THE LORD OF THE RINGTONES: THE ECOMMUNITY OF THE RINGTONE – CHAPTER NINE – AT THE SIGN OF THE HOLIDAY INN EXPRESS

The hobbits had been driving for several hours now and were approaching the border to Bree-land. "Ok, Pip, it's time to be quiet now," Merry advised his younger cousin.

"Why? What could they do to us?" Pippin asked innocently.

Frodo stopped the car and turned around. "Does the expression 'full body cavity search' mean anything to you?"

"No," Pippin replied.

The other three looked at each other, silently begging the others to tell Pippin exactly what a full body cavity search entailed.

HONK! A horn sounded behind them. Frodo moved up in the line to the window.

"Where are you from?" the border guard, a rather corpulent man who wore oversized glasses (which, for him, may have been just right) and looked as though he had not had a good haircut or shave for a good ten years, asked.

"The Shire," Frodo answered.

"How long do you plan to be in Bree?"

"Two days," Frodo said, erring on the safe side.

"Any weapons?" the guard asked.

"No."

"Agriculture?"

"No."

"What's in the trunk?"

"Luggage."

The guard opened the trunk to check before waving them through.


The next few hours were spent buying clothes for Merry and Pippin, who had joined the party at the last minute and, as such, were unprepared. At five o'clock in the evening, the neon yellow Focus rolled into the back parking lot of the Holiday Inn Express. Rolled. Steam had started pouring from underneath the hood a few hours back (fortunately on a hill), and Frodo didn't want to try his luck. As he put the car in park, several important looking mechanical objects fell out from the bottom of the car, and the steam darkened enough to be classified as smoke. Frodo wondered how good the Bree-land mechanics were as the merry quartet rolled their luggage into the Holiday Inn Express. Many strange people were there: diplomats, entrepreneurs, travelers, and other odd sorts.

The man who ran the Holiday Inn Express was named Butterbur, and Frodo heard that he was an intriguing fellow.

"Excuse me!" Frodo attempted to ring the little metal bell labeled "Ring for Assistance", but, alas, was too short. "Hello!"

The woman behind the desk leaned down over the hobbits. "Hobbits!" she gasped.

"We are looking for Mr. Butterbur," Sam asked. "Might you know where he is?"

The lady nodded and disappeared behind a door labeled "Employees Only." Fortunately for her, the she happened to be an employee. A few moments later, a roly-poly sort of fellow with thinning hair and a waxed mustache came out. "Good evening, little masters," he greeted them. "How may I be of service to you?"

"Could we have beds for four? You must be Mr. Butterbur," Frodo noted.

"Indeed, I am. Barliman's my name. Barliman Butterbur," Barliman Butterbur announced, proudly patting his maroon nametag with the words "B. Butterbur—Manager" engraved neatly on it. "You're from the Shire? Might I ask your names?"

"Mr. Took and Mr. Brandybuck," Frodo said, gesturing to Pippin and Merry, respectively. "This is Sam Gamgee, and I am Frodo Overtheriver-Andthroughthewoods."

"Ah, yes. I think we had a cousin of yours here a while back. He was stopping over on his way to see his grandmother or something to that effect," Butterbur said, scrolling through the computer records.

Shoot! I thought Gandalf made it up! Frodo thought frantically. "I... I wasn't aware any Overtheriver-Andthroughthewoodses were in this area."

"Well, you must have been at least somewhat aware," Butterbur replied, looking at the function hall reservations. "The Overtheriver-Andthroughthewoods family reunion is going on right now. In fact, you're the last to arrive. They're all waiting for you."

"Actually... I'd like to... go to my room and rest a little, first..." Frodo stammered.

"Oh, nonsense. Let's not keep the party waiting any longer," Mr. Bur replied jollily.

"Party?" Pippin asked, looking around.

An idea suddenly occurred to Frodo. "Mr. Butterbur, is Gandalf Greyhame here? I would like to speak with him." Gandalf would know how to get him out of this.

Butterbur's face lit up in recollection. "Ah, yes... Tall man; big grey beard, hat, and robes..."

"Yes! Have you seen him?" Frodo exclaimed.

"Oh... We don't give out personal information about our guests," Barliman replied smugly, rapidly tapping on his keyboard.

"You just did," Merry pointed out.

"Yes. I suppose I did, didn't I? In that case, yes. He was here. That must have been... six months ago by now."

Frodo's face fell as some people entered the lobby from the large double doors marked "Function Hall".

"Oh! Look! Is that cousin Frodo?" the obligatory at-least-one-per-fictional-family obnoxious overweight cousin exclaimed.

"I think it is! He looks different from when I last remember," the also obligatory closest-relation-to-family-is-fourth-cousin-five-times-removed's-best-friend-who-is-probably-after-someone's-money paranoid uncle replied.

"Everything looks different to you. Come on! Let's get this party started!" Each grabbed one of Frodo's arms and bodily dragged him into the function hall. Merry, Pippin, and Sam trailed behind.

"FRODO!" three hundred and seventy-one slightly intoxicated Overtheriver-Andthroughthewoodses shouted as he entered the room.

"Uh... hi," Frodo replied sheepishly.

"I wasn't expecting you for at least another hour!"

"As soon as you opened your mouth, I knew exactly who you were!"

"Let me see your teeth. Were your teeth always that bad?"

"Don't carry him like that! You'll hurt him! Frodo, dear, are you all right?"

"You were such a pretty child. What happened to you?"

"You really shouldn't have spent all this money and effort for me."

To each, Frodo wanted to ask, "Who are you?" but, figuring it best to play along, he smiled and nodded.

After a good ten minutes, the hubbub returned to normal, relatively speaking. Frodo rejoined his companions, glowering miserably. Gandalf was supposed to be there but was not, and he couldn't figure out what that meant. Whenever he made for his room for some peace and quiet to attempt to figure things out, another Overtheriver-Andthroughthewoods (each of which bore a striking resemblance to Random Hobbit #50) would spot him, attempt to smother him with a giant hug and a few too many sloppy kisses than Frodo was comfortable with, and relate to him each and every detail of his (or, occasionally, her, but Frodo often had trouble telling) life from twenty years ago onwards along with news flashes about Great-Great-Aunt Tillythicket's Pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanokoniosis and how Janie, poor girl, ran off and got herself married to a Jinglealltheway.

"Cheer up, Mr. Frodo," Sam stated as Frodo plopped down next to him after escaping the latest developments in his newfound aunt's lung disease. "Look, there's ice cream!" he exclaimed further, licking a cone of chocolate chip cookie dough.

Merry, who had been elsewhere, sat down next to Pippin, eyeing a cylindrical black and pink container labeled "Cherry Garcia."

Pippins eyes grew wide as he stopped licking his cone. "What's that?" he asked incredulously.

"This, my friend, is a pint," Merry announced.

"It comes in pints?" Pippin asked, doubly incredulously. He dropped his cone on the table, forgotten. "I'm getting one!"

"Pip, you've already had two cones," Frodo warned wearily, but he made no attempt to stop him. As he watched Pippin made a beeline for the Ben & Jerry's stand, his eyes caught a shadowy figure alone in the corner of the room wearing a plain black hooded sweatshirt. He hadn't noticed him before, and he looked nothing like the over-jubilant, overweight, over-vertically challenged, Overtheriver-Andthroughthewoodses. He stopped a tall, thin man in a 3 piece suit holding a platter of cocktail weenies.

"Excuse me; who is that?" Frodo asked, pointing the man out.

"Him?" the waiter replied. "I'm not rightly sure. He's one of them Rangers. A man of few words, he is; only speaks when he has a story to tell. He'll disappear for a while and then show up again. I don't know his real name, but around here, he's known as Speeder. He's probably been known to ignore a speed limit or two, but I don't know for sure. There are those who say his right foot is made of lead. He never tells anyone why he has such cause to hurry. Funny you should ask—"

But Mr. Waiterdude (or so his professionally engraved maroon nametag read) was pulled away by some ravenously hungry Riverpeople.

Frodo saw Speeder looking at him as though he had heard—or at least guessed—everything he had just said. The grizzled man waved him over. As Frodo cautiously approached, Speeder took off his hood, revealing his salt-and-pepper hair and his pale, stern face and keen gray eyes. Speeder then removed his sweatshirt to reveal an obnoxious black T-shirt with white lettering that read "Chicks dig smelly, unkempt, unshaven guys from the North."

"I am called Speeder," he said in a low voice. "I am very pleased to meat you, Mr. Overtheriver-Andthroughthewoods—if I have your name right."

"You do," said Frodo stiffly, somewhat taken aback. "But you would find many Mr. Overtheriver-Andthroughthewoodses here."

"Indeed, but you are the one I am looking to meet," Speeder replied.

Creepy, Frodo thought.

Speeder said nothing else. Frodo noticed his gaze fixed on Pippin. The inestimable young Took was giving a comic account (a parody, if you will) of Bilbo's party to the rather inebriated Overtheriver-Andthroughthewoodses. With alarm, Frodo realized that this would bring the name of Baggins to their minds. In his present mood, he might even mention the Ringtone, Frodo thought. What a disaster that would be!

"You had better do something quick," Speeder—who had never scored particularly highly on the verbal section of the SAT's—suggested.

Frodo jumped onto the nearest table and tried to get everyone's attention. He had no idea what to do until an old drunken man looked up at him and slurred "Speech!" expectantly.

"I have a dream," Frodo started. "That someday, Overtheriver-Andthroughthewoodses will be able to party together without getting completely hammered!"

The clan gave him a blank stare. Somebody in the audience muttered, "Which side of the family is he on?" A more boisterous somebody declared, "A song!" Soon, "A song!" was the rallying cry for Overtheriver-Andthroughthewoodses across the room.

Frodo sang the first song that came to mind:

Ninety-nine bottles of beer on the wall,
Ninety-nine bottles of beer,
Take one down, pass it around,
Ninety-eight bottles of beer on the wall.

Ninety-eight bottles of beer on the wall,
Ninety-eight bottles of beer...

The hobbits learned quickly, and by the time ninety-seven bottles of beer were on the wall, all of the hobbits were so engrossed in song that Frodo could easily sneak off the table. That was close, he thought.

Frodo glanced out the window. It was getting dark, so he couldn't see much. He did notice, however, that the glass seemed to be quivering. It was like he was watching Jurassic Park for the 9,345th time, only it was real. However, the shaking windows seemed to have some sort of rhythm to it. Shortly after, the walls began to shake as a clear bass rhythm could be heard by everyone in the hotel. It soon gained more instruments and, eventually, words:

I'm coming up so you better get this party started,
I'm coming up, I'm comin',
I'm coming up so you better get this party started...

A speeding-ticket red sports car screeched to a halt in the Holiday Inn Express parking lot, and out of the driver's seat popped a hobbit who appeared to be a hideous cross between Random Hobbit #50 and Frodo himself.

Sweet swirling onion rings! Frodo exclaimed mentally. I'm dead!


Frodo Overtheriver-Andthroughthewoods attempted to do the cool limp into the reception area of the Holiday Inn Express. "Hi. Frodo Overtheriver-Andthroughthewoods. Here for the family reunion," he stated smoothly.

"Uh..." the guy behind the front desk whose very professional nametag read "B. Butterbur" looked through the computerized records. "Frodo Overtheriver-Andthroughthewoods came about an hour ago."

"Ah, no." Frodo Overtheriver-Andthroughthewoods said suavely. "Couldn't have. 'Cause he's me."

"Well, he did, and there's nothing I can do about it." B returned to his computer.

Frodo Overtheriver-Andthroughthewoods's eyes narrowed. "Which one is he?"

Barliman's eyes unfocused in concentration. "Brown, curly hair. Blue eyes. Looks kind of like that guy in The Butterfly Effect."

"Where could I find this... Frodo?"

"I'm sorry," Barliman said prouldy. "We don't give out personal information about our guests."

"Y'just did."

Butterbur paused. "Yes. Yes, I suppose I did. Well, he's in the function hall with the rest of the Overtheriver-Andthroughthewoodses."

The real Frodo O. snickered. "'Scuse me. I have some buisness to attend to." He entered the hall.


Frodo Baggins was panicked. He was trying to hide, but such a thing proved difficult. His "cousin" was sure to find him eventually.

"Stop the party!" came an angry voice.

Oh, fuzzlewitz, Frodo thought.

"Which one of you is Frodo Overtheriver-Andthroughthewoods?" Frodo's "relative" stormed across the room.

"He is." One of the women pointed at Frodo.

"No, he's not!" Frodo's "relation" barged closer until he was right next to Frodo. "Imposter!" he hissed, spitting in his ear.

But Frodo hadn't noticed. His phone was ringing, and he had an overwhelming urge to answer it. Without thinking, he took the golden cell off his belt, flipped it open, and pressed it against his ear (the one his "kinsman" wasn't spitting into).

Frodo O. Stood in shock as his impersonator disappeared. "Where'd he go?"

But he received no answer, as everyone else was asking the same question.

---

Frodo B. crawled over to Speeder and leaned against the wall. He took the Ringtone away from his ear and replaced it to its place on his belt. At Speeder's disapproving look, Frodo cried, "It wasn't me!"

Speeder nodded. "Oh, yes it was."

"Oh, no it wasn't!"

"Oh, yes it was."

"Nuh-uhh!"

"Uh-huhh!"

"Nuh-uhh!"

"Uh—never mind," Speeder said quickly. "Come with me. I need to talk with you."

Frodo followed, torn between relief and apprehension. "What is it?"

Speeder took Frodo up the elevator and into his room, leaving the cacophony of Overtheriver-Andthroughthewoodses behind.