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“Hm?” Of course, through the magic of television, we were easily able to distinguish the voice of the caller as that of Seth Thomas, Jalie’s husband and occasional arch enemy. “Hey, babe. I’m calling to make sure you haven’t forgotten the kid somewhere.” “He’s fine. He’s in the car.” She answered with a roll of her eyes. “Did you leave a bowl of water in there or something?” Seth asked. “I just don’t want another social services visit.” “I think there’s Gatorade in the glove box. He’s all good. Where are you?” “I’m at the old Pic N’ Save. Some guy claims he’s about to give birth. Media’s all over it.” “No shit? That’s only like a block away. I’ll be there in a minute – this I’ve gotta see.” Jalie hung up the phone and hit the sidewalk. Ten minutes later Seth and Jalie were standing in the parking lot of the outlet store watching a team of paramedics load a large woman into an ambulance. Seth, it turned out, had been mistaken on the gender of the pregnant individual. “This isn’t nearly as interesting as I thought it would be.” Jalie noted. “You have to admit, she did sort of look like Winston Churchill.” Seth said, reasonably. Jalie nodded in agreement. They marched back to Seth’s blue pick-up and climbed inside. Immediately Seth blasted the air conditioning. It was only May, but the weather was already miserably hot. Seth was half-way through the drive home when he noticed Jalie fidgeting in her seat. “What’s up?” “I feel like I’m forgetting something. Something important… … … Shit!” Seth slammed on the brakes, sending an un-belted Jalie smacking into the dashboard. “I forgot the beer.” Seth and Jalie’s small villa sat at the top of a hill just outside Yucca Valley, California. The house was U-shaped around a small courtyard complete with a fountain feeding into a small koi pond. The house looked like a glittering sandstone mini-palace. That is, of course, until you looked a bit closer. The signs of wear and tear on the house were becoming more prominent as they spent more and more time there. There was a lone koi in the pond, floating sideways and barely clinging to life. Tacky Christmas lights were strung between the pillars that surrounded the front and side doors. Empty beer bottles were strewn across the terracotta tiles of the courtyard, as well as the occasional roach clip. The front double doors swung open and out stormed Jay Dumas. He was wearing a front-riding baby pouch with Ricky tucked safely inside it. Jalie casually followed him out into the courtyard. She was leisurely sipping from a bottle of Hornitos tequila and watching Jay with a bemused expression. “When I got there his face was purple. Purple!” Jay shouted. “You were the genius that entrusted the care of your offspring to me of all people. You don’t blame the grizzly for mauling the hiker. You don’t blame the hippo for sinking a boat. If I thought it was a good idea for me to try parenting I would have swiped a kid by now.” Jay’s retort was drowned out when Hobo Nick suddenly ran screaming from the house. He skidded to a halt beside the koi pond and dropped to his knees. He plunged his hands into the water and pulled out the last remaining fish. “Reginald! Hold on, Reginald! I need fish food, a fish bowl full of Aquafina, a bottle of Crown Royale, and the complete DVD box set of Lonesome Dove, STAT!” Jay shook his head and marched off toward his truck. Jalie looked dumbfounded. Seemingly out of nowhere, Seth came barging out of the houses’ side door carrying the supplies. Nick dropped the fish into the bowl with a plop while Seth shook in a large amount of goldfish flakes. The fish continued to float sideways, puffing its’ gills and looking as confused as Jalie. Seth got to his feet and helped Nick up. “We’ve done all we can. It’s in God’s hands now.” Seth said solemnly. Nick nodded. A single tear slid from his eye down into his bushy beard. His shoulder-length hair and his beard were a little greyer than the last time we saw him, but otherwise Nick looked much the same as he always has – including the lack of pants. His tightie whities were barely concealed by a bright floral print sarong wrapped around his waist. His hairy chest was bare, displaying a vast array of poorly done tattoos. “You’re a damn good man, Thomas. A damn good man.” Nick stated. Seth passed him the DVD and the bottle of whiskey. Nick quietly carried his items and his fish bowl back into the house to begin his vigil. Seth turned back to Jalie. She hadn’t changed in the slightest since she was last seen on television. Still scrawny, unkempt, and still possessing that quiet allure that only Seth could seem to understand. She was dressed in a pair of Seth’s faded jeans, cinched at the waist with a cloth belt. The outfit was topped off with a cropped tank top promoting Hi-Desert Radiator Repair. The two of them slipped back into the house. The front entrance led into a large sunken living room. A set of stairs opposite the front doors led upstairs to the loft bedroom belonging to Seth and Jalie. To the right of the living room was a separate apartment normally inhabited by Hobo Nick. The sounds of the Lonesome Dove theme and soft sobbing were emanating from the doors separating it. To the left of the living room was a bathroom, bedroom, and a weight room. Jalie padded through the living room on bare feet, heading into the kitchen. It was separated from the living room by a wide island counter, which she was perched on now. Seth rummaged through the fridge and finally came up with a bottle of maple syrup. He uncapped it and began sipping from it. Jalie groaned. “Gross, dude.” “Hey, we all have our vices.” Seth countered. He pointed to the beer in Jalie’s hand, and then to the collection of stuffed toy penguins scattered about the living room. “Point taken.” “So what do you think Walsh gains from opening up our beloved hellhole yet again?” Seth asked, taking another pull from the bottle. “Besides another opportunity to either go into debt or make a mint… I’m not sure. He has a thousand motives for everything he does. That man doesn’t even put on pants without contemplating how he can make the pants work to his advantage.” “I’d rather not think about Walsh’s pants, whether he’s in or out of them.” Seth noted. “I don’t know. I do miss this one pair of shiny latex ones that he wore on occasion. They didn’t leave much to the imagination, but by god they were sparkly.” Jalie gazed off toward the window, seemingly reminiscing about the pants she left behind. “I still regret not stealing those when I had the chance. I’d never get close enough now.” She added. “I don’t really think I’d want you anywhere near Walsh’s pants anyway.” “Enough about pants,” Jalie said, emptying her beer and tossing the bottle in the sink. “Let’s go break in the new jacuzzi tub, Mr. Thomas.”
First and foremost, I’d like to note that Sara Pettis has fantastic hair. I also wonder if the carpet matches the drapes, and I’m sure I’m not the only one. Besides that, I’m not particularly familiar with her beyond her name. I’m not impressed either, but that doesn’t say anything about her talent, whether abundant or lacking. It takes a considerable amount to impress me. I don’t mean putting on an excellent match, either. If your goal is to be impressive you’d better set yourself on fire and juggle eighty-six thumbtacks while humming the Swiss national anthem. Not really pertaining to our profession, but I would just really like to see that. Moving on… Nigella Helms-King is another entrant into this miasma of attractive females and one hairy male. Another new face. She’s already made her voice heard and made it well known she’s not intimidated or impressed by my renown. She even considers me to be successful and talented. I’ve been doing this for several years now and I’ve yet to have one of my opponents unabashedly compliment me – purposely or otherwise. I’ve gone through every match in my career with the simple goal of hitting people with things and collecting a paycheck afterward. This news that I am somehow considered noteworthy for it is a pleasant surprise.
I have immediately developed a liking for the hairy male counterpart to this bout, despite the fact that he’s Dutch. He is foul-mouthed, perpetually drunk, slightly delusional and reminds me of a weekend bender I once went on with my Samoan lawyer. Wait, that wasn’t me… Shit.
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