Wilma looks at Dustin, a frantic look in her eye, her head still the only part of her clearly visible from where she’s hunkered behind the card table. “Dustin, don’t you pay them any mind. Now, kindly take your friend and go back outside.”
The smoke starts to permeate the room.
“We can’t do that, Wilma,” Dustin explains calmly. “We’re here to rescue you.”
“No. No. That’s not necessary. You need to skedaddle. And pronto.”
“The cigar’s catchin’ fire!” Frank shouts, stomping on a spot in the carpet. He jumps back. “Ow! Oh man, that’s hotter than a biscuit out of the oven!”
The cigar. I see it now.
“Everyone, calm down!” Dustin shouts. “We need to evacuate the room calmly and quickly.”
“Keep your pants on, Dustin,” the man wearing only boxers yells.
“Look who’s talking,” Frank says to the man.
“No one is going anywhere,” Wilma says with a note of panic in her voice. “Loretta is still exposed.”
“I’m exposed? What do you think you are?” Loretta says, grabbing a pair of men’s trousers off the back of a chair and hopping around precariously while she tugs them on. They’re about five sizes too big, so she grips the waistline and holds them up like a man going down a waterfall in a barrel.
“Bathrobe!” Wilma shouts. “Someone get me a bathrobe!”
“I don’t have one!” Harold says.
“Then find my dress!” she shouts.
“I don’t even own a bathrobe,” Frank says.
Loretta says, “Mine’s in the laundry.”
“Walter has my slippers,” Harold says.
“Do not,” the man who must be Walter says.
“Get dressed, everybody!” Wilma shouts. “You just know we’re going to be the talk of the town!”
“Oh, let ’em talk,” Loretta says, clutching the men’s trousers at her waist and glancing around at the clothing strewn everywhere.
The carpet smolders brighter, a flicker of a flame blooming to a few inches tall.
“I’m getting out of here!” Harold announces. He stands from the folding chair and heads toward the door.
“Do NOT go out like that!” Wilma screams, jumping up, knocking the table, rushing to step in front of Harold, her arms outstretched. “Someone give Harold something to wear! You can’t go down there in your skivvies!”
“Let me out!” Harold says to Wilma.
“Not like that, you don’t!” she shouts.
“Extinguisher,” I say to Dustin. He hands it to me. I step behind Wilma and unload the extinguisher onto the carpet. White powder explodes across the room, coating furniture and splattering all over the back of Wilma’s girdle.
The flame dies, leaving a cloud of lingering smoke behind.
“Let’s clear out!” Dustin shouts, attempting to gain control again.
Loretta shouts, “Wilma! I found your dress!”
Wilma grabs her dress from Loretta, slips it over her head and says, “All right. Now we may evacuate.”
