Sawyer has news. – Everyone has to make a choice but that can wait until the morning. As evening falls on our little outcast island, the gathering turns into a little impromtu feast. – Everybody is invited.
It starts off like a horribly awkward office party – minus the booze. And after some willing and grudging contribution of rum and grappa – it becomes a horribly awkward office party with booze.
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Annoying bastards
"The road to truth is long, and lined the entire way with annoying bastards."
- Alexander Jablokov, The Place of No Shadows -
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"Come on folks – lets get a wiggle on!" LaFleur orders gleefully, beckoning to them as they all drag their feet over the threshold to the building.
This doesn't bode well.
They are gathered in the little bleak Hydra canteen with its greybeige walls. It's been furnished by some colour-blind psycho, no doubt about this. Curtains in a flimsy claret red fabric, an abundance of bright orange plastic folding chairs and a long rickety table covered with several wax-cloths in a spunky green and yellow pattern that instantly gives Miles a splitting headache. They could do well with an Ikea branch here. He takes a closer look at the backside of one of the revolting, migraine-inducing chairs.
It is IKEA….circa 1970.
On the table, three vases are spaced out with a disturbing precision, holding some plastic flowers that have definitely seen better days. But no one really has time to worry about the interior of the canteen right now. Unless LaFleur has joined them to instigate an 'extreme make-over' of the Hydra refectory. Though judging from the odd crowd that has congregated - Miles suspects he has something entirely different on his mind.
Ceccherini is here, and one of the annoying Hydra scientists – the one called Malcolm, is Miles wild guess – but it might as well be Henry. Who the frigging hell knows?
"Just hang loose ladies!" LaFleur smiles jovially at them instantly making the collective level of mistrust spike sharply. He breezily pushes his way through the stunned audience. They follow him like a flock of sheep. Anxious glances thrown in a crisscross pattern in between them. Kate whispers something in Miles' ear, but he is so distracted by her hair tickling his cheek and the whiff of jungle and vanilla that he cares fuck all what she says.
Something shady's going on.
LaFleur parks his bossy rump on one of the orange chairs and lights up a cigarette. Cindy positions herself behind LaFleur's, her hands on his freaking manly shoulders as if afraid he might take flight. He lets them squirm for a while he leisurely sucks on his Dharma brand fag. His big blond frigging dreamboat head thrown backwards, eyes half shut retiring to his private little pleasure cosmos. Like he doesn't have a care in the world. The sole sound in the room emanated by the infuriating dawdling tapping of his fingers on the table.
The hollow noise makes Miles nerves twist into a little tight bundle. And he sure isn't the only one on the edge. Juliet looks like she has swallowed a cactus and even Jin seems uncharacteristically affected by the new arrivals – his normally inscrutable face showing clear signs of agitation.
"Alrightey then my little ducklings," LaFleur goads, quite plainly basking in the limelight.
Someone from the collected troops boos meekly. Sounds like Jin but when Miles turns to check out his pathetic show of dissent – Jin's face is back to its normal rigid death-mask state. LaFleur doesn't let a tiny smidgen of insurgence, especially not in shape of a little 'boo' ruffle his feathers. He is the big mister boss-man. He turns to bestow Cindy's cheeky bosom with an appreciative glance, eyeballing Juliet in passing too, just out of old habit one might assume - before getting on with it.
" Now that I got ya' all's attention; we have a little spot of civil disobedience, a petite coup d'état on our hands. Seems like we have been infiltrated by the hostiles and three persons led by Dr. Chang have flown the coop. We have word they might try to blow something up."
At this, the assembled mob breaks his flow and bursts out in a jarring cacophony of voices. All gabbing over each other's heads like wild chicken until LaFleur slaps a meaty hand on the table to make everyone cool down.
"Hey, hey, hey keep your petticoats on! Let me finish before ya'll go bonkers. We gonna' wait and see how the cat jumps - but during this little tiff; we ain't guaranteeing anyone's security. You folks have the option to evacuate with the sub tomorrow at 11.00 am. Those of you who choose to stay put– are on your own. Anyhooo - the Pala ferry will vamonos at 9.30. I suggest you yahoos get with the program."
A strange tense nail-biting silence descends on the little crowd. Lara hugs little baby Miles to her chest and Hugo places a protective arm around her shoulders at which Phil's eyebrows sink down so low they almost touch the tip of his nose. Very American bald eagle like – it strikes Miles.
Juliet stands next to Jin, her arms crossed and hands hugging herself. And Jin – well Jin is just plonked there like a wooden marionette, waiting for someone to pull a string or something. The only one looking reasonably in high spirits is Cindy. Her bee-stung lips are pursed into a little proud smile directed at the rest of the herd. She briefly catches Miles eyes and send him a playfully sly smile. Kate cottons on to this little exchange and to Miles great pleasure looks frigging miffed and puts her nose up in the air.
She likes him.
A murmur of "what will you do?" zigzags through the group.
"Going on the sub?" Kate's atypically timid voice right in his ear. He swivels around, she has sneaked up on him.
"What? Don't know – maybe – or I'll just stay and set up my own zoo." She sniggers at this and he picks his balls up and asks her. "You? You gonna' join the bratpack off to the real world?" His heart starts galloping away in sheer panic.
Stay!
She shrugs and he wants to pester her about it when he is crudely interrupted.
"Now that that's been said - what's there to eat in this dump?" LaFleur exclaims cheerfully clapping his hands together, doing absolutely nothing to dispel the tension he has created. In fact, appearing to absolutely revel in it. "Aw come on boys and gals! Let's make this last night merry."
The evil sadist.
The rest of the folks seem to wake up from their deathblow trance
"Well, then, let's see what we can whip up," says Barbara resolutely and wipes her hands on her apron, marching straight into the kitchen with Lara and baby in tow. Hugo promptly follows suit and – hey, wait a minute – Phil tagging along like a large unpleasant appendix.
It's awful.
It starts off like a horribly awkward office party – minus the booze. People rounded up together in close confinement - forced to fraternize with a gaggle of back-stabbing, toxic colleagues.
And after Barbara donates three bottles of prime quality straw rum and Ceccherini grudgingly offers up his stock of Grappa Antinori – it becomes a horribly awkward office party with booze.
Barbara has cooked up a storm in no time, dishing out some surprisingly good stuff – delicacies of which calibre has never before been seen on the island of Hydra. Malcolm is caught looking like an ass after having pooh-poohed Barbara's culinary skills to the entire congregation.
"How? I don't understand?! Who cooked this?" he slobs over and over again as he shoves his overloaded fork into his ugly pernickety gap. Barbara smirks enigmatically like a gastronomic Mona-Lisa as she walks between the tables, making sure everyone has enough. Phil carrying a tray of plates tramples on in her backwater, a freakishly overgrown Frankenstein-puppy.
LaFleur and Juliet sit across from each other at the large table with their respective new companions. Oh – and it is a chirpy fucking ensemble from corner to corner. Next to Jules is Malcolm, totally absorbed in the simple task of shuffling food into his sizeable mouth and therefore blissfully aware of the intense friction among the rest of the group. Ceccherini is seated beside Jin, disapproving pinched lips and all. At his side is Hugo – making longing doe-eyes at Lara. She sits serenely, at the head of the table, completely at peace with her baby sleeping in her lap. - Madonna like.
Lover of the unlovable.
Aw. He is…er… was... a pretty damn cute baby.
A testament to Miles frigging shit-luck – he's been forced to squeeze his ass down in between LaFleur and Phil. His two least favourites at the table – hell, of the whole D.I., no; of the whole the universe. Barbara's behind touches the seat next to Phil for like two seconds at the time before dashing to and fro the kitchen again. Phil obviously flustered in his maladroit attempts at making conversation with her.
And there at the opposite side of Lara, on the short end right in between Cindy and Hugo, Kate crowns the table like some grubby warrior princess of the outback. Leafs and twigs and stuff still caught up in her bird-nest hair – incredibly mucky. She could do with a shower.
Kate.
In the shower.
Arrgh.
The though of Kate and a shower in the same sentence makes him break out in cold-sweat. He has to thrusts three fingers inside the collar and pull it away from his throat to swallow down the hefty lump that gets caught there. She grins at him across the table, her teeth impossibly white against her grimy face. And he almost has a heart attack. She has no idea. She makes a thumbs up above her plate, presumably a compliment to the food and not present company.
The baby stirs and lets out a little birdlike cry, he starts fussing and Lara resorts to nursing him there at the table. Yeah, what the heck, half of present company has probably had the privilege peeping at her boobs on prior occasions – and in much less innocent circumstances. And Lara has never been a prude. Maybe it is the two glasses of grappa he has just downed – but Miles finds that he doesn't really mind all that much. It is kind of touching to see how his mom dotes on him.
Ah – damn grappa – always makes him sentimental.
He is just wiping away a wayward tear, pretending to blow his nose in the serviette when someone shouts loudly – (too fucking loud!):
"Hey Miles –dude- just realize that you two have the same name! Argh. Hugo. Madonna's idiot boyfriend.
"Yeah, yeah. Brilliant observation man." he snorts back. Hoping nobody takes too much note.
"Yes that is interesting Hugo," says Juliet primly like she was some kind of lame talk-show host. "Is that a common name in er..China?"
"Gee, I don't know Jules. I'm from California," He can feel the side of his face twitching.
Lay off it woman!
"Hey, me too! Maybe it is a Californian thing?!" Lara laughs, a big open-mouthed laugh that he has never seen before and everybody laugh with her. Miles realizes in that moment what everyone must see in her (apart from the exposed boob) –the fact that she just glows.
Mom.
Ceccherini polishes off his plate hurriedly and then fires off a series of transparently fabricated yawns indicating that he'd like to get the hell out of there. Probably worried that he'll be forced to volunteer any more hooch from his stash. Ceccherini salutes them all with a polite: "Vaffan'culo – cretini!". And stalks off out in the hot evening air.
It is nice that the old continental European's have such refined manners.
Latin is beautiful – and clearly not a dead language.
Quite predictably, like any good office party – after Ceccherini retires the situation quickly goes from bad to worse and as the liqueur flows - more than one person is thrown off his or her kilter. At first the conversation is rather civil but after about the fifth round of rum - things start heating up.
"So – so lets see, who here is not here because of James sneaky, cunning connivance? "
It is Juliet who sets off the avalanche of bitching that ensues - seemingly unable to keep her cool a second longer. And frankly, the way Jimbo ogles Cindy's cleavage is enough to put anyone off their food.
LaFleur is completely oblivious to any animosity against his own fine person. He's eating like it is his last meal on earth. Miles can't suppress a shudder as the shaggy haired goober licks his spoon all the way down to the handle, not even stopping as tongue encounters fingers.
The rest of them vehemently weathering their respective grievances. Forks are shaken in bossy-boot's direction and fingers pointed. Plenty of glasses are emptied and refilled. Hugo tells his sorrowful tale of how he was just following his heart not hurting anybody , ah well just that traitor Dr. Chang but deservedly so as it had turned out. Even Barbara comes out to tell the collected crowd of her misfortune as she had been deported to Hydra, an exile that she claims is completely unfounded. She was just minding her own business, doing her job when one day LaFleur showed up with her marching orders.
Lara strokes her son's downy head and bobs her head in silent concurrence with her friend's story. Having said her piece Barbara gets up, clears away some empty serving dishes to the kitchen. Phil promptly follows suit, fumbling awkwardly with a few empty plates himself, a ghoulish little smile making him look like Sesame Street gone bad. He disappears after Barbara through the swinging kitchen door. Like a shot, Hugo steals the spot next to Lara and busies himself with spoon-feeding her while the conversation grows increasingly heated at the other end of the table.
Kate hums and umms and nods at the accusations not really bothering getting drawn in to all the brouhaha. And every now and then, he'll find her staring at him with undisguised interest. Her lucid green cat eyes meeting his with a warmth that is unsettling. It makes him shy. In a way that he isn't used to, a flutter-your lashes kind of shy that rhymes badly with his funky, fly persona. There is something zapping between them, like a charge sparkling across the table and he wonders if she feels it.
No he doesn't wonder – he knows.
And as he takes a coy look at her, thinking for the umpteenth time that she is fucking gorgeous in spite of being stripy with jungle filth, Juliet calls his attention.
"Tell everyone why he sent you here Miles! What imaginary crime did you commit?!"
He almost chokes on his grappa. The acrid liquid shooting right up his sinuses as he grasps aimlessly for something to say.
The frigging cheek of that woman! Here he is – minding his own bloody beeswax… and she does – what?!
"Er…well the…er…yeah…ehum.."
He looks up to find LaFleur squinting at him across the table, expectantly, arrested in his movement, fork halfway into his open gob.
Oh
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There is a continuation to this cozy little get-together coming up. But fair warning given, it is nosebleed-inducingly stupid and I wouldn't want anyone to end up comatose. Can't offer any guarantees though.
I can guarantee some serious forking and feuding however.
Please leave a little review if you are still conscious. Cheers.