Part 2: Red Rover
Chapter 14
"You mean to tell me," Buzz Hackett cried, "that there's no eatable food in this joint at all? With all your bread?"
Roger grimly shook his head. The two were seated in the small alcove off the kitchen where Mrs. Johnson generally worked and had her own meals.
"Is there at least food here?" Buzz asked. "You got eggs, bread? Butter, coffee? You got spices and condiments? Like, you got bacon or maybe sausage?"
"Young man," Roger said with elegant weariness, "Collinwood has everything and anything that even the most demanding chef could desire. … What are you doing?"
For Buzz had leapt to his feet, slapping and rubbing his hands together, chuckling.
"Lead me to it, daddy!" Buzz yelled. "Hell, I'll make us up a platter of bacon and some serious eggs. Where's the toaster? Oh, I see. What's with all these pots over here, looks like the three witches from Macbeth have been camping out. Bubble, bubble, boiling truffles! Okay. Can I see what's in these cupboards? Open the fridge for me while I get this stuff. Do you have tomatoes, peppers? Oh, crap, look at this egg-slicer! It's mystic!"
Roger asked, "You … can cook? Can you really?"
"Can Donnie Hackett's firstborn son cook? Oh, man, can the Collinses count coins? I cooked for all the kids growing up, and I cooked for my brother-in-law and their kids while my sister had her surgeries. You give me about twelve minutes and I'll have a sizzling feast ready for us." Buzz bent, straightened, stooped, grabbed, slammed cupboard doors, stuck his nose into this and squinted his eye at that. He twisted an oven burner to life with a satisfied grunt.
Roger sat back. In a voice timid with hope, he asked, "Truly? … You can cook?"
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"I was only looking for Carolyn's room, right? And I found that dumbwaiter, and it was a crazy trip, like a bad trip, you know what I'm saying? And then there's a note taped to it that says, 'hop on in, take a spin'. So, I got in, you know—" Buzz paused to sip orange juice that was five minutes out of the orange—"feeling a little stupid, okay, but what's life without takin' risks? And here's this psychedelic steering wheel inside the dumbwaiter, man, and I got in and steered around, and whoosh, out I climb and there's this blonde jellybean in nutty pajamas staring at me like I'm The Blob or something."
Roger was eating as fast as he could, cheeks working. He nodded hurriedly at Buzz, chewed and swallowed, and reached for his mug of rich, dark coffee. He slurped it as his other hand once more took up his fork.
"Then when you were chuckin' me out the door, I got this bad feelin', like, no, man, I can't go out that way or I'll just disintegrate. So, like I knew what was going to happen. When you threw me off the royal stoop I started feeling all fuzzy, like I was made out of, oh, construction paper or something—and then I was right back on the stairwell with the jellybean. So, I knew I was right. It didn't hurt," Buzz said bravely.
"When you saw me on the stairway again you said something like, 'Aw, burp!' or close to it. What a gas. You should have seen your face!
"And if you need a cook, well, I'm yer man. I mean, I can do it for a day or so, but after that I'll have to split. You people watch that show, Where The Action Is, in the afternoons?" Buzz leaned back dramatically and sucked down his orange juice.
"I don't believe that that program is aired any longer," Roger murmured, making a neat pile of his peppers and eggs in the middle of his plate before digging in again.
"Why the hell not? What's the matter with ABC? The damned show didn't even run a full year, two years? Jesus," exclaimed Buzz. "Next you'll be telling me that, what—Family Affair is gone, too."
"Family Affair is still on the air, as far as I know, but is probably having a difficult time contending against the likes of Archie Bunker," Roger drawled.
"Who's Archie Bunker, a TV critic? Well, why don't they just leave the show alone? Nothing wrong with Buffy and Jody, and Uncle Bill, and that mad Mr. French cat, and that little looker, Cissy. I'd like to meet her in a dark alley," Buzz guffawed.
"Little redheads, you know? Little copper-haired redheads," Buzz offered, lifting a coffee cup and saluting Roger. And for reasons of his own, Roger saluted back.
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