WHAT COULD HAPPEN?

WHAT COULD HAPPEN?
Carol St. Ann

W/C Approx 2,454

         My friend, Bette, and I agreed, a long time ago, we would never allow my Steve and her Charlie to stay in either of our houses alone together.

         You see, while the loves of our lives are absolute geniuses at what they do for a living, neither one has a lick of sense - or ability - when it comes to installing, maintaining, or otherwise repairing household things. Much to the pathetic chagrin of inhabitants, both human and non, of said houses, (as well as neighbors and local police and fire departments), they persist in attempting such tasks anyway. In other words, whenever Steve or Charlie try to fix something, it becomes a community event.

         Now, Bette and I have accepted this for years. We each have our respective well-seasoned staff of fix-it people on call.

         Mondays rarely pass without one of us phoning the other to tattle on the hub's weekend Screw Up. We refer to this phone call as the Ring Ceremony. It goes like this: The Tattle is first. Lamentation over the inevitable repair bill is second. Homily is next. This is the part where we goss--, I mean, share stories of how our friends' husbands won't do anything. (Lucky wenches!) Next up: Fire and Brimstone. We chastise each other for being petty - and remind each other how blessed we are to have husbands who willingly help out. After warmly acknowledging their good natured intentions, we move on to the Announcements. We offer information about new fix-it people we've found and offer to post the contact information on the bulletin board. We close with Recessional Laughter and the Final Amen. In the early days, the Ring Ceremony could take up to an hour. Through the years, we refined it by half!

         Now, Steve and I had been selected first among our social circle to witness the unveiling of Bette and Charlie's newly decorated digs. They had spent a fortune redoing the place, leaving no stone unturned, and we couldn' t wait to see it.

         As we arrived, our pals were waiting for us on their front porch with our favorite drinks in hand. We parked, jumped out of the car, accepted our respective beverages, and admitted our delight in having been invited. I'm not sure, but I believe I saw Charlie puff out his chest a bit as he opened the door and motioned for Steve and me to step inside.

         No expense had been spared in obtaining the very best of everything. Every item had been selected for a reason. Bette, being an excellent story-teller, regaled us with her exploits of finding and procuring each and every one. It was wonderful. We were delighted to see them so happy and fully enjoyed their excitement in sharing the culmination of their efforts with us.

         Marveling at all the differences from floor plan to lighting, to color scheme, to style, we could scarcely believe it was the same house! It was every bit as magnificent as the year it took to complete indicated it would be.

         Of course, everything was sparkling appropriately, and there was not a speck of dust to be found, well, except for the rather large accumulation of charred remnants on the floor of the massive stone fireplace. We teased Bette and Charlie mercilessly about the sooty ashes. Even the idea of a once upon a time fire is ample fodder for an hour's worth of taunting, needling, and, as far as Steve is concerned, outright heckling!

         As evening drew nigh, and we were settling in for the night, Bette realized she was out of cigarettes. Steve noted that they needed milk for coffee in the morning. In no short order, Bette and I hopped into my car and were backing out her driveway planning a hasty trip to the 7-11.

         I do not know which one of us said to the other, "We really shouldn't leave the two of them alone in there." And I do not remember which one of us responded with a shrug, "We'll only be gone for 5 minutes; what could happen?"

         We smiled at each other as we rolled our eyes and shook our heads at our folly. Of course we could leave them alone in there. They were two grown men: Pillars of the business world, for goodness sake! Then we agreed it would be best to make our little jaunt as brief as possible.

         We made it to the store in record time. It was serendipitous that, even though the entire parking lot was full, the spot directly in front of the door, beneath a shady maple was wide-open. I zipped into the spot, high-fiving Bette as we hopped out. She made for the cigs; I hastened to the refrigerator section to grab a pint of milk. In 30 seconds, we met at the counter, paid the man, exited the building, and stopped dead in our tracks.

         I do not know how long we stood there staring at my car in a trance-like gaze before Bette's voice broke through the cacophonic barrier of shock. "I have never seen that much bird shit on anything in my life."

         "Me neither," I choked, searching for my voice.

         As we approached the splattered vehicle, stupefied, she mumbled something about maybe heading for the car wash.

         "Yeah," I agreed with no small degree of trepidation, adding, "Do you think we'll be able to see out the windshield?"

         "Well, I don't know, but it 's not so bad," she reasoned. "No one will be able to recognize us."

         "Right." I put on a brave face, trying to open the door without actually touching it. "Let's get on with it."

         We survived the stares and finger-pointing, arrived at the car wash without incident, and nodded sheepishly when the attendants asked us if we had just come from the 7-11.

         Somewhere between the second and third trips through the car wash, we heard sirens.

         Bette looked at me over her glasses. "You don't suppose..."

         "Stop," says I in response to her insinuating glare. "We're the ones who shouldn't have been left alone today!" I took advantage of the opportunity to expound on my feelings about how foolish it would be to let Steve and Charlie know what had happened.

         As we exited the car wash for the third time, satisfied the car was sufficiently clean, we nonchalantly conspired our excuse for having taken so long. We glanced at one another in solidarity and sighed victoriously as we rounded the corner that should have afforded a clear view of Bette's house.

         We couldn't see it, though, because our view was obstructed by the three fire engines and two police cars that were in front if it.

         "I told you we shouldn't leave those two alone in there!" she scolded gesturing for me to depress the accelerator.

         "Bullshit! " I responded with authority as the momentum thrust us backward into our seats. "It was I who told you we shouldn't leave them alone! You said, 'What could happen?'. Slowing to a stop next to one of the huge red trucks, I sought confirmation - for the second time in less than an hour - that I was seeing what I was seeing: "Is that... water?"

         Water?" she quizzed, suitably distracted from her tirade. "Where?"

         I lifted my chin directing her gaze to the center-front of the house. "Pouring out of your front door."

         Bette lurched forward setting her hand across her forehead. "Oh my G-- Hey! Where IS my front door?"

         My eyes settled on a shadowy heap of debris on the porch, next to the new water feature. "I think that's it. There."

         "Where? They took off my door? Why the hell would they-- Where?"

         "There. Only I don't think they took it off. I think they broke through it. See that pile of wood? Over there. With the axe next to it."

         Bette felt it necessary to launch into an immediate state of denial: "This isn't happening," she stated, shaking her head.

         Someone touched my shoulder. "Ma'am?" The Fire Captain was accompanied by two Police Officers. "Excuse me, Ma'am, I'm going to have to ask you to move your car. This is private property, and we're asking meanderers and onlookers to refrain from gathering."

         Bette's voice reached a pitch I have never heard before or since. "THIS IS MY HOUSE!" She walked away from us and raised her hands as though she were strangling something. Turning back to face us, she took a deep breath and instantly composed herself. "What happened? Where are the two men who were in the house?"

         "They're all right." The Captain reassured, gesturing toward the garden.

         "Not for long," Bette snorted, pushing up her sleeves.

         The Police Officers threw each other a look and followed her. I followed them, pleading with Bette not to do something that would culminate in one of them reciting the Miranda.

----------------

         As we entered the back garden, she and I shot each other an oh-brother eye-roll and sighed as we approached our fire starters. Steve and Charlie were sitting by the pool, wrapped in blankets. (No doubt, in an attempt to look pitiful.)

         I looked at Steve, happy he was alive, and shot him a what-the-hell-happened lift of my brow, while Bette - on her broomstick - approached Charlie.

         "You shouldn't have left us," he said.

         One of the Officers stepped between them.

         I took Steve's hand urging him out of the line of fire, no pun intended, while the officers employed all their skill and finesse in calming Bette.

         Steve and Charlie spoke in turn, insisting they did not know how it happened. All they did was turn on the vacuum, they said.  And the next thing they knew, they were face to face with two fully regaled firemen.


         Here is the real story, as Bette and I (private-eyes) have pieced it together, of what actually happened at the house while we were innocently dealing with the bird shit:

         When Bette and I left, one of them said, "It's a nice cool night; be great to have a fire." The other responded in the affirmative, and the motion was carried.

         Unfortunately, when they walked into the drawing room, arms loaded with kindling and logs, they were faced with the mess of ashes and soot already sitting on the fireplace floor. Careful to remove their shoes before entering the room so they should not dirty the new Persian carpet, they started the daunting task of cleaning it out. Considering the scooping and shoveling of soot was too much like work, one of them got the bright idea to vacuum it. The other pointed out that one of the new gadgets they had installed during the redo was a wall-vac.

         They found the wall-vac and turned it on, but nothing happened. (Now, why Charlie stayed at the fireplace while Steve went to the basement to turn on the vacuum at the main switch, when it was Charlie's house, makes no sense at all - and remains confusing at best.)

         Down in the basement, Steve flicked the switch and heard the motor start. Satisfied he had done what he was sent to do, he went over to the bar and poured himself a drink. Since he was having a drink, he figured he'd try out the new HDTV. Since he had managed to negotiate the remote and successfully turn the TV on, he figured he'd check the game. It's a given that once he found the scotch and a good game, there was little hope he'd be going back upstairs. What could be better than a baseball game with surround sound in the comfort of a newly built home theater? We could have a fire anytime!

         Meanwhile, upstairs, Charlie was screaming for Steve to reverse the airflow. Without realizing what he had done, Steve had set the thing to exhaust. Flying soot was blanketing the entire first floor, and Charlie, being Charlie, did not know how to turn-off the demon possessed vacuum cleaner.

         What did Charlie do? He laid the thing down in front of the fireplace and went downstairs to reverse the airflow, came across Steve, the scotch and the game, and completely forgot about what was happening upstairs.

         Meanwhile, let's remember that Bette and Charlie had spared no expense in installing the best of everything. The alarm system rivaled that found in a bank.

         There were heat sensors and smoke sensors and, yes, there was a sprinkler system. The soot activated the smoke sensors, and, when no one answered the phone calls from the alarm company, the fire department was dispatched.

         So, the fire brigade arrived at the house. Unable to see in the windows, because of what looked like smoke, they unfurled the massive hose and prepared to extinguish the fire, but first they made supreme efforts to determine whether or not anyone was inside. They banged on the doors and windows. They rang the bells. They called out for anyone inside to make his or her location known.

         Suddenly, one of the fireman spied what looked like two shoes lying on their sides just barely behind one of the sofas. Convinced they were attached to a person, probably overcome by smoke, the order was given to "break it down." With three swings of the great axe, Bette's front door - the antique she had imported from the UK - was nothing but a memory. Two firemen entered, turned off the vacuum, and exited, indicating the water need not be turned on. They stated they had not found anyone, but they did find the source of the smoke.

         Meanwhile, somewhere in the middle of all the goings on, the sprinkler system had commenced to saturate the place and the water had begun to flow out the front doorway.

         The commotion by the heavy booted fireman caused Steve and Charlie to emerge from the soundproof home theater - whereupon they were stunned to come face to face with the total and complete destruction of the renovation.

         Terrified of Bette and me, Charlie asked the Fire Chief to phone the police. Steve agreed that it was probably a good idea, and it was. Bette and I arrived just after the patrol cars which I will always be convinced is the reason Charlie was allowed to live.

         That is how Bette and I ultimately concluded it all unfolded.

         In the weeks and months that followed, Bette and Charlie recovered from the trauma of that day. They redid the house again, less opulent. Steve and Charlie were never allowed to stay alone in the house again. Bette and I vowed never again to ask, "What could happen?"

         We never told them about the bird shit.



--CSA