The Dummy

"Yeah," Cal taunted. "Do you know why your eyesight begins to fail as you get older?"

"I give up, why?" Scotty responded in his low voice.

"That's so when all us old bucks look in the mirror we can't see the gray hair and wrinkles that are beginning to announce we're over the hill. Hell, I was ecstatic when I found out college girls liked older men, but it really took the wind out of my sails when I discovered they think older men are around thirty."

"I'll tell you one thing," injected George Lemore, who had been part of their foursome. "If I could go back thirty years and know what I know now, I'm sure my life would have been much different."

"I'll say, amen, to that," Cal laughed, throwing back his head. "If I could go back to being a teenager again equipped with the knowledge I have right now, they'd have to lock me up. I'd be that dangerous. There wouldn't be a safe woman in the world. What a blast I'd have with those young hard bodies. They'd be calling me the PM man."

"PM man. Now what in the hell is that suppose to mean?" Virg joined the conversation. "Are you saying you'd only operate in the afternoon?"

"Hardly," Cal gave him a sour look. "That means I'd be after everybody between puberty and menopause. None of them would be safe."

"Man, you’re a real hound," Scotty patted Cal on the shoulder. "What makes you think any of the ladies would have anything to do with you?"

"I'll say one thing, though," Cal came back, with a little more seriousness in his voice. "I wasted my youth because I was too damn dumb to know what was all around me. It wouldn't be like that again, if somehow I could do it all over, and that's the truth."

"That's a fantasy everybody in this world lives with, both men and women," Scotty scoffed.

"Oh well," Cal gestured at his companions, "dream on boys. Real life is that I have a trip to Chicago coming up in a couple of weeks to set up an audit for a client of mine. God, I wish I could find someone to take charge of my business, then I'd have time to screw around and play more golf."

"Tell me about it," taunted Scotty. "If I had your money, I'd burn mine and play golf all the time."

Cal rose from his chair, threw him an obscene gesture with his finger and walked out the door.

The sun was shining making the weather pleasant even though a slight chill hung in the air.

What could one expect for late October, Cal mused, as he backed his El Dorado out of the parking place and headed home.

Home was a large rambling house on the sixth fairway of the golf course. Calvin Newman was a very successful CPA. He was accustomed to all the finer thing's money

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Cal spent his time resting, sleeping, and thinking about what he was going to do when he got home. He surmised no one in the outside world would know he was alive. He was sure he would have been given up for dead when they didn't find his body with the rest of the plane. What a surprise they were going to get one of these days when he showed up at home.

Though still weak he was able to sit up in bed by now.

"Doctor, how long have I been here?" was Cal's question to Rudolf one day when he was strong enough to speak.

Rudolf sat at a desk writing on some papers scattered in front of him. He looked up when Cal spoke. "Please, call me Rudy. You’ve been here a little over two months now." He paused and spoke in a lower tone of voice. "Things were bad at the crash, and you’re the only survivor. The wreckage of the plane, and its contents, are still buried under at least ten feet of snow down in the canyon. There will be no possibility of any recovery attempt until April or May."

Rudolf walked around to where Cal could look at him without turning his head. "After the plane went down there had been search and rescue planes flying about but they stayed way to the south. That’s the normal flight path down that way. I suppose that’s where the plane disappeared from radar when it got below the mountain peaks."

Rudolf stopped and stared like he was looking at something beyond the cabin walls. "The storm the night of the crash dropped six feet of new snow. By morning, all the wreckage was buried. That storm lasted three days. There never was any chance of rescue. I suppose that didn't make much difference because by the time anyone could have gotten to the crash site it was all over for those poor souls,"

Rudy stroked his beard as he went on. "Not that I think if they had been on the scene it would have made any difference. When a plane slams into the side of a mountain it's usually pretty final."

Rudy went on to explain to Cal how he happened to be in the mountains in the first place.

"Guess that was pretty lucky for me, wasn't it? Cal paused for a moment. "By the way, my name’s Cal Newman, but you probably already know that from my identification."

Rudy didn’t acknowledge whether he had been aware of that information or not, as he continued. "Mister Newman, you and I have many things we need to discuss, and a copious amount of work to do to get your body functions back to normal."

"First off," he said, pausing to let his words hang heavy in the air. "I want you to understand something very clearly. I told you -- why -- I’m here in these mountains."

Once more he stopped talking and looked at the far end of the building where he kept his primates." I told you I was doing brain transplant experimentation on animals. Well sir, when I found you out there in the snow, you were strapped to a plane seat with a young lad about fifteen, sixteen years old."

Once more, he started stroking his beard, as his voice took on a very serious note. "You both did not survive. As a matter of fact -- maybe -- neither one of you actually did."