The Long Happy Life of Taffy Slummings, part four

[Arroyos]

The Long Happy Life of Taffy Slummings, part four


“That’s him! He’s the one pretending to be Jesus.”

Not her again, thought Slummings when he noticed the old lady from the visitors’ room pointing at him again. She was talking to a tall man in a uniform.

“I’m not Jesus,” Slummings said, then turned to the uniformed man and explained, “She thought I was Jesus when I showed up in the visitors’ room.”

“But you’re not,” the uniformed man said without a trace of irony.

“Hardly,” Slummings replied, chuckling.

“But you are Mr. Slummings.”

“Yes, I admit it. Not Jesus, just Slummings. And you are?”

“Hospital security. Would you come with me, please?”

“I came to talk to Mr. Mayberry,” Slummings said, pointing to where the nurse was leading an old man away from an abandoned pillow case. “I’m the owner of the ball club he works for—well, did work for, that’s what I came—”

“This way,” the security officer interrupted, pointing back toward the hallway Slummings had just come from.

“But I need to talk to him.”

“After you talk to us.”

Slummings gave one last look back across the lawn toward Mayberry and the nurse as they approached a distant wing of the hospital building, then turned back to the security officer. “What’s this about?”

“We’ll explain if you follow me, please.”

Slummings shrugged and followed the officer back into the building, then down the hallway away from the visitors’ room until the officer opened a door and gestured for Slummings to enter.

He did, reluctantly, and found himself face to face with Head Nurse Peters, her red hair even redder in the artificial light of the tiny office. Hers, probably, Slummings thought, since she was seated behind a desk nearly covered in stacks of paper.

“Mr. Slummings,” Nurse Peters said, gesturing for him to sit in the chair adjacent to the desk, “we meet again.” She waved the security officer out, and he closed the door gently behind himself.

“What’s this about?” Slummings asked. “I just need to speak to Mayberry, briefly, and then I’m out of here. I have an early evening train to catch.”

“You needn’t worry about that train,” Peters said.

“What?”

“Please, be seated. We have a lot to discuss.”

“About Mayberry? I really don’t know him all that well, just—”

Nurse Peters raised her hand and Slummings stopped mid-sentence. “What we need to discuss, Mr. Slummings, is only indirectly related to Mr. Mayberry.” She picked a stack of papers from her desk and held them out for Slummings to take. “According to our research—go ahead, take them—there is no such baseball team as the Yuma Bulldozers. In fact—”

“Arroyos,” Slummings corrected, taking the stack of papers.

Peters gave Slummings a withering look. “Say what?”

“The team’s name is Arroyos. It was the Bulldozers, but we changed it.”

“That’s neither here nor there,” Peters continued, only to be interrupted by Slummings again.

“Oh, well, it is very much here, or there, in Yuma, if you see what I mean. The name’s important. That’s why we changed it. The plan—”

Nurse Peters held her hand up again, halting Slummings. “It’s neither here nor there, Mr. Slummings, because your ball team doesn’t exist.”

“What!?!” Slummings said, then laughed at the nurse’s outrageous statement.

Peters pointed at the stack of papers Slummings was now holding. “It’s all there, in black and white and 256 colors. No major league team in Yuma, Arizona ever. No major league team named the Bulldozers, ever. And—” her finger came up again to keep from Slummings from interrupting, “no professional baseball team in Yuma since 2011.”

“You’re crazy! The Bulldozers have been playing in Yuma since 2007!”

“I thought they were the Arroyos.”

“We just changed the name last year, at the end of the season. Before that they were the Bulldozers. You can look it up.”

“We did,” Peters said, gesturing to the papers Slummings held.

He glanced through them. “These are all old MLB reports. That league went belly up in 2007. Since then, professional baseball has been played in the PEBAverse.”

Nurse Peters looked long and hard at Taffy Slummings. “The what?”

“The PEBAverse, well, that’s what we call it. It’s a … a whatchamacallit.”

Peters just stared at Slummings.

“You know, when the first letters of the words spell out a name. Like … like USA—only you don’t pronounce that one.” He looked at Nurse Peters. “You know what I mean.”

“Like scuba? Or radar?”

“Those are these, uh, whatchamajiggers?”

“Acronyms?”

“Yeah, them! PEBA is like that. Professional Exceptional Baseball something or other. We just call it PEBA, and they’ve been playing professional baseball since the MLB shut down in 2007.”

Nurse Peters took a deep breath and stood up. “Mr. Slummings, we’re going to hold you here overnight to do a thorough examination. You’ll have a room to yourself, you can talk to Mr. Mayberry all you like, and in the morning—”

“What!” Slummings jumped from his chair. “You’re keeping me here, against my will? You can’t do that!”

“Just to examine you, that’s all.”

“No way, lady. Mayberry can fuck himself, I’ve got a train to catch back to Yuma.”

“You’re not going anywhere right now, Mr. Slummings. Perhaps tomorrow. We’ll talk about it when—”

“Like hell we will! I got a ball club to run!” Slummings spun on his heels and started for the door, which opened before he reached it. The same security officer stood in the doorway, with two other guards right behind him.

“You’re suffering from some sort of delusion, Mr. Slummings, which is strangely similar to Mr. Mayberry’s delusions. So we need to take a look at both of you, to see if we can help you.”

Slummings snapped, “I don’t need your fucking help! I need to get back to my team!”

“Your team is imaginary, Mr. Slummings. As real as it may seem to you, it exists only in your head. If you let us—”

“NO!” Slummings screamed. “You’re not keeping me in this loony bin!” He started toward the security men in the doorway. “Outa my way or I’ll sue your asses!”

The men did not move.

Slummings stopped short of running into them. He was wheezing. His body slumped as his brain realized he had no way to escape. He turned back to Nurse Peters, “Call them, please. Just call. I have the right to one phone call, right? Call Yuma.”

“I’m afraid there’s no such right to a phone call for mental patients, Mr. Slummings. That’s for criminals. Curiously, their rights are better protected than yours.”

“Just call them,” Slummings pleaded. “Roberta Tipitina. Call her. She’ll explain everything.”

“Tipitina?”

“Yes,” Slummings said, hopeful. “Roberta. Office manager and acting GM of the Yuma Arroyos. I can get her number for you,” he added, reaching into his pocket.

“Like the song?”

Slummings pulled his phone out, but just held it. “The song?” he asked.

“Tipitina, it’s a blues song. Professor Longhair, I think.” Nurse Peters began to hum, then sang a few bars. “Tipitina, tra la la / Tipitina, tra la la …”

Slummings stared at the nurse, her bright red curls bouncing on her shoulders. The security officers were staring too. Peters blushed. “That’s it, that’s all there is to it—I mean, there’s several verses about Roberta, but that’s the only reference to Tipitina. It’s not a name, or it doesn’t have to be. Just nonsense syllables, I’ve always thought, to fit in with the la la la’s.”

For a moment no one said anything. Then Slummings held out his phone to Nurse Peters. “Roberta’s number is in there. Call it, please.”

Peters took the phone, then nodded to the officers. One put his hand gently under Slummings’ arm.

“Wait!” Slummings pulled away. “Just make the call. You’ll see. I’m not making it up.”

“I will,” Peters said. “I promise. But first, you have to agree to go peacefully with these officers to your room.”

“She’ll tell you,” Slummings insisted. “There’s no reason for me to stay here. The ball club needs me.”

“And if, as you say, this Roberta Tipitina can, uh, shed light on your situation, then I will come straight to your room and we’ll work things out.” She held that finger up again to prevent Slummings from interrupting. “But … in the meantime, you must do as I say and go with these gentlemen. Just for a short while. I’ll arrange for Mayberry to join you in the room, if you like.”

Slummings knew he was being conned, knew he was trading his freedom for the conversation with Mayberry that brought him here, to this … this … what had the orderly called it? This California Hotel, that’s what it was. But, Slummings thought, looking at the security officers, what choice did he have?

He nodded to Nurse Peters and allowed the first officer to hold his arm and lead him out of her office and down the long dark hallway of the hospital. They retraced the steps he’d taken upon entering the hospital, and when they pushed open the swinging doors to the visitors’ room, the same old lady was standing there, looking at him like he was an alien. As he passed her, he smiled.

“They’re taking Jesus to be crucified,” she said as the double doors on the other side of the room swung closed behind Slummings.

[Lions]

The odds of two, unrelated people who have never even met having the exact same delusion seems pretty low. I don't expect Nurse Peters to consider that.

Also, super impressed, Bob, that you got Hugh Laurie to record that for this story. That's next level commitment. Did you write it for him or did you just give him the parameters and let him go to work?

[Arroyos]

Also, super impressed, Bob, that you got Hugh Laurie to record that for this story. That's next level commitment. Did you write it for him or did you just give him the parameters and let him go to work?

Hugh and I are old pals. Back in the days when he and Stephen Fry were doing standup in pubs in London's West End, I was their advance man, writing ad copy wherever they went. When they landed their first tv spot, as Fry & Laurie, they brought me along to keep their diaries. Sadly, when they got rich and famous doing Jeeves & Wooster, they didn't have a role for me. I tried to reach out to Hugh again during his years living in the States, when he was Dr. House, but he had an impenetrable wall of body guards, private secretaries and personal assistants around him a mile thick. But all it took to get Hugh to record "Tipitina" for me was a short email to his agent reminding them both of the night in the Cocks & Robbers Pub when Laurie behaved unspeakably.

"What song do you want?" was Hugh's reply. I told him. "You got it," he said. "And then we're square, right? No more shillyshally, back of the pub, tales out of school, right?"

[Borealis]

Oh, my - as soon as I saw Nurse Ratchet - I mean Peters, get involved, I knew the fix was on... Roberta, you are a nasty woman...

[Borealis]

And, loved the video!!

[Arroyos]

And, loved the video!!

Yeah, Hugh is quite the ivory tickler, huh?