The Waiting Room
~ Chapter Two
Music Maestro. . .Let's Pick Up the Tempo
The
bathroom door opened and out stepped a man, attired in a stunning
pink angora sweater, and cream colored skirt, balancing precariously
on black high heels. In his hand was a director’s megaphone
which
he brought up to his lips to begin his morning pep-talk.
“Good
morning gentlemen…eh,” He looked over to Bon Bon
who flipped her
yellow boa back over a bare shoulder, watching Wood, waiting for
recognition. Wood bowed in her direction, “and lady, who is
as
beautiful today as she was yesterday.”
Bon Bon smiled and
blew a kiss to the director, then seductively turned, bending
slightly forward, her thong revealing firm, taunt buttocks. Lt.
Victor stepped closer to “the lady”, a hand on the
pistol that
hung at his side, giving a warning look to Wood.
“Yeah,
right,” Wood cleared his throat, then plastered his smile
back on
his face, that was so wide Mort swore the man’s head would
break in
half and fall off backwards.
“Now, as I was saying. Let’s get
the old gray matter working this morning. Let’s try to give
our new
writer, Mort, here, some ideas for story lines. How do any of you
expect to escape our involuntary confinement if you don’t
present
your ideas. Now come on, pronto, people. Start networking
here.”
He turned to Mort, his smile never faltering and nodded.
“That should get them going.”
Mort shook his head.
“Jesus,” he thought. “Morons.
I’m stuck in a room with
freaking morons.” He opened the laptop again and saw the
screen was
still blank. With a flick, he slammed it shut again and pushed it
aside, almost sending it over the edge of the desk.
“F--k
this!” He said aloud.
“No, Mort,” Axel pleaded, “be
careful. You almost broke it.”
“Broke?” The word
brought the gypsy’s attention away from his guitar.
“If something
is broke, I can fix it.” Roux stood and started walking
towards
Mort’s desk. Rainey snatched the laptop back towards him,
protecting it from the Scotsman.
“Keep your Mick hands off
my stuff. You don’t know s--t about computers, how do you
expect to
fix them?” Mort gave Roux a warning look not to come any
closer.
Disappointed at the rejection Roux turned back to where he left his
guitar. As he did, Mort shot an imaginary finger gun at the
gypsy’s
head.
Arnie’s laughter filtered from beyond the closed
window and in a flash Gilbert ran to it, heaving at the frame in his
attempt to open it. Then as quickly as it came, the laughter died.
Yet, Gilbert was determined to free the window from its position.
“Give it up, Grape!’ Hanson yelled.
“I’ve been here,
Jesus, since 1990. The damn window doesn’t open! It only
takes 3.3
seconds for anyone to see that! Once he’s done with you,
he’s
done with you. You don’t get out of this freaking
room.”
Gilbert’s body slumped against the glass as he surrendered to
defeat, again.
“Damn it, all this drinking’s made me
hungry. How about some lunch!” Duke cried to the room. He
couldn’t
remember the last time he had anything decent to eat, not since
Vegas, anyway.
“Sam! Sam! We need sandwiches in here. Come
on, quick as a bunny! Oh there’s were I left it,”
he finished
calling out the order for lunch then became aware of his
accordion’s
location. He pulled it on and played with a few of the keys, none
making any resemblance to a song.
“Your playing, my dear
man, is an abomination to the trained ear. Please, I must ask you to
cease and desist.” Ichabod begged as he felt his way around
the
room, searching the bookshelves for a secret passage, his face
clenched in his latest viewing contraption.
But Raoul Duke
continued the masquerade of a song until Mort could no longer stand
it and began to pound his head on the his desk.
“This is
the Idiot’s Orchestra,” he thought as he went down
for the third
time, “ and I’m the f--king conductor.”