Last night I was entreated to a most unusual event. During my life, I’ve been plagued, harangued even, with the specter of gloomy forecasts. I once fell from a tree and broke nothing but all of my bones. This cloud has followed me for my entire life — an affliction that is almost offset by the winship enjoyed in the market. I say “almost” — because the emotional toil and tumult endured during these episodes have shaven decades off my life expectancy. My private actuary is now forecasting my graveyard arrival in exactly 3 years hence. In order to best describe what happened last night, I will attempt to re-create the dialogue.
Late at night at House Fly, the dominus of the estate was in his living room, partaking in a little entertainment via the television — creating variations of the world famous cocked-tail — The Manhattan. Much to his chagrin, an in-law who was staying at the manor alerted him of a most grave and ghastly circumstance afflicting the building.
His mother in law — Victoria, spelled out downstairs, thru the palm trees and the crystal chandeliers, through the Persian rugs and deep library of leather-bound books, “Sir Fly — there isn’t any hot water. I’ve just showered in bone shattering water. What sort of house is this?”
Alerted by this emergency announcement at such an odd hour of the night, Sir Fly put down his Creme de Cacao version of the world famous cocked-tail, The Manhattan, and raced downstairs, into the cellar, where his thousand bottle wine collection resides — alongside his make-shift gym, and entertainment center — fixed with games for the plebs — such as darts and foolsball machines.
Upon entering the water heater room — he stepped into a soggy part of the rug and heard a thunderous, yet calming, flow of water emanating from the room. He opened the door: “HOLY FUCKING SHIT — COCK-SUCKING FAGGOTS!”
He yelled up and his voice bellowed throughout the darkened house: “Honey — the entire basement is under siege. It appears the black cloud found me again and the water heater has busted loose and out again.”
Jackie replied, “What did you say? Sorry, I wasn’t paying attention.”
Fly, now recoiled in shock and a bit of horror, decided to reclaim his cocked-tail — then yelled out: “get me some damned towels — AT ONCE. Need to protect the foolsball table stat — else the idiots won’t have anything to do when they visit us next.”
Jackie, “What?” The lady of the manor was now annoyed by the flippant sounds coming from downstairs.
“Listen to me, damn it, and listen to me good. The house is done for. Grab the kids and head on over to the summer home in Newport. I’ll hold off this deluge as long as I can — but I promise you nothing but my sincerest efforts.”
Jackie, now curious about the raucous behavior of the dominus — raced downstairs to bear witness to Le Fly sitting on a comfortable chair — overseeing the water heater flow wonderfully and energetically throughout the basement.
“What the hell are you doing?”, said Jackie.
“Having a night-cap, enjoying this variation of the Manhattan and the view. It’s quite wonderful.”
“But why aren’t you turning off the water and saving the house?”
“We’ve been sacked — Jackie. A man should know when he’s conquered. It’s clear to me that the black cloud needs its pound of flesh out of me. I figured it’d be nice to see this play out and flood the whole damned house away.”
“Cut it out — Fly. Damn it. Where is the cut off valve?”
Fly got up, almost heroically, as if called upon to save the earth, “I’ll see to it.”
Quickly, Fly raced to the cut off valve, placed the cocked-tail down again, and completely shut the water main off. In an instant, the water stopped flowing — leaving a deadening and most awkward echo of silence in the cellar, amidst wet bottles of aged Bordeaux and soggy boxes of toilet paper.
“What the hell, Fly!”
“Well, now we might need to sop this up and prevent the rugs from getting damaged, eh?”
“You think, Fly. YOU THINK!”
“How wonderful”, exclaimed Fly. “Now we won’t have any water for several days. Should I grab a bucket and ask the neighbors for some water”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Didn’t you and Dave just fix this damned thing during the summer?”
“Yeah — we fixed it all right. We fixed it to explode in the middle of the winter — leaving a house of 7 without hot or cold water.”
“Let’s just clean this mess up and call someone in the morning to fix it.”
Fly gallantly got up again, placed his cocked-tail down, and went upstairs — grabbed 10 towels, a large red bucket, and then scurried back down into the crevices of the basement to sop up the iced cold water off the basement floor — for the duration of the night. His only solace was knowing, such an affliction, such a hardship — could only lead to a grande and eloquent upsurge in his share prices.
Kneeling down in a grey puddle of frosty water in a dimly lit boiler room of the manor — Fly looked up at Jackie and said sincerely with an expressionless candor “well, at least my fucking stocks are going to barrel higher soon, eh?”
“Why do you always say ‘barrel’? Your stocks aren’t barreling anywhere. Just clean up this mess.”
“Whatever. Salty AF. You’ll see.”