miss fortune mystery (ff) - targed by the tempest

by j l johnson

  There were rumors of some enterprising young souls selling bags of ice and Dixie cups out of their trunks in the parking lot. Supposedly, they were asking for outrageous sums, and getting them. They’d probably make enough from their resourceful idea to pay off an entire semester’s tuition.

  She was relatively sure the rumors were true, based on the vast number of Dixie cups she was seeing. It seemed the kids who bought those bags of ice were then reselling it by the cup inside the stadium for an even bigger profit. Ice was definitely a hot commodity, and as the crowd grew ever more rowdy, she didn’t think water was the only liquid being poured over that ice.

  “Hurry up Walter!” Ida Belle cried as she stood anxiously on her tiptoes and watched Gertie fly through the air. Walter was closing in on her location when Gertie’s bright-pink and white, polka-dot panties flashed the crowd as the skirt of her pink-plaid sun dress flew up over her waist.

  The crowd roared their approval and Gertie’s joyous peals of delight grated on Ida Belle’s very last nerve. She wondered if Gertie had any clue how many people were photographing her posterior for posterity. Serves her right, she thought.

  She abruptly sat back down and clutched at her chest when Walter miraculously caught her foolish friend before her colorfully-clad butt hit the ground.

  Her heart felt like it was about to pound its way right out of her ribcage. We’re too old for this nonsense, she thought as she watched Walter drag a weak and giggling Gertie back through the crowd to their seats.

  “Oh my dear, that was a blast,” Gertie exclaimed. She exhaled loudly and then hiccuped, trying to catch her breath. “You should go try it, Ida Belle.”

  “I don’t think so,” Ida Belle huffed, “anyway, I’m sure my plain, white undies wouldn’t draw nearly as many amateur photographers as your pretty, pink polka-dots did.”

  “Oh dear, did they really photograph my… my ass?” Gertie asked, and then she got even huffier than Ida Belle. “You should’ve stopped them Walter.”

  “Really?” Ida Belle snickered, “Walter should’ve stopped dozens of people from snapping your ass? He was kind of busy trying to get down there in time to catch your ass. Maybe you shouldn’t’ve flashed your ass in front of thousands of people.” Ida Belle shook her head and then snorted when she couldn’t hold back her laughter anymore. “It’s flat amazing, Gertie, the things you get yourself into, just absolutely amazing.”

  “They really shot my ass?” Gertie asked snickering. “I wonder if I’ll ever see a copy of it.”

  “We’ll have to check tomorrow, you might make the local paper,” Walter just shook his head and sat between the laughing women. “I can’t take you two anywhere…” He pulled a flask out of his shirt pocket and tipped it.

  “Walter!” Ida Belle abruptly stopped laughing and exclaimed. “Remember what happened last time? I thought we agreed, no cough syrup.”

  “We did,” he chuckled, tipping the flask again. “It’s not cough syrup, it’s bourbon. I bought it as soon as we crossed the border into Texas. I knew I’d need it before this day was over. You two could drive anyone to drink.”

  “Oh, well in that case, pass it over,” Ida Belle reached for his flask. “Speaking of driving,” she cocked her head at Gertie, “Gertie, you’re driving.”

  “Of course I’m driving; it’s my car!” Gertie exclaimed.

  “I mean, don’t drink,” Ida Belle chuckled, “I’m drinking… You’re driving.”

  “You could’ve just said that… Wait… You’re drinking? You mean drinking drinking, as in getting drunk, drinking?” she raised both of her eyebrows. “On a Sunday?”

  “I do. This isn’t like a real Sunday anyway, it’s more like an extra Saturday. Why should you always get to have all the fun?”

  “Ida Belle, are you sure about this?” Walter looked concerned, “I mean, you never drink more than two small drinks at any time. Ever. I’ve never even seen you get tipsy.”

  “It’s about time I let loose then, don’t you think?” Ida Belle tipped the flask again as Walter pulled another flask from his hip pocket and clinked it against hers.

  “How many of those did you bring?” Gertie snorted and Ida Belle chuckled.

  “My daddy said to always be prepared,” Walter winked at Ida Belle as he unscrewed the cap.

  “Gertie, I think I need a lil help here,” Walter called from the bathroom where he was diligently holding Ida Belle’s head above the porcelain throne. “My fingers are stuck, they seem to be stuck in her hair.”

  “That would be her White Rain,” Gertie snorted as she came in and wet down a washcloth. Walter had gotten Ida Belle into the bathroom before her stomach decided to empty itself, but it had been a close call.

  She’d been gagging in the car all the way from the stadium. And giggling. Gagging and then giggling, not a good combination. Not a combination either Walter or Gertie was accustomed to hearing from Ida Belle.

  “Well, she did say she wanted to let loose,” Walter claimed earlier, as he’d carried the completely limp Ida Belle out of the stadium to the car. “She’s definitely loose.”

  When ZZ Top took the stage in sparkling, flesh-colored nudie suits, the trio had decided they’d seen enough and it would be a good idea to get out of there before the mass exodus began.

  Eighty thousand inebriated young people all trying to get out of one parking lot was something they all agreed they’d rather avoid. Ida Belle seemed to be fine, until she stood up. Or, tried to stand up.

  Walter barely caught her before she tumbled all the way down the stairs. He easily scooped her into her arms and carried her out. She’d passed out completely as they approached the car.

  “She just better not let loose all over my car,” Gertie replied, “you know she never does anything in a small way. Go big or go home, she always says.”

  Gertie made Walter pull the raft out of the trunk and cover the backseat completely with it before she allowed him to put Ida Belle in her car. He’d propped her up against the rear wheel while he worked and Gertie had been sure she’d puke before he was finished. Ida Belle rode with her head snuggled into Walter’s chest in the backseat while Gertie chauffeured.

  “We can hose the raft off easier than the interior of my car,” Gertie claimed. “It’s better than making her ride in the trunk.”

  “You wouldn’t…” Walter raised his eyebrow.

  “Oh yes I would. She made me ride in her trunk after that last concert we went to,” Gertie huffed, “and I wasn’t even passed out like she is. She’d never know.”

  “Stuff’s like glue and it’s extremely flammable. I always tell her not to use so much, it’s downright dangerous. If there were any open flames close, this whole motel would be toast.” Gertie said as she used the damp washcloth to wipe off a strand of Ida Belle’s hair.

  “She’s gonna be in a world of hurt tomorrow,” Walter said after they got Ida Belle settled in her bed. “I’m starving, we didn’t eat all day. I’m gonna walk down and grab some food from that Whataburger down the street. I think it’s still open,” he glanced at his watch. “You want anything?”

  “I’ll drive us, I hear they keep the drive-through open later than the restaurant, even though it’s really not that late, not as late as it feels anyway,” Gertie picked up her bag and snatched the door key off the dresser. “I didn’t think I wanted anything, but now I’m hungry. And I really want a milkshake, chocolate, I think.”

  “Wait a sec,” Walter paused, “do you think we should just leave her?”

  “Well, she’s not going to go anywhere,” Gertie snickered. “Not tonight, for sure, and probably not tomorrow, either. Wow, look at that moon! It’s beautiful.” The full moon had risen while they’d gotten Ida Belle settled. “She’s gonna hate that she missed this, you know. She loves Whataburger and she loves full moons.”

  Chapter 3 - Wednesday morning, September 4, 1974

  “You’ve got to see this!” Walter exclaimed as he came into their cabin and turned on th
e TV. “There’s a hurricane barreling through the gulf.”

  “Oh dear, not another one?” Gertie looked up from the microwave oven where she was melting a square of cocoa butter to treat her sunburn. The melting cocoa, combined with the coffee that was percolating, made the cabin smell delicious.

  They’d stopped in the small town of Milam, Texas on Tuesday night to eat dinner before crossing the Pendleton bridge into Louisiana. Gertie had noticed a small general store not far from the diner that was still open and insisted on going in to buy baby oil before they got back on the road. Her sunburn from the concert had moved into the dry-itchy stage and she didn’t want to peel.

  She was delighted when she found not only the baby oil, but also a bar of real cocoa butter. Ida Belle had bought coffee and donuts. Walter resupplied his stock of bourbon and beer, saying that was the one thing he loved about the state of Texas, no dry parishes.

  “No parishes period,” Gertie had chuckled. “They call them counties here.”

  Walter hadn’t wanted to buy a Texas fishing license so they’d decided to stay on the Louisiana side of the lake. After driving up and down some small roads, they’d discovered a recently built fishing resort with vacancies not too far from the bridge.

  “Wow, fancy!” Walter said, “I didn’t know there was a microwave oven in here too.” Walter was staying in a small bed and bath only cabin, but Ida Belle and Gertie had a double bedroom with a kitchenette.

  Gertie had offered the second bedroom to Walter, saying she and Ida Belle wouldn’t mind sharing. Walter said he didn’t care about the bedroom but he didn’t want to share the only bathroom with the ladies. “Two women with one bathroom is already one too many,” he’d chuckled.

  All the cabins were ‘shotgun’ cabins, which meant if you opened both the back door and the front door, you could shoot a bullet straight through.

  The front doors led to the parking lot and the back doors led to a picnic area with tables and outdoor grills. The resort office, with a grocery and bait shop connected, was located at the top of the ‘U’ shaped cluster of cabins. Their cabin was in a corner spot right next to the lake, but on the opposite end of the boat launch and dock.

  “We even have dishes, silverware, and pots and pans,” Gertie said as she opened a cupboard to show him.

  “Now we just need some fish to fry,” Walter chuckled.

  “Did I hear you say something about another hurricane?” Ida Belle asked, coming out of the bathroom, pulling curlers from her hair and stuffing them back into her overnight bag. “Aha! I knew I brought another can,” she exclaimed, pulling the can out of the bag. She stepped out the back door to drench her hair in White Rain.

  “Oh yeah, when and where?” Gertie asked.

  “There should be another weather report soon…” Walter said, searching for a channel.

  “They always say they’re going to hit New Orleans, no matter what the radar says,” Ida Belle scoffed as she came back in to refill her coffee cup. “Oh good, the new pot of coffee’s done. Gertie, where’s your manners? Grab a cup for Walter.”

  “Thanks Gertie,” Walter said as she handed him a cup. “They’ve named this one Carmen and she really messed up the Yucatan Peninsula before she got to the gulf. She’s gaining strength out in the gulf again, and seems to be heading in the general direction to hit New Orleans. They’re already calling for evacuations.”

  “I knew it, they always say that,” Ida Belle snickered.

  “Why ‘she’?” Gertie asked as she picked up the percolator and poured coffee for him. “Why are hurricanes always named women’s names?”

  “Funny you should ask. I actually researched that once in high school. The first people to name storms were in the Caribbean Islands,” Walter said, “at least in this part of the world. They named them after whichever Saint’s day it was on the Roman Catholic liturgical calendar whenever a hurricane occurred. So some, or actually most, were named after men.”

  “Figures, had to be the Catholics... More men are named saints than women. You know it’s because the ones doing the naming are all men… Anyway, when did that stop?” Gertie asked.

  “Here? It was when we first started using science to study the weather,” Walter explained. “In the United States, tropical storms were named with a latitude and longitude designation representing where the storm originated, somewhere in the Atlantic. If it turned into a hurricane, the same name was used. That was hard for most meteorologists, not to mention normal people, to remember. It was also difficult to communicate and made mistakes more common because people easily misplace numbers.”

  “That makes sense,” Ida Belle said.

  “I can see where it’d get confusing. Who changed it?” Gertie asked.

  “During World War II, military meteorologists began to use women’s names for storms, and it’s been that way ever since.”

  “I bet all those military meteorologists back then were men,” Ida Belle snorted.

  “Of course, you know they were,” Gertie said, nodding in agreement. “So, are we staying here a few more days?”

  “I think we need to just play it by ear. We’ve already paid for the cabins for two more nights, so I say we go get that raft pumped up and get out there and catch us some fish,” Walter said. “We already wasted a whole day recuperating from that concert in Austin and I know we got here pretty late last night, but I need to fish. Oh, here’s a report.” Walter grabbed the remote to turn up the sound on the television.

  Carmen looked like she was getting ready to devastate some part of the gulf coast, but the meteorologists couldn’t yet pinpoint the exact area. They already had plans for evacuation however and listed the parishes in Louisiana which would most likely be affected.

  Gertie had been feeling guilty about a having a substitute teach her classes that week, but it appeared her students wouldn’t be in class as their parish was included in the evacuation. She told Walter and Ida Belle she’d rather feel guilty about the substitute than worry about a hurricane.

  “I just hope it skips Sinful completely,” Gertie mused.

  “The bayou will probably flood, but we’re all used to that happening,” Ida Belle said. She turned to Walter. “Have you talked to your dad, is he closing the store?”

  “I talked to him earlier, right after I saw the first report. He told me he’d already heard about the hurricane. He said he planned on closing up the store and heading up to Shreveport if they got an evacuation order,” he replied.

  “Well, we weren’t planning to go home for a few days anyway, so we might as well fish,” Ida Belle fluffed her hair. “How about we get going?”

  Walter nodded and went to get the raft out of Gertie’s trunk. He carried it to the back of the cabin and spread it out on the grass.

  “That’s a pretty handy little machine,” Gertie said as she unplugged the portable pump Walter had brought to blow up the raft.

  “Yep, it sure is,” he said, “too bad our extension cord wasn’t longer, though. Think you girls can help me carry the raft?”

  “You can’t just drag it?” Ida Belle asked.

  “Not with all this stuff all over the ground,” Walter replied. “I’m afraid a stick or something could tear a hole and it’d take over an hour to patch it.”

  “So I guess we’ll have to heft it,” Ida Belle said. “Should we load everything in first or wait till we have it in the lake?”

  “Let’s carry the oars and poles down to the dock and then bring the raft,” Walter picked up his tackle box and one of the poles, and pointed to the other poles and the oars. “Grab those, we’ll put them on the end of the dock and load them into the raft on our way out.”

  “Um, Walter?” Gertie asked, “where are the life vests?”

  “I only had two and I think they’re still in the trunk,” he said and set his tackle box back on the ground. “That reminds me, that little cooler is in the trunk too,” he propped his fishing pole against the box.

  “Don’t we need
three?” Gertie headed back through the cabin in the direction of the car. She popped the trunk when she reached it.

  “Naw, Fish and Game is more concerned about everyone having fishing licenses, and I don’t plan on going too far from the shore, anyway.” Walter had followed her. “I’m gonna grab the cooler and put some beer in it. You guys have ice in your fridge?”

  “There’s an ice machine,” Ida Belle pointed toward the bait store, “did I hear you say we only brought two life vests?”

  “Yep,” Walter answered, “I’m gonna let you two have them, I’ll do without.”

  They finally got everything ready and took the supplies to the dock. Then they carried the raft over and loaded everything into it.

  “Is that the top of a tree?” Gertie asked a half hour later, cocking her head at the large bump moving along the floor of the raft. The middle of the raft rippled and then there was a scratchy noise, quickly followed by ripping sounds.

  “That’s not good…” Walter sighed. He closed the tackle box on his lap and began to reel in his line.

  “Yep, we’re gonna sink. Hand me the oars and the poles when I get in. I’ll try to get them to shore,” Ida Belle said as she tightened her life jacket and lowered herself into the water, carefully keeping her hair-do out of the lake.

  “And to think you laughed at us when Gertie and I put these on,” she raised an eyebrow at Walter. “At least the water’s warm.”

  “You can’t manage all of that, how about you take the poles and… maybe the cooler, it should float. Hand me the oars,” Gertie started to say as she sank lower into the water. The entire side of the raft Walter had been sitting on suddenly deflated and dumped him head over heels into the lake. Gertie simply slid feet first into the water and she managed to hold onto the oars Ida Belle had shoved at her.

  “Hang on Walter,” Gertie shifted her hold on the oars and grabbed for the remaining side of the raft which still had enough air to hold it above the water. She dog-paddled her way over and maneuvered the raft to land in front of him. He plunked his tackle box onto the partially inflated side of the raft. Then he pulled it behind him while he swam toward the shore. It appeared he was about ten yards behind Ida Belle.