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.
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