Worst. Person. Ever(39)

“Bombs are one thing, Raymond, but caramba, the paperwork involved in dropping one! There’d be less paperwork involved making the entire country switch over to metric.”

I had seriously underestimated this woman.

She caught the new, appraising look in my eye. “Too late, Raymond. The mood’s gone. You and your pals are on your way tonight.”

Fucking hell.

And then the plane cartwheeled, and that’s when I actually shat my pants. No dream.





24


Let me tell you, the first thing you do when you shit your pants for real is tell nobody. Nobody.

And then you try to deal with the fact that your plane just cartwheeled over a lake of fire, as the pilot declares, “That was easy,” followed by the lieutenant laughing giddily and Neal shouting, “Blimey! Let’s do that again!”

And you sit there trying to figure out how you’re going to get back to a clean, dry room on Wake Island with a hose to rinse yourself off and fresh undergarments and a fresh pair of trousers identical to the ones you’ve just kacked—as well as a rubbish can large enough to bury the soiled pants in.

“Ray!” Neal called out. “To think just one week ago I was frittering away my life in a cardboard Samsung telly box—and here I am living large!”

Sadly, the condition of my pants made it impossible to continue to enjoy the nuclear fireworks. Neal mistook my new highly focused and somewhat unhappy facial expression to be some sort of politically correct judgment on the bombing.

“Don’t be such a sourpuss, Ray! Think of all that plastic, gone forever—fluffy little dolphins now able to romp through lagoons free of plastic six-pack yokes. Seahorses cantering about, snacking on little bits of seahorse food. It’s a Disney movie down there now, like Finding Nemo. It’s world peace. Our Jenny here is a planetary hero.”

“You’re making me blush, Neal,” said Jennifer. Then she stared at me and her brow furrowed. “Raymond—are you … leaking?”

Neal looked down at my seat. “Oh, now you’ve done it, Ray …”

“Done what?” asked Jennifer.

I said, “Look, both of you, it’s nothing …”

“Raymond’s shat his pants.”

“Raymond!” Jennifer sounded really shocked.

“Christ, the plane did a fucking cartwheel overtop a nuclear explosion.”

“Changing the subject,” Neal chided. “Common behaviour for someone experiencing fecal remorse.”

Jennifer flipped into problem-solving mode. “Raymond, once we’re on the ground, I can have someone come meet us with a hazmat suit. I’ll call for one right now.” She clicked a button on the dash and began barking into her headset: “Alpha nine, alpha nine, we’ve had a Code-Mocha bowel evacuation—”

“No, really, I—” But there was no stopping her.

Neal, meanwhile, looked me over with a father’s sad, judgmental eyes.

I said, “Come on, Neal, I think what happened was a perfectly normal response given the situation.”

“I would never judge you, Ray.”

“Thank you, Neal.”

“Bye the way, Ray, Sarah sent me a text to relay to you.”

“What the fuck? Neal, since when do you have a cellphone?”

“Poor Arnaud du Puis never cancelled his account with Orange France, so I took the initiative and started adding to his contact list the numbers of people connected to the show. That Sarah is one hard worker, mate. I think she has a thing for you. In fact, I’m sure she does.”

She does? “I’m listening, Neal.”

“She said, ‘Give my Ray-Ray a big hug and tell him I can’t wait to introduce him to the alluring ways of the tropics.’ ”

“Show me.”

Neal showed me the text; he was word for word. “I think she could be The One, Ray, I really do,” he said.

I thought of her spooning me back to health in Honolulu, her cheerful manner, her milkmaid freshness—her absolutely perfect pair of baps.

The flight back was as airy and hopeful as the infinite shaving-cream clouds above us and caterwauling flocks of sea birds below. The cockpit was somewhat chilly with the altitude, and I felt like I was sitting atop a tub of melted gelato, but I didn’t care.

Once on the ground, we were greeted by perhaps fifty goons, all of them clapping wildly for the lieutenant. Jennifer took a bow, smiled for the cameras, gave a small speech and then said, “But before I disembark, we have a small medical issue to attend to.” She stood away from the door, saying, “Raymond, the medics will take good care of you. They really will. All of us here in your Wake Island family just want you to get clean again. And watch your left leg. You’re dripping on the hatch.”