It was a mad whirlwind of activity for Billy Luck and Skipper Mizelle. They spent part of the next morning embracing beneath the down covers of the Willard Executive Suite– the Presidential being snarfed up by the Shah of Iran and his delegation– and then–
While Skipper closed the deal on a cozy Capitol Hill town house over the gold-plated French Provincial bedside phone, Billy had to hotfoot it over to Pershing Park to meet with Al K. hall, Al’s snarling dog “Yaller,” and Ms. Macedonia Green, regarding ‘travel accommodations’ to the grandstand of Laurel Race Track. “we don’t have a whole lotta time, guys,” worried Billy aloud.
“Just leave it to me,” burbled the hefty Macedonia, “and by the way, Reverend, uh Rev’ Billy.”
Al’s dog Yaller barked his concerns, until Billy petted his snout and calmed him down. Al K. Hall took a tote of cherry brandy and snorted approvingly. “What might that be, Macedonia,” Billy replied.
“Fustly, I did get my buddies the O’Neal Twins to set up a show on th’ infield after the ninth race;
Then, Carlille done agreed to give you two a late wedding present–”
Billy frowned. “Just what might that be!”
“Oh,” Macedonia went on. “We’ll have to bring you and Skipper to the Astoria Hotel for DAT!”
“Astoria Hotel– Whaddya mean, woman?”
“Oh, you gonna see all right. Cholo is waitin’ up, to boot!”
Broken out in sweat, Billy excused himself and ran to get Skipper from the Willard lobby.
Gervais Jean, the towering Haitian major-domo, was instructed to hold all her luggage. They found her Buick up the block, in front of Garfinckel’s ladies’ department store. Persons unknown had stolen the windshield, not only that, but the engine was dead, AND– “My damn RADIO is trashed! Imagine, a daggone U.S. Senator–”
They galumphed up Fourteenth Street, two blocks, all out of breath, Skipper gesticulating in
indignation, (A newly crowned Tennessee Senator! Having to WALK! To an old Flop House!”
Billy just shrugged, but as they crossed H Street over to the tired-looking Astoria, Billy went from shrugs to hugs. There, before the now-boarded up entrance to Cholo’s pornographic magazine and book store, sat a decked-out, cherry-red, 1967 CADILLAC FLEETWOOD SEDAN!! Proudly beside the driver’s door stood Phil Carlille, DC Police sergeant extraordinaire, and the stubby Cholo, former porn honcho of “the Strip!”
Carlille couldn’t hold back. Planted a big ‘buss’ on the lips of his one-time flame, and then exclaimed,
“This was too good to be true! My rich nephew Clyde Frothwick from Potomac Maryland had this classic in his barn, and it was mine many moons ago, right after I came up from Memphis. And his girl Annie, who I believe used to hang with Reverend Luck up in Delaware- why, she suggested it might make just the right wedding gift.”
At this, Billy burst out laughing, Skipper began to weep, with Macedonia holding her up for support; and Carlille ordered all the assembled “Flock” from the Mission and the “Strip” of New York Avenue, to pile into the “Big Bus” of Greyhound Lines (specially chartered, of course,) and head out to Laurel.
After an afternoon of Surf, Turf, beverages both hard AND soft (for Billy and Cholo, primarily), everyone gathered in a huge circle near the finish line and prayed fervently, clutching their mutuels win tickets for the grey horse “ITONLYTAKESBUTONETOWIN”. This steed was from Clyde’s CF Stables-
He tore around the far turn and CAME IN TO WIN at 20-1 odds!
“It’s a miracle,” screamed Macedonia.
“Plum Luck,” whispered Skipper, hugging a beaming Reverend Luck. From inside the winner’s circle tent, Annie, in white dress and straw skimmer, squeezed her fiancé Clyde’s hand.
A tiny tear traveled down her cheek, and she didn’t even have to think about what might have been.
On the infield, drums boomed, cymbals crashed, and the huge Hammond electric B-3
organ tootled out, behind the stout O’Neal Twins, clad in matching silver and azure lame suits.
Proudly and melodically the Twins proclaimed in beautiful song, “And, That’s The Way God Planned It,
Oh, Oh Yes !!” And so our story shall go on, around and around, and where it stops, Nobody knows…
(THE END)
