Willie and Dewitt sit in the den of the big ranch house, watching TV. A sports announcer is enthusiastically going over some of the western U. S. holiday football schedule. Then he continues:
“... And back East, it’s Penn State versus the elements in their big game this weekend. For an update, we go live to-”
Dewitt turns off the television set. He looks very thoughtful. Shortly afterward, in his bedroom Dewitt puts the finishing touches on a final draft of writing. Pleased, he wheels out the bedroom door, note in hand, and scoots into the living room, capturing Willie’s attention.
“Oh, hi, Doc. Michael’s fixing us all some dinner. I hope you like, um, steak, Doc. Delicious, uh, delicious steak.”
Dewitt tries to make sure he appears nonchalant.
“Sure. – Hey, Willie,” he says, “I got an idea. You know, if I were to leave a friend of mine, say a student, a voice mail message, then no one would suspect that I’m in harm’s way.”
“Right, ‘In Harm’s Way.’ John Wayne. Yeah.”
Dewitt knows what’s coming next and mouths it along with Willie.
“Good movie.”
“Anyway,” continues Dewitt, “I wrote out this paper, and I wanted to get you and T. P.’s opinion on it. You know, to see if it’s a good idea to, as I said, make people think things are, you know, normal.”
Dewitt looks to see how this ‘plays’ with Willie. Willie is nodding in agreement.
“Yeah, good idea. So long’s of course you don’t go telling ‘em... ”
“Right, right,” agrees Dewitt. “Anyway, I wanted you to read it and approve it.”
He holds out the paper.
Willie takes the note with some hesitancy.
“Sure, Doc, it’s just – I’ll get T. P. to read it. I got that, you know, Japanese car disease or something.”
Dewitt looks puzzled.
“You know,” intones Willie. “Dyslexus.”
Suppressing a smile, Dewitt nods.
“Oh, I see,” he says. “Okay, sure. Whenever. But, hey, I need to call pretty soon. Well, I guess I’ll go rest.” To himself he adds, “Go rest, young man! Where’s Horace Greeley and Wyatt Earp when you need them?”
T. P. comes into the room just after Dewitt leaves. He spies the note.
“Hey, what’s that, Willie? Can I see it, can I see it?”
Willie hands the paper over to T. P.
“The Doc’s gonna call someone and put everyone’s mind at rest,” he says. “Looks okay to me.”
“Why don’t you read it out loud, T. P.,” Willie continues. “Just so’s we can be sure how it sounds on the telly-phone.”
T. P. is excited and sits down and begins reading as Willie ponders each sentence, calculating how it sounds.
“Hello, David,” T. P. reads. “This is Doctor ‘D.’ I made it up her – up here, I guess it says – for my alum-, alumi-. Aluminum meeting I guess it says.”
Willie grabs the paper. He looks at it and hands it back.
“That’s alumni, idiot,” he says. “That’s the plural. You know, lots of aluminum.”
“Sorry, Willie,” T. P. says, with hurt feelings. “Hey, we should tell him we’re in the fender and hubcap business ourselves!”
“Keep reading!” commands Willie.
“... alumni meeting. We’re all going to watch football against our opposites from Penn State... ”
Willie interrupts.
“That’s a college,” he nods, knowingly. “They’re playing some team called the ‘Elements’ or somebody this weekend. Big game.”
“I didn’t know you knew football, Willie,” says T. P.
“Well, you know... ” Willie says with some modesty.
T. P. continues with the note.
“It’s the typical scene: big, tired hogs getting their butts kicked – Oh, he said butts!”
“Go on, for Pete’s sake,” says Willie.
“... big, tired hogs, uh, kicked, stand beside guards and tackles. Have a nice weekend. Bye-byes!”
Willie grabs the note and ponders it.
“It just says ‘Bye,’” he says, waving the note for effect at T. P.
“Sorry, Willie.”
Willie takes a deep breath.
“Sounds like the Doc don’t really like football so much,” he says. “But, yeah, I guess it will pass mustard.”
T. P.’s eyes light up, thinking.
“Willie, can I have a hot dog?”
“Huh? Whatever made you think-? No, you may not have a hot dog. Michael’s fixing us some of them special steaks.”
“Yeck!” says T. P. “Do we have to? Now I really want a hot dog.”
“Hey, what’s wrong? They taste great, don’t they?”
“Yes, Willie.”
“And they’re good for you. Mr. Nickels keeps telling us. He raises them, don’t he?”
“Yeahhh.”
“So you’re gonna eat it, and that’s that!”
T. P. pouts.
“Oh-kay, Willie,” he says, then adds quietly, “It’s the thought.”
“What you say?” asks Willie.
“Nothing, Willie. Uh, Willie? Can I make dessert?”
Willie sighs.
“Sure,” he says. “That’s about the only thing you do good.”
T. P. is thrilled.
“Thanks, Willie,” he beams, and starts a sprint for the kitchen, almost knocking over a houseplant that’s on top of an old piano in the corner of the living room.
“At least don’t run into anything in the kitchen, you idiot,” yells Willie.
“I won’t,” says T. P. as he happily begins gathering items to make dessert for the evening meal.