The Hunting Trip (35 page)

“Know a little bit about shotguns, do you?”

“Actually, I know a great deal about just about everything,” the man said with a smile. “In my line of work, I'm expected to. My name is Paul Twinings. And you are?”

“Phil Williams. And this is my wife—”

“I recognize Madame Brunhilde from her photographs in the press reporting the institution of the McNamara-O'Hara Chair of Classical Ballet Dancing. Welcome to the faculty of Hilly Springs College, Madame Brunhilde!”

Madame Brunhilde flashed him a dazzling smile.

“Madame Brunhilde, may I make a suggestion?”

“Of course you may, you charming gentleman!”

“I was going to suggest that, by sneaking around the side of the O'Hara mansion and going directly to the pier and busting a few birds right now, Phil and I could just about eliminate the risk of getting blown off the pier by the shotgunners there, as would be very likely later when the shotgunners get into the sauce. And then you and I, Phil, could go into the mansion and get into the latter.”

“Great idea!” Phil said. “Not only has my experience with shotgunners on the sauce scarred me for life, but I have always advocated getting into the sauce as quickly as possible
ante
bird popping.”

“Even though my husband thinks it's a good idea, which worries me,” Madame Brunhilde said, “far be it from me to reject a suggestion suggested by a charming gentleman such as you.”

—

There was a long line
of men, each carrying a shotgun, lined up before and onto the pier. Phil's newfound friend Paul, crying, “Make way! Make way!” made his way through them onto and out to the end of the pier, where a man wielding what Phil, because he knew more than a little about shotguns, recognized to be a James Purdey & Sons Best Grade 12-bore shotgun.

“Oh, darn,” Paul said. “One more proof that into one's life one must expect a torrent to pour.”

“Excuse me?”

“The fellow with the James Purdey & Sons Best Grade 12-bore shotgun who just called for doubles and then missed one of them, and is saying all those crude, dirty, and sacrilegious words, is Randolph C. Bruce.”

“I've been warned about him by Del Champs.”

“Take heed of his warning, Phil,” Paul replied, and then added, “And speaking of the devil, figuratively speaking, of course, there's ol' Del now.”

Del Champs walked to them.

“I see that you've met Father Paul,” Del said.

“Why do you call him that?” Phil asked.

“Because I'm polite. Did Father Paul point out Randy Bruce to you?”

“Yes, he did, and he told me to heed your warning.”

“Well, maybe we'll get lucky and we can avoid him.”

“Luck is not with us,” Paul said as Randy walked up to them.

“Is this the
EXPLETIVE DELETED!!
Yankee I've been hearing about?” Randy Bruce demanded.

“Missed one, did you, Randolph?” Paul asked. “Even though I hate to judge lest I be judged, of course, I thought that might be the reason for your complete loss of temper and all that foul and sacrilegious language.”

Before Randy could reply, K. J. O'Hara, Sr., and Archie McNamara both walked up to them. Both were carrying Winchester Model 12 pump action 12-gauge shotguns. K.J. Sr.'s had a rib mounted on its single barrel and Archie's did not.

“I'm not talking to you, Archie,” Randy announced.

“Not that I give a goddamn—excuse me, Father, that slipped out—but why aren't you talking to me?”

“Because I suspect that harridan you're married to called my Auntie Abby and pressured her into pressuring me into coming here tonight and bringing my checkbook with me. It should go without saying that otherwise I wouldn't be here accepting your hospitality.”

“I suspect that's exactly what happened,” Archie said. “And I'm glad. And have you written a generous check?”

“Generous is not the
EXPLETIVE DELETED!!
word. My Auntie Abby
and that overstuffed crone you're married to are not only pals but the aforementioned crone has convinced my Auntie Abby that this ballet
EXPLETIVE
DELETED!!
is the height of culture and my Auntie Abby can't get enough of culture, which of course I have to pay for out of my Trust Fund.”

A young man of about Phil's age—a Browning Diamond Grade Over and Under 12-bore with full factory engraving, a gold trigger, and selective ejectors cradled lovingly in his arms—walked over to them.

“Dropped one, did you, Randy?” he asked.

“
EXPLETIVE DELETED!!
you, Junior!” Randy replied, which told Phil that he was looking at K. J. O'Hara, Jr.

“Quickly changing the subject,” K.J. Sr. said, “Junior, I want you to meet Phil Williams, whom my wife, your mother, tells me is a very good guy, even if he is a Yankee.”

They shook hands.

“Normally, I don't shake hands with men my mother approves of, and that is especially true when they're Yankees. But I'm making an exception here because I suspect that alligator-hide case holds a Browning Diamond Grade Over and Under 12-bore with full factory engraving, a gold trigger, and selective ejectors.”

“Thank you,” Phil said. “Nice to meet you, too.”

“May I see it?”

“Of course.”

Junior examined it.

“One of the old models, I see. And, from the position of this screw, I deduce it is possibly even a prototype.”

“Sometimes old is better than new,” Phil replied. “This old-timer has served me well over many, many rounds of skeet and trap.”

“Ha!” K.J. Jr. snorted.

“May I ask a possibly rude question, Mr. Williams?” K.J. Sr. asked.

“Why not?”

“What makes you think that that fancy shotgun of yours is any better than the classic Winchester Model 12s that Mr. McNamara and I have been shooting since we were boys?”

“Because, wielding this Browning, I am sure I can break more birds shooting at doubles than you can, even if I fire while bending over with my back to the line of flight and with my head and the gun between my knees and you firing standing up.”

“That's a crock of
EXPLETIVE DELETED!!
,” Randy Bruce said, “if I ever heard one.”

“I'll tell you what I'll do, Mr. Bruce,” Phil said. “I'll make you a little bet that Mr. O'Hara Junior here and I can shoot at two sets of doubles, for a total of four birds each, with him standing up and me bending over shooting between my legs, and I will do better than he standing up.”

“How little a bet?” Randy Bruce asked.

“Your call, sir.”

“Ten big ones a little too rich for your blood?”

“Ten big ones it is,” K.J. Jr. said.

“I was asking him, Junior,” Randy Bruce said. “Stop trying to steal my sure-and-in-the-bag ten
EXPLETIVE DELETED!!
thousand.”

“How about ten for each of you, for a total of twenty thousand?” Phil said.

“I have a small problem with that,” K.J. Jr. said, avoiding eye contact with K.J. Sr. “As I seem to have, even though it's only the thirteenth of the month, had to cover a number of expenses with most of this month's allowance, I don't have ten thousand dollars.”

“I'll loan it to you,” Phil said. “Because I know that you know how much the outcome will affect your relationship with your father in the future and that you will shoot accordingly.”

“I have a big problem with this,” Paul announced. “Because it
sounds like a wager, which means a gamble, and gambling, while not a mortal sin, is still a sin.”

“Well, I can certainly understand that,” Phil said, although he didn't and was wondering how he could shut up his newfound friend. “But how about this? Rather than having the losers pay the winners, the losers will pay the twenty big ones into the McNamara-O'Hara Chair of Classical Ballet Dancing Fund?”

“That'd work for me,” Paul Twinings blurted a little too quickly. “Bless all three of you! And thank you, Phil, on behalf of Hilly Springs College.”

—

Inasmuch as the typical reader
of romance novels such as this is highly unlikely to be much interested in the precise details of a competitive shotgun marksmanship contest such as this, the narrative has been trimmed to the following, where it resumes immediately after the competition previously described concluded:

“
EXPLETIVE DELETED!!
EXPLETIVE DELETED!!
EXPLETIVE DELETED!!
EXPLETIVE DELETED!!
EXPLETIVE DELETED!!
,” Mr. Randolph C. Bruce said so loudly he could be and was heard throughout the O'Hara mansion. “The
EXPLETIVE DELETED!!
Yankee did it!”

“I'll be a triple
EXPLETIVE DELETED!!
in
EXPLETIVE DELETED!!
spades,” Mr. K. J. O'Hara, Sr., said.

“Perhaps, K.J. Senior,” Phil said, “you will now be able to find it in your heart to be less critical of your son, K.J. Junior, than you have been in the past.”

“I'll try,” K.J. Sr. said.

“Phil, my newfound buddy and role model and, I hope, shooting coach,” K.J. Jr. asked, “why don't we go in the mansion and have a little taste of whatever your heart desires?”

As they were having their third little taste of Famous Pheasant,
two ice cubes, water on the side, the Reverend Paul Twinings, S.J., D.D., Ph.D., president of both Hilly Springs College and the Jesuit community that ran it, got the attention of the assembled guests and announced the generous contributions being made to the McNamara-O'Hara Chair of Classical Ballet Dancing Fund by Mr. K. J. O'Hara, Jr., and Mr. Randolph C. Bruce, in addition to the generous contributions they had already made.

And a good time was had by all, so good a time that as Phil and Junior and Father Paul sat by the pool—with airheaded blondes with large bosoms and tight little tails sitting on the laps of Junior and Father Paul—Phil found the courage to ask Father Paul if he dared ask him a question.

“Ask away, after you hand me that bottle of Famous Pheasant,” Father Paul replied.

“Correct me if I'm wrong, but as I understand it, members of the Society of Jesus take vows of poverty, chastity, and obedience. Yet here you are, where you showed up in a canary-yellow Mercedes-Benz 560 convertible, carrying a Beretta shotgun, with an airheaded blonde sitting on your lap . . .”

Father Paul raised his hand to silence him.

“As you know, Phil, no mortal man is perfect,” he said. “And as it says in Matthew 7, Verse 1, of the Catholic Bible, and is paraphrased in Bibles used by Protestants and other quasi-heathens, ‘Judge not, lest you be judged.'”

“I'll try not to.”

“Bless you, Philip.”

That evening, of course, marked Phil's and Madame Brunhilde's entrance into Muddiebay Society, such as it
is.

XIV

TIME MARCHES ON

[ ONE ]

Muddiebay, Mississippi

Monday, September 15, 1975

B
etween the time Mr. Philip Williams, and his wife, Madame Brunhilde, became members of Muddiebay Society and the time when Mr. Randy Bruce called Mr. Williams and asked perchance if he would like to go pop a few pheasants with Bertie and Maggie in Scotland, quite a lot of water flowed under the causeway across upper Muddiebay Bay and out into the Gulf of Mexico.

And as someone once observed, a lot of things happen when water is flowing under causeways, some good and some bad.

For example, Phil had of course made some new friends, among them the Reverend Paul Twinings, S.J., D.D., Ph.D., president of Hilly Springs College and the Jesuit Community.

One day, when they were alone busting birds off the O'Hara pier,
Father Paul asked Phil where he had acquired so much insight into the female mind, and said he was curious because it approached and even exceeded his own insight into the female mind, which he had acquired through the confessional.

After swearing the priest to secrecy, Phil showed him all three volumes of The Daily Notes of CIC Administrator P. W. Williams. Father Paul found them fascinating. After swearing Phil to secrecy, Father Paul shared hypothetically with Phil some of the really wild things he had heard in the confessional, without of course mentioning any names.

Phil was able to use some of what Father Paul told him in his creative writing, which was a good thing because he was getting close to the end of the single-spaced typewritten pages in Binder Three and didn't have a
EXPLETIVE DELETED!!
clue what he was going to do when that source of inspiration had been exhausted.

And truth being stranger than fiction, Phil became close to—one could almost say became a friend of—Randy Bruce. This had to do with shotgun marksmanship. Randy was determined to wipe out once and for all time the humiliation he had suffered, and the attendant financial loss attached, the day they had met.

He demanded a rematch under what he referred to as controlled conditions, by which he meant that he intended to be entirely alcohol free when he called “Pull,” and that Father Paul would serve as referee. After all, if you can't trust a Jesuit to make honest calls when popping birds, who can you trust?

The first rematch cost Randy another $10,000, which, of course as a gentleman, he promptly wrote a check to cover. Phil, as a gentleman, was loath to personally profit from outshooting Randy, which was sort of like taking candy from a baby, or shooting fish in a barrel, so he endorsed Randy's check over to the McNamara-O'Hara Chair of Classical Ballet Dancing Fund at Hilly Springs College.

He thought this might please Madame Brunhilde, Father Paul, and Randy's grandmother, known as Auntie Abby, and her sister, Auntie Penny. And when Auntie Abby reviewed the checks Randy had drawn on his Trust Fund to see if she would allow them to be paid, it clearly did.

Randy's grandmother told him she was really pleased that he seemed to be making friends with people like Father Paul and Mr. Williams. Even if the latter was a
EXPLETIVE DELETED!!
Yankee, he was married to Madame Brunhilde, the close friend of Madame Violet.

Their second rematch cost Randy $20,000, after which he bit the bullet and admitted that the
EXPLETIVE DELETED!!
Yankee was a better shot than he. He decided that he would make a friendly overture to Phil, learn more about him, and thus be better prepared to seek vengeance for the humiliation and loss of $30,000 in some way not connected with shotgun shooting.

He invited Phil to lunch at his favorite luncheon place, the Blue Gill restaurant on the Muddiebay Bay Causeway, which featured fresh seafood served by young women in wet T-shirts and short shorts.

Randy's idea of a luncheon invitation was to set a place and a time to meet, and then go to the rendezvous point at a time when it was convenient for him to do so.

When he arrived at the Blue Gill only an hour and a half late, expecting to find Phil waiting for him at the bar, what he got instead was one of the scantily clad food servers pointing to a message written with a bar of soap on the mirror behind the bar for the whole world to see.

Randy later made one more gesture to Phil, and this one turned things around a great deal.

What happened was that Randy telephoned Phil and said he was about to go to Uruguay to shoot
perdiz
, which is what the Uruguayans call quail, and wondered if Phil would like to go along. Surprising Randy, Phil said that he would have to ask permission of Madame Brunhilde and would get back to him.

When Phil asked Madame Brunhilde if he could go to Uruguay with Randy, Madame Brunhilde responded, surprising Phil not at all, “I don't give a good
EXPLETIVE DELETED!!
where you go.”

So Phil called Randy back and said he would be delighted to go, providing they had a pre-trip agreement between gentlemen about who paid for what. From everything he had heard about Randy Bruce, he thought it entirely possible that once they arrived in Uruguay, Randy would announce, “Oh, my God, I forgot my
EXPLETIVE DELETED!!
wallet. You pay now, and I'll pay you later.”

What Randy proposed was that each would pay separately for the airplane tickets, and that other expenses would be paid for on a “Your
Turn–My Turn” basis. In other words, Randy would pay for their first meal on the road, and then Phil would pay for the next mutual expense, whether it was a taxi ride, or another meal, et cetera.

And so they went to Uruguay, where the
perdiz
shooting over dogs is the best in the world, the beef magnificent, the women attractive—albeit moral, which disappointed Randy—and up near the Brazilian border, where they hunted, the price of Famous Pheasant Scotch, which is about $36 per bottle in the States, was $6.50.

So they hunted and ate and drank a lot of Famous Pheasant at $6.50 per bottle, or $0.45 per drink in Uruguay's famed
whiskerías
. And then it was time to go home.

They got as far as Ezeiza International Airport in Buenos Aires, Argentina, where they would board Aerolíneas Argentinas's Flight 707 for the next leg of their flight to America's Token Third World Airport, commonly known as Miami International. From Florida they would fly directly home to Muddiebay.

There at the gate in Buenos Aires, with tears in her dark eyes, an Aerolíneas Argentinas agent announced (a) there would be a slight delay in the departure of Flight 707, and (b) that the Gaucho Club, Aerolíneas Argentinas's club for business-class passengers that offered complimentary intoxicants and peanuts to those awaiting their flights, was temporarily closed for repairs.

She then handed them vouchers good for one twelve-ounce bottle of Quilmes
cerveza
, which means beer, and one one-ounce bag of peanuts at the Ezeiza Airport Cocktail Lounge.

“Well, what the hell,” Randy announced, “let's wait over there and have a drink of Famous Pheasant. It's my turn to buy.”

Four hours later, Randy and Phil learned there was a price differential in the cost of Famous Pheasant by the drink in the
whiskerías
of Uruguay and the Ezeiza Airport Cocktail Lounge. In the former, as previously noted, the cost was $0.45 per drink. In the latter, it was
$13.50. And the six bags of peanuts they consumed after consuming the free one-ounce bag came at a cost of $5 per bag.

It took Phil a little bit of time to realize that Randy was having to pull twenty- and fifty-dollar bills from where he had had them cleverly concealed on his person to come up with the wherewithal to settle the tab, but he took a look at same.

“Hey, we should split this,” Phil said, rather thickly, as he had been soaking up what he thought were $0.45 drinks like a blotter for four hours.

“Listen to me, Phil,” Randy replied. “Although I have been royally
EXPLETIVE DELETED!!
raped by these
EXPLETIVE DELETED!!
Argentinians, I am an Old Boy of the Muddiebay Military Academy, and when we MBMA Old Boys make a deal, we keep it. It was my turn, and I will pay the
EXPLETIVE DELETED!!
price for not looking at the
EXPLETIVE DELETED!!
menu to see what these thieving
EXPLETIVE DELETED!!
were charging.”

And he would not be dissuaded, even though he was bombed, as they say, out of his mind.

After that, Phil looked more kindly on Randy and, as the years passed, went hunting with him all over the world, and gave in, as has been previously chronicled, to Randy's pleadings to go to Scotland and meet with Charles William George Michael Bertram, the Earl of Abercrombie, who, as has been previously related, was already known to Phil as Bertie from Bertie's steeplechasing days.

There were several reasons Phil could go all over the world to hunt with Randy.

For one thing, authors do not have eight-to-five, five-days-a-week jobs with two weeks off during the summer to visit Disneyland and other vacation spots. Instead, they work seven days a week from oh dark hundred until exhaustion. They can, however, take off for a week or more whenever the opportunity to do so arises. And then,
too, there was the Whorehouse Decision, which made all of Phil's hunting expenses deductible as long as he called them “research.”

[ TWO ]

S
imilarly, Phil developed sort of an older-brother-to-younger-brother relationship with K. J. O'Hara, Jr. They became close to the point where Junior confided in Phil that his heart had been captured by one of the airheaded blondes with nice breastworks and a tight little bottom and that he was thinking of asking her to become Mrs. K. J. O'Hara, Jr.

“Are you out of your
EXPLETIVE DELETED!!
mind?” Phil blurted. “That stupid bimbo is after your money, you dumb
EXPLETIVE DELETED!!
That's all she's after. And there's a lot more money, now that your father and his brother proved your mother and I wrong about that stupid—now recognized as monumentally brilliant—idea they had about taking the wheels off truck trailers, calling them ‘containers,' and loading them onto boats.”

“I'm disappointed to hear you say that,” Junior said.

“You asked for the truth and I gave it my best shot.”

“I meant that my intended will be disappointed not only to hear what you think of her but also that you won't be my best man at our wedding, Thursday next, as I promised her, and personally hoped you would be.”

“If you promise not to tell Miss Airhead what I think about her, which would complicate our relationship post-honeymoon, I will stand up beside you while you marry your airhead.”

Phil was also Junior's best man when Junior married Airhead Number Two, and Airhead Number Three, but not at Junior's nuptials to Airhead Number Four, because Number Four had heard what Phil had said about her predecessors.

Airhead Number Four had absolutely forbidden Junior—now known, after the passing of both his father and his uncle, as K.J. the Container King—to have anything to do with Phil and his circle of friends, post-honeymoon, so K.J. the Container King had to reluctantly decline Mr. Randy Bruce's kind invitation to go pop some pheasants in Scotland with The Tuesday Luncheon Club and the boys.

—

Phil had
some familial losses of his own.

The year that Franz Josef matriculated in the pre-kindergarten class of the Marietta Fieldstone School of Organic Education, Phil took a picture of his offspring all decked out in their new go-to-school clothes from the Goodhope Slightly Used Children's Clothing Discount Outlet and tucked it, together with a letter, into an envelope.

It read: