Boon thought that any meat cooked for 10 hours at 200 degrees had to be good even if it was served with greens.

That afternoon, JD went down easy when he stepped in a gopher hole while chasing Dodger, who had the ball.  Trixie laughed.  “Are you alright?” she asked as she walked over.  “Yeah, I’m OK” said JD who got up, turned around and walked to the table by the river to rejoin his whiskey glass and Butterfly Blue who sat taking in the day.  Simultaneously, Dodger, scored a touchdown, spiked the ball in the end zone, looked at Guy while cupping his hand behind his ear and said “What’s that Frenchie?”

The game ended then and Dodger went into the kitchen to finish cooking dinner which meant he was mostly going in there to stand around drinking wine.  He opened the door of the oven to check the duck and put the finishing touches on dinner.  He took the greens out of the plastic bag, placed them in a colander in the sink and rinsed them briefly with cool water.  He waited a bit, drank some wine, and moved them from the colander in the sink to a large sage colored ceramic bowl lined with paper towels sitting on the counter.  He buttered the bread with un-salted organic butter which he added salt to that was mixed with finely chopped shallots.  He dumped the potatoes he’d cut up earlier into the pan with the duck that was in the oven.    “I’m magnificent” he said out loud to himself, then promptly chuckled enough to spit up some of his recently sipped vintage which dribbled down his chin.  His quick thinking and lightning reflexes located a towel and dabbed the wine in time to keep it from spilling onto his shirt.

Bubbles and Windy were placing the finished cards into cellophane packaging.  Windy had come up with a couple more “flavor” west coast phrases of her own and had made some cards.  “California, where wine is transferred retronasally and beer has a barnyard finish” and “The weather has been so pleasant I feel like cancelling that prescription” and “Smile… wait… are you smiling? You’re not, but you are happy.  No, you’re surprised.  Sad?   Now you’re nodding your head.”  That one was about the Botox craze in parts of California.

As Dodger was “cooking”, he chanced a peek at the bottle of Glenfiddich in the storage room.  It was a little less than two thirds gone.  Though he didn’t want any at the moment, he was looking forward to a night cap after dinner.  It was 6 O’clock.  At this rate, would there be any left?  Windy came in, located Dodger with bottle in hand, looked at it, then at him and said “You better hide that if you want any later.”  Dodger looked at her, slightly in awe of her astute observation, and hid the bottle in the sliding compartment in the back of one of the cupboards.

Not long later, JD came in to the kitchen, humming and twirling.  He spun towards the freezer first.  There, he punched his finger through the ice in the tray, very cold water lie beneath.  He fumbled around for a different tray and began quietly mouthing words to the song playing on the stereo.   He ended up scooping ice shards from a variety of trays into his glass which would suffice, he concluded, in cooling his drink.  He pirouetted towards the storage room.  JD stopped spinning and stared towards the metal rack that had held the scotch, there was no scotch.  He looked high and low, more fumbling, this time around the bottle of Jack Daniels that sat on the bottom shelf in search of the bottle of Glenfiddich.  He went back into the kitchen.  “Where’s the scotch?” he asked Dodger.  “Scotch?   Why I have no idea” Dodger replied.

Windy, souse chef for the evening also stood in the kitchen.  She knew where the scotch was.  In fact, it had been her idea to hide it.  Looking at JD, remembering how happy he had been, she suddenly regretted her suggestion.  “Pssst” she said to JD as she jerked her head towards the cupboard.  While Dodger was busily grating the Pecorino Romano that would sit atop the bread, she secretly located the bottle of Glenfiddich and poured JD’s glass near full to the brim.  “Thank you” he said as he squeezed the bony heel of her elbow and gave her a wink.

They ate family style around 9 by candlelight at the table by the river.  The food was delicious.  The duck melted, the potatoes, the bread and the spicy greens were delectable.  “I propose a toast” Trixie said.  They all knew that one was coming, Trixie loved to make toasts.  “To friendship” she said simply.  Trixie looked around and noticed that Windy, the soft heart, had a tear in her eye.    “Here here” or “To Friendship” they replied.  Their glasses chimed.

Before the moon came up, and while most of the dishes still sat on the table, Boon pointed out Orion, The Big Dipper and the irregular W of Cassiopeia in the fall night sky.  The moon rose full and they sat in its soft light as Dodger poured the last of the scotch.  Though there was not a cloud in the sky, it began to rain a light drizzle.  The group, not wanting to get too wet, hastily grabbed all the dishes they could carry, which was most of them, and headed inside.

Later on, JD leaned over Guy’s shoulder to get a better look at the screen on the computer.  “Who threw up?” asked Guy.  JD laughed and said “That’s just my breath”.  Guy, Windy, Butterfly Blue, Trixie, Boon and Bubbles laughed too.  Dodger spit up a little more of his wine.

Fin

By:  Cat Treebrook

 The next morning, Dodger woke up early.

“Windy, get up, we have to go to the store” he said to Windy as he shook her shoulder.

Dodger had brought the duck from home along with the herbs, which he pronounced Herbs.  Dodger had grown the Herbs in his garden.  He needed greens, bread, wine and baby potatoes.  He also wanted to stop at Trader Joe’s to get a bottle of Glenfiddich Scotch.  TJ’s sold the stuff for a pretty good price.  One time, when asked what the difference between Whiskey and Scotch was Dodger said “One’s made in Scotland?” 

Dodger had directions to Whole Foods but thought to stop at Bel Aire market first, which was closer, hoping not to have to make the trek across town.

“This store smells funny” remarked Windy while in the Bel Aire wine aisle.

“You know what, it does” said Dodger.  They left, buying just the wine.

Dodger and Windy returned home from Whole Foods after making a stop at Trader Joe’s and were running late.  It would take 10 hours for the duck to cook.  It was 9:45.  Dodger preset the oven to 200 degrees and began to feverishly chop Herbs on a wooden cutting board. 

“Is that a woodpecker?” asked Trixie.   She peered out into the trees from the bay window in the living room.  “No”, she answered her own question when she looked over and saw Dodger in the kitchen.  She was slightly impressed by his fast handed knife skills.

JD awoke later to a bright sunshiny day.  Butterfly Blue was in the kitchen cussing the eggs that kept burning themselves adjacent Dodger who wore a neatly folded red bandana around his forehead.  He was putting the duck, skin side down, into the pan.     

“We’ll be back” Guy told Bubbles as she sat at the dining room table making cards.  He and Boon were going to check out the property.  They wanted to see what was in those sheds and to see the machine gun turret up close.  Bubbles carried a small card making kit with her wherever she went, she made and sold cards with southern sayings like,“He is so ugly that my mother had to tie pork chops to his ears so the dog would play with him” and ”It’s hotter than two rabbits making babies in a sock!” or “He’s busier than a one-legged man at a butt kickin contest!”.  She liked making them and they were a real hit with the tourists. 

 “JD, cook these eggs, this is your thing” said Butterfly Blue.

JD was humming “The Sun Will Come Out Tomorrow” theme song to the musical Annie, one of his favorites.  He just loved Telly Savalas. 

“What?” he said.

“Come cook these eggs.” Repeated Butterfly Blue sharply, she was a little frustrated.

“What are we having?” asked JD.

“Mcmuffins” answered Butterfly Blue

 Windy had brought the makings for the breakfast sandwiches along with a log of Velveeta cheese which sat on the counter.  She had already sliced more than half of it and the cheese product lay there at room temperature, ready to be melted on top of the eggs.  On Velveeta, Windy earlier had commented “Velveeta smooths so easy you could melt it with your mind”.  Bubbles thought Windy’s remark would go well on one of her cards.   JD took over cooking the eggs still humming.  As he flipped one of the eggs, he broke out in song “When you’re stuck with a day that’s gray and lone…lyyyy”, he had a nice, rounded tenor voice.

 The group made their way to the table by the river where they enjoyed breakfast and the riparian entertainment.  A little later, around noon, that grey cloud that JD had been singing about settled directly over his head.  He was stuck with a grey day indeed and was all of a sudden very lonely.    JD’s day turned from grey to dark grey as the birds twittered merrily while flittering over the water.  JD began to hear a buzzing sound resonate in one of his ears, then both.  A resting thrush startled out of the blackberry thicket nearby and began circling his head.  He watched it fly around and around and around.  The buzzing got louder.  There was nothing there.

“Stop it” JD said as he swatted his ear.

“Who are yuh tawkin’ to, hun?” asked Bubbles.

JD went inside.  He walked through the dining room and into the kitchen where he pushed open the door to the secret room.

“The only thing that’ll cure a whiskey hangover is more whiskey” he said to the room.  Then, when he located the bottle of Glenfiddich he added “Or scotch”.  He found a small tumbler, poured it half full and went back into the kitchen to locate some ice.  “Anything more than two ice cubes in this stuff would be a crime” he said to the refrigerator.  JD went back outside to join the others at the river.

“Oooo, applejuice, that looks good” Trixie said when she saw JD with his glass of 2 cubed scotch.  She went in to pour herself some.

“Does that have alcohol in it?” Windy asked as she looked at JD’s drink.  She wanted a sip, also thought it was apple juice, but made a point of asking this question regardless. 

“A little” said JD.

By:  Cat Treebrook

Fortunately all concerns surrounding Guy and Dodger in charge of a meal together took care of themselves.  Neither of them ever read Trixie’s email communiqué that put them in charge of Saturday night’s meal.  So, Guy Bar-b-cued his steak on Friday while Dodger cooked his Duck Confit with peppered greens on Saturday.

The Gangster’s Hideout stood on a 5 acre parcel that encompassed a variety of natural terrain.  Parts of the property, near the river, were richly overgrown with riparian vegetation.  Blackberry thickets grew huge, in some places, near the water.  There were an abundance of Oak and Elm trees and there was a Willow and 2 old Walnut trees out behind the sheds a little ways from the house.  In spots, one could feel as if they had been transported to a jungle of sorts an hour away from Sacramento or “River City” as it was nicknamed.  The river that ran through the grounds was a tributary of the larger American and was called Cap Creek.  Though it was fall, the river remained quite wide and deep in parts.

The large house stood on a little hill 100 or so yards from the river and was immediately surrounded by yellow grasses. The grasses that dried in autumn, along with dark patches of dirt that showed through made the fields, around the house, look like one very large well ripe banana peel.

During the still sun filled days of early autumn, birds flew here and there over the water as the river lazily meandered through the property.  There, lived, ducks, egrets, black birds, river thrushes, woodpeckers and if you were lucky, you might see a Great Blue Heron.  At night, the river flowed gently, while bats and owls could be occasionally seen making their nocturnal forays.  From the house, a small path led down to the water.  A clearing near the river was large enough to accommodate a patio table and chairs and sat a stone’s throw from the water.  Boon, Trixie, JD, Guy, Butterfly Blue and Bubbles all safely arrived sat taking in the Friday night air.

“Def Leppard called.”  Dodger said.  “They want their pants back”.  He was talking to Guy who had on an old faded pair of Levi’s.  A favorite of his, they were well worn.  Two bony knees showed through where blue denim fabric used to be.  There was a large rip around the pocket in the back that had been shoddily repaired.

“The neighbors came by” Guy said “they asked us to turn your shirt down”.

“My shirt is black” said Dodger.

“That glow pattern looks like the delusion of a man in the late stages of hemorrhagic fever” Guy replied.

Dodger’s shirt was in fact black, but the glow in the dark pattern on the front looked something like a ball of white yarn and a black light had gotten together and had a child.  This child grew up, attended college and one night went to a frat party where it drank too much Jagermeister.  Feeling full, dizzy and a little bit sick, it stumbled outside and threw up all over a black shirt which lay in the bushes out front.  The next morning, feeling lucky, Dodger peered over the edge of the porch railing and saw the shirt.  He picked it up and laundered it.  To his delight, the indelible, waxy glow pattern remained affixed upon the front.

“Have you not had the means to visit even a Goodwill for godsakes since 1997?” Dodger asked Guy smartly.

Dodger and Guy preferred to insult each other over most every other kind of conversation.

It was late evening.  The moon was up and the sun was down.  Though the early fall days in North Bay were primarily still filled warm with sun, the evenings, especially after dark, got downright chilly.

“If anyone is cold, we have a bunch of nice fleeces or I have this really great bathrobe.  It’s Polo” offered JD.

They all froze for an instant, silenced and stilled by JD’s peculiar statement.

“Bathrobe?”  Said Trixie

“It’s an awfully nice robe.  Like half an inch thick, soft, it’s POLO” JD repeated himself.

“I’m sure it’s nice, I’ve got my jacket inside.  Thanks.” said Boon.

“That’s swell of you to offer, but I’m fine” Trixie replied.

Dodger broke in “Why the hell would I want to wear your bathrobe?”

Windy laughed and said “Cold?  Anyone care for a nice fleece, a bathrobe perhaps?”

Having no takers on his bathrobe, the next time JD went in to refill his Black Bush, Bushmill’s high-end whiskey, he sought the robe for himself and returned to the table warm and cozy as a butterfly waiting to burst from its cocoon.

“That is a nice robe” said Boon as he felt the thick downy fabric.  He was suddenly a little sorry that he hadn’t accepted JDs offer.  He’d always wanted to wear a robe like a member of the English Parliament, Gandolph the Gray, then later White or a nomad who wanders forlorn in the desert.

While JD sat cozily sipping whiskey in his bathrobe worn over his street clothes, Dodger, Guy, Windy and Butterfly Blue walked the stone’s throw to the river where Dodger began to throw rocks.  Something swooped overhead.

“What the hell was that?”  asked Butterfly Blue as she ducked slightly.

“Looked like some kind of wild bird.” said Windy.

“As opposed to a tame bird, perhaps a family parrot has escaped the neighbors.  We’d better go ask.” said Dodger dryly.

“Could’ve been a bat” said Guy

“No way, it was too big to be a bat” added Dodger as he continued to throw rocks trying his best to get them all the way across the river.  In some feat of luck, if you would call it that, on the next throw, Dodger hit whatever was swooping.  Whether parrot, owl or bat, when struck by the well thrown rock it was momentarily stunned and fell straight down into the water where it floated lifeless for a moment.

“You’ve killed it!” said Windy, horrified, as she watched the creature lay still in the water.

“I can’t believe you hit that.” said Boon.

“That was an owl you idiot” said Butterfly Blue, she had gotten a pretty good look at the bird as it flopped from mid air into the water.

Windy, Bubbles, Guy and Boon watched as the owl lie still, then saw as it suddenly came to life and began to flutter helplessly in the middle of the river.  Dodger stood dumbfounded staring at the hapless animal.

“Go help it!” said Windy to anyone within earshot.

Guy stripped down to his shorts and dove into the water after the bird. As he got closer he recognized it with certainty. It was an owl, he thought to himself.  He cuckooed friendly owlish hooting sounds in an attempt to put the animal at ease and reached his hand out to help the terrified bird.  The owl sensing security in Guys arm, grabbed on with its sharp talons.  Guy screamed as the bird’s claws dug into his arm.  The owl flapped wildly and dug its talons deeper into his arm.  It began to peck his face.  Guy shrieked.  It was the sound of a scared woman.  Guy flailed his other arm weakly out of the water half in an attempt to dislodge the animal from his arm and half in an attempt to shield his face.

“Get this thing off me!” Guy yelled helplessly as he struggled with the bird.  The owl in fact was wildly pecking Guy’s face.

“Go help him!” Windy said, somewhat alarmed and in shock at the events that were in the process of transpiring.

“He’s fine” said Dodger.  Then added a few moments later, “would you look at that, that bird is trying to peck his eyes.”

“Dueces”  Boon said under his breath.  Boon, who spent a year living in, Surbiton, a wealthy suburb of London, spoke, at times, with a heavy English accent like he was a character in a Sir Arthur Conan Doyle whodunit.  He stripped halfway readying to swim out to help when the owl regained itself, found its footing and flew away.  Guy swam to shore.

JD, Trixie, Boon and Bubbles had come from the table and were watching Guy and the bird in the water. Before the incident, at the table, JD had been discussing the local rats, marveling at how smart and plucky they were.  He went through a list of hardware he had used to try and capture the creatures, sticky traps, live traps, traditional spring loaded traps.  He said one time he had seen a property rat fighting a squirrel for a nut in one of the walnut trees behind the back shed.  Inspired by JD’s rodent ramblings, Bubbles told a story about the farm and how she killed a rat the size of her shoe with the handle of a broom.  “Thaat thang just wouldn’t deyeuh” She said.  They had come to the river as soon as they heard the ruckus and stood in awe at the fact that Guy was in the river wrestling an owl.  JD almost spit up his whiskey when Guy screamed like a girl.

“Oh, mye gawsh, are you alryte?”  Bubbles asked Guy as he pulled himself soaking and slightly weak from the water.

“Yeah, I’m OK” replied Guy, a little breathless and bleeding in spots on his face and neck.  There was a bloody spot a half inch from his left eye, his arm where the talons had held on was spotted with blood.

“You’re lucky that thing didn’t peck one of your eyes out.”  Dodger said.

“Yuh saved that bird’s leyef” said Bubbles in her long southern drawl.  She kissed Guy on the cheek and went into the house.  She returned with a towel, bandages and peroxide solution to tend to his wounds.

Guy dried off in the towel and Bubbles nursed the peck marks.  When she was finished, Guy had 6 bandaids in different parts of his face.  One on his nose, 2 on his right cheek, one next to his left eye, a larger one on his chin and one a little lower on his neck.  She gently wrapped his arm in gauze, the one that the talons had dug into.  The claws of the owl were sharp and easily penetrated the soft skin on Guy’s arm.

Guy dressed and they returned to the table still a little in shock at what had happened.  JD offered Guy a whiskey.

“Thank you sir” Guy said as he took the amber liquid and drank deeply.

“I’m so glad that bird is alright” said Windy.  Windy was something of a soft heart for animals.  More than once, she had brought the odd wounded animal home to nurse it back to health.  Most recently it was a bird who had gotten its wing caught in her windshield wiper.  She set the wing with round ended toothpicks secured with white first aid tape that she had cut into small strips.  The bird’s wing had healed and she happily released it.  “Fly away my little bird friend” she had said.  And it did.

Guy looked like he had been in a fight and lost, and matter of fact, he had.  There wasn’t one present who could look at Guy without laughing a little, now that Guy was OK, and the bird was OK and his wounds proved superficial, as he sat there with band-aids all over his face, bested by a fowl in the water.

“Could you scream like that again, like a girl?” asked Trixie.  “That was funny”

Guy obliged.

By:  Cat Treebrook

JD and Butterfly Blue had purchased an old house, located, an hour or so, north of San Francisco.  Similarly to the 1850s “Foote Mansion” or “Mirror Mansion” as it was sometimes called, that Al Capone had used as a hideout in the late 1930’s.  JD and Butterfly Blue’s house had been built in the early 1900s and had, in fact, also been a hideout first for whiskey manufacturers then later for Rum Runners who ran liquor illegally to San Francisco and Sacramento, during prohibition.

There were some unique attributes that branded their recently acquired property.  Remnants of a machine gun that had been mounted on the roof of the house remained partially intact.  The metal fittings bolted to part of the stone reinforced roof along with the “legs” of the gun were well maintained.  The body of the gun had been removed by someone, sometime over the years.  One could envision its use, mostly as a scare tactic, when whole, to protect the cache during dry times.  In the large sheds outback, there remained boilers and other paraphernalia that had been used for stills to make moonshine whiskey or rum.  Under the house, there had been a tunnel. It was all closed up now.  No one knew what had been inside.  It could have been a hidden manufacturing space or may have been used as a quick get-away route.  A secret room, added off the kitchen in the early 1920’s, required a thin metal 2 foot key in order to enter.  The entrance was well camoflauged and looked like a wall in the house.  There, the bootleggers had stored their excess supply.  They had also used the room as a place to play cards.  It was big enough for 3 or 4 poker games to occur simultaneously, if a little tight.  Behind the kitchen cabinets there were sliding doors that lie flush and acted as the backs of the cupboards, when opened they each revealed 6 inch recesses into the wall, just large enough for a liquor bottle to rest comfortably.  This was yet another place to covertly store items of questionable propriety during dry times.

The old house was spacious and had 8 small bedrooms all located upstairs.  Downstairs there was the kitchen which looked out towards the river, a dining room, 2 large living areas, the secret “card room” and a bathroom that still had a pull chain toilet.

Once Trixie took over the food, things began to move along.  She put Dodger and Guy in charge of a meal together.  Windy reminded Trixie of the debate club.  Both Guy and Dodger excelled at debating and had been considered Master’s of the Debate, in college.  Windy wondered if she shouldn’t give them a general direction in the area of what type of food was expected.  Left entirely on their own, she was unsure of what the collaborative outcome would be given their propensity for a good row.

“Let’s Barbuhcue” Guy would say.

“Sounds good” Dodger would bait him with acquiescence.

“Whaddayou  wanna Q?”  Guy would ask.

“Whatever” Dodger would say, baiting him further.

“No really man, what do you want?  Steak, burgers what?” Guy would ask.

“How about shrimp” Dodger would say.

“Shrimp?  Who bar-b-cues shrimp?” Guy would ask.  He knew that every good red blooded American Bar-b-cued red meat and hot dogs which were sometimes made from chicken, or the occasional rack of pork ribs, the other white meat.  Shrimp was not part of his bar-b-cueing vocabulary.

“Who BBQs shrimp.” Dodger would repeat blandly “Haven’t you heard ‘throw another shrimp on the Barbie’?  What do you think they are talking about?” Dodger would reply.

Boon, having somehow escaped all responsibilities involving food organization and preparation would chime in “Why don’t you guys slow roast some pork and make carnitas”

JD would say “How about a nice brisket”

This would just be the beginning.  It would probably snowball after that.  They’d hear about Guy and Bubbles cotton farm and how highly mechanized it was now.  Guy, who was raised in France for the first 8 years of his life, now proudly and thoroughly American, would probably mention something about how he didn’t brush his teeth until he was 5.  Dodger would spend the next 4-6 minutes in a diatribe having to do with the fact that he couldn’t believe that Guy was French.  He’d go so far as to tell him that he thought his France story was a hoax and that he was actually from Denver.  Guy would begin berating him in a, quick tongued fluent French.  Dodger would tell him that he probably bought that Rosetta Stone language program.  Dodger had a friend who used it before his trip to Costa Rica and spoke Spanish fluently by the time he’d gone through all the CDs.

Trixie decided to compromise by giving them a general idea of what was expected for the evening fare, while leaving some room for interpretation.  Part of her wanted to watch the train wreck happen.  Later in her head, she’d watch it again this time in slow motion and she’d chuckle to herself under the covers.

By:  Cat Treebrook

Dodger had been in charge of the food.  He said that he mostly wanted to keep the menu for the weekend secret, a surprise, but couldn’t help but let vichyssoise and duck confit “accidentally” slip in conversation one time.  This was quickly followed by “Oh, I’ve said too much”.  He planned to print the menu elegantly, on heavy card stock and on Friday night, when he and Windy arrived, they’d be making the 2 hour drive after work, he’d pass a menu around and would take the time to go over it with them then.

Windy was originally in charge of the food.  Dodger volunteered to take over when Windy told him that her menu was centered on Velveeta cheese.  Macaroni and cheese-Velveeta, grilled cheese-Velveeta, salsa cheese dip-Velveeta, broccoli au gratin-Velveeta, egg mcmuffins topped with-Velveeta, she also said she would bring enough so that they could just eat it plain and would bring spreadable Velveeta so that they could put it on crackers.  She’d kissed her thumb and first two fingers then and after a pleasant smacking sound said, “Bon Apetit”.

Dodger planned to make the soup in advance.  He read that vichyssoise froze well.  He would put together a light meal on Friday after he and Windy arrived, they thought around 8. Translation, they’d be lucky if they ate by 11.  Dodger would get there, they’d be hungry.  Windy would hit the martini shaker, Dodger wine maybe, a nice micro brew from a coastal brewery.  He would unwind from the drive with a drink or 2, 3 perhaps then he’d go over the menu.

“Maybe you should start cooking” Trixie would say.

“In a minute, don’t rush me” Dodger would reply as he continued his oration.

He’d thaw the vichyssoise and toss the spinach salad in some sort of bacon vinaigrette.  It would be delicious, but half of them would be asleep by the time it was finished.  Then on Saturday night after he had thawed the duck, he would have a couple of shots of Milagro tequila and would forget that he was cooking something.

To avoid these scenarios, Trixie decided to take over the food.  She planned to keep the fare simple, well organized and ultimately satisfying.

Guy, pronounced Gui, he was French, and Bubbles, a long drawl southerner, would arrive on Friday from Charlotte.  At least they all thought Guy and Bubbles were coming.  The only relay they had received from them was written in lemon juice.  Trixie cleverly decoded it with the heat from a hairdryer.  The second message they had sent was rolled into a tiny scroll, like a prison kite, and tied to the foot of a pigeon.  That message did not arrive.  They supposed they’d know for sure if they were coming when Guy called Butterfly Blue to pick them up from the airport.  It had been over 3 years since anyone had seen Bubbles and Guy.  Their purported arrival for a California tour was reason enough to schedule a get together, a reunion of sorts.  JD and Butterfly Blue had graciously invited the group of old friends to their house, a historic gangster hideout in North Bay, California

By:  Cat Treebrook

Willie awoke a little later and as he planned to do this day, being a holiday and all in 5 shifts, including 2 naps and 3 wake periods, cracked a beer soon after breakfast.  Breakfast consisted of whole grain pancakes, syrup and fruit.  Butterfly Blue brought the pancakes and was instructed to bring a crapload of syrup.  Never one to disappoint, Butterfly Blue brought a plastic bottle with a very large handle that resembled a gas can that was half full of syrup and a Mrs. Butterworth that was all the way full.  Sliced strawberries and bananas along with fresh blueberries accompanied the aforementioned pancakes, and expressed themselves on plates as small piles of red, white and blue in celebration of the 4^th.

As the day began to warm and the trees hung upside down in the water a fish startled itself.  It jumped, for a moment, out of its green and liquid home.  That afternoon while they sat in the shade of a giant walnut tree it was discovered that JD and Butterfly Blue had signed up and paid for a beginner’s running class.  The class was labeled for the inactive or minimally active individual and planned to take things slow.  They had been slightly sedentary for the majority of their thirties and were counting on the structure of the class, and the fact that they had paid in advance, to help get them back into the swing of things.

For dinner that night Dodger’s fried chicken, Boon’s tri tip and mom’s potato salad was on the menu.  Dodger had gotten Popeye’s original recipe for the chicken off the internet.  He filled a large frying pan with an inch and a quarter of the good for frying oil of peanut.  When the pan was placed on the stove and began to heat, it threatened to slip off the stainless steel grate that covered the burners as the camp stove was slightly slanted.  Dodger, Windy and Boon did not see any possible good that could come of this.  Boon attempted to level the pan using twigs, with little luck.  As the oil began to heat and scalding bubbles began to pop and splatter out the top, one option that Dodger suggested was that someone hold the handle of the pan while he was frying the chicken, which would take the better part of an hour.  Windy, knowing that she would be the one holding the handle, spoke up and stated that the hot oil would splash up and burn her so she didn’t think that it would be a very good idea.

So Boon says, “What if we put it on this stove?”

They heard the choir sing a note that declared Boon’s genius.  What a great idea.  The other camp stove, was slightly smaller, but was located on a more level part of the table.  It had wind guards up which would keep the soon boiling oil from spilling off and maiming someone.

The meal was delicious and cooked to perfection.  The Early Risers next door ate the leftover tri tip with slavering gratitude.  Zipp was happy to see a favor returned after that headache-erasing brew so graciously extended to her earlier in the day.

That night they sat around enjoying the company of one another.  There is something very good to be said of being surrounded by people who have known each other for a long, long time.  After many laughs and a couple of rounds of Row Row Row Your Boat, Zipp was off to bed as there was no more whiskey and Popov Smirnov was making her eyes cross.  The others soon followed.

The next morning, they were to leave.  On the way to find his coffee cup, Dodger got distracted by the ice chest and opened a beer instead.  Their fuel for the day was scrambled eggs and hormone free turkey bacon.  They said their goodbyes, happy to have enjoyed each other again for a time while looking forward to the next.  On the way out they waved goodbye to the Early Risers and said farewell to the camp’s peacock Trixie had named Rahjer.

By:  Cat Treebrook

As the afternoon waned and shade returned to Trixie and Willie’s campsite they began to think about dinner.  Hot dogs and hamburgers with all the fixins were on the menu, thanks to Dodger and Windy’s generous relishes contribution.  Willie cooked the burgers on the habachi and supplied each with 2 slices of cheese.  They ate well.  Mom’s potato salad arrived late and was ransomed for a dog.  Nobody got hurt.  They would wait until tomorrow to enjoy this summer staple made by the loving hands of a seasoned professional.

Later, after most had retired for the night, Dodger suggested that they break out the whiskey, which had been, in prior, housed in a paper bag on the floor of the front seat in the car.

JD:  “There’s whiskey?”

Zipp got the bottle from the car and took a small swig.  Dodger and JD drafted a little deeper.  Boon was asleep in the chair by the fire and soon left for his own evening repose.  After 2 or 3 times around the bend, JD began to interject random pieces of information into the conversation.  They learned that cats cannot taste sweet and that Vesta is the brightest asteroid in the sky.

Dodger was telling a story and Zipp was laughing about how he and Windy used to pick Jake up to give him a ride to work.  Jake’s yellow Cadillac was inoperable.  Windy was a waitress and Dodger and Jake were bussers at an upscale restaurant in San Francisco some fifteen years ago when they were in their late teens and early twenties.  It was communicated that Windy would not go into the house, where Jake lived, because it smelled quite bad due to the questionable sanitary practices of its inhabitants.  So, Dodger would go in.  He’d find Jake still asleep on a sheetless mattress on the floor of the living room.  He’d jog Jake’s shoulder until he woke up.  Jake would raise his head enough to briefly gaze at the puddle of drool that had formed on the mattress then hurriedly dress for work.  He would smell his tube socks then turn them inside out before he put them on.

“As if the outside was somehow cleaner than the inside.”  Said Dodger.

Windy tightly gripped the steering wheel on the drive to the restaurant as, no doubt, they were running late and the car now was inundated with the smell of “cigarettes and stale booze” as Windy described.  Before they’d go into work, she’d tell Jake to wipe the bits of white crust that had formed during the night, off the corners of his lips.

“I always did have a soft spot for Jake.” Windy said.

After they heard that heartwarming story so eloquently told by Dodger and later Windy, JD began talking about shellfish and scallops.  He uttered these words a number of times, sometimes with varying cadence, for no other reason that they could see than he liked the way they sounded.  He also told a brief story about how his great great grandmother had served her husband, his great great grandfather, venison when he was ill.  He told this as if it were some sort of cure all family recipe for rejuvination that had been kept secret until this very moment.  Dodger and Zipp were unsure what to do with this revelation.  Keep it to themselves?  Spread it around?  Trixie had gone to bed a little after Boon, but had laid awake in her nearby tent quietly giggling at these exchanges.  She got up to finally tell them to go to bed because, although she was entertained, she thought that they were keeping her awake.  Turns out even after all was quiet she still couldn’t sleep because she was so excited about the weekend.

In the middle of the night, Zipp moved her head slightly and wondered at the fact that she was in possession of the rare and delicate jewel that is a head splitter of a headache and simultaneously marveled that she had the thirst of a thousand Arabian Knights wrecked in the desert.  Fortunately, come morning, a glass of water and a cup of ridiculously strong java from the Early Risers next door snapped her out of it.

By:  Cat Treebrook

Lake Solano County Park and Campground is located on Putah Creek just outside the sleepy town of Winters.  Putah Creek is a large river that runs out the North and South end of Northern California’s Lake Berryessa.  This section of the river primarily consists of water that comes from the bottom of the lake, a phenomena that never was quite clarified.  The water is very cold and borders on frigid.  Fortunately, the air temperatures in this inland region range from the low 90s to 110 in summer, making a jump, into an icy cold shallow meandering river, quite refreshing.

They arrived on the Friday before the 4^th of July.  I suppose that would make it the 3^rd.  Trixie presented Zipp with a belated birthday gift in a pink bag.  It held a black box packaged with whiskey that was accompanied by a baseball cap, sold for the same price as the single bottle, with the word Jack embroidered on the front.   This was fortuitous, as Zipp had forgotten to pack any other hat than a large brimmed variety that proved cumbersome when worn for extended periods.  Also fortuitous was the fact that now, there was a matching pair of whiskey bottles.  Twins had been born and they soon celebrated this joyous event.  Trixie preemptively provided Boon with a birthday gift of a square wire grill for campground cooking.  It was perfect for handling hot dogs and hamburgers.  This was fortuitous for Boon because he very much liked to cook meat.

They spent the remainder of the day making trips up and back to the water, as it was 95 degrees, still hot, if on the cooler side of an inland summer day.  The bar opened at noon for some, 3 or 4 for others.  For Boon, the bar opened closer to noon, as an old lady had flipped him off on the drive to pick Zipp up from the bus station.  JD and Butterfly Blue arrived around 4.  JD’s happy hour began soon after that as he had spent part of his afternoon recovering pieces of his foam camping pad from the V in between the off ramp and the highway.  The pad had been tied on the roof and was wind blown until it split in two and flew off the car.  Butterfly Blue sat in the front seat only slightly sweating while in observation of JD who was collecting large pieces of foam from the inner part of mainstream traffic.  Soon after, Windy, Dodger and Willie arrived.  The bar was always open for Willie and Dodger.

By:  Cat Treebrook

“Bruce, you gotta minute?”  Trixie asked as she leaned against the door jam of his spacious corner office.

“Sure boss, come on in” Bruce said.  Trixie and Bruce got on well.  He liked working for her.

“Could you take a look at these numbers for me again?” Trixie asked.  She handed him a disc.

Ever since Clayton was caught skimming off the top, Trixie was even more careful.  The Petersen account was their biggest client.  Things had gotten a little tricky there for a while.  She fired Clayton and somehow convinced the Petersen group to stick around.  They could have easily gotten out of the contract after the mess Clayton made.  Petersen’s lawyers had decided to file suit against Clayton directly and left Stilton and Beech, out of it, thanks in large part to Trixie.

Trixie earned her MBA at Harvard and did her internship at a big company back east.  She moved to San Francisco and came to S & B highly recommended.  There, her talents were recognized and she quickly climbed the ladder. Trixie was sharp, fair and worked hard which is what kept her rolling.  She disliked working with people who didn’t pull their weight, and was generally a very good judge of character which is why she was asked to be part of the hiring panel.   She’d been wrong about Clayton though, she thought, so had everyone else, it happened, she told herself.

Her dad, Phillip Cross, worked in computers in the Silicon Valley, near San Jose where Trixie did her undergrad, and had named her Dot Matrix Cross.  Joan agreed to the name only because Trixie’s grandmother, on her mother’s side, was named Dorothy.  Joan was a statistical analyst for a big time bookie in Vegas.  She usually worked from home.  When she did go to Las Vegas, she’d take Trixie along.  Joan taught Trixie to count cards, around age 12, while they passed the time together in their Vegas hotel room.  Sometimes they went to shows.  Trixie wasn’t old enough to gamble then.  She saw counting cards as a parlor trick and even after Trixie came of age, never really took to using it for anything else.  She preferred the slots to playing the tables anyways.

Trixie loved her job.  She liked the way it wound her up almost as much as she liked unwinding over a White Russian or a beer, at The Tavern.  That is where she met Willie.  Willie and The German used to hang out there.  Willie drank beer and The German drank beer and did card tricks.  He always carried around a couple of decks with him.  The German did this one trick where he’d have Trixie sign her name on a card. A few moments later, the signed playing card magically appeared in her beer bottle, the same beer bottle that Trixie swore never left her hand.  Willie thought he had been watching the whole time.  They never did figure out how he did it.  Under close scrutiny of the card within the beer bottle, they could find no creases or seams from folding.  “How did you get that thing in there?”  They asked him.  Of course, The German never did tell so they’d ask him to do it again, which he would.  This time Willie would sign the card as Trixie watched on.  So confounding was his gift for slight-of-hand that Trixie sometimes wondered if there wasn’t a little magic in him after all.

The German, Willie and Trixie, played pool, darts, dice or just watched the game.  When the trio got together, they generally talked for a while then decided what game they wanted to play, then discussed whose turn it was, most times it was Willie’s, and told stories of what funny thing happened that day or any other day or spent their time laughing about the funny thing that was in the process of happening at that moment.  Trixie often took to talking smack, while playing, which she thought was funny.  Her skills allowed her even to back it up more than occasionally with, an aces shot over a lot of green or a bullseye after the 4^th round of drinks, which kept her honest.

Trixie often worked late, but when she left work, she left work.  She didn’t want to talk about it or think about it and she didn’t.  Her ability to lie flush in both the worlds, the structured one and the flim flam, is what made Trixie, Trixie.  That and she always wanted to laugh and never take anything, except for what she was required to, all that seriously.

Trixie hung out at The Tavern a couple of nights a week, never on the weekends, it was too crowded and it took too long to get on the table.  Most times, Willie and The German were there too.  She liked them.  They were easy going and funny.  She also liked Russ who tended bar on weeknights. He was a crusty old, white bearded, codger with a gleam in his eye and a thousand years of stories to tell.  Trixie made him smile and he returned the favor.

After 3 or 4 months of happenchance, Willie took the ball into his court and one night asked Trixie to go next door to the steep roofed Pizza Chalet to “talk”.  Trixie, Willie eventually realized, made him nervous.  Though he never let her know that.  Nothing made Willie nervous.  Over a pepperoni pizza, his fears were confirmed when he found out that there was even more to her than he had thought.  He was in trouble.  After the 3^rd night at the Pizza Chalet “talking” and one beach sunset, wrapped in blankets, sitting on the hood of his truck, Willie realized that he was in love.

By:  Cat Treebrook

We had 20 balls between the 4 of us.  We thought that ought to be enough. Boon brought 4 clubs five hundred miles which he initially stored in haphazard fashion, wedged between one of the golf bags and the back of the cart.  After they fell out the second time and Jinx nearly backed over them, he stored them in one of the golf bags.  There they were safe, until the golf bag, that Cort had failed to secure properly if at all, fell out on hole 5.  Jinx’s golf bag, now securely fastened to the cart, was previously wrapped in a blue tarp well bungeed atop his car for the seven hour drive, and had looked much like Grandma in the Chevy Chase movie “Vacation”.

DD, or Double D as Jinx often called her, was sans clubs, but offered to be designated golf cart driver in order to take in the day, which was nice. Cort rented clubs for $5 and I carried Trixie’s 4 iron, a Ping Eye 2, which we swapped years ago, she had some sort of affinity for my no name 4 and has never regretted the trade, a sand wedge, which Kneecap recently convinced me was a solid and versatile club, and a Green Monster putter, given to me by Gunner when he replaced the “unlucky” monster with a fat sided striped Zebra.  I stuck to my guns and only used the clubs that I brought thinking it would be good for my game.  It was not.

I carried a yellow bag over my shoulder along with the 3 clubs.  The back of one cart held golf clubs, the other was affixed, where the clubs should have been, with a blue and white ice chest, a perfect fit, filled with Acai pronounced Ah-sci-ee juice with blueberry, Nourishing Odwalla Superfood and Lo Carb Monster Energy drinks which Cort assured were all ice cold.

There were 5 of us that day and only 4 spots on the cart.  We knew that we would need some “special circumstance” golf allowances so we checked out the scenery prior to play.  To our delight, we came upon an affable fellow who seemed to be in charge.  Two large, friendly dogs with sticks greeted us as we walked up to the club house that morning.  We asked about the 5 some, “no problem”, he said.  “We don’t all have bags.”  Not an issue.  “You can bring off property drinks for the round if you want.” he said.  We thought, what luck.  “You can do pretty much anything you want out there” he said.  “We’re not really going to bug you.”  This we liked.  “Come out whenever you want, you’ll get on”.  We smiled and said “Thanks” while we looked forward to our afternoon round.

Afternoon rolled around and it was time to hit the links.  We arrived around 2 and instead of the laid back cool handed individual with which we had earlier conversed, we came upon a lady whose bun was pulled too tight.  “A 5 some?” she questioned.  “Everyone has to have a bag” she said.  We didn’t say anything about off property beverages as clearly she frowned upon just about everything having to do with breaking rules that surround the game of golf.  Cort and Jinx convinced her to let our 5some mange on the course renting only 1 bag.  She made a stand with the golf cart though and said specifically that if she saw a third person riding on the cart at any time during the round we would be charged with a penalty.

Now for me, threat of a penalty is enough to keep a 3^rd person off the cart.  I generally try to avoid penalties, which are often accompanied by the feeling one gets when a cop car pulls in behind you and flashes its lights, as much as possible.  Knowing Cort, Jinx and Boon, however, I was sure that this “penalty”, whatever it was, would not be taken seriously.  So I opted to walk, carrying my shoulder bag and 3 clubs the first few holes, thinking to take one for the team.

The first two holes were a wash of lost golf balls as we were “warming up” and in discovery of the terrain.  As I walked up a particularly steep hill to a hole we guessed was number 3, the holes were poorly marked, I thought to relieve myself on the side of the empty road.  The carts were well ahead and out of sight.  I looked up half done to see Jinx backing up to give me a ride.  How nice, I thought as I waved.  He partially hid his head in semi shame and waited.  It was then that I passed the wind of an Indian warrior riding unabashedly into battle on his fearless painted steed.  His hand held high, clutching a short handled axe, mouth open carrying, upon grimaced lips, a war cry in native tongue.  I got in the cart.

DD drove by multiple times, while I was walking, each time she offered to carry my bag in her cart.  I was sure she was after the Jack which is what was in the bag, that and some water, but I was pretty sure she wasn’t after the water.  After 3 or 4 times, I thought to take her up on it, put the bag in the wire basket and joined her posse.  Once on DD’s cart, we cackled and I was party to her slightly erratic driving accompanied by an occasional “Oh crap” when the speed of the cart combined with the bumps in the fairway resulted in the splash of a full Acai berry juice on her white tennis shoes. My initial assumptions, however, were proven correct when later she showed me a photo shot she had Jinx take of her guzzling straight from the bottle.

Jinx hadn’t golfed in 5 years, Cort had been away from the game for even longer.  Jinx had his clubs, an older set of Pings.  Cort played with rented clubs and pointed out a large dent in the driver that he had not made himself.  At tee 3, having had no luck with traditional golf etiquette, Cort thereby relinquished himself of any proper address of the ball.  He ran up on it in the spirit of Happy Gilmore and took a grand swing.  The ball crushed down the middle of the fairway.  “Nice Shot” we said in unison, as we watched the miraculously struck ball bounce well down the fairway and into the weeds.  “Keep your eye on that” Cort said.  It was no use though, the grass was thick.  Later, Cort said “you could lose a child in that stuff”.  We had lost 8 balls by the 3^rd tee.  Not only were the grasses thick and copious, but there were steep sided ditches, a plenty, 10 feet deep half filled with water.  These ditches posessed Cygnus X-1 like gravitation that pulled golf balls downwards into them with incredible speed and pin point accuracy.  We were going to need some more balls.

Fortunately, the fact that the course was not easy and there was an insane amount of tall grasses everywhere meant that others too had the occasion to lose a ball or five into the waist high riparian jungles.  Jinx could be found at every hole using his sixth sense ninja finding skills to locate golf balls stranded out of the direct line of eyesight.  He found an amazing number of balls which we were grateful for as we all needed them.  He says he learned how to find things in thick grasses and under heavy vegetative growth back in Nam where he was notorious for sniffing out land mines in areas of dense flora.  We all knew he wasn’t old enough to have been in Nam, but nodded and smiled the 3 or 4 times he mentioned it during the round.

I will tell you what I recall of the rest of the round for, as my senses were heightened due to the antioxidant rich Ah-sci-ee berry juice I drank and my visual acuity was intensified thanks to the taurine and other important trace nutrients in the energy drinks I consumed, my eyes were primarily focused on the ground looking for my ball in the thick grass or peering hopefully down the steep side of a half water filled gulch.

Boon started out strong and wavered during his middle round, he picked it up again near the end.  Jinx began the day playing poorly, a good score early on for him was an 8.  All but Boon ventured into double digits at some point during the round that day.  Throughout his round, Jinx consistently improved, enough to climb steadily from his hazy web of near double digit play until at hole 9, his score tied with Boon’s.  Jinx had gotten into Boon’s head on hole 6 with a well placed exploding golf ball.  Boon struck his second shot square on hole 9 and landed on the green.  Jinx teed off and overshot the green landing on a steep hill covered in, …wait for it… thick grass.  Getting off that hill was going to take some game.  Jinx plucked some leaves from his path and chipped the ball onto the green close enough to the pin for an easy 2 put.  Boon putted short.  Jinx sunk his putt for the win.  Cort and I patted each other on the back for not throwing any clubs into the water.  The only time that Jinx tried to ride as a third on the cart was on hole 8.  It was well in view of the club house.  After I pointed this out, he got off and we received no penalty.  I resorted to kicking a ball out from behind a bush on hole 7, something that I have not done in a very long time.    ‘Twas a good day.

By:  Cat Treebrook