Season TWO – Episode 18 – “ANCHORS AWAY”

Rusty was only able to shake Cinnamon once he made it to the gravel parking lot outside the dining hall. She could sustain her leg hold on split face stone tile, but not on jagged gravel.

Tomorrow would be his final day at the Gold Rope Ranch. And then it would be “anchors away” for himself and whomever may or may not want to join him at Professor Scale’s start-up fishing camp in NW Ontario.

Embrace the unknown… That’s what he was currently convincing himself of… Sitting by his lonesome stirring embers in the late-night fire in the outdoor gazebo.

He’d been scared to shreds the first time leaving the north woods of home and venturing to East Jesus, Indiana to pursue a degree in Fisheries Biology. Didn’t know a sole and didn’t have two nickels to rub together.

And now here he was… The present (or potentially past) boyfriend of world-famous outdoor fashion model Sally Squatsnfishes… About to make a career change by packaging his rods and heading to Canada, eh.

Final mental note to self: No more accepting suggested plans “A” or plans “B” from Ron Heimburg and Geoff Loonsuckle (sluggoes). Rusty would speak his truth… From the heart… Telling the truth is what he’s good at and for the most part keeps him safe.

Which President was it that said “The more often I tell the truth, the less I have to remember”… It didn’t matter, but that was his game plan come morning.

Reaching the third-floor hallway of the lodge Rusty tiptoed toward Sally’s room, tempted to knock, but intimidated by the thought of who may or may not be with her. The mental image of her and Ellie holding hands under the dining room table had not yet faded.

So, there he stood… At the precipice of her front door… Listening… Straining… Hoping to hear something… Or maybe nothing.

Instinctively his elbow rose, and his wrist rotated to knock. Then boot stomps came up the steps (clomp-clomp-clompity-clomp) and he bolted to the adjacent door which was his room.

With the door slightly open and looking with his “not as swollen as the other eye” he witnessed Jackie FRICKEN Loonsuckle knocking the ol’ ratta-tat-tat on Sally’s door.

“Ugh. One more reason to get out of Montana” he thought.

After a solid minute on the knock-session, Jackie the cement head took a piece of paper, scratched a few notes, and slid the sheet partially under Sally’s door. Then he turned toward the extended corridor of the hallway and continued his merry way.

Rusty made a beeline for the scripted note, opening the door after a sixty-second count, and tiptoeing within inches of the correspondence. It was only when he bent at the waist to reach for the paper that it fully disappeared into the room and away from his grasp.

More footsteps (clickity-tick clickity-tick clickity-tick) sent him reeling in reverse and back to his quarters. Again, he left the door slightly cracked for viewing purposes, then looked at his watch as the witching hour of midnight struck ominously.

Rusty immediately recognized the Distressed Camel Colored Fedora. Ellie’s hand had barely wrapped the door a second before bursting open as if on an autotimer. Swiftly she disappeared into the shadows of Sally’s room.

“Nothing good happens after midnight” he cursed under his breath, silently closing his door and moving directly to the dry bar to prepare a drink. Skipping the glass, he uncapped a bottle of Sudden Wisdom Straight Rye Whiskey and pulled down three glugs. Then he secured a highball drinking glass with his remaining “good hand” and deemed it appropriate to return to the hallway.

“Does this really work” he inquired to himself, putting the open end of the glass to his ear and the bottom end to the door. There was no sound from the glass ear. It reminded him of being underwater. 

     “You have to flip the glass around and listen through the open end!” blurted a voice.

Vacating stealth mode… Rusty jumped out of his boots. “Goddammit, Cinnamon you scared the bejesus out of me!” he whispered rather loudly through clenched teeth.

     “Who are we listening to?” she queried. “Is that Sally’s room?”

     “It’s fine… I’m fine… Everything is fine,” he replied while backtracking toward the safe harbor of his room. But things were not fine, and with each retreating step Cinnamon was on his trail like a musky chasing a Fat Bastard lure.

     “Stop drop and roll! Fake an injury!” he panicked. But it was all too late as she pinned him to the door, jolting the glass loose from his hand causing it to shatter when colliding with the floor.

There was immediate rustling from within Sally’s room. After the crash of the glass, he could perceive footsteps and then her door began to shift open. With zero option he released his own door, did a dry land back-dive, and pulled Cinnamon though the entry with him.

     “Now, that’s my man!” she purred, and slammed the door shut with her foot while sprawled on the floor.

     “Dammit. Dammit-dammit-dammit. Just stop, Cinnamon” he pleaded, sitting up on the floor with his head in his hands.  “I’m about to be “anchors away” from this place tomorrow, and I can’t handle you chasing me all over this ranch.”

     Drawing herself to her knees… “Are you sure about this Rusty?”

     “Yes, absolutely, I am.”

And with that she reared back, brought a right hook from somewhere south of Chicago, and clipped him in the same ear that had previously held the secret hearing aid glass. POW!

     “There, good luck hearing what’s going on, on the other side of that wall now! Plus, to give you a bit of advice… One good-looking girl at your feet, beats two hidden behind a closed door, any day of the week. You’re an idiot.”

And with that pep talk… Cinnamon vacated Rusty’s room.

–            To Be Continued –