MetaDeprivation - 12. MetaPrompts 584: Book (MW8)

“Isaac has become quite a player,” she stated putting a large jug of home-made ice tea on the large wooden patio table.

Forest looked up from his newspaper to watch the former marine splashing water on his new lady-friend who was working on her tan. He didn’t like Sibyl; she had even more tattoos on her than Isaac, her blond hair destroyed from repeated cheap dying and the brutal desert sun. She had a filthier mouth than him, and a reputation of sucking dog-tag-wearers dry before moving on. Not mentioning that she had been in one or two bar brawls – well, started them. But Forest didn’t want to intervene; he had no right to intervene. Actually, it was fortunate Isaac was recovering so nicely from his PTSD now that he was in the desert. Maybe the proximity of a USMC base had actually helped. Thanks to several imposing visits by Stan and Forest, even VA had shaped up and provided the former marine with a new front tooth, making his smile again All-American-worthy. And so far, the thing with that girl was only about the pleasure of the flesh anyway. Maybe in a month or so Isaac – or Sibyl – would have moved on, now being healthy he had a whole menu of choices. Putting his thoughts away, Forest grunted something indecipherable as response, but couldn’t answer.

The doorbell rang.

Colt dried his hands and walked back into to house to invite their guests in. “Hello, Stan!”

The big guy didn’t even bother to return the greeting and squeezed the little Colt nerd in his bear hug.

When the host had recovered from this excessive form of greeting, he smiled to Francois: “Bonjour, mon ami. How are you doing?”

Francois rolled his eyes. “Work, more work, and … work,” he summarized.

Colt didn’t want to inquire further. Francois, from a French-speaking family down in the Louisiana swamps, worked at the local VA hospital; and those never ran out of work. He was lithe and chirpy, a perfect complement to the big stoic bear next to him. It wasn’t a surprise everyone referred to them as ‘The Bear and the Otter.’ He had no clue what made a man an ‘otter,’ but as long as it worked for those two, he was fine. “Come in, we have fresh iced tea, and some home-made lemon and strawberry sorbet – well, we had before this guy showed up.” He pointed at Stan who already licked his lips ready for his treats of the afternoon.

“We brought some meat for later,” Stan quickly added. ‘Some’ was a full lunch box, a bear-sized lunch box, but the contents still might be just enough for ‘The Bear and the Otter.’ He was kidding. Stan had always been generous with chipping in on the grocery bills. But that wasn’t the reason Colt missed him. But since Francois and Stan had become ‘serious,’ they had moved to the nurse’s place. It was only some miles down into the Coachella Valley, but he didn’t live in their home anymore, creating a void.

When they joined the others, Isaac hopped out of the pool to hug both men, making them hopelessly wet. The new guests said their polite ‘hellos’ to Isaac’s lady-friend before they joined Colt at the table for big glasses of the promised iced tea.

“You have a dirty fantasy, my friend,” Francois suddenly smirked.

“Why that?” Colt jerked up as if poked by a needle.

“He’s read all your ‘books.’” Stan did a friendly ‘quotation mark’ finger movement.

“Oh.” Colt sank.

“I mean, let’s put all the action, and history, and fighting, and vampires, and all of that unimportant stuff aside,” Francois – despite his name - had no accent whatsoever, “but even thinking Stan here – your ‘CE’ – is chaste for over a decade … now that is completely unbelievable.”

“Told him,” Forest interjected barely looking up from his newspaper.

“It’s good I have a robust condition, and I’m well versed in many medical aspects, otherwise I would be limping given how often the bear wants to go about it …”

“Honey …,” the ‘bear,’ aka Stan, whispered, a shadow of crimson conquering his round face.

“And about him being smooth?” Francois continued undeterred. “Look at his face. It has ‘bear’ written all over it,” he continued.

Instinctively, Stan lifted the collar of his T-shirt, trying to hide the very generously sprouting chest hair.

“And he made Brian, the ‘Holy Mormon with Seven Kids,’ gay!” Forest had finally put his newspaper down to join the conversation.

“Seven?” Colt asked.

“Yes, just got an update mail from my brother.”

“How many does Seb have nowadays?”

“So far two boys, but I think he’s a bit jealous of the Holy Brian, ‘the Knight on the White Horse and Savior for All Troubled.’” It was obvious Forest couldn’t stand his father’s PR consultant. “So he keeps trying with his impeccable Malin.” He didn’t sound as mean as he had tried. “Anyway, just the thought of Brian doing anything except performing his weekly duties for his lovely consort is unthinkable.”

“So who was your inspiration for Sam?” Francois continued. He couldn’t be bothered about whatever had happened between Forest and that Brian in Montana.

Colt shrugged. “I think the guy at the reception of the hotel I stayed in during the wedding in Montana.”

“Mmmh.” Otter seemed to think. “And Al?”

“I don’t know, that just happened in my dreams,” Colt confessed. “Maybe one of the Major Fink’s best men.”

“Lieutenant Colonel,” Forest barked.

Colt rolled his eyes.

“Then we have Isaac …” Francois moved on.

“He didn’t even change my fucking name.” The guy dried himself off, noticing Sibyl stared at him with lust or anticipation.

“I told you,” Colt spoke up, “I had that dream long before we met.”

“What a cunning coincidence,” Francois mocked, clearly in disbelief. “I guess I’m le Canadien,” he continued instead.

“Same story,” Colt tried to defend himself.

“Except, he couldn’t fight a toddler in a cage,” Stan gibed back. “And smooth? Forget it!”

“See, it’s just fantasy,” Colt pointed out. “Some more tea?”

“That ‘Warren’ policeman was a cook at the wedding,” Forest continued to point out the ‘obvious’ inspirations of characters in Colt’s ‘book.’

“Okay, okay,” Colt raised his hands in surrender when he had put the tea on the table. This wouldn’t be over until they had covered all the main characters. “And Bradley is just a copycat of Trent.”

“You used Trent twice?” Francois asked in a way that made ‘used’ a very dirty word.

“Yep. And in contrast to my book, he didn’t get fat, didn’t get killed; but did have a reasonable football career and now is a successful business man in the middle of nowhere in Texas with three very red-haired children.” Colt’s envy was palatable.

“So that clears it up. But what about your marine officer?” Francois made sure Forest picked up on his insinuations.

Colt shrugged. “Don’t know.”

“Never met anyone like him,” Isaac chipped in. “And I’ve met my fair share of brass.”

“Fantasy, guys, just dreams; these people don’t exist.” Colt tried to close the topic. “Shouldn’t we get the grill ready?”

“We still have an hour,” Forest declined, looking up the sky assessing the time based on the location and height of the sun.

“And we’re still missing Dexter,” Sibyl intervened.

“Oh yes,” Colt smiled a bit forced. He wasn’t sure why they had said yes to Sibyl’s brother joining them. Dexter had just graduated from college and had been unsuccessful in finding a job; so he traveled through the States to find his mojo. It seemed finding his mojo had included several times destroying the interior of very seedy bars and the virginity of not very seedy girls. If Colt just imagined the male version of a very tattooed Sibyl, with all the testosterone-driven behavior of a 22-year-old college graduate, his anticipation of a nice BBQ evening with Forest, Stan, and Isaac had been lowered to close to zero.

“And when you’re talking about the devil,” Forest commented with a barely suppressed snicker when the bell rang again.

“I’ll get him,” Sibyl jumped up from her sun chair and ran through the house.

When she returned, she started to scream in excitement: “Guys, meet my brother Dexter!”

She didn’t understand why initially nobody said anything to welcome the blond boy next to her.

“And he joined the marines,” she added to generate some welcome but understood even less the lack of reaction from the group.

Francois tried to close his mouth, looked at Colt, and whispered: “How the hell did you do that? – That’s your ‘Gavin.’”

“Just the name is wrong,” Forest pointed out with glee.

Colt elbowed the big man next to him with mean satisfaction. “Nope. It’s ‘right.’”

“Twice,” Leo – no, Francois – agreed.