Scene Five
By Don Marlin
Sally had taken off to class when the phone rang at their house. Richard was off today as music usually was taught in the county on Monday, Wednesday and Friday leaving Tuesday and Thursday for preparing test questions, music theory lectures, and the occasional spot tests on French horn scales. Probably another damn tea party machine solicitation, he thought to himself.
“Richard, it’s Vince. Did you happen …”
Richard cut me off. “Vince! What new 18th century digging have you uncovered on the homestead? A butter churn? Better yet, we have a need for a foyer table that fits that oak end piece below the coat rack.”
I responded, “No. No. No. Richard. Listen. Hi. Sorry to call you early. I was wondering … Sally in too? Didn’t think to interrupt the horn. Did you …”
Richard cut me off again. “Vince … slow down. What’s up?”
“Okay. I know you are going to think I’m nuts, but maybe not. Maybe it’s a mutual bad dream. Did I wake you up?” I stammered.
“What?” Richard blurted.
“Did I wake you up last night with an earplug?”
“Jesus, Vince. Are you okay? Are you in Colorado? You’re asking me if you woke me up last night with earplugs? You really aren’t making any sense.”
Silence came out of the phone as I gathered my thoughts. I told Richard about the events of last night in the best detail that I could recall. I didn’t hesitate to tell him anything that didn’t seem factual. Several times I asked if he was still there, and I heard a faint harrumph and some stale French horn music playing in the background. French horns. I think the jokes on those are about the same as banjos. I would never tell Richard that.
“Vince, are you taking anything?” Richard finally calmly responded.
“No. No. No. Nothing but Tylenol and zinfandel, but that isn’t an issue here. Do me a favor. Are you on a handheld phone?” Another harrumph. “Good. Good. Good. Can you walk into your bedroom and tell me if your George II is in the bedroom by your Carriage House Rice bed?”
“Vince, I can tell you it is without going in my bedroom. What’s your point?” Richard’s harrumphs came in even horse nostril spews at this point; kind of made me wonder if he had a tail that was swatting flies about the room too.
“Please, humor me for a moment and go to your side of the bed?” A few moments of silence went by as I could hear Richard’s footsteps on his oak parquet floorboards.
“Yeah, now what? Vince, you are really beginning to piss me off and that is usually pretty hard to do on my day off,” Richard responded with a snort of an Arabian stallion.
“Richard … .listen carefully. Can you look around your floor to see if a pink earplug is on your bed or around your floor? Please, please, please, humor me and let me know this was just a dream.” I sounded almost pleading to myself.
A few more minutes of silence echoed from my receiver. The harrumphs stopped and a very faint, “Son of a …” came to my ear.
“Vince, are you in town by chance? Is this a joke? Are you and Sally trying to screw up my day away from school? What in the hell is going on?” Richard demanded with the elevated voice of a circus barker.
“Richard. Are you wearing a red and white Mexican wedding shirt this morning and holding a Snoopy coffee cup?” We stared at Richard’s back through our George II. Richard made a quarter turn and faced his oval mirror then dropped his phone on the floor.