John Locke - Now and then

…And managed to scratch the scabs off his wounds.

He'd been sweating profusely since entering the attic, and sweat contained salt, so D'Augie wasn't surprised that the sweat stung his private area when it seeped into his open sores.

What did surprise him was how badly it hurt.

He wondered why this attic attack seemed like such a great idea earlier in the day. Now he was dealing with itchy crotch, burning crotch, horrific smells, cramping muscles, rats, baby squirrels, and…

What was that?

More scurrying on paper, only much louder.

And then a thwack.

And then the muffled squeaking sound a rat might make if it had been crushed in the jaws of…

…Of a huge snake.

D'Augie felt the hairs on the back of his neck tingle, as if something cold were blowing on them. If that was a snake it was a large one, and very close by. And where there's one it's almost certain there'll be another. The attic was virtually pitch black. Snakes could be slithering all around him, and he would never know it. They could be surrounding him at that very moment.

D'Augie was a city boy, not a country one. But he wasn't completely clueless. He knew, for example, that most snakes are not venomous. But he didn't know how many were.

He tried to remain calm. He drained his bottled water and put the empty in his carry sack. Then he did something a country boy would never do: he suddenly introduced a fresh food source into an enclosed attic space where wild animals and reptiles were trapped, fearful, and starving to death. He removed a peanut butter meal replacement bar from his carry sack and tore off the wrapper, releasing the scent of peanuts and chocolate into the air. As he started to move the food toward his mouth, something happened that caused him to forget his itchy, burning crotch and all the rest of his attic problems.

The battle was over as quickly as it started. D'Augie screamed and leaped through the plywood door with a snake on his face and two squirrels biting various parts of his neck and shoulders all the way to the floor. His elbow landed on the snake's head, crushing it, and the squirrels panicked and ran through the house. Before D'Augie could get to his feet, a dozen more squirrels came pouring out of the opening like lemmings, followed by half as many snakes, representing several varieties. As the creatures landed on or around him, D'Augie scrambled to get to his feet.

But couldn't.

Along with the numerous cuts, scrapes, bites and bruises he'd acquired before and during the fall, he'd apparently broken an arm and leg at the end of it.

"This is bullshit!" he screamed, covering up and waiting for the last of the critters to stop raining down from the shattered plywood hole above him

When at last things had quieted down, D'Augie secured his shoulder bag and began the slow and painful process of getting himself down the stairs, out the door, and to his car a quarter mile away.

IT WAS FRIDAY morning, and Rachel was upstairs making herself pretty. I was in the kitchen, cooking up a storm for the guests, and Beth was setting the dining room tables. Wherever the rats and mice were hiding, it worked, because the two couples that checked in yesterday made it through the night without screaming.

"What is that heavenly scent?" Beth asked.

"I'm baking a caramel bread pudding custard."

She walked back into the kitchen and eyeballed me. "You're joking."

"Want to see it?"

I led her to the oven and opened the door and said, "You'll get the full aroma in about twenty minutes."

"You've made this before, right?"

"Let me put it this way: within a week people will travel from parts unknown just to eat breakfast here."

"If you cook as well as you brag, my troubles are over."

I put my hand on my heart and bowed. "No one can brag as well as I cook. Not even me."

She looked past me, to the box on the far counter. "What's this?"

"Fresh flowers for the centerpiece."

Beth used both hands to smooth her hair back. "Custard, fresh flowers. I'm not sure you realize how deeply in debt I am."

"Relax. It's my treat."

Rachel made her way down the steps treading lightly in black, espadrille wedge sandals. She wore pale pink lipstick and had on a white dress shirt with a high button-down collar, and black stretch jeans. The jeans looked particularly hot. She carried a crystal vase that I knew to be Baccarat. Reacting to Beth's stunned expression, Rachel said, "For the centerpiece." She spied the box of flowers and opened it and began arranging them in the vase.

Beth hadn't moved a muscle since entering the kitchen. She continued staring at the vase. "Who are you people?" she said.

Rachel's lips curled into a smile that resembled a pretty pink bow. She winked at me, and I took the cue.

"We are people not to be trifled with," I said.

"Excuse me?"

Rachel said, "That's a line from our favorite movie, The Princess Bride."

"Oh," Beth said. "Well, if it's your favorite, I'll have to check it out."

"It's about a pirate," Rachel said. "We love pirates, don't we, Kevin?"

"Arrr," I said. "And them who likes 'em, too."

"And their ships and crew members," Rachel said.

"Aye, and their families as well," I said, getting into it.

"And don't forget their descendants," Rachel said.

"Aye, especially them-"

And then something creepy happened. Beth slowly turned toward Rachel, turned so slowly I thought she must be imitating a scene from her own favorite movie, except that her face had lost all color and expression. When at last Beth's eyes met Rachel's, she spoke in a voice so chilly it seemed to freeze the room.

"What's going on here?" she said. Then she looked at me.

I shrugged. "We're saving your bed and breakfast. I'm cooking, Rachel's serving."

Beth looked at us a long time, making up her mind about something. Whatever it was, it seemed to go in our favor because a bit of the color came back to her face and she managed a tight smile. "In that case," she said, "I'd better get out the trays and bowls and serving spoons."

She headed back into the dining room and busied herself in the hutch. Rachel and I exchanged a glance.

"What was that all about?" Rachel whispered.

"Hell if I know," I said. " You're the woman."

Rachel made a soft singing sound, "Doo doo doo doo," which I recognized as the theme from the Twilight Zone.

THERE'S NO POINT in being modest: the guests loved my bread pudding. They also raved about my cream biscuits, sausage gravy, and the French toast I'd stuffed with apple pie filling. But it was the mini BLT rounds that made the guests delirious. I had punched circles out of sliced potato bread with a large biscuit cutter, filled them with bacon, fresh tomatoes and romaine lettuce. Of course, the bacon was distinctively prepared. I started with thick slices, pressed them in brown sugar, and broiled them in the oven over a drip pan. The result was elegant, unique, and tasty enough to make a jackrabbit jump up and slap a hound dog.

"Mr. Creed," one of the ladies said. "Wherever did you study food preparation?"

"Why, in Paris, of course!" Rachel gushed.

I hadn't done anything of the kind. I was, in fact, self taught. But Rachel's lie set so well with the guests I didn't have the heart to correct her.

This morning she'd been charming and sweet, though I wondered how she'd react to a large crowd and long lines of hungry customers waiting to be seated.

I didn't need to worry: she had done an excellent job with the serving. She had a natural rhythm about her, an athletic grace that was evident in everything she did. I loved watching her move. She could be walking down a flight of stairs or carrying platters in and out of a busy kitchen, it didn't matter.