Season 5 – Episode 08 – (Slippery When Wet)

Sally thought she heard her mother whisper, “Great, we just got rid of one country bumpkin. Now who’s this caddisfly?”

She was referring to the one and only Jackie Loonsuckle—standing front and center—Red Bull in his right hand and Mt Dew in his left. His eyes bulged from the thirty-eight-hour drive. Along with a front lip full of Copenhagen Longcut.

Jackie, so hopped up on caffeine and nicotine, could barely blink. This in no way, shape, or form altered his ego.

“Sally! Hey Babe. Bet you never guessed I’d get here so fast, hey?” said Jackie. Then followed it with, “Who’s the clown sitting next to you?”

He referred to Quale Chute. Sally’s former boyfriend who preceded Rusty.

Quale rose from his chair and announced his presence: “Hello sir. My name is Quale Chute. Legacy at Harvard—Importer Exporter— longtime friend of the Squatsnfishes. And let’s just say—a very very intimate friend to Sally.”

Then Chute turned and winked at her. Sally gripped the arms of her chair so tightly she thought she might crack the aluminum.  

As the two knuckleheads (Jackie and Quale) squared off to officially greet in a Cro-Magnon hand squeezing contest… Glenn with two N’s politely excused himself and strongly suggested to Sanda that they get some more food and refreshments for their guests.

Speaking of guests… Rusty’s crew of eight from Indiana had settled in nicely at camp and orientation was taking place within the hour. Instead of addressing individual questions multiple times, Cos made a Q & A sheet for his partner to deliver.

The group assembled and Rusty began his pitch: “Ladies and gentlemen, we welcome you to Flathers and Scales Fishy Outfitters. This is my partner Cosmoid Scale. Cos and I will be your hosts for the week. I’ll just run through a quick…”

And no sooner than he said the word quick, from behind his crowd of listeners he witnessed Celine, who was chasing Link, who was chasing a groundhog, blast through the kitchen door and steamroll toward the pantry room. Thankfully she had a meat cleaver in her hands.

“Where was I?” Rusty stammered, “oh yes, the itinerary for… for the week.”

He covered mealtimes, guide assignments, fishing regulations, staff tipping, and did all this while unsuccessfully head motioning Cos to attend to the quite noticeable chaos in the back room of the kitchen.

Rusty had developed a considerable brain-ache. He ended by saying, “I believe we may be having roast pig this evening, or at least something closely related to their family. You’re all free to roam the island now. We will see you back here in an hour for supper.”

A second after the last guest was abruptly pushed from the lodge… Rusty sprinted to the kitchen just in time for a mad-scrambling groundhog to come out of the walk-in storage room—house afire—looking for the nearest escape route.

Now, this was the exact door that he had entered from the outside, and the only thing between him and that door was Rusty. The hog briefly skidded to a halt… pawed the kitchen floor like a bull before it charged its matador, then shot like a ball from a cannon and darted directly toward the exit—between Rusty’s legs.

“Catch that little S.O.B.!” Rusty heard Celine shriek as she came out of the backroom, hair disheveled, cleaver held high in her throwing arm.

Link was also in hot pursuit. But when he came out of the storage room, he took a bad angle, and his claws were unable to grip the tile floor of the kitchen. The result had him careening off the dishwasher and then bouncing into a leg of the prep-table. This turned him upside down and removed him from the competition.

“Celine, NO!” Rusty shouted. But it was too late. She had already released the meat cleaver from her throwing position. In Rusty’s eyes it was Joe Montana—hand opposite his throwing arm reaching out and pointing at the target—football (cleaver) tucked close to the ear. Then came the quick release, like hitting a tight end on a quick out pattern. “Throw it through the pads on their chest,” he was thinking.

Rusty winced as the weapon flew past, the groundhog running through his legs, and the only thing that could happen next… did.

Rusty’s eldest guest—Mr. Long Ears—had returned to ask a quick question. Instead of asking his question, he became a linebacker for a groundhog as it completed its tour between Rusty’s legs and exited the building at full throttle.

Celine, who had already released the cleaver, WAY too early, was oddly aware enough to realize she had misfired and screamed, “Watch Out!”

Long Ears watched alright… He watched as the groundhog shot out of the lodge’s kitchen—jumped up high enough with its hoof to clip him in the family jewels—thus making Long Ears bend at the waist—and put the old geezer’s left earlobe in a direct line of flight with Celine’s meat cleaver. Even the master himself, “The Great Throwdini,” could not have trimmed that drooping flap with such purposeful skill.

Exactly one-half inch of lobe was now missing from Long Ears. Actually, not missing, it was dangling by a proverbial thread. Something that Celine later claimed she could sew back on, like closing the innards of a Thanksgiving turkey.

This offer was refuted by Long Ears. As was her apology of, “Sorry—the handle of that cleaver—super Slippery When Wet.”

Speaking of wet… Both Jackie and Quale were starting to bead up on the forehead when each refused to release their grasp on the other’s hand.

Then Sally—who had quickly become bored with this chauvinistic act—rose to her feet and abruptly grabbed each hand-grasper, by using her own hands, to clamp down on an earlobe. While she twisted furiously, she stated, “That’s enough out of you two cavemen. Now sit your butts down and act like proper guests at my parents’ home. You are not animals roaming the wilds.”  

Gieves reappeared as Sally was towing each respective guest to opposite sides of the patio table. “Sit here—keep your mouths shut—don’t move,” were her commands.

“Yes, Gieves?” she asked.

          “Madam, a caller for you, on hold in the study. Saying it is urgent. Would you like to take it, or shall I retrieve a message?”

“No, I’ll be right there. Thank you, Gieves,” she answered.

“Hmmm,” Sally thought on the way to the house. “I wonder who knows I’m here.”

Inside the study she brushed her hair to the side, picked up the phone, and punched the blinking light. “Hello? Sally Squatsnfishes here.”

On the opposite side there was silence. Sally waited for a response.

“Yes, hello, is anyone there?” she asked.

Then a gravelly voice came to life: “We know where you are, Sally. Fifth Avenue is a long way from Zimbabwe—Eagles are no longer a protected bird.”

Before she could respond, the line went dead. The hair on the back of her neck was alive.

–To Be Continued–