TV or Not TV, That Is The Question


Author: Timer


Part 4: Cutting It Close


We’re zipping up the highway toward the Addams’ place in Mac’s Corvette. Seemed more appropriate to the mission than my Lexus SUV. I’m driving (a major concession on Mac’s part, I fully realize). She’s wearing a light wraparound dress that I’m betting matches, or at least compliments, her bikini. Oh, I sure do hope it’s a bikini.

I’m sporting a light shirt over my shorts, which are over my trunks, which are over the tightest jockstrap I could stand, given Mac’s challenge. No way am I giving her the ‘winner’s right’s’ in this contest. I’m not letting her see me get hard unless she lets me see her nipples do the same.

That’s it. My bottom line. It may seem petty, but a man has to draw the line somewhere.

Exactly where I’d like to draw the line, in what direction and which way gets me a little confused. “Maacc???”

“Yes Harm,” her beleaguered sigh would fit very well into her character as my wife. Jeez, do all wives secretly resent their husbands? Or do they just put up with them?

I’m not sure I want to know.


The Addams Manse
McLean, VA
1200 (local), Saturday, July 21

Once again I wonder if Quasimoto is sequestered somewhere on the third floor of this way too big house. (They don’t even seem to have kids, how can they possibly justify having a house this size?)

Once again the massive door slowly squeaks open.

Once again a man who is way too tall and way too gray beckons us in.

Well, there is something to be said for consistency.

Following his lumbering steps down the hallway, I try to memorize the layout of the first floor. It’s tough since most of the hallways off the main hallway jig before they open to a room. Almost as if the architect didn’t want anyone else to be able to follow his plan.
The giant leading us stops, turns and puts a hand on my shoulder. “Uhgghmph” he gestures toward a door. Guess I’ll go in there. What choice do I have? The guy’s got close to six inches on me, god knows how many pounds and I don’t even want to speculate how many IQ points he is below me. That’s just not nice.

I enter and find a most accommodating changing room. It even has little lockers that I can use to keep the rest of my stuff dry and safe. Good god! When did I start waking up on the Addams Family side of the bed?

I shake my head and take a look in the mirror. OK, I’m honest with myself. I’m almost 40 years old. Can’t look like a young stud forever. (Can’t live like one either, I think.)

But overall, I think I’m looking pretty good. I’ve stayed in shape, running, playing basketball, lifting weights. Self-consciously I turn and check out the rear view.

OK, I can live with this. I’m a mature adult alpha male. I’ve seen them in the zoo. They often have a harem of sorts (no way is that gonna fly with Mac, or with me). But mature alpha males are self-confident, right?


Outside the Addams Locker Rooms
1230 (local)

I carefully walk out of the locker room. Never know when some motion sensor will go off.

Strolling down a beautifully tiled hallway, I follow the sounds of laughter and conversation to an amazing indoor pool. Who would have thought that in the DC area, with its oppressive summer heat, someone would build an indoor pool?

But, if you’ve got the money, it makes sense. In the summer when it’s too hot and muggy to deal with the weather, you don’t have to. In the winter, when it’s too cold and snowy to deal with the weather, you don’t have to.

Perfect solution if you’ve got the dough. Most of us don’t. But however Gomez gets his money, I’m betting that it has nothing to do with trading military secrets. OK, I know. No evidence yet. Just weirdness. Maybe that’s enough for me...I feel Mac’s presence.

“Mac?” I see her walking out of the ‘ladies’ area. My god. She looks so fantastic I can hardly stand it. It’s not just her physical beauty, although that is hard to ignore. It’s her strength.

“Kay?” I quickly correct myself.

Her look combines Marine steadfastness, womanly seduction and a little bit of a young girl who wants to be taken care of. My god, how can I stop the world from hurting this woman ever again? I don’t know but it’s my newest assignment. One I intend to last the rest of my life.

I take a deep breath. It can’t be too long, or too bad, this pool party.

Little did I know.


Addams Pool
1245 (local), Saturday, July 21

Walking out to the perimeter of the pool, a few questions come to mind. Almost as many as my observations.

Noticing all the women have fantastically toned legs, impossibly flat tummies and unbelievably big boobs, I figure they’re all on a first name basis with their personal trainer. And their plastic surgeon.

I meet Mac at pool side. “You sure do know how to fill out that, well I’m not sure there’s enough fabric there to call it a swimming suit, Marine.” I take advantage of our cover stories by clasping her hand and whispering in her ear.

Just a tiny bit of tension courses through her. That’s good. A little tension is good.

She squeezes my hand. “I notice your trunks are pretty baggy, Harm. Any special reason for that?”

I’m not gonna win this one, am I?

“Don, Kay!” We turn as Gomez walks up to us. He’s wearing a smoking jacket? Complete with white ascot? Hey, I like to dress well but that’s ridiculous. One drop of chlorine-treated water on those satin lapels and it’s history. In the junk pile. Wait. Why should I care?

I’m not usually this fashion-conscious (well, yes, I’m fashion-conscious, not obsessed). But this whole adventure has been fraught with weird fashionistas.

Once again Gomez kisses Mac’s hand. Once again she refrains from punching his lights out. As noted previously, there is something to be said for consistency.

“So glad you could make it to our little soiree.”

Man, that fake French accent could peel wallpaper.

“Allow me to introduce you to some of our friends.”

Here comes the good part, I can just feel it.

“Meet our dear friends Rob and Laura.”
And I thought Gomez’ smoking jacket was an odd wardrobe choice. These two have him beat by a mile. Rob is wearing a gray (of course) suit with the skinniest lapels and tie I’ve seen since Elvis Costello in the early ‘80’s. And Laura? I didn’t know you could find capri pants and flats like that these days.

I’m beginning to wonder more about possible black market fashion connections than national security breeches.

“Nice to meet you.” My grandmother said you could always fall back on manners. I hope she’s right. “Don Parker, my wife Kay.”

They smile and nod, then Rob waves to someone across the way. “Excuse us, please,” he says, “we’ve been trading phone messages all week.”

Right, because you’ve never heard of e-mail or even telephone answering machines.

As I watch them walk away, I see Rob almost fall over the end of a chaise lounge. As he nimbly jumps over the hazard, I can only shake my head and laugh.

“What is it, Ha...honey?” Mac asks quietly.

“Oh nothing, just saw Rob narrowly miss tumbling over the end of a lounge chair.”

“Oh, well, pool side accidents can be nasty. Good thing he avoided it,” is her sincere response.

She’s kidding, right?

“Danger, danger Will Robinson!” I hiss into her ear, Gomez still being close by. I feel Mac heighten her awareness.

“Who and where is this Will Robinson and how is he a danger to us?”

“Mac, come on. Have you no cultural perspective at all? We were just introduced to Rob and Laura!”

“They seemed nice enough.”

“Rob and Laura!?!”

I realize Mac is gonna be absolutely no help at all on this investigation. It’s like being in bridge tournament with a partner whose card skills top out at Crazy 8’s. Although, come to think of it, these guys don’t appear to be playing with a full deck, so maybe it won’t be so bad.

I notice a wiry older man standing a little off from the crowd. Not too far off, just enough to kinda give him an outsider’s perspective on the gathering. He’s rocking back and forth on his heels a bit, his thumbs hooked into his pants’ waistband. The look on his face says he’s watching the proceedings with, what? Amusement? Confusion? Interest? All of the above?

Gomez follows my gaze. “Oh, that’s Jed. He’s new to all this.”

“All this? What, the neighborhood?” I ask innocently enough.

“Oh, well, yes, the neighborhood. But more than that. Money. He’s new to money. Word is he struck oil on his property. Some god forsaken nowhere place in the hills. Now he’s worth a fortune. Just moved here, still rather rough around the edges, but I think he’ll make his way. Better here than in Beverly Hills. Can you imagine? Some idiots tried to convince him to move there! Smart man that Jed, he knew to go where the real power is: Washington, DC.”

I can’t help myself. I’m so far into sitcom overload nothing I say seems to matter anymore. “Well, technically, Gomez, you know we’re not in DC here.”

Hearing a high-pitched female scream I scan the pool area. Now what? This seemed innocuously eccentric up ‘til now. Hope it’s not turning dangerous.

I quickly spot the source of the commotion. Two teenage girls are diving into the pool. Well, one just kinda cannonballs in, whooping at the top of her lungs. The other does a perfectly executed jackknife. Just from that I can tell they are completely different, yet, they are identical twins.

”Those twins don’t seem like they’re much alike, do they?” I ask Gomez, knowing what the answer is gonna be.

“That’s ‘cause they’re not twins. They’re cousins. Just met each other a couple of months ago. One lives in England. You ask me, she’s a bit of a prig. But the other one, now she knows how to have a good time.” He wiggles his eyebrows and smirks. “A really good time.”

I’m not sure I want to know how much of a good time Gomez has had with that cousin. “Anyway...” he directs me down the length of the pool.

Somehow along the way Mac has dropped off. I look back to see her talking with a guy dressed in an Air Force uniform. Hey, no way buddy. Back off. She is not the girl of your dreams and she hasn’t disappeared into a bottle for years.

“Oh Don, you’re in for a treat. Here comes my neighbor Ginger. And it looks like she’s worked herself into a state again.” Gomez’ verbal leer almost prepares me for what is coming towards us.

High heels, waay too formal cocktail dress covered in sequins (at a pool party? Where did these folks get their sense of fashion?). Red hair in a helmet bouffant rendered immoble by copious quantities of hairspray. And that chest! Wow, her boobs are so pointy a guy could lose an eye trying to get fresh with her.
She breathlessly addresses us. “I’ve lost Gill, again. That man just vanishes like a boat in the Bermuda Triangle sometimes.”

Gomez tries to reassure her, as I get the feeling he’s done before. Maybe in more intimate ways.

“I’m sure he’ll show up soon, how far could he go?”

“The other week we were on vacation in Venice. We were booked for this fabulous private tour of some grand palazzos and he just disappeared. For 3 hours. Missed the whole tour. I still don’t know where he went.”

Gomez puts his arm around the distraught woman and gives me what he no doubt thinks is his ‘man about the town’ look.

“Ma’am, I’m sure your...” husband, groupie, fellow delusional weirdo?... “Gill will turn up, again, soon.” With that I excuse myself, much to Gomez’ delight I see, and go in search of Mac.

Wandering around the pool is like taking a stroll through the Nickelodeon scheduling department. Just before my brain starts broadcasting a test pattern I find her.

Wow, this whateveritis (still having trouble calling it a mission) just redeemed itself. She’s in a chaise lounge that’s built for two. And I’m gonna be the second!

“Hey, honey,” I say as I stretch out next to her. She turns her beautiful face to mine and sighs “yesss?”

Oh damn. This is it. This is where she gets me. I’ve processed the “we’re both almost naked” part of this scene a bit too late.

She rolls toward me. Languidly. She’s gonna milk this for all it’s worth. I’ll never be able to hold up my head around her again if I get hard now.

Damn! What an incredibly stupid choice of words for me to think!

Now she’s running her hand up and down my arm. She’s just waiting for the tent to start forming, I know it.

Suddenly she stops. She stops everything. Even breathing.

“Harm...”

Gotta be bad if she broke character. I roll toward her, putting my arm over her to shield her from whatever threat this might be.
“What is it?”

“The lawn service just showed up.”

Like so what? She gets my adrenaline catapulted into a 9G turn for guys on riding lawn mowers? Am I the only sane person left in my world??

“It’s the same lawn service that my apartment building uses. That crew. They’ve seen me countless times. In my uniform.”

OK, maybe I’m not the only sane person left in my world.

Wanting to reassure her but not really wanting to let her leave this oh-so-nice embrace we’re in with barely any clothes on I say “But Mac, they’re out there and we’re in here. They’re gonna be focused on cutting the lawn. Why would they look in here?”

She pulls away from me just enough for me to get the full benefit of her scathing stare. “Harm, remind me again. You are a man, right?”

What the hell does she mean by that? Of course I’m a man. I had to duck behind a dishwasher and hide behind Ma Barker two nights ago because I was being a man.

I settle for just giving her a quizzical look.

“That lawn crew is guys like 18 to 22 years old. There are a lot of really well-endowed bikini-clad women in here. You think they’re not gonna spend as much time as possible trimming the lawn close to the windows around this pool house?”

Well, when you put it like that.

Damn. This mission (OK, I said it) is gonna get mowed down by the lawn boy?? Not on my watch.

I have a perfect solution. Sure hope I live through it.

Slowly (never spring things on a Marine, I’ve learned that much over the years), I draw Mac closer to me. I cover her lips with mine. I kiss her for all I’m worth.

I never want to stop, but eventually oxygen deprivation sets in and we have to part.

“What was that?” she murmurs.

“Most people call it a kiss. But it was also a most pleasant way of hiding your face when the lawn boy rode by.”

“Is he coming by again soon?”
Oh yes, he’s most definitely coming by again, even if he’s actually at the other end of the yard.

I hear a lecherous chuckle that can only be coming from Gomez. “Well, I didn’t realize you two were newlyweds.”

You know, he could save a lot of money on his cooling bills if he just did that eyebrow thing in the right place at the right time.

“Well my good man,” I can’t help myself, “for some lucky couples the honeymoon never ends.”

I stand up from the lounge and extend my hand to Mac, who does the most graceful, sexy rise I’ve ever seen. It gets Gomez’ attention too, judging from his gape.

“So I’m sure you’ll understand if we find ourselves suddenly needing to get back home.”

Gomez’ cigar is staying off the floor only because it’s stuck to his bottom lip. If his eyes bug out any more he’ll be a great Marty Feldman impersonator.

“But of course, my good man,” Gomez has recovered his ability to speak. “By all means, have an enjoyable afternoon.”

I somehow keep Mac and myself upright despite the gale-force winds generated by his eyebrows.

“Thank you so much, Gomez. Give our best to Tisha. Maybe we can have dinner together soon?” Mac is all polite.

Dinner? With them? After what I saw on that buffet the only way I’ll eat anything around those people is if I cook it myself.

Walking around the pool I notice a few newcomers. Mostly still in black and white, and yes, gray. But a few in color. Wonder who are those three young ladies swarming around Jed?

Well, no matter. We’re outta here and I’m taking Mac home with me. Yes, really taking her home with me, if she’ll let me. But I’m thinking she will.

As we head for the front door, the butler appears (I’d almost say “materializes”) behind me, planting a death grip on my shoulder.

“Urrrgh,” he explains.

Sure big boy, I know exactly what you mean.

He half drags me to the hallway off the back corner of the foyer. “Hey, we’re just leaving. No need to throw us in the dungeon now.” I’ve had it with this whole gig. I have WAY more important things on my mind.

“Urrgh,” he repeats.

Well, that clarifies matters.

Mac is kinda scurrying around us, trying to figure out how she can attack this situation. Good luck, Marine. Hey, I know she’s an ace kick boxer and highly skilled at hand-to-hand combat, but this guy has at least 12” on her and god knows how many pounds.

He’s dragging me down the hallway; Mac’s bringing up the rear.

“Urrgh.”

He really needs to expand his vocabulary.

“Weebbbb.”

Webb?? Did he just say Webb? This is Webb’s inside man!?! Oh yeah, leave it to Webb to pick a 6’9” freak with a conspicuously gray complexion as his inside man who can blend into the background. But then again, given this crowd, maybe it wasn’t such a bad choice.

Lurch (OK, I don’t know what this guy’s name is, but he hasn’t given me one so that’s the one I’m going with) pushes us into a room and gives a parting “Urrgh.”

Mac and I look at each other then look around the room. It’s completely filled with DVDs and VHS tapes. Shrugging at each other we grab for the nearest stack.

“Leave It To Beaver, season 1,” I read aloud.

“The Andy Griffith Show, season 1,” Mac responds.

We grab a few more.

“The Addams Family.” Well, that was a given, wasn’t it?

“The Patty Duke Show.”

“The Beverly Hillbillies.”

“Petticoat Junction.”

“Mac, the Addams aren’t terrorists. These people have a tenuous relationship with reality, at best. I can’t believe they are trading in international military secrets. Hey, I can’t believe they could trade baseball cards.” Suddenly it all makes sense, sort of.
“They’re bootlegging ‘60’s sitcoms!?!” What was once weird has now become other-worldly. I look at Mac, I can tell she’s still not totally with the program here.

“Mac, TV shows 40 years old? There has to be a statute of limitations on this kind of thing.” Jeez, and Webb thought these were state secrets? Spy vs. spy my eye!

“I don’t know Harm,” Mac speculates, “maybe they’ve figured out a way to encrypt information into the program without it looking suspicious.”

“Yeah, like if you watch Barney Fife carefully you’ll see that his wild hand gestures are really secret signals. Or if you play the theme song to Petticoat Junction backwards you’ll hear a voice saying ‘I buried Paul’.”

I snort derisively. Oh, that’s not gonna help me get into Mac’s ... uh, good graces? (Boy that military training. I just can’t bring myself to think “into her bed”, wait, didn’t I just?)

“These people are spooky Mac, but they’re not spooks.”

“But then what’s all this?” she gestures to the thousands of DVDs and VHS tapes carefully stacked around the room.

I grab a DVD and hand it to her.

“Stick one of these down the front of your bottoms, Mac.”

“What?”

“Well, we don’t really have many places to hide one, now do we? And we’ve got to get it outta here.” I gesture at our nearly naked bathing suit clad bodies.

“Yeah, well, you stick it down your trunks, they’re bigger than my bottoms.” She realizes what she’s said but gives me her most defiant glare, daring me to react to it.

“Um, humm,” I’m not sure how I’m gonna say this without sounding lecherous or egotistical. Oh, hell. “Mac, if I put it down my trunks it’s gonna look a little anatomically odd.” There, I said it without stammering or blushing. Until I watch her deliberately lower her eyes, carefully inspect my crotch and slowly raise them to my now flushed face.

“I see your point.” God, four words laced with equal parts of sarcasm, sass and sexual innuendo. This assignment just may kill me.


continued in Part 5: Debriefing