Haunting Hospitality

Somewhere in a far-off land resided a small rural village which decades ago took work addiction the wrong way. Outside a food mart stood a gigantic promotional sign featuring a clown with glowing seductive eyes wanting only humanity’s best seen. Matilda, a well-known community leader whose intellectually reasoning formally endorsed three traffic roundabouts that, when crowded, a mass hysteria circus theatrically plays out. Strolling down the food pantry aisle the respected local philanthropist window shopped the product displays, inspected each tempting purchases, placing different items into her basket.

“Let me see I am going to need, 2 vegetable oil tablespoons, 2 lbs. ground chuck beef which I will patty into 1- inch pieces, a large onion, 32 ounce carton Progresso meaty broth, one Muir Glen organic tomato paste can, two garlic cloves which I will finely chop, one tablespoon Worcestershire sauce, a tablespoon paprika, one teaspoon salt, caraway seed and pepper,” Matilda paused peering up from the grocery list, “three tablespoons Gold Medal all-purpose flour, yes a bell pepper which I will cut into strips and finally eight cups hot cooked noodles.”

Coming back from her concentrated state, a man wearing a single department store mass produced tie, stood there, broken, busted, buried in debt,

“Water?” The facing adversity individual requested.

“I can get the quarter cup back home by turning on the faucet,” Matilda conversed not immediately addressing the situation.

“Water,” the creepy creature repeated.

“Here,” Matilda replied, “I have some left in my pocketbook.”

Continuing the gracious offering gesture, the middle-aged lady turned over a half empty plastic bottle,

“Well, I appreciate that ma’am,” the stranger replied, “I am Roosevelt Helmsley, but my friends call me, ‘Woody’”

“Why is that?” Matilda inquired.

“It’s a New Yorker thing like, when Philadelphians say,’Yo Rocky’,”

“I see,” Matilda listened, “what happened?”

“I gave all my money to my cat,” Roosevelt explained, “and one day the four-legged puddy just ran off, leaving me only an overflowing litter container and an empty safety box.”

Hearing the plight, Matilda wanted to do something, “why don’t you come home with me, I can fix you a good meal and give you sleeping quarters.”

“Well, I am grateful,” Roosevelt accepted the kind thought, already getting his self-esteem back.

Reaching the modest expensive automobile, Roosevelt assisted Matilda loading the paper bags and tried accompanying them lying in the trunk.

“No, Woody, the passenger’s seat is empty.”

Both securely enclosed, belt’s fastened Matilda put the car in reverse and carefully navigated, avoiding the pedestrians not expecting any lifestyle changes.

It did not take long, and the pair pulled up the scenic driveway, opening the garage, “well, this is my home, the Manor of Enchantment.”

“Thank you,” Roosevelt expressed.

“Matilda,” the good Samaritan clarified.

Sitting at the kitchen table, Roosevelt watched Matilda work the culinary area retrieving a ten-ounce skillet, igniting the oil inside the frying pan before cooked beef joined the process.

“Where did you and your cat live?”

“I am a true genuine generation ex planetule. I was an executive with exes all over the globe, growing blooming industries, germinating feeding the world’s insects with profitable opportunities.”

“That sounds like a rich experience,” exclaimed Matilda, stirring the steak until it was brown.

Monitoring the situation as Matilda sprayed the six-quart slow cooker before inserting the beef and onions, Roosevelt’s stomach rumbled. Grabbing a medium size bowl, Matilda combined the broth, tomato paste, garlic, Worcestershire sauce, paprika salt, caraway seed and pepper before injecting the beef mixture, not losing a beat interpreting Roosevelt’s vegetarian corporate tale.

Turning around. noticing Roosevelt conked out, Matilda’s original concern came true, “Woody,” she timidly expressed, “I have a guest room.”

A few minutes later Roosevelt found himself comfortably underneath a comforter and blankets, fast asleep while Matilda covered the cooked dish, putting the creation on low heat, setting the egg timer for eight to ten hours.

Still experiencing the dream like state Roosevelt opened his eyes, “Woody,” a ghostly voice called.

“Huh,” Roosevelt acknowledged, spotting three ex-wife images, standing at the bed side.

“Why did you give all the money to the cat?”

“I was puddy fussing around and all of a sudden the vindictive varmint disappeared, leaving the pre pet nip agreement I signed after having too much dog chow.”

“Did finicky feline paws carry deal or no deal briefcase documents?” The three ex-wives inquired. “What are you going to do now?”

“Have a nice meal with my new friend,’

“She cooked you a meal, starting preparation early this morning,” the ex-wives stated, “you are a lucky dude.”

Ten hours passed and committed Matilda tended to her daily obligation finding a small bowl, where she stirred water and flour then added the beef concoction. “I know its dark outside, but did you have a pleasant afternoon nap?”

‘Yes, I did,” Roosevelt answered.

“Well good and in thirty minutes we can eat.”

“What are we having?”

“My specialty,” Matilda announced, “Hungarian Ghoulish Gosh,”

“Sounds delicious,” Roosevelt commentated retreating into the dining quarters.

When Matilda followed, carrying the dish, smothered over noodles, they both filled their plates.

“What did your ex-wives say?”

“You seem to be very generous,” Roosevelt politely informed.

“They are welcome to stay, I have enough room for everyone,”

After dinner Matilda treated her new companion to a drum solo performance, as she spun band fantasies both fact and fiction. When the hours ticked away, Roosevelt yawned, hinting the self-destructed entrepreneur, return to his chambers, where the three ex-wives waited.

“Well, does she have money?” One ditched damsel inquired.

“Or was this just a hypocrite joke?” Another added.

“It was a cordial meeting,” Roosevelt adjusted his Brooks Brothers attire, “and tomorrow I am going back in town, meetings scheduled all day.”

“So, you are back to your old routine, Roosevelt ‘Woody’ Helmsley,”

“That I am, and I tell you, what a good meal can do for you,” Roosevelt told his ex-wives.

“I heard that,” Matilda yelled feeling confident her sins were absolved allowing good fortune to outweigh bad events occurring and knowing inviting Roosevelt ‘Woody’ Helmsley was a legitimate opportunity knocking.