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It was a couple hours before that Sands and Thibodeaux came back in the same hovercraft. Both men had deep love and feelings for the bayou. In the case of Sands it was because he was taught since he was a little boy to care about nature, children, world hunger, and other worthy causes, reinforced when he found out that such compassion actually helped his public service career, and further reinforced when he discovered that it was the easiest way to earn likes on his Facebook page. He was faking it at first but soon it unconsciously transformed into a genuine feeling. Sands now loved the bayou so genuinely that there was nothing he would not do or give for it, including his promising political career. On the other hand, Thibodeaux grew up in Cajun country so remote that his parents did not go to school. He was not good at school or anything until someone noticed his incredible strength for his small size. Thibodeaux was a little guy that bullies did not care to pick on because he would put up a fight at his own expense. They put him on horses as an exercise rider and the rest was all she wrote.
Sands had to use the bathroom immediately. Thibodeaux helped himself to a beer. He was an Alcoholic Anonymous who was not completely dry. He had tried that before but it only led to one destructive relapse after another. It was better for him to drink and talk to his sponsor every day.
It took forever but Sands finally came out of the bathroom and joined Thibodeaux. It was his first time at Randall’s bayou house. He asked Thibodeaux, “Where is the bar?”
“In the pantry. I’ll fix you a cocktail. What say you about an absinthe cocktail?” Thibodeaux lit up instantly.
“Sure, man. Don’t put anything sweet in it. And not too strong if you don’t mind,” Sands said and sat down. There was satellite TV but he would wait for Thibodeaux, who had been here so many times he could fix the generator and take care of the septic tank.
Thibodeaux was fixing a tangy absinthe with grapefruit in a jumbo shaker half-filled with the liquor. He brought it to the living with two glasses. He poured one for Sands and said, “Goddam Jeff, it sure took you a long time in there.”
“The bathroom? I took a shower,” said Sands. He had thought Thibodeaux might rib him about it.
“Are you sure it wasn’t what we saw out on the little lake? Our two impatient, hot lovers?” Thibodeaux squinted at Sands and finished his first cocktail.
“No way man, somebody important called while I was in there. I picked up but the reception was terrible. We even called back a few times, none better.”
“Shiet... I’ve always wanted that girl. Did you know her name’s Adelaide? Beautiful huh? I love a pretty girl with the first signs of age but it still feels right to call her a girl? How long have you known her, Jeff?”
“Earlier this year, a couple of weeks before spring break. Look, can we talk about something else?”
“Like what? We spent two hours talking about the bayou. I met her last year and I stopped by her office once in a while during the Fairgrounds meet. Truth be told, I wasn’t crazy about her till she saw me on a horse.”
“Are you back in the game?”
“No, it wasn’t no racehorse, just a track pony. But I can still ride. Nothing makes me feel sexier than to have a woman see me ride.”
“If that was a sexual innuendo I didn’t get it.”
“No, Jeff. I’m small, right? So a girl like that normally wouldn’t give me a second look. But when I’m on a horse? That’s a different story. Many of them go nuts, I’m not saying all of them, but many of them when they saw how strong and how well I ride a horse, they would know I can do just as fine in the sack, even better. Eee-yow!”
Jeff Sands found what he heard to be so funny that he almost coughed up his cocktail. It was really strong. “Man, you choked me up. Are you saying that your friend Adelaide saw you as a sort of sack artist right there and then?”
“She didn’t. It was a bit annoying. Sometimes they just didn’t make the connection. You just gotta keep showing them and then one day it will just click in their head. That’s the truth.”
“Are you still trying? What about Mrs. Thibodeaux?”
“That’s exactly how my wife was attracted to me. Jockeys always have hot wives. Don’t matter if they’re much bigger than us. If we can handle a thousand pound animals, you know what I mean?” Thibodeaux was getting loaded but grimly retained his ability to reason. “Wish you had taken me closer to the two lovebirds earlier. It wasn’t that much of a show from that far away. You can’t do it in that little thing, can you?”
Sands’ phone rang. It was Landon Leblanc again. The reception was still crummy. A text came: “There are new developments. When can you meet?” Sands replied and told him the Tuesday of next week.
“Seriously, though, I love Kathy. She’s the love of my life. There’s no harm having a fantasy here and there, I gotta say. Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about this number. I’ll go inspect that bathroom right here now,” said Thibodeaux, a bit slurred, and tried to stand up.
“Oh come on, don’t go anywhere. Put on some election news, will you? Where are the remotes?” Sands stood up and stayed the little man with both hands.
“Just one master remote. There! Hit “A” and you’re watching Dish Network.” Thibodeaux sat back down and pointed to a previous model Samsung phone that now served as the master remote. “Swipe and you’ll see the buttons. Fox News? These days getting a divorce won’t derail your political career, Jeff. Don’t worry about that. I can’t get her out of my mind. She’s intimidated by my riding skills. You’re definitely more her type. As your advisor, I say go ahead and tap that.”
“Ha! It’s a good thing you’re not my advisor. I don’t imagine women I met in adult movies like you do. I imagine them in classy photoshoots.” The liquor was getting to Sands too. Despite his words to the contrary, he felt more aroused at the mention of adults movies than classy photoshoots.
“Shiet... are they nude photoshoots at least...” Thibodeaux was interrupted by a returning Marcus Broussard. The three cooks had been sitting outside in the deck area waiting for their master to get back so they could start preparing six different dinner entrees, one for each diner. They had prepared the salad and side dishes: dirty rice, Cajun potatoes, and stir-fried asparagus and okra.
Broussard came in soaking wet and cradling a fairly large black bird. He saw Sands and Thibodeaux in the living and said, “Hello gentlemen, been back long?”
“Long enough. Good to see you, Marcus, I was getting tired of talking about photoshoots with Jeff over here. What have you got there?” said Thibodeaux.
“Can those Asian cooks talk?” asked Broussard, as if he did not hear the question.
“I’m pretty sure they can talk. Do you mean if they speak English?” asked Sands.
“Sure they do. I spoke to them and they nodded but said nothing. They ain’t talking to each other either, I watched them,” said Broussard. He looked around the house to find something to put the bird in.
“Marcus my friend, you’re soaked! What are you doing with that falcon? You didn’t play for Atlanta,” Thibodeaux pressed on.
“This here is no falcon. You’ve been watching too much Deion Sanders and Andre Rison but falcons ain’t black,” replied Broussard. He was still stuck in the late 80s and early 90s when he played ball for the Saints. He wished Drew Brees was there but his hero was Bobby Hebert. Broussard called it quits when Bobby Hebert left town in 1992. He tried his hand at sports commentating but sucked at it. Then he heard the stories of famous athletes and entertainers going bankrupt and decided that he only had to do the opposite. For example, when MC Hammer invested in baggy pants he chose to import tight-fitting clothes and skinny ties before they became trendy in America. When Mike Tyson got a face tattoo he chose to invest in temporary tattoos based on a new technology called masticated ink. It was made from grass and leaves regurgitated by herbivores so it was all natural and had a greenish-black color like a slightly faded permanent tattoo. Not only was it a big hit Broussard also learned from QVC infomercials and sold them in twin and triple packs. He made a ton of money from his investments and now he could afford to care about other things such as the bayou.
“This is a black vulture, Patty. What happened to it, Marcus?” Sands said to the edification of Thibodeaux.
“A gator got his ass. A bunch of them were feeding on a dead fox and this gator jumped out of the water,” said Broussard.
“Did the gator just want to be friends or something and let it go? Don’t tell me you saved it,” said Thibodeaux and poured himself the balance of the cocktail so he would not have to share.
“Course I did! You can absolutely count on Elephant Marcus when a brother’s in trouble,” said Broussard indignantly. He had earned his cool nickname from his famous elephant-trunk celebration every time he leveled a quarterback or running back. He ducked his head down and scrunched his shoulders and joined his arms together and swung them as if they were a mighty powerful African elephant trunk.
“A brother?” asked Sands.
“He black, ain’t he? Anyway, luckily I was right there. I saw what happened and put the thing on hover still and jumped out right on top of the gator and gave it a bear hug with everything I had. It spits out more than the bird, slime and I swear internal organs including its balls if it had them. My homie bird was going mad flapping its wings on the ground. I think they’re crippled, but he was dead calm when I picked him up. He knew I risked my life to save his ass,” Broussard explained, looked around proudly, and stroked the black vulture’s back.
“What are you going to do with it? Dung said we gotta hunt for our dinner,” said Thibodeaux.
“Don’t even think about it! Elephant Marcus will break your elbow like it’s Joe Montana’s,” warned Broussard. Then he beamed a brotherly smile which was more like his nature. “I got the dead gator in the craft. I’m going to get myself one of those flying cars. I was trying to tell them cooks to go get that gator and make me a grilled dinner, but they just looked at me and did nothing. I’ll wait till Dung get back and let him deal with them.”
“Cool Elephant Marcus, I love gators,” said Thibodeaux.
“I think I’ll pass. Dung said he’d bring a few normal things back,” Sands grew up in a religious household. They were not Jewish but all the same, they heeded the Old Testament which did not put alligators on the edible item list.
“You don’t know what you’re missing! Gator is good stuff. My Pa used to stock up in hunting seasons. They’re easy to hunt as hell. My ma made a killer gator gumbo. Everybody in town looked forward to her gator gumbo and popcorn gator, bless her soul in heaven,” Thibodeaux said and grew nostalgic.
“Hey Patty, got anything to put this bird in?” asked Broussard.
“I don’t know, not my house. Let me think,” Thibodeaux told Broussard and started to rack his addled brain. “Got it! Put it in the laundry hamper. It’s made of rattan so the bird can breathe. Ask Tom for a box when he gets back. I can show you where.”
Broussard could not think of a better idea so he asked Thibodeaux to show the way. They stopped in the kitchen to give the bird some water. It freaked out and would not drink. They put the bird in the hamper and Broussard retrieved his duffle for a quick shower and change. Thibodeaux waited outside and yelled at the door, “What are you going to do with your bird?”
“My homie is coming home with me tonight. Bring him to the vet first thing in the morning and add to my collection,” Broussard hollered back over the shower.
“Any new addition since I was there last?” Thibodeaux asked with interest. He truly enjoyed Broussard’s collection of black creatures. There were Southern black racers in a glass tank, black goldfish in an aquarium, a walk-in aviary with ravens and a crazy black owl that would slash its talons across the steel mesh screen at people outside but it’s friendly when they’re inside, black horses in the stable, and the featured attraction of a pet black bear that was best friends with the two family black labs.
“None, although the mare is pregnant but the foal likely won’t be black. Horses do funny business. The offspring frequently comes out in a different color. There would be no racism if people were like that,” shouted Broussard in the shower.
Thibodeaux could hardly make out what he said. He asked instead, “I’ve been wondering. Why didn’t you get a black panther?”
“I don’t like their politics. Don’t get me started. Now go away and let me finish my thing,” screamed Broussard.
Thibodeaux got a move on and sat back down in the living room with Sands. He said he was tired of Fox News and asked if they could find a movie. Sands found the Home and Garden network instead.
The hit show Topiary was on. It was about a topiary artist who went round the country looking for houses with nice hedges and shrubs. In this episode, he talked to the homeowners, and if he thought they were Democrats he would create a few awesome elephants in their front yard and if he thought they were Republicans he would create a few awesome horses. His theory was that his artistry would have an over 50 percent chance of enticing a homeowner to switch party.
Both Sands and Thibodeaux thought it was an ingenious concept. They were glued to the screen when Broussard came back. All of a sudden the screen went black with the dreaded message about cosmic interference. Sands and Thibodeaux turned to Broussard with evil eyes as if he were the interference. They cheered up in an instant when they saw the goofy t-shirt on the big man. It showed a kill shelter in which cats and dogs were being cooked in a cauldron. The cats had Freddy Krueger nails and the dogs all looked like the dogs in Animal Farm. The message was: Cauling Cats and Dogs.
Thibodeaux threw insults at the TV screen and said screw it. He got up to make another shaker of cocktail, this time, a White Russian which was Broussard’s favorite. He raised his voice as he walked away, “Hey Jeff, speaking of the others. Wanna tell him what we saw?”
Sands let Broussard in on his opinion, “Sure. Tom has done the impossible. I don’t know how he did it but it’s a miracle. We couldn’t spot anything unnatural, not a thing. We looked and looked and we know the bayou. It’s been one of my life goals for a decade. Protecting the bayou is one of my core positions in state government election. And nobody knows the bayou like Patty. He wants in on this...”
“You bet I want in on this,” said Thibodeaux, coming back and poured a round for himself and Broussard. “I’m a fearless rider. Give it everything I have every time. At the top of my game, they said I was the strongest finisher ever. I can’t wait!”
“Did Tom say he’s letting you in on this?” asked Sands.
“He didn’t say it out loud but he didn’t have to. It’s a bit of a tradition. I’ve known Tom a long time. You’re new. Ask Marcus, he was in on it the last time. I’m telling you, eee-yow!” said Thibodeaux lasciviously.
“What are you talking about,” said Broussard confusedly.
“Look who’s acting dumb. You know, our little ménage à trois?” Thibodeaux tried his best to get Broussard to open up and licked his own chops for effects.
“It’s the first French phrase I’ve heard from this Cajun. What is he talking about?” asked Sands curiously.
“We weren’t talking about that, Patty. You can count me out. I gotta get my bird home tonight,” said Broussard resolutely.
“Seriously? The bird can wait till tomorrow. This one is real fine with a capital R and a capital F,” Thibodeaux pressed the issue encouragingly.
“I have never seen you this enthused. Bayou land reclamation has to be natural like the real thing. It should be more muddy and smelly than fine,” Sands stated his opinion righteously.
“Now Jeff, you’re the one who’s not following the story. Patty’s talking about something else. You guys are too much,” said Broussard, exasperated.
“What’s he talking about?” asked Sands. He threw up his hands and turned to Thibodeaux. ”What are you talking about, man?”
“Tell him!” Thibodeaux said to the big man, who was more than fifty pounds over his playing weight as a defensive lineman.
“I’m taking no part in this. You go ahead,” Broussard said to the little ex-jockey.
“You’re staying back right? Tell us we won’t pass up this one,” said Thibodeaux with a note of concern.
“I’m doing just that. Don’t get me wrong. I think this Addy is a fantastic woman, and she’s real pretty. But I’ve just got to be faithful to the chocolate candies. I pass... or should I say I fold and I’m out!” said Broussard seriously, a bit torn.
“Oh yes, come to think it, that was a real fine chocolate candy. I didn’t know that about you. I find it a bit racist to tell you the truth,” said Thibodeaux jokingly.
“This is nothing like that! It’s illegal to discriminate when you hire or service someone and shit like that but the law allows personal choices. Attraction sounds damn personal to me. I am lots of things but a racist is the farthest from the truth. I’m offended,” said Broussard, pretending righteous indignation.
“Oh come on, I was kidding. I’m sorry,” said Thibodeaux placatingly.
“Oh don’t mention it! You’re still my favorite Cajun in the world,” said Broussard graciously and stood up and offered his favorite Acadian a hug, a reproduction of Marlon Brando and Mini-Me in the 1996 movie, The Island of Dr. Moreau, which bombed. The book by H. G. Wells was better, except Jeff Sands did not have the patience to read a book at this time. He demanded, “What’s the story?”
“Oh, I almost forgot. You’re new. You haven’t known Tom long enough. I don’t know if I should tell you,” said Thibodeaux. He looked at Broussard and tapped his foot. “What the hell... the story is our billionaire buddy who owns this place, he owns half of Cajun country too, has a thing about sharing his girlfriend.”
“No! I don’t believe it. Addy would never,“ said Sands and looked at Broussard for confirmation.
Broussard shrugged and looked at Thibodeaux, who told him, “Go ahead, tell him.” So Broussard recounted his experience, “I’ve been here a few times, but only once did Tom bring a girl. It was a young cheerleader, on the wild side...”
“Jeez! I still don’t believe this,” said Sands doubtfully.
“Well, believe it. I’ve known Tom almost right after he moved to town. We’ve had so much fun here. I’m not saying that every one of them wanted me, but hey! Most of the time it’s a go as soon as I showed them old videos of me riding. Glory days I know, I’ve still got it, though, eee-yow!” declared Thibodeaux exultantly.
“I don’t know what to say. Is Dung in on this?” asked Sands nervously.
“Nah, he’s never stayed the night, I don’t think. His daughter plays the piano at church tomorrow morning. Dung works as much as Tom. They’re just different. Dung works twelve hours a day but Tom works three days straight non-stop and takes the next couple of days off.”
“Wow, I didn’t know that. Yeah, Tom does give me the impression he works hard. I had no idea this hard. How does he do it?” said Sands agreeably.
“Beats me!” replied Thibodeaux, throwing up his hands.
“I’m sure he has his method. I know ballplayers that eat amphetamines like candies. Adderall, totally legal in the pros back in the days. Clears your mind, amps you up, dulls the pain and stuff. Some say it’s better than cocaine. I can’t handle it. Tried it once and kept me up all night. Never again,” said Broussard illuminatingly.
“I’ve heard of it. I had no idea about all that. I know it’s commonly prescribed for kids with ADHD,” Sands said and made a mental note to learn more about it.
“So Tom, what say you? Are you staying or going with Marcus?” asked Thibodeaux teasingly.
“I’ll play it by ears. If Tom asks me to stay over, I will. It’d be rude not to,” said Sands innocently.
“I knew it! Just tell me this. Are we still stuck in photoshoots?” exclaimed Thibodeaux delightedly.
“What photoshoots?” asked Broussard, cluelessly. There was a commotion outside and they noticed the three cooks high-fiving each other and ran to the elevator. They were communicating in English after all, perfect English no less. They were excited to have seen the return of their master Dung Nguyen. He would have everything they needed to start cooking and showing off their skills. Such was their exalted and meritorious level of dedication.
Broussard ran quickly to the front door, opened it, and yelled, “Gentlemen! It is an honor for me to have this opportunity to taste your cooking. Please retrieve the dead alligator from my hovercraft over there next to Dung’s. I would appreciate it if you would skin and grill it to perfection.”
Thibodeaux whistled and commended his friend for pulling off his best Uncle Tom accent.
