The Waiting Room
~ Chapter Thirteen
New Books, Old Monkey
Mort
was back at his desk, the hat back in the drawer, the shovel shoved
beneath the couch.
“Another time, another day, Mr. Rainey,”
came Shooter’s promise.
“Shut up,” Rainey snapped.
Sparrow, who stood talking with Barrie, turned and gave Mort
the evil eye. “If yer comment was directed at me-self, I can
assure
ye, I be not talking to you lad.” He narrowed his eyes more,
waiting for Rainey’s response.
Mort shook his and turned
his attention to his computer, reminding himself to stop talking to
Shooter. Shooter was always stirring up trouble.
The computer
screen he stared at was as blank as his mind. He closed it again.
Loud knocking brought the room to attention as they realized
someone was once again at The Door. Some eyes turned to Barrie, being
the last one to arrive, questioning him as to any thoughts who might
be arriving. Barrie only shrugged his uncertainty.
The
knocking turned to fist banging.
“Hello! Is anyone in there? I
have a delivery!”
Stunned silence filled the room No one
moved a muscle.
BANG—BANG—BANG !!
“Excuse me,
but I was told to come here. May I come in?”
Finally Wood
shouted through the megaphone, remembering his manners.
“Of
course my dear man! Please enter!”
The door opened, but
instead of seeing the man first, they watched as a book cart was
pushed through the opened door. Finally the whole cart was in, with
the man behind it.
He was wholesome looking, familiar looking,
but no one could put a finger on where they had seen him before.
The top shelf of the cart was filled with various books. He
nervously adjusted them as they toppled a bit. He coughed and cleared
his throat.
“I, uh, I, uh.”
“Speak up young
man. We’re all friends here.” Wood assured him,
though glad that
he had not been witness to the circle of gun toting earlier. He
walked over to the cart and browsed the titles.
“Interesting.
Very interesting. Yours?” He asked the newcomer.
“Oh, by the way,
Ed Wood here. Director Extrodinaire. And you are?” He
extended his
hand to the young man.
“Oprah. Oprah Noodlemantra.” he
answered, taking Wood's handshake.
“An intriguing name, I
must say. Your parents had a sense of humor.” Wood slapped
Noodlemantra on the shoulder. “And what is the nature of your
visit? Er, you are just visiting?”
The young man’s eyes
widened when he heard the question. “I think I am. I
wasn’t
planning on staying.”
“Plan on it, young matey.”
Sparrow wobbled towards him. Noodlemantra leaned back away from the
pirate as he drew closer, watching as the buccaneer pointed a bony,
filthy finger at him. “No one ever leaves. No one will ever
leave
despite what others claim of ye.” The Captain turned and
sneered at
Barrie remembering how he had told him he would be leaving the room.
And yet, here he be.
“No…no…I think I can leave, as
soon as I make this delivery to…” he checked his
clipboard, “A
man by the name of Dean.”
All heads turned to Dean, who was
still concentrating on the book before him, a cigarette hanging
precariously from his fingertips. He brought his eyes up, acting as
if he was not surprised. He waved the boy over, the cigarette
dropping ash unto the floor.
Across the room a sigh of
disgust escaped Gilbert, knowing he was going to have to clean it up.
He always had to clean up around here.
Noodlemantra brought
the cart nearer to Dean’s table, rolling it around so he
could see
the titles. Without rising, Dean flipped through the volumes, then
looked to the young man.
“These are the latest ones he
read, huh?” Noodlemantra nodded. Dean pulled one of the tomes
from
the cart, hefting it around to view the spine.
“In The Hand
Of Dante by Nick Tosches” he read the title aloud.
He grabbed
another.
“Perfume: The Story of a Murderer by David
Suskind. This is some heavy s--t he’s been
reading.” Dean
commented.
“Actually,” the man by the name of Oprah
pointed to the second book, “he’s read that one
several times. He
just read it again. So you probably already have a copy in here
somewhere.” He glanced around the book-filled room.
“Just
put them on the table. I’ll put them away later.”
Dean
instructed.
Noodlemantra did as he was told.
They all
watched as he then headed towards the door with the empty cart,
holding their breath to see if he would be able to turn the knob,
open the door and leave. They had never, ever seen it happen. This
would be the first.
They gasped as the knob twisted easily in
his hand, and with a slight tug pulled the door towards him. Sparrow,
seeing the opportune moment, attempted to scramble from off his
barchair, his sword catching in the legs, detaining him as
Noodlemantra opened the door wider.
“Scurvy dogs! Get the
bloody door!” he screamed as he tried to disentangle his
weapon.
Suddenly the door was pushed from the other side, catching
Noodlemantra off guard, stepping back out of the way. Before anyone
could react a fop of an English gentleman stepped inside. In the
crook of his left arm he carried a small furry dog, clenched in his
right hand was a burlap bag. With a flourish he slammed the door
behind him.
“No, ye bastard. Ye weren’t suppose to let
the door shut!” came Sparrow’s lament.
“I will have you
remember your station, pirate! I am Earl of Rochester!” the
Englishman demanded with a toss of his head, the large brown curly
wig jiggling with the motion.
“Remember me station?
Remember me station, ye say? Well, I tell ye me station,
gov’ner! I
be Captain Jack Sparrow. Mayhap ye have heard of me?”
“Be
sure of it. Your moniker is quite known to me.”
Sparrow
rolled his body around, smiling, gold glinting as he flashed his set
of teeth.
“See,” he proclaimed, “this fine
gentleman
has heard of Captain Jack Sparrow. And what, may I ask, have ye heard
about the great Captain Sparrow of the mighty Black Pearl?”
The
Englishman gave a look of disgust as he threw the burlap bag to the
floor.
“Only that this is for you. From a young woman by
the name of Shelley. She said it no longer fancied her culinary taste
and that it should be returned post-haste to you. Please take note, I
am not a common servant. I shall not be doing this again.”
The Earl
held a hand to his nose at the displeasing odor, though he could not
discern if it was coming from the bag or the pirate.
Sparrow’s
face filled with surprise, his eyes widened as he watched what popped
out of the bag.
“It’s me ol’monkey!” he
screamed and
began chasing the screeching primate around the room.