Alan Baker, a twenty-two-year-old Olympic gymnastics medal winner, needed his morning Marlboro badly and he toyed with the last one in the pack, wondering if he should smoke it now or savor it on his walk to Patrick's Landing. However, just as he stuck the cigarette in his mouth and untangled the dozen locks that secured the massive wooden door leading to the moat, Michael Prince rushed in.

"Awesome timing," Michael said, as he hugged Alan.

"You're early."

"My cell isn't working; I think it's the batteries. I'll get some fresh ones when I go back to the Landing, but first, I wanted to check on you and to tell you how we can turn this humdrum mess of a castle into something glorious!

"Oh!" Alan said. "What do you have in mind. . . this time?" Alan pictured the previous messes his boyfriend had gotten him into and why Michael spent more time in prison than out of it, but abandoned the idea of castigating his boyfriend until he heard him out.

"My company-d"

"Your company? What's this? You own a company now?

"The company I'm working for is the security business!"

"I have an awesome security system for you!

"Right!" Alan said, hoping it wouldn't crumble his castle to dust.

"I've thoroughly examined the ramparts and the battlements . . ."

"Go on." Alan would rather be making love here on the drawbridge, but-

"Several of your blocks are missing."

"My blocks?"

"Yes, those big things making up the wall. I've also noticed that the water level in the moat is less than two feet deep. Anyone could wade across and attack this castle with one hand tied behind his kneecap?"

"Let's talk about this later when-"

"To cocoa!" Granny's voice rose from the drawing room as she watched TV, drank mysterious drinks from cocoa cups and hollered out this toast three or four times an hour.

"To cocoa," half a dozen voices responded.

"What's with the cocoa toast?" Michael asked.

"It's just Granny-she's on another of her cinematic jags. It's from one of her old movies."

"We can't wait much longer, she and her lunatic friends will drive you. . . " he paused and then thought of the piles of bananas alongside the drawbridge and of the beasts that ate them "Bananas! Listen, Alan, sweetie, my love, I've got to get you out of here, but first I want to talk to you about my new job and selling you a security system that just may save your lives . . . and, it'll give us enough money to-"

Alan blew a smoke ring around Michael's nose, savoring the last half of his last Marlboro, puffing madly, wishing he could smoke two at a time . . . or maybe three.

"You have to quit, man, smoking's going to kill you."

"Nothing's going to kill me-except the inane boredom of life in this castle." Alan handed Michael two bunches of bananas.

"What's with the Chiquita's?"

Alan peeled off the Chiquita label and pinned it on Michael's white T. "Stand tall. You're one of the bunch now . . . besides, the crocs love bananas."

Michael started to remove the label.

"Keep it on and I'll think about your proposition, but," Alan savored his words, "this is still my castle-and a man's castle is his home."

"I've got to get you out of here, Alan. Crocodiles don't eat bananas!"

"I know that crocodiles eat human flesh: but we have crocodotles." Alan emphasized the dot, even though the locals were familiar with the pronunciation. "Crocodotles eat bananas-our critters are vegans. They get testy when they don't get their damned bananas."

The crocodotles, finished with their lovemaking, began clamoring, waiting for their bananas, by the drawbridge.

"I'm beginning to worry about you, Alan."

"Trust me, if you don't toss those bananas, they'll nibble on your toes."

"Nibble on my-"

"We've trained them since they were little bitty crocodotle pups. The young ones know the difference between toes and bananas, but not the older ones. Their skulls are harder and you have to keep repeating, "Toes, bananas, toes, bananas-and always-always-keep the bananas between your toes and the crocodotles will learn the difference."

"Like I said, I've got to get you out of here."

"Then don't toss your bananas, I don't care, just take a good look at your pants. If you don't mind having nibble marks all the way up to your knees just walk across the moat. Go on. Walk!"

"Nibble marks?"

"Crocodotles nibbling chestnuts in an open moat, or chomping Chiquita's, or crunching toes, it's your choice, Michael. I've got enough going on in my life right now and I can't deal with you right now."

Michael slapped his right hand against his forehead three times-usually that worked when he had nightmares-but when he opened his eyes, Alan was still standing in front of him, holding several bunches of bananas in each hand. "I told you, you've got to make a decision. You've got to get away from here while you still have-I hear the crocodottles coming. How high can they jump?"

"High enough to get your bananas. Hurry, okay? Just remember to toss your bananas."

Michael started toward the door that led to the drawbridge, turned around, picked up several more bunches from the table next to the entry closet and headed back toward the moat, mumbling, "I didn't bring extra jeans. I don't want to go home in tatters."

"Consider yourself lucky. You got across the drawbridge without tossing your bananas. It looks like Mom just released the rest of crocodotles. It takes them awhile to adjust, but once they've established their space, they'll nip at anything they see-especially toes."

"Like I said, I'm worry about you, Alan."

"That's why you have to keep tossing your bananas. Nelly Sue loves denim and your pants will make her eyes pop."

Good God, he's named them! Alan, I have to get you out of here-you're as nutty as your Grandma."

"Granny isn't nutty. She's just. . . well. . . okay, she's a nut case, but it's not as bad as you think."

"She's nutty, Alan, Nutty and out of control."

"Don't start! Nobody's out of control here." Alan tried to calm down. He needed Michael. They all needed Michael. "Listen, go get your stuff. . . and bring some extra bananas, okay? Give me a little more time to think this through."

"I said I was going to rescue you, Alan. The time for talking's over. It's time for action."

"Let's just burry the crocodile handbags and get on with it, okay? We can settle this later."

"I'm not settling for anything less than getting you out of here. Look, I need to get some fresh batteries for my cell and I have to buy some gas." But we need a heart-to-heart ASAP, okay? And you're right, no one's nutty in the castle, but sweetie, you need to get away, at least for a while, okay? What time do you want me to come back?"

"Granny just finished serving breakfast and other than our cocoa breaks; we don't eat again until lunch. That's noon-not 11:59-not 12:01-noon! I'll need time for my food to settle. My brain needs energy for a decision like this."

"Hurry, Alan, Revenge is on TV and it's almost over," Nancy Baker, Alan's mother called from the game room.

"Do you want to see the movie, Michael? Granny won her Oscar for her role as Elvira Widgett in Revenge. It's one of our family traditions-wanna see it?"

"It aired in Norfolk last night. That movie's more popular than The Rocky Horror Show. I must have seen it twenty times."

"Only twenty?" Alan chortled. "We see it twenty times a month here. We've memorized every line."

"Alan, I have to get you away from this madhouse."

"Whatever. Mom's calling and I don't want to miss the end of Revenge; it's the best part. I don't mean to be rude, Michael, but you were early. We agreed that you'd show up after lunch and you know this castle operates as punctiliously as a German railroad. Can you get your stuff and meet me back here at 1:00 and give me time to think? Look, a storm's coming. You'd better hurry."

"There's not a cloud in the sky."

"Not yet, but there will be. Our Crocodotles are getting cantankerous. They have a way of knowing these things."

Michael shook his head, convinced that a graceful exit would enhance his opportunity to talk a lot more later.

"Take the bananas with you, Michael, and toss them, toss the bananas."

"Right."

"You said you didn't bring extra jeans. If you don't want to drive home in shreds, you had better toss your bananas."

"Are you lost somewhere in The Zone?"

"Granny loves her crocodotles, okay? She brought them from Africa when she filmed The Lost Elephants of the Khilari. She trained them to snap to attention and stand on their tails with their mouths gaping wide whenever she said bananas. If you don't toss the crocodottles bananas, they will snap at you."

"Sure!" Michael looked at Alan, then he looked at the bananas, then he looked longer and harder at Alan. Michael turned, started toward the drawbridge, slowed to a standstill, turned around, grabbed two bunches of bananas and raced out the door.

"Toss those bananas! Toss them! Don't let Myrtle Ann rip your jeans. Toss those bananas-toss them-toss them-"

Michael screamed, not as much as from the fear of being eaten as from the fear of slipping on one of the damned banana peels that littered the drawbridge and ending up headfirst in the moat, ass in the air, as his toes became crocodotle hor d'oeuvres.

"Come on, Alan, Revenge is almost over. Hurry," his mom shouted.

Revenge hasn't begun. We all know how to play games here, Michael! We all know that! Then, as if reciting a mantra, Alan continuing chanting, I hope Michael's man enough to play as he headed to the game room. Ma's right. Revenge is the best game in town.


On to Chapter Three
Revenge
Back to Chapter One
When Crocodiles Dine
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