a
passion.
Rebecca
said primly, “Mine was a business meeting.”
“Oh,
right, right, right. Sure looked like a date from where I was
sittin’.”
“Why,
Baloo, I believe you’re jealous.”
“Am
not!” He crossed his arms like a pouty little boy. “An’ I
wasn’t on a date with Sally. I was just payin’ back a favor.”
“You
must owe her a lot of favors,” Rebecca said mischievously. “
Three dates in the past month. Is this getting serious, Baloo?”
“Yeah,
seriously dangerous. I gotta stop askin’ favors from her.”
“They
must be some favors,” Rebecca chuckled, “to make you go out with
her.”
“Do
me a favor an’ drop it, Becky,” he growled.
“All
right.” Her giggle ended in a sigh. “I was that close -that close! - to getting that contract when Mr. Tannenbaum
walked in. What lousy timing he has!”
Nonchalantly,
Baloo asked, “Was the Chocolate King of Cape Suzette a sweet guy?”
“No,
he wasn’t. He was rude and opinionated and conceited.”
Baloo
felt strangely comforted by that.
All
of the anger Rebecca had repressed during her date came out in a
bitter torrent. “Mr. High-and-Mighty informed me of at least a
thousand and one things that I was doing wrong with Higher for Hire!
And if that wasn’t enough, he said that I should move out of
that shabby little office and buy a newer plane!”
Baloo
bristled; the Sea Duck was his pride and joy. He felt the
urge to punch Richard Farlie right in the caramel center. “An’
what did you say?”
“I
wanted to tell him to stick it in his ear!” Her furious expression
softened into defeat. She sighed again. “But I didn’t. Higher
for Hire needs that contract desperately.”
“Why
do rich folks always think they know everything?”
Rebecca
snorted. “Probably because they have everything.”
“That
don’t make ‘em any better,” he averred with a vehement shake of
his head.
“I
know what you mean, Baloo.” She stared at her thin pocketbook.
“Higher for Hire might not be the most profitable business in Cape
Suzette, but it’s mine. After all, what’s so wrong with a woman
owning her own cargo service? This is the twentieth century!”
“Well,
what’s wrong with me bein’ a cargo pilot?”
“Nothing,”
they said in unison.
Both
smiled at each other as the cab drove on through the lamp-lighted
streets.
End
of part 4
It’s
Dough Contest
part
5
Lake
Flaccid
Friday
Afternoon
Day
5
Northeast
of Cape Suzette, in the foothills of the Sierra Padre Mountains was
placid Lake Flaccid. The calm lake, teeming with fish, frogs, and
turtles, was fringed by a forest of fragrant firs that pointed to the
cloud-speckled blue sky. Mingled with the mournful cries of loons
were the gentle sloshing of the waves and the whispering of the wind
through the trees.
In
this relaxed environment, Mr. Tannenbaum seemed out of place. He,
wearing his customary impeccable suit and tie, sat rigidly upright on
a lawn chair. From his stoic expression, it appeared as if he hadn’t
had a day of fun in his whole life. At the moment, he was scribbling
furiously on his ever-present clipboard and observing the ‘family
matriarch’.
Rebecca,
casually attired in a T-shirt, shorts and a wide-brimmed hat, was
kneeling on a red-and-white checkered tablecloth spread on the beach,
unloading the picnic basket. Mr. Tannenbaum made a notation of
everything she pulled out from the pickles to the peach pie.
Their
attentions were arrested by Molly shouting, “Lookee, Mommy! I’m
riding on a whale!”
Baloo
floated past with Molly perched on his stomach. She giggled when the
big bear squirted a tiny stream of water from his mouth.
“You
certainly are, honey,” Rebecca laughed. She had to bite her lip to
repress the snide remarks that crossed her mind.
Molly
flailed her arms dramatically. “Oh, no! We’re sinking!”
“The
sinking of the Gigantic.” Rebecca smirked, opening a thermos
of lemonade. “Come on, guys. Lunchtime!”
Baloo
and Molly splashed over to shore. A short distance from them, Kit
and Wildcat surfaced and waded to land, snorkels in hand. After they
had toweled off and threw clothes on over their swimming suits,
everyone gathered around the feast.
Just
as soon as they had dug in, Mr. Tannenbaum asked, “Do you come here
often?”
“Yeah,”
Baloo said at the same time Rebecca said, “No.”
“Which
is it?”
Baloo
and Rebecca exchanged quick glances.
“Well,
we...” she began.
Before
she could continue, the pilot interrupted with, “We’ve come here
before, but not often enough ta suit Becky. She just lovescampin’ an’ fishin’ an’ hikin’.”
Rebecca,
who had never been camping, fishing, or hiking in her life, muttered
under her breath, “I’d like someone to take a hike!”
Baloo
pinched her cheek. “She’s just an outdoorsy sort of gal, ain’t
ya, Honeylips?”
Rebecca
longed to say, Do that again and you’re fired, flyboy. Instead,
she smacked his arm with the flyswatter and sang sweetly, “Mosquito.”
Mr.
Tannenbaum of the relentless questions asked,“What’s your
favorite kind of fish, Mrs. Cunningham?”
“Um...”
Rebecca racked her brains for the name of a fish, but ‘goldfish’
was all that came to mind. She said with a shrug and an apologetic
chuckle, “There’s so many that I can’t choose.”
“She
likes bullhead,” Baloo interjected with a smirk.
Once
again, Rebecca gave his arm a smart rap with the flyswatter.
“Yeowch!”
“Got
him.” She smiled with self-satisfaction.
Rubbing
his stinging arm, Baloo said, “How’s ‘bout some fishin’
after we eat, Mr. T.?”
“You
can use my fishing stick,” Rebecca offered.
“Pole.
Fishin’ pole,” Baloo corrected, snickering.
“Proceed
with your normal routine. I’ll sit here and observe.”
After
lunch, Baloo and Rebecca headed to the Sea Duck to get the
fishing equipment.
“This
was a bad idea. We’re not fooling Mr. Tannenbaum with this fake
fun family outing,” she said, stepping into the cargo hold behind
Baloo.
“Aw,
relax, Beckers. He’s fallin’ for it hook, line, and sinker.”
He opened the storage closet and began hunting through it.
“Relax? How can I relax with fifty thousand dollars and a year’s worth of
free advertising on the line?” She examined the fishing pole
Baloo handed her, wondering which end was up. Not only did it look
weird, it smelled funny, too. “Here’s another fine kettle of fish
you’ve gotten me into this week. First you tell Mr. Tannenbaum I’m
allergic to ice cream. Now I’m supposed to be a fishing expert?
I’ve never been fishing in my life!”
“Aw,
it’s easy.” He emerged from the closet with his tackle box. He
opened it and scanned its contents. Unlike everything else in his
life, it was painstakingly neat; all of the hooks and lures were in
their precise places.
“It
has to be if you can do it.”
Frowning,
Baloo slammed the tackle box lid shut and picked up two fishing
poles. “It’s a snapper. Just do what I do, an’ you’ll get
on swimmingly.”
A
few minutes later, Baloo, Rebecca, and Kit were standing on the shore
with their poles. Wildcat and Molly were nearby, happily building a
sandcastle. Mr. Tannenbaum surveyed the scene from his lawn chair.
Rebecca
cringed when Baloo pried a lid off a can of worms with his
pocketknife.
“You
can open your eyes now, Becky,” he murmured with a chuckle.
She
tentatively cracked one eye open and breathed a sigh of relief. “Oh,
good. They’re not real.”
Upon
seeing Mr. Tannenbaum’s surprised look, she added, “I mean, I can
catch more fish with these...” she skimmed the label,
“Triple-Action Twisted Wigglies. My favorite fish food.”
“Bait,”
Kit whispered.
Nervously,
she blurted out, “I meant bait. It’s food for the fish, bait
for us. You know what I mean, you know?”
She
wanted to be swallowed up by the tide when she heard Mr. Tannenbaum
dubiously mutter, “Uh-huh,” as he wrote a book on his clipboard.
Kit,
who had gotten a lot of practice fishing with Baloo, deftly baited
his hook and cast his line into the lake.
“See
how Kit did that, Becky?”
She
nodded, her forehead creased in concentration. Biting her lip to
keep from whimpering, she gingerly took a squashy, slippery plastic
worm between her fingers and speared it with the hook.
“Now
ya gotta cast your line into the water. Like this.” In one smooth,
quick motion Baloo swept the rod backwards, then forwards. The line
flew out of the reel and landed with a soft plop nearly halfway
across the lake, as the little red-and-white bobber floating on the
water’s surface attested. Aloud, Baloo said, “Show Mr. T. how a
pro does it, Honeylips.”
Taking
a deep breath, she whipped her rod backwards and forwards. Because
she let go of the release button too soon, her baited hook landed on
the beach a foot ahead of her. She flashed an embarrassed glance at
Mr. Tannenbaum, who made a notation on his clipboard and
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