by Eddie Jones
“Is that the one where Tom Cruise danced in his socks and underwear?” asked Anna.
“You’re thinking of Risky Business,” said Will. “But both used classic rock songs to drive the story.”
“I don’t feel so good, Will. I think I’m going to be sick.”
“Maybe you need some fresh air, dear.”
Betsy sat on an amp and put her head between her knees, moaning.
“Turns out the only big name bands Betsy’s cousin knew were the ones who played at Bonnaroo and he only knew them in a crazy, mosh-pit sort of way. Betsy’s dad’s side of the family is basically a bunch of losers.”
Betsy stifled a belch. “Except for my Uncle Bucky. He made it big.”
“Oh, yeah, I forgot. He had that heavy equipment supply company outside of Beckley. What was the name of his business?”
“Bucky’s.”
“Right. Sold valves and fittings to the mining industry. It was real big for a time.”
“Until that mining accident,” Betsy added. “He lost seventeen men and his life’s savings in lawsuits.”
“And so here we are,” said Will. “Playing ‘Barfett’ music for a bunch of geriatric baby boomers and Midwestern school teachers making salaries so low that the only way they can afford to take a vacation is to come to the Bahamas during hurricane season. Are we pitiful or what?”
“I think it’s kind of romantic,” said Joe. “Doing what you love. Pursuing your dream. Going for the gold. Being all they can be.” He paused. “I’m addicted to motivational seminars. Trying to kick the habit, but it takes time. Take my buddy, for example. He came all the way down here hoping to hook up with his ex-girlfriend and now he’s—well, I’m not exactly sure where he is. Never came home last night.”
“What’s your point?” Anna asked.
“Just that there’s lots of stuff we could do, but we’re too scared to try.”
Betsy hugged her stomach. “I should’ve stayed in dental hygiene school.”
Will turned toward Anna. “Can you sing?”
“Seriously?”
“We might need another female vocal in case…” said Will, looking at his wife. “You know. I mean if you find this sort of abuse fun.”
“Come on,” added Joe. “We’ll be like the Mamas and the Papas.”
Anna eyed Boggs and the crowd pressing to get their picture taken with him. As long as she had to shadow him, she might as well do it from a distance.
“What would I play?”
“Mostly country and western with a few ‘70s hits thrown in,” said Will.
“I meant what instrument?”
“Just bang that tambourine on your hip from time to time and you’ll be fine.”
“What about me?” asked Joe.
“You any good with percussion? Drums, tom toms, bongos.”
Betsy interrupted. “Can you keep a beat?”
Joe shook his head. “Always had trouble with those organized cheers they do at ballgames.”
“How about keyboard?” said Will. “Ever play a piano?”
“Took typing in high school.”
“There must be something you can play.”
“I can’t believe you’re even suggesting this, Will.”
Will handed Joe a plastic horn. “How about the kazoo? Ever played one of these? We keep them around for birthday parties.”
“I don’t know, Will. I got a bad feeling about this,” Betsy said.
“Relax, hon. You worry too much. Remember the last time you had a bad feeling. We drove all night to Nashville for nothing.”
“My point exactly.”
“No, what I meant was, you had a hunch that not going to see your cousin in Tennessee was a bad idea.”
“You sure?” asked Betsy.
“Positive. I remember because we were going to play at the Wooden Boat Show in Georgetown and you said we should drive to Nashville instead. Ended up breaking down outside Gatlinburg. We left a perfectly good Ford Focus with 178,000 miles in the Appalachian Mountains for a chance to play a honky-tonk bar in Columbia, Tennessee because you had a bad feeling about staying in South Carolina.”
“And now I have a bad feeling about playing at him,” said Betsy, pointing toward Boggs.
“That makes two of us.” Before Anna could elaborate, the Congressman’s cell began vibrating in her front pocket. She pulled it out and flipped open the cover. An envelope icon flashing “URGENT!” appeared in the middle of the screen. She pressed CANCEL. The message whooshed away. Before she could close the cover, another message popped up. She hit CANCEL. Moments later another message and another and another. CANCEL, CANCEL, CANCEL!
Jamming the cell back into her pocket she glowered at Boggs and the idiotic foam fin he now wore on his head.
****
Eleven miles outside of Grover, Colorado, in a pasture just off Route 122, a missile silo opened, startling a herd of bison. Sirens wailed. Booster rockets ignited. The ground shook. A soldier sitting at the console in an underground command center bolted upright. COUNTDOWN COMMENCING flashed across his screen, prompting the young soldier to pick up the phone.
A red phone rang in the Oval Office.
14
In the White House Situation Room, members of the National Security Council studied a bank of flat screen television monitors tuned to various news networks, CNN, BBC, ABC, and Al Jazeera.
On the opposite end of the room, a giant screen blinked with pulsating lights over countries suspected of having nuclear capabilities. India, Israel, Russia, Romania, Iran, Iraq, North Korea, South Korea, China, Chile, Afghanistan, Kazakhstan, Uzbekistan, Kyrgyzstan, Pakistan, Tajikistan, Turkmenistan and France.
Tommy couldn’t believe he was now part of the President’s inner circle. Or that his beloved Georgia Bulldogs had fired their coach because of one missed field goal.
“Atten-hut!”
The President entered the room. Members of the council stood. Tommy took his place against the wall and nibbled the edge of a raspberry filled doughnut.
“Smoke’m if you got’m.”
Members of the NSC looked from the President to each other, and then sat.
“What do we have here, Fritz?”
The Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff opened a manila folder marked Top Secret.
“Hold on a sec,” said the President. “Who’s missing?”
“Your Secretary of State.”
“Andy? What’s his excuse?”
“Meeting with his publisher, sir.”
“Dadgummit. No wonder I can’t get anything done around here. Everyone on my staff has a book tour planned.”
Heads dropped; the room went silent. Uzbekistan bled red pixels on the far wall as it melted away.
The Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff re-opened the folder. “Mr. President, a few minutes ago we received notification from NORAD that an ICBM lifted off from a silo in Colorado.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s a state out west.”
“I meant what’s an ICBM?”
“Intercontinental ballistic missile.”
“I knew that. Was just testing you. Go on.”
“Sir, the missile is on its way to Moscow.”
“Have the Russians responded?”
“Yes, but not in the way you might expect. They’re using this as an excuse to attack the Swiss.”
“The Swiss?”
“It’s part of a long running feud over chocolate.”
“So, nobody’s taken a shot at us yet?”
“Apparently they’re afraid of our missile shield.”
“But it doesn’t work.”
“We’re the only ones who know that.”
“Can’t we just aim this missile toward outer space? I mean, the Russians are our allies.”
“Were, Mr. President. There’s a new regime in power and the Kremlin is a cold and dark place these days.”
“So what are our options?”
“There are a nu
mber of steps we can take, but we don’t have much time.”
“Then let’s get started.”
“Can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because we don’t know what those steps are. The launch sequence protocol was in the middle of an upgrade and the final steps haven’t been defined yet.”
“We’re the United States of America, for crying out loud. What kind of defense are we running here?”
“Mostly zone, Mr. President.”
“Then switch to man-to-man. Chest bump’m. I want a full-on blitz.”
“You just came from watching Sports Center, didn’t you, Mr. President?”
“Got to keep up with what’s happening on the gridiron. Got a lot riding on today’s games.”
The President rolled a pencil back and forth over his knuckles. Members at the table looked at him.
All but Tommy, who was licking a raspberry doughnut stain from his tie. Wow, free doughnuts and a President who likes college football. Do I live in a great country or what?
The Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff coughed.
The President stopped twirling his pencil. “What?”
“We’re awaiting your orders, sir.”
“Take us to DEFCON 1.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And you there. Timmy, was it? I want to see you in my office.”
15
Inside the airplane hanger, a good time spilled onto the floor. Anna watched old men in double-knit golf shirts with reptile insignias wobble and shuffle to “Muskrat Love.”
Pear shaped women wearing too much hairspray and not enough deodorant wiggled and jiggled.
The grand opening of the Diana Cole Smyth Spa and Casino appeared to be a huge success. Not for the stripper, of course. She was dead.
But for Boggs, who was harvesting a bumper crop of cash in small denominations, business boomed. To celebrate his success he bounded onto the stage, waving at the crowd and snuggling up close to Anna.
“You’re drunk,” she said, pushing him away.
“Nope. That comes later.”
“Get off me!” She tried to shove him in the chest but he caught her wrist and turned it severely.
“I haven’t forgot ‘bout how you done me last night. Now we can have us a good time together or I can be rough. It’s your call.”
“I told you. I’m not that kind of girl.”
“I know that, what guy doesn’t? I’m just trying to be friendly, is all.”
“Well, be friendly with someone else.”
“You call about my cell phone yet?”
“The restaurant doesn’t have it. Did you leave it at the dive shop?”
“Nope. I remember you were running late and I was going to get your number so I could add it to my contacts. That’s when I noticed it was missing. Can’t figure where that thing got to.”
“Maybe you should go by the restaurant. Could be they have it and just don’t know it.”
“Good idea.” He popped her smartly on the rear and retreated before she could retaliate.
“How you two doing?” asked Will.
Blowing hard, Joe cleared the barrel of his kazoo, sending a shower of spit onto the stage. “Great, boss.”
Anna winced. Her musical debut was not going well.
For one thing, there were crowd control issues. The loosely wrapped group of school teachers waggled their hips and turkey chins, clapping for an encore of “Crocodile Rock.”
The foursome huddled together.
“I need a break, Will.”
“So rest, hon. The three of us can handle it.”
“I’m with Betsy,” Anna added. “I say we stop and let the crowd rest.”
“But we can’t stop now,” said Joe. “We have them at fever pitch.”
“He’s right, dear. The crowd’s cranked. If we stop now, no telling what they’ll do. Maybe a slow number to calm them down before we cut out. Any thoughts?”
Betsy shook her head. Anna shrugged. Joe whispered into Will’s ear just loud enough for Betsy to hear.
“No, not that!” said Betsy, pushing Joe aside. “We swore we never would.”
“It’s only this one time, dear.”
“But Will, if we start playing that kind of music, you know what they’ll want next.”
“What’s she talking about?” asked Anna.
“And we’re right next to the Gulf Stream.” Joe said.
“But Will, you promised me we’d never stoop to this level.”
“Who knew we’d sink so far?”
Anna grabbed Will by the shoulder. “What song!”
“You don’t have to do anything, hon. We’ll let Joe do the intro, and I’ll handle the rest. It’ll be a cinch.” Will turned to Joe. “Think you can?”
He nodded, pressing the kazoo to his lips.
“‘Kay, final song and we’re done, I promise. As soon as they kill the lights you girls begin packing up.”
Betsy didn’t wait. She opened the case to her guitar and tossed in her pick.
The house lights dimmed. A spotlight fell on Joe. He blew his kazoo.
Anna stood in amazement as the skinny man worked his way up the scale of his plastic horn.
The crowd erupted with cheers. Lighters flickered on, beer bottles clicked. Elderly couples kissed and found themselves entangled in loose-fitting dentures.
Will stepped to the microphone, his husky voice crooning the opening words of “A Pirate Looks at Forty.”
Couples cheered. Old men gazed out the hanger at blue sky and palm trees. Women leaned forward on walkers as though standing on the bow of the Titanic.
Anna held a vision in her head, too. She was sailing past a chain of islands, the sun over her shoulder, water crystal-clear. A tropical breeze filled the sails, tugging her toward a sandy beach in a protected cove far away from the world of overzealous congressmen, Cuban terrorists, and government bureaucrats. Just her, the ocean and God. Heavenly.
Joe held the final note as lighters and cell phones twinkled in the muted light of the darkened airplane hangar.
Anna choked back tears.
Not from emotion, but from the pungent odor of ozone-depleting hairspray.
The song ended.
Anna bolted off the stage, but she was too late.
Boggs and his caravan pulled out the drive and motored off, leaving Anna in a dusty wake.
16
The knocking on the hull brought Sonny out of a deep sleep. He’d been dreaming that he was on a beach next to a woman wearing a bulky one-piece bathing suit. A pair of toe-head boys played at the water’s edge. The woman kept poking him in the ribs, yelling for him to sit up and watch the boys, but a heavy x-ray vest lay across his chest. Each time he tried to sit up, he sank further into the sand. The woman kept shouting at him, screaming for him to do something. Lifting his head, he saw the boys underwater, eyes open, faces blurred by the translucent ripples washing over them.
“Hello! Anybody in there?”
Sonny sprang upright, cracking his elbow on the storage shelf above the bunk. He pulled back the curtain and saw a well-tanned man with salt-and-pepper hair standing on the dock holding a white Stetson. Sonny stuck his head through open companionway.
“This your boat, captain?”
Captain. Sonny liked the way that sounded. “It’s a rental.”
“Permission to come aboard?”
The man stepped over the lifeline and onto the side deck before Sonny could say no.
“William Boggs,” the man said, pumping Sonny’s hand. “You may have seen my ads on TV. I’m running for president.”
“Sonny Cay. Not much into politics.”
“Too bad. There’s good money in it. Listen I need you to do me a favor. I lost my phone. One of those expensive ones that can do everything, but find its way back home. Think I might have left it at the restaurant last night. I checked with the hostess up there. She said a waitress picked up a whole bunch of stuff. Wallet, key chain, pocket
knife. Said it was left by some fellow the police took away. She pointed me to the dock master and he pointed me down here to you. If you’d look.”
“Don’t remember seeing a phone, but I’ll check.” Sonny fished through his pockets and put the multi-tool, bottle opener, and wallet on the cockpit seat. He tapped the bill of his fishing cap. “They returned my hat but kept my sunglasses and room key. Might be that the hired help has sticky fingers. I’d ask the red-headed waitress. She might know something.”
“I’ll do that. In the meantime, if you come across a phone that don’t belong to you, let me know. I’ll pay you a finder’s fee, of course.”
“No need for that,” said Sonny. “Happy to help.”
“I knew I’d come to the right guy. I told that boy up at the marina office who I was looking for, and he said I’d be crazy to ask for your help. But I said ‘nonsense.’ I size a man up pretty quick. If I don’t like him, I say so. I can tell by the way you move around this boat that you’re a fellow who goes after what he wants. Same as me. Don’t let nothing stop you. Now am I a good judge of character or what?”
“Clairvoyant,” said Sonny.
“Sounds like you just cussed me some, but it don’t matter. I like you. Tell you what. Here’s five dollars. Go have a drink on Congressman Bill Boggs. Heck, what am I saying? Take a twenty and get plastered. And if you stumble ‘cross that phone just bring it to the security guard over yonder at that cruise ship. He’ll know how to find me.”
Sonny found himself shaking the congressman’s hand and stuffing the twenty-dollar bill into the front pocket of his shorts. He waited until the Congressman was gone, then closed up the boat and walked to the office, using the cash to get a spare room key. If he hurried, he might have enough time to swing by Anna’s bungalow before heading to the airport.
****
Once, many years ago, Anna had rehearsed what she would say if she ever saw Sonny Cay again. They would not be her church words. She’d practiced the speech in front of her mirror, raising the pitch of her voice, changing the inflection to emphasize her point that Sonny was basically a selfish jerk. But over time, her anger had waned. Her need to vent and stomp and cry faded.
