Lyndsey and Loomis realized their ‘ride connection’ South had an honors exam to complete, so there’d be a 36-hour layover before they could hook up at Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis Hall on the “judge Washington” campus, as Loom liked calling it. First stop was a sushi sandwich at the Foggy Bottom Delly, ‘cause Loomis vaguely recalls “developing an odd taste for raw fish” in the presence of his late honored Dad, Esquire Akula Reader, some half-a- century earlier, at this same humble clap- board establishment. It was so old and slouchy that Loomis could feel how he developed a real affinity for similar hash slinging joints down in old ‘Nola’ later on.
Lyndsey wrinkled her sweet upturned nose at the fresh seared tuna and ‘srimp,’ as Loomy preferred
pronouncing it. She ordered fresh frisee lettuce on open pumpernickel bread spread with Canola mayo, and devoured it hastily. They barely had enough to pay–Loomis haggled with “Joey,” the founder’s son, who bantered healthily with the son of “Akula,” Hey, ya know my Dad knew and loved yours, where ya been; but Loomis was a bit embarrassed, if you can dig ‘Dat,’ and he shepherded Lyndsey and himself to a rickety outdoor picnic table with the remains of their repast.
“We need more dough,” groaned Loomis, and he began to scrawl on a brown napkin, “HELP! HEADED BACK
TO N.O.L.A! NEED $!!” “No shinola, Sherlock,” muttered Lyndsey, approvingly. I have an obligation to
fulfill, Loomis dear…” They teamed up with a skinny dirty-faced kid attached to a mottled mutt with a rope around him, and within an hour or so they had scored up twelve dollars and a dime.
“Take eight f’yerselves, said the kid, Danny by name (the dog was Fido). “Ye’z look kinda beat. So the two L’s found them- selves on a DC Metro Green train eventually, en route to College Park, Maryland. At the Chancellor’s office, Lyndsey Pattison boldly marched in, leaving Loomis out in the hall–dozing on a long mahogany bench– and demanded to know her status.
Wa’al,” drawled the laconic Chanc’ler Davis, “We’d given you up as lost or dead, either one, Lyndsey. Though you were a promising Social Work candidate withlots of compassion and intelligence,you have been dropped from our Outreach Program to help those sorry-ass “Refu- gees” down in New Orleans–”
“It just so happens they are more than‘refugees,’ Doctor Davis, and I’m–”
He broke in and handed her a flimsy envelope. “Here is your severance check.
Good-bye and Good Luck! End of conversation.” He showed her the door, grimly, his owlish secretary mirroring his masklike disapproval. Lyndsey slumpedgamely against her traveling partner and, it seemed, true love.
“Look,” she said, “129.43!”
“Whut’s wrong wit’ Dat!”, he crowed.
“Owee, can we fly dis coop!”
Three hours later, as the sun settled down behind the Shenandoahs, Loomis and Lyndsey rode shotgun
in an orange Pontiac Firebird with geek scholar Winston Jowles. They palled around long enough to stuff in two fulsome Virginia home-cooked roadside platters (hog jowls, yams, gravy, syrup and cornbread); explored a bit of Luray Caverns (where Lyndsey squeezed Loomis tight, ex- claiming, “Gee, those stalactites really DO look like an organ, don’t they!”
Turns out Jowles was supposed to head west to his home in Roanoke, but enjoyed the company so much
he left Loom and Lynds in Fayetteville, across the border in good ole North Carooline, as Loomis
termed it. There, outside a Marine bar, a buck private named “Shotgun,” grabbed Lyndsey outside the
corrugated-metal hangout and tried to have his way with her. Whereupon our esteemed Mister Reader,
in a burst of rage-inspired super- human strength, grabbed a rusty length of pipe and whacked
“Shot” across the skull good and proper. The aggressor groaned
and rolled off Lyndsey.
They ran into “Junco’s” restaurant (“Reminds me of a ‘Junko Partner,’ whis- pered Loomis as he and
Lyndsey half cud- dled, half cowered in a curtained booth).
Two stocky Carolina state troopers some- how located the pair and trundled them down to Central
Booking. Officer Parmalee informed them of their rights, fingerprint- ed and mug-shotted them, and
placed the bruised lovers in adjacent cells.
“We need t’ hold y’all, ‘til we learn the updated condition of one “Shotgun EustaceStevens” over at the Dispensary up the road, okay?” Parmalee then deposited Loomis, then Lyndsey, in brightly-lit, adjoining cells with punchboard ceilings and matching wall paneling.”Oh well, sighed Lyndsey, checking her left stocking for the seventy- eight or so dollars she had stashed, having somehow charmed the cellblock matron into passing on the strip search.
(to be continued)
