The Men of CHAOS

Chaos Theory

I really thought I was done with this story. I thought I would just lay low until the convention was over, my wife would go back to hooking quietly with her friends and life would get back to normal.

I know that sounds pretty crazy in light of subsequent events but you have the advantage of hindsight. All I had at the time was a deep-seated survival instinct.

There is a theory that when the same set of circumstances are repeated the results are likely to change. The outcome cannot be accurately predicted. This is due to random elements that could be introduced. It is called the Chaos Theory.

In retrospect, and believe me, I have been doing a lot of retrospecting, I should have foreseen what would happen that night. I should not have pushed Jimmy that hard. I blame myself.

The men of CHAOS, however, had their own theory. They blamed the events of Saturday night on the other guys at the bar. Those guys to my right who admitted to telling hooker jokes in front of the young bartender. The fact that those guys were accepting the blame is the reason I kept my mouth shut.

We were all at brunch Sunday morning discussing the events of the past night. As I said, I did not intend to be there. Patty was going in early for a workshop on some kind of complicated stitch. She reminded me of the brunch and closing ceremonies and asked me to go but I told her I was ok at home with my coffee and paper.

"Well, I didn't want to tell you, it is supposed to be a surprise even to me, but Betty warned me to wear something nice this morning; I am getting an award. Don't you want to come and support me?"

It was accompanied by 'look number three'. You may know the look; head cocked ever so slightly, subtle furrowing of the brow, lower lip with just a hint of tremble. In case you are wondering, look number one is the thunder look, and look number two, the innocent temptress.

Knowing the looks and resisting them are two different things. I went to the Brunch.

I'll stop here for a moment and say one thing about this group of women; they do like to eat. We had a great opening dinner Friday night. Saturday night was another great meal (after the rookie raiding party had left). And now we had a huge spread for Sunday brunch.

I was sitting with most of the original Friday night bunch of men. The Men of CHAOS. We were comparing notes on the events of the previous evening. Some of them had been downstairs at the fashion show, some hadn't gotten back yet from a sightseeing tour, and a few admitted to closing down the bar Friday night and had been recovering in their rooms. The majority opinion seemed to be that they were sorry they had missed the excitement.

As more men joined us, I was encouraged to tell my version for the newcomers.

"I was just sitting there by myself, nursing a drink. These other guys weren't that rowdy, but they had been calling themselves pimps and telling hooker jokes." I was interrupted here by groans and laughter. "The next thing I knew, someone grabbed my arm and told me to get out of the bar. I looked up and there was a guy holding a gun. Jimmy, the bartender, also had a gun and was pointing it at the other guys, the pimps. They were hollering and made the pimps get face down on the floor. I grabbed my drink and got the hell out of there."

Another guy, Bob, picked up the story. "Jerry and I were downstairs having champagne at the fashion show. It had just gotten started. There were two or three women on stage and these five guys come through the main doors hollering and waving guns. Three were in street clothes and two were in uniform.

"They tried rounding up the women but it was pretty obvious that they were losing the battle. Even with guns pointed at them, the women kept arguing.

"It never did get physical. I think the cops were surprised when they saw the women in the room. They were expecting a room full of hookers and facing them was a passel of matronly grandmothers. Kinda took the steam out of them.

"'Course if they had been a SWAT team, mighta been different. But these poor rookies were outmatched as soon as they came through those doors."

It took almost an hour to get everything sorted out. The guns were put away pretty quickly and the rookies would have been just as happy to slink out quietly but by this time the brass was involved. One sergeant was there because his wife was one of the hookers. He and his partner showed up just as the duty officer came in. Between them they got the women calmed down, corralled all of the rookies, and released the pimps from their handcuffs. The police chief might not have even been called except for the presence of a young woman from the 'Orange County Register' and her camera. She was a part-timer for the paper and got the scoop of her life.

Back at the brunch, I almost got away with it. We had just about finished eating when the speeches began. They went through the usual thank-yous and then announced a surprise. The Mayor of Anaheim and the Chief of Police had come to address us.

It wasn't so bad. The officials apologized and promised a much warmer welcome if the group decided to come back next year. Of course, in the manner of politicians, it took them thirty minutes to say that. It was thirty minutes of agony for me. On the stage, standing behind the Chief and three of his minions was Jimmy.

I should have fled; developed a weak bladder or a food allergy and hid in the men's room. But I didn't.

Maybe I felt I owed it to him to stay. Maybe I felt I deserved to be outed. Whatever the reason, I should have fled and didn't.

When his turn came, Jimmy did great. He made a few jokes at his own expense and warmed the crowd with his humor and good nature. He got a standing ovation. The Mayor, sensing an opportunity, waded into the crowd to shake hands. The Chief, his minions, and Jimmy dutifully followed. Straight towards our table.

Jimmy didn't see me at first. Ray was standing between us. Then Ray sat down. Jimmy reacted like he had been punched in the gut.

"YOU! ...but..." and he looked around the room. I could read his face as he realized what I had done. He looked back at me and his face was now set in stone. He reached out to shake my hand then pulled me close with an iron grip.

"You and me, we're not done yet."