Group of scientists in Massachussetts. At a local bistro. Private party. They have to plan. Scientific expedition.
"So, where is the big trip next month?" Admonished asked, dipping his fries in a mixture of ketchup and a local hot sauce. The sauce had a blend of various peppers, including jalapeno and the infamous Scotch bonnett. He knows the chef. A bit too well, and now the chef is George's ex-brother-in-law. On his plate is part of a burger that was a few minutes previously the size of Congress. George never asks and always gets salad dressing on the burger. He eats every french fry, though.
"It's a scientific expedition" Cassie Langra mildly rebukes George. We are going to Bora Bora. To study the indigenous wildlife."
"Indigenous wildlife, yes. A different male voice. "I'm sure it's there, even as we speak."
Cassie is looking for her comb down inside her deep, dark handbag. Ed, I'm happy to know we all agree on something.
Marisol speaks. "It's one of the few places that American corporation has not decided to make it's nest".
Colbert looks over at Marisol and speaks. "You don't look anything like her." Colbert scratches at his three-hour beard. Crazy bell ringer was right. There is money to be made on this trip. We could strip mine for volcanic deposits. We could start a park for prehistoric raptors, with me as manager of the secretarial pool.
"Yes, I know Edward. Marisol in the spaghetti western was much prettier. But she let the man with no name know there was a gun at his back." Feel lucky, punk? she thought, a hand on one of her flats.
George the admonished speaks up again. So you are going to Bora Bora. We are scientists, yes! Why can't I go."
Colbert is studying George. Colbert did not ever doubt George was a good scientist. But now, Colbert. a rising scum of plankton and a member of Greenpeace, knows better than to go anywhere with George. Colbert has big balls and is a ladder stepper. I can have exposure, he muses. Edward Colbert thinking of banging women around top brass. A woman with a lemon blouse, strapless. Several rungs up the ladder, the assistant's skirt flapping in the breeze. Sheer brown panties...
Cassie says "There's nothing to do there. In Bora Bora. "The native habitat is not even worth studying. They're all bartenders and entertainers."
Marisol looks at Cassie a minute. "But it's your fucking job, for Christ's sake. I mean, damn!" Marisol's face a mixture of alarm and laughing. Clarisse was a good friend. Sort of a friend, also who found her at a cantina, all alone. She was Colbert's old lady, now.
Colbert is looking hard, but with some softening at Marisol. Her vanilla top is letting some cleavage show through, definitely. The entomologist is remembering a large palm tree. He was examining the tree, then he was hugging the tree. Marisol had long arms. She had Edward's button down shirt half way off, biting his shoulders and his arms. While she was biting and sucking on his arms and shoulders, the research assistant was jerking the scientist off. It didn't take long, and he exploded on the tree. They both fell down on the ground. Colbert was a climber. He was a little vain, often arrogant. But he was fairly sensitive. If that's what the woman wanted. He and Marisol lie there, looking up at the treetops. Then he took care of Marisol with a probing, hairy middle finger. Marisol's Spanish half made her crazy mad, like she was having Two Fingers tequila. Or she was having the Don Patron. It took an afternoon to get the blood and dirt out of her fingernails. They never spoke of the shirt. It was an Izod.
The expedition will leave in just a week or less. Colbert will not get much done. But the expedition will study the screaming of tree species. It's his job, for Christ sake.
''''''''
Cassie did the cataloguing on research field trips. This is more like a high school field trip, she thought, watching a grey squirrel bound across the rural connector. The phone rings. Cassie picked up the phone and pressed to answer. "Yes, George".
"Cassie, hey. Will you bring me a shirt?"
