with me?"
"Um, no," Ames said calmly. "I think I'll just stay and watch the rest of the game."
"I can't believe this," Emily said between clenched teeth. She held her head extra high as she walked over to the helicopter and boarded it. She gave one last look at the doorway to see if Ames had wised up, but there was no sign of him.
A bit later, Russell Crow flapped to Chris's house with the day's report.
"DAMN!" shouted Chris. "Another night with no rose ceremony!" He ate white raisins until he felt better. It took the entire box.
"AMES ~ LETS NOT LEAVE OUR ROMANCE ON ICE ~ EMILY," Mike read aloud.
"Woo hoo!" some of the guys shouted. "Things are heating up!" Ames just smiled.
The helicopter was waiting for them on the lawn outside the house, and they both hopped in. Once again, Emily pointed out the features of Care-A-Lion and Ames seemed appreciative of her narration. Before long they landed in a large parking lot outside a massive sports complex. A neon sign announced HOME OF THE CARE-A-LION TWIRLY WINDS, and showed an enormous rendering of a hockey player zooming along on ice.
"I've never been to a hockey game before," said Emily with excitement in her voice. "Have you?"
"Just once," Ames said. "It was pretty interesting."
"Well, aren't I the lucky one, then?" Emily gushed. "You can explain everything to me."
"Do you know who the Twirly Winds are playing today?" asked Ames.
"I'm not sure," Emily began, but then spotted a sandwich board near the door. "Does it say up there?"
" 'The Burnaby Beavers'," Ames read aloud. "Ah. Right outside Vancouver, BC."
Their seats were spectacular, and they rose for the parading of the colors and the singing of the two national anthems. Emily was surprised that Ames knew the words and tune for the Canadian national anthem and enjoyed his rich baritone as he sang along. Then the puck was dropped and play began.
"How many guys on each side?" Emily asked.
"Six," Ames said, smiling at her. "Five plus the goalie. He doesn't move far from the net."
Soon a whistle blew. "What's that about?" asked Emily.
"It's a penalty," Ames said. "One of the Twirly Winds was caught high-sticking. It's only a two-minute minor penalty." They watched as the player went off the ice and into the penalty box.
"But, wait!" Emily protested. "Now the Twirly Winds are one man short!"
"Yes," said Ames. "That's why they call it a penalty."
"But that's not fair!" Emily fussed, even more loudly. "BOOOO!" The people in front of them turned around and looked at her.
"And anyway," Emily continued, "what's high-sticking? What's that mean?"
"It means the player held the stick above his shoulders."
"Well, big frickin' deal," Emily huffed, crossing her arms in front of her.
Shortly, the player returned to the ice and Emily sat up straighter. "That's better," she nodded.
The whistle blew. "Again???" Emily demanded. However, this time the penalty was called on the Beavers.
"Whoa," said Ames. "It's a four-minute double minor penalty."
"Double minor penalty?" echoed Emily. "What kind of silly name is a double minor penalty?"
"It's four minutes," Ames said, his patience growing thin. "It's for one of the things that might get you a two-minute penalty, but it's a more serious version of it."
"Glad it's their guy," Emily gloated.
But then the whistle blew again.
"Now what?" Emily sulked.
"A five-minute major penalty against the Twirly Winds. Didn't you see our guy checking that Beaver guy really hard into the boards?"
Emily snickered. "Yep. Took him right out."
"Well," Ames said stiffly, "that's what got our guy the major penalty."
Emily was still considering her protest when the Beavers made a goal.
"WHAT?" she yelled. "The Twirly Winds are one guy short and the Beavers are taking advantage of that to make a goal? That's just not nice! I'm leaving!"
Ames said nothing as Emily stood.
"Are you coming with me?"
"Um, no," Ames said calmly. "I think I'll just stay and watch the rest of the game."
"I can't believe this," Emily said between clenched teeth. She held her head extra high as she walked over to the helicopter and boarded it. She gave one last look at the doorway to see if Ames had wised up, but there was no sign of him.
A bit later, Russell Crow flapped to Chris's house with the day's report.
"DAMN!" shouted Chris. "Another night with no rose ceremony!" He ate white raisins until he felt better. It took the entire box.
Chapter 26 by J (77)
In CH's apartment: May Bird is seated on the edge of the table blinking her raven eyes.
No Chris I swear if that car man heard that we are to end in the Virgin Islands then it was not from my singing. Could he have found out from that Tanner fellow. He went to that special place for Emily .
The speech will have to be edited and placed in a misleading way in the opening night package. Not all of it just pieces. It was all I could do to not slap him.
Can you go back to the Bird Bath and keep an eye on the humans please and if that Russell shows up again please come find me. He must stop retuning people to the game without my consent.
No Chris I swear if that car man heard that we are to end in the Virgin Islands then it was not from my singing. Could he have found out from that Tanner fellow. He went to that special place for Emily .
The speech will have to be edited and placed in a misleading way in the opening night package. Not all of it just pieces. It was all I could do to not slap him.
Can you go back to the Bird Bath and keep an eye on the humans please and if that Russell shows up again please come find me. He must stop retuning people to the game without my consent.
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