AMOS TROTTER GOES FISHING 06

Part 3

I checked my watch to make sure that it was well beyond the time to open the dining room doors. Only once did I make the mistake of being at the front of the pack when the doors were opened. Not moving quickly enough, I was trampled under a vast assortment of walkers with tennis balls on the legs, walkers with big swivel wheels, walkers with seats, and probably the best selection of psychedelic colored walking canes in three states. Being under a collapsing roller coaster could not have been worse. I decided I would never be on the bottom side of a herd of Adidas tennis shoes again. I heard one lady say, " I thought you would be quicker than that," as she stepped on my ear.

We were approaching what socialites call 'fashionably late', so I figured we might be safe barring any who might have over-napped and would run us down anyway. We took our chances.

Fortunately, the rush had subsided and it appeared safe to enter the dining room. We walked in ignoring the clacking of dentures giving the same sort of sounds as I imagined would be heard walking into a large stenographers pool with electric typewriters. To date, no one had been brave enough to comment on the noise or bring up the topic of Poli-Grip during any mealtime. Cowards all.

We found a table to one side of the dining room, considering ourselves lucky that it was completely empty. I spoke briefly to Charlotte Babcock, aka Destiny's Child, asking if she had gone through the vast amount of dollar bills she undoubtedly collected in her long and prosperous career as an exotic dancer.

"That is 'Stripper' Amos. I have never been exotic," she said taking a swipe at me. If I had been a half step slower, she would have connected.

Patrick and I sat. To avoid the "Hells Angels" walker pack moving through a buffet at glacial speed, while offering unsolicited opinions on all the ways dishes could have been prepared better, the dining staff had adopted the procedure of bringing a prepared plate to the tables. There was a choice of two entrees and after you let the staff know your choice as well as your drink, they had a plate out to you in good time. Today I had the Lasagne a'la cardboard, green bean rejects, hot crossed and squashed roll, chunked pears in some oozing fluid and apple mangle for desert. I was beginning to develop a taste for fine dining. Truth be told, the meals were, with rare exception, very good. I have never said that out loud.

"Okay Patrick," I said, "just off the top of my head, as I mentioned, we have a multitude of problems with your fishing idea. Have you given any thought to how we might pull this off?"

"I don't have all the details totally worked out at this point, but I have started. Once we get out of here, there is a Walmart close by where we can get the gear we need. One of the nurses was talking about a public lake just a little north of here that has fish practically jumping on the bank. According to her, she and her husband loaded up last weekend. At our age I don't think anyone would care whether we had a license or not. But heck, Amos, these are just details. We can work them out. And I emphasize 'WE'."

"Nothing like a little challenge to brighten your day," I said. It had been a very long time since I had felt the thrill of hooking a nice-sized fish and successfully worked it through whatever water hazards there were to the boat or bank. My itch was growing by the minute.

We were concentrating on the impediments to a fishing trip so hard both of us gave a little start as Charlotte Babcock sat down and said, "I'm in."

Patrick collected himself a bit quicker than I did. After a glance toward me that said it was clearly me that was talking too loudly, he asked, "In what, Charlotte? Trouble? A funk? Love with me? What?"

"You are just not my type, Patrick," Charlotte answered with a well honed skill of rebuffing advances developed over years of baring her all, "and no to the rest of that drivel. I am in on this fishing trip you guys are working on."

"We might have mentioned something about fish, but us? Take a trip? What a crazy idea!", Patrick said, putting on his best poker face, which quite honestly could use a bit of work.

Having what I considered a better poker face than Patrick, but not one that I was overly confident would fool Charlotte, I remained quiet to see where this might lead. Besides, Patrick has such a reputation for digging himself into one embarrassing hole after another, I thought it might develop into something fun to watch. And, better done at a safe distance.

Ignoring Patrick's denials she said, "If we get out of here I can have a car waiting for us. Either of you wizards got wheels?"

This stopped us in our tracks. Looking at each other it was apparent the idea of having one problem solved, especially since I did not have a license and Patrick probably couldn't reach the pedals, might outweigh the hazard of allowing another person into our plan. It wasn't lost on me that I was already considering this 'our plan'. So much for my staunch resistance to being foolhardy.

"You can have a car waiting?", Patrick asked, not sure how reliable this might be.

"Yes," Charlotte said. "I made a lot of friends when I was working. One of them happens to own a dealership. We are still in touch."

"And he will trust you with one of his cars?"

"Honey, he would trust me with a lot more than that if I would let him. He's a great guy, but I am not sure I would want him around all the time. I like my independence," she said as a little smile curved up at the corners of her mouth. I got the feeling it would have been easier for the allies to take Germany than it would be for anyone to take her independence.

We decided to spend the next few days trying to work out the various and sundry details that might prove hazardous to a successful fishing trip. We polished off our lunch and went our separate ways. Or, at least, as much of a separate way as could be found at Shady Rest.