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Livi2Jack
Author of 21 Stories |
No Soap, Radio
You want to know how this happened? How should I know?
So this all started this afternoon when, Jack came over to the house to shoot the breeze and be neighborly. Mostly I think he wanted to check up on me, seeing as how I just got shot with a poison blow gun by alien head hunters. I repeat that every so often, alien head hunters. Say that three times. The surreal quality lights up my life. Where I used to see boring every day situations, now I see hilarious comedy.
A man of his word, Jack promised me a BBQ and tried to grill some steak. I know he offered but he’s a single man. Ok the truth is I saw him char a piece of meat so badly even my dog wouldn’t eat it. He doused the flames with beer. That just smells awful. So we came back to my house, where I’ve pulled some steaks out of the freezer and stuffed them into the microwave to defrost. He brought the salad over. I’m pulling the rest together.
See BBQing is MAN’s work. That’s right. The woman shops for it all, prepares the food, marinates the meat, sets the table, cleans up before the guests arrive, plays hostess, BUT, the man grills the meat. Then everyone thanks HIM for cooking the meal.
What am I chopped liver?
Women need compliments. Women want to be appreciated. We want to be told we look good, smell good, and are a great lay. Women need food, water, and compliments…oh and the occasional pair of nice shoes, Ferragamos size 9B over here.
Men need danger. BBQing brings men together like moths to a flame. Flames, think about it. It’s exciting as all heck. Will the thing blow up? Will the flames shoot out starting a grease fire that burns down the house? Anyone can get a third degree burn from the flames shooting up and singeing someone’s hair. Add some booze, wind, and some lighter fluid. What could happen? So long as there’s a chance someone can go to the hospital, they’re good to go. It’s a recipe for disaster.
Jack and Phil do that dance men do to bond over the grill. Jack says, ‘turn the meat.’ Phil waves the tongs and pokes at it to establish who the boss is over the meat. Men have to be right, so Jack says, ‘turn the meat because it keeps cooking after you take it off.’ Which only means the man who OWNS the BBQ pokes the meat again and lets it cook some more. That is the reason your meat is overcooked every damn time. Another thing I find hilarious now.
You know the real reason men BBQ? It’s easy to clean the grill. Just crank up the flame until you could light a rocket to Mars and presto! No bacteria because it all turned to ashes. Then they rinse it off with the garden hose and call out, ‘she’s clean!’ It’s NOT clean. One time the Hubby hauled out his leaf blower to prove to me nothing could come off the grill grate. Men have to be right more than they have to make sense.
Leaf blower equals clean grill. No soap, radio.
“Another beer?”
Phil hands Jack a cold one. My husband is a gracious host, even though he doesn’t drink. In fact, hubby doesn’t like the taste of alcohol. I do. After the week I just had, I deserve a cold one. So I raise a bottle with Jack and we clink with a smirk passed between us. I don’t know why I amuse him so much. Apparently, he’s taken a shine to me. Maybe I represent something normal in his abnormal existence. He mixes the every day with the bizarre with such grace and aplomb. I’m still working on getting my mind around it all.
For my sake, he’s trying to settle down the husband. Hubby keeps talking about moving. I’m not listening. You’ve got to be kidding. Don’t you just know who would have to pack everything up? In the process more stuff would get destroyed. I figure three moves equal a fire for shear damage. I like this house. So, I’m not letting this opportunity get away. Besides, it’s fun having a secret with a handsome neighbor man. Jack knows I know he knows I know. Okay that confused me. The point is that we are comfortable together. Maybe that’s all he wants, just the privilege of hanging out.
Hubby goes to check the meat, again. It is still cooking. He’s full of questions. Jack is keenly aware of it. He’s going to handle it man to man. Jack watches Phil putter on the deck while he downs his beer, sizing up how to approach the guy.
“He’s curious you know.”
“I know. What did you tell him?”
“What you told me to say. I’m good at following directions. Jack he’s not stupid.”
“I didn’t think he was.” Jack watched the steaks come off the grill. We sit down in the kitchen to eat. I’ve got one of those large country kitchens that serve as a multipurpose living area. It’s the best room in the house…after the bedroom. Yeah, I’ve still got it for him after all these years.
“Lived here long?”
“Five years.”
“Nice neighborhood.”
“Uh huh.”
“Libby says you’re a rocket scientist. That true?”
“Oh c’mon Jack, you know I am. You had us checked out.” Phil stabs at his steak. “Let’s not play games.”
“Fair enough.”
“Think those terrorists will come back?” He says that sarcastically.
“Doubtful.”
“Uh huh, that wishful thinking?”
“Wouldn’t worry about it,” Jack eyes him then changes the subject. “You know Libby is a great gal.”
“Yes, she has her moments.” He knows I’m going to do what I’m going to do and doesn’t like it. “I hear you want to hire her?”
“Yeah. I could use someone like her.”
“I have to tell my security people what her job will be. What should I say?”
“Say she’s working for the Air Force at the Pentagon.”
“Uh huh. She thinks she’ll be traveling. I hope she’s not going into a war zone overseas?”
“She’ll be ok.”
“This ever happen before?”
Jack hesitates. He’s framing his answer. I’m impatient with curiosity to see how a master at this will handle the matter. This old gal never had to lie to her husband about anything important, emphasis on ‘had to’. The good news is that Hubby understands security.
But, alien abduction knocks this situation out of the ballpark.
Seems Brunehilde likes me. A lot. I’m her new best friend. Imagine my surprise. Imagine my husband’s when I disappeared in a flash of bright light right in front of him. I’ll never ever in my whole life forget the look on my husband’s face when I beamed out of the kitchen.
Never.
He’ll never forget it either.
“Jack, that what you call terrorists?”
“Sorta.”
“Is it going to happen often?”
“Don’t know. I’ll find out soon. Anytime now. Yep, just about now. I’m just saying I’ll know right now.” He taps his watch, shakes it, and then puts the quartz battery watch to his ear, for no good reason.
“And?”
“And this time I don’t know.”
“Is it something less dangerous?”
“Probably not terrorists, Phil,” flipping out his phone, he calls the SGC.
“General O’Neill for Landry.” Shooting a look at my husband, Jack can see he was really getting agitated. “It happened again. Right. Yes, in front of her husband this time. Well, I’m still here on the phone, waiting. Still waiting. Send a couple of your guys to find out what’s going on. Anything missing? Right.”
“This could take a while.”
“I want her back. Alive.”
“I do too.”
“Now that I know this much, are you going to fill me in?”
“No, not really, listen, it’s been swell, but I need to get to my office to work the situation. I can’t talk here.”
When Jack stood up to go, he went, in a flash. At least that’s how my husband described it to me later. I sigh with relief. He’s here per my request. Brunehilde didn’t want him up here, but I can be very bitchy.
“What took you so long?” I huff.
“Where’s Thor?’
“Don’t know.”
“What’s that sound?”
“She’s crying.”
“Who?”
“Brunehilde, seems she needed to talk.”
“And?”
“She’s so mad at Thor she threw him off the ship along with the crew.”
“Aw crap! Where?”
“We haven’t gotten to that part.”
“Hildy, where did you drop Thor off?”
“I should have done this a long time ago,” she wailed.
“I’m sure he had it coming, from what you told me. So what did you do to him?”
“Nothing like what he’s done to me all these years.”
“Ok, he’s a skanky bastard,” I soothed her. “I’ll bet you came up with a way to fix his sorry ass.”
They have asses?” Frowning at me to be quiet he addressed the distraught computer, “Libby, I’ll do this.”
“I wouldn’t Jack.”
“Hildy?”
“What?’
“Where’s Thor?”
“Why should I tell you?”
“Because I asked?”
“Say pretty please.”
He stuffed his hands in his pockets, took a deep breath and gave it his all.
“Pretty please, Hildy, tell me where you sent Thor?”
“Say it like you mean it.”
“I mean it more than life itself. Where’s Thor?”
“I want a body.”
“Bring back Thor and I’ll talk to him.”
“You men are all alike. You make promises you won’t keep. You use us and throw us aside for the next new model. Libby, why do they do it?” Brunehilde sobbed.
“It’s their nature, girlfriend. They can’t help themselves. So Thor’s a hound dog is he?”
Jack leans over to whisper, “Do something?”
“Shhhhhh! I was doing something ‘til you came,” I give him a dirty look. “So make my day, Hildy. Did you drop him off on that planet where he dumped Jack and me, which by the way, was a planet of headhunters? Did you know I got shot with a poison arrow?”
“No! He did that?” She sounded horrified. I think she’s playing me. How can she not know it? She’s the computer system. Better to play along than anger a psycho computer lady whatever.
“He sure did. And if Jack hadn’t known what to do, I’d be dead. We’d both be dead. Can you imagine?”
“That’s awful. Thor is heartless. He never says sweet things. He never talks to me anymore. He doesn’t love me!” She sobbed heartily.
Jack mutters, “The three most feared words in the English language.”
“What?
“Talk. To. Me.”
“That’s so mean, Jack,” Brunehilde remonstrates with him. “Thor was mean to me. So I didn’t take his crap, just like Libby taught me.”
“You don’t have to take his crap. I’d throw him out, too.”
“That’s the truth. I did throw him out.”
“Yes you did. Good for you!”
Jack is wondering where all this is leading. Obviously, he never sat through a “man-bashing” session.
“You’re making this worse,” he says to me. “It’s a computer! It’s just a machine.”
“You hush up,” I look around for a place to sit. “Hey Hildy, can you make me a couple of soft chairs. If we’re going to dish, I need to get comfortable.”
Two really cushy chairs appeared.
“Got anything to drink. I’m kinda dry.”
A pile of boxes appear.
“Aw crap! Not again.” Jack goes over to the boxes and fishes out some sodas.
“Got a glass? I hate drinking out of the can.” Jack gives me an impatient look. I shrug. We get a table with two clear glasses and some ice. I pop the can and pour carefully. I keep wondering if the little droplets will float off like in the Tang commercials in the ‘60s. I am so dated.
“Thanks, so Hildy, what else did he do to you? I mean what was the straw that broke the camel’s back?”
“There were no straw and no camel, Libby,” the computer chided. “Weren’t you listening?”
“It’s just an Earth expression, girlfriend. It means, what finally got you to throw him out? By the way, did you throw him out ‘out’, as in outer space or ‘out’ on some planet?”
“Oh, he’s on another ship. Come to think of it, I would have spaced his atoms out there if I could but I can’t.”
“And why not?”
Jack hissed, “Don’t give her anymore ideas.”
I shoot him a look to be quiet. His hands fly up in the surrender motion.
“That’s not necessary,” I soothe. “You made your point to him. That’s what it’s really all about. I mean you can’t tell him anything if he’s dead. Right?”
“I suppose.” She went back to crying. “I don’t want to kill him. I want him to SUFFER!”
“You are so right. After what he’s done to you...”
Jack is giving me an incredulous look. Geez, doesn’t he know anything about women?
“Libby what happened to the rest of the crew?” Jack whispers behind his hand.
I shrug.
“Um, Hildy, where’s the crew?”
Jack tries to get to the point. You tell them to be quiet and they can’t let go of control. This is what I mean about the not listening. She’s already refused to answer his questions. She yelled at him. She doesn’t trust him. Now he’s persisting anyway. What part of ‘hush up’ didn’t he understand?
No soap, radio.
“They used me. Well I’m mad as hell and I’m not taking it anymore.”
Jack’s eyes say he’s about to lose it. My turn. At least I get a direct response.
“I’d be angry too. So where did you send them?”
The computer giggled. I kid you not. The computer giggled.
“I sent them to Disneyland.”
“Why Disneyland?”
“Someone should be happy,” she wails. That machine is manic depressive. Up then down then up then down. Ever hear a computer wail? It’s earsplitting. Snuffling she adds, “It’s the happiest place on Earth.”
“Of course it is!” Jack goes over to the console with the funny rocks. He moves them like a pro. I guess he’s done this a few times. He’s frowning. “Uh, Hildy, why can’t I use the transporter?”
“I turned it off.”
“Well would you turn it back on?”
“No.”
“I can’t let a couple dozen Asgard run loose in public.”
“Not my problem.” Brunehilde went back to sobbing. “I want out. I want a real body, not a ship.”
See what I mean? No soap, radio!
“Think of all the great places you get to go,” Jack moves the stones around the console. Suddenly he’s talking to people I can’t see.
“Who you talking to,” I ask? Like I don’t have a pretty good idea. “What did my husband say to me going all…poof?”
Jack doesn’t want to talk about it. He’s getting grief from so many directions because Thor is missing. I’m watching him work the controls to communicate with the Powers That Be wherever.
“Yeah, Carter. I’m up here. There’s a bunch of Asgard at Disneyland. Long story. Just go get them. No I can’t beam them up. If I could, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. No, Thor is somewhere else. I don’t know yet. Send someone to sit with Dr. Phil, Libby’s husband. He saw the whole thing.”
It’s bad. I have no idea how far this has gone. No, I don’t know how far, this galaxy or another galaxy.
I feel something strange.
“Jack, what just happened?”
“Hyperdrive,” he checks something on the console. “So Hildy, where we going?”
“We are going to make the Science Council give me a body.”
“You go girl!”
“Um, Libby, stop encouraging her.” Jack sits down with me but he isn’t happy. Get in line, pal. “Hildy, where’s Thor?”
No answer. She’s done talking. So we sit and wait about an hour. Jack spends the time conferring with the SGC, while I sit back and drink my soda. At least this time I am dressed. Another fine mess, I’m going to take a meeting with this Science Council and I’ve got no lipstick.
“Colonel Carter,” Major General Hank Landry greeted her. “The Daedalus is standing by to extract the Asgard on your signal. Hermiod is not there today, so Dr. Lindsay is operating the transporter. Once you are up there, you will be issued transporter locator tags. Just slap one on each Asgard and up he goes. Make sure you get them all.”
“Yes, sir.”
Sam disappeared with the rest. Once up there, a crewmember handed her the extra chips and off they down to one of the blind spots behind a ride.
“I suggest we split up to cover the most ground,” Sam instructed. “Daniel, take Frontierland. Teal’c take Fantasyland. I’ll go to Tomorrowland. If we don’t find them in twenty minutes, move back to Cinderella’s Castle. We’ll cover Main Street and the parking lot together.”
Daniel moved down the fake log fort gates into Frontierland. The first ride he decided to check was the Jungle Cruise thinking they would hide in the foliage. No luck. Then he saw the Pirates of the Caribbean and figured they might like to hide behind the scenery. No luck. Finally, he tried the Indiana Jones ride but found out it has three endings with three different scenarios. No luck, but he identified with it. By then the twenty minutes were up.
Meanwhile, Teal’c wound up on ‘Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride’ and ‘It’s a Small World’. When it broke down, the Jaffa of infinite patience had no patience, listening to endless repetitions of the cutesy song from the 1964 World’s Fair in New York. I saw it then the first time and it broke down, too. So the big Jaffa stood up and stepped into the shallow water to slosh his way out. Of course the attendants tried to exercise all the authority their young lives ever had, yelling at him to stop. One look from Teal’c made them shut the heck up. I wish he’d been with me all the times that stupid ride broke down.
Sam got lucky. In Tomorrowland, the Asgard congregated forming a montage in a flower bed. Some kids were touching them. After a sharp pinch, one had to blink. With delighted gasps, the crowd thought they were animatrons of Roswell Greys there for decoration.
“Found them,” she gave directions.
While she did, some kid stuck his chewing gum on the back of an Asgard. Another kid pulled out a magic marker and drew something before his mother pulled him away. Some other tourist left a paper cup of soda on one’s head. It blew over dousing another. A different kid left his half-finished ice cream cone in the outstretched hand of the end Asgard. The sprinklers came on in the flower bed soaking them. Sam waded in to stick the locator beacons on them. Once the area cleared a little, she beamed up with them to the Daedalus. Teal’c and Daniel came moments later.
The muttering and cursing made Sam wince. These folks were not happy. Two were sticky. Another was trying to pick off the gum while Gumby screeched. Sam had him taken to the infirmary for surgical removal of gum-on-the-bedpost syndrom. Another one was eating something. Suddenly, Daniel reached out, confiscating the half-eaten ice cream cone from the one who was devouring it.
“That’s probably not such a good idea.”
The Asgard hit him and tugged hard on his hand to release it. Then he went to a corner, eating it greedily.
Naturally, he threw up.
“Told you so.”
Sam gave a disgusted look at Daniel and ordered an airman to clean it. The Asgard doubled over. That’s when she read the message.
‘KiLroY wAs hEre’
‘Kilroy was here’ doesn’t cut it. You should be so lucky not to read that on an Asgard tush. Yeah, I need this like a hole in the head…as my grandmother would say.
Jack continues to try to manage the situation while I listen to the play by play. Brunehilde is grumbling about him. Just like a man, he tries to DO something about it instead of listening and empathizing. Hasn’t that man ever read Men Are From Mars, Women Are From Venus? He’s old enough to have read it. Men insist on trying to solve problems for us. We don’t need them to solve the problem. We need them to LISTEN, for crying out loud. We can solve it just fine, but we want to whine about it for an hour first. I mean, it must be in their genes.
Duh. If he had just let me talk to her, she would have given us Thor. She wouldn’t be able to resist telling me what she did to him. That’s how it works, Major General! You are making this worse, not better. I’ll give you a smack in the head if you don’t stop it. Now she’s really pissed off. If you would only listen… oh what am I saying?
It would be easier to ask men to give birth. Ever notice how they usually say ‘no’ before they even understand what you said? Last few times my hubby did that, I answered whatever he said with “no soap, radio” and he kept on talking as if that made sense! We were on a train going through a tunnel when I noticed there were sparkly things on the walls as we passed. I said, ‘Oh look, it’s sparkly!’ He said, ‘No it’s icecicles’.
Will someone please explain to me this non-sequitor? I say ‘It’s sparkly.” He says, ‘No it’s icecicles.’
No soap, radio.
If I get a comment card to fill out, this cruise gets a D minus. No staff, an unfulfilled computer dumping her problems on me, and a major general with terminal control issues. However, the bathroom is clean. The food is self-service if melting. I’d like to speak to Management about health code violations, but Management abandoned ship.
“So Jack,” I burped from my fifth soda. ‘I’m hungry. I didn’t get to eat my own BBQ. Got any munchies?”
“You’re taking all this awfully well.”
“Just wait until my blood sugar goes off the charts. I’m not supposed to drink regular soda. I’m already hot flashing from the caffeine.”
“Sorry I asked.”
“So Jack?”
“What?”
“How long is this going to take?”
“It will take as long as it takes.”
“I tell my husband that when…TMI.”
“So Libby?”
“Yeah Jack?”
“You’re not going to sue or anything like that?”
“Hadn’t thought about it. Thanks for reminding me.” I pop open my sixth can of soda and raise the can to him. “Best BBQ I’ve ever been to.”
He looks at me with a question in those gorgeous deep set brown eyes. The absurdity of the whole situation hits me.
“Ever hear this one, Jack? Two polar bears are sitting in a bathtub. The first one says, "Pass the soap." The second one says, "No soap, radio!"
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