The way Tanya saw it, getting a new carpet in her Arizona Room would be an easy task. There were no tricky corners to consider. The room measured only sixteen feet wide by sixty feet deep. Anyone with any experience laying carpet should be able to complete the job in a few hours. She was wrong.

Tanya Sawyer lived in Wander In, an active adult community in Arizona. Her home, or more precisely, her trailer, was older, but still in great shape. She kept it that way. Tanya took pride in her home, and strived to keep it looking good. When the powder blue carpet in the Arizona Room began to show signs of age, she decided to replace it with carpet that looked nicer and didn’t look like it was installed in the 1980s, which it was. Over coffee one morning with her friends Henrietta Henderson and Gloria Stoom, Tanya Talked about her desire to update the carpet.

“I thought about hardwood flooring, but I just love the feel of carpet under my feet. I just need something that doesn’t show the dirt so much.”

Gloria replied first. “A nice Berber would work. Maybe taupe or something to hide the sand that blows in when haboobs occur.”

Henrietta added, “That will sure cut down on carpet cleaning.”

Tanya agreed. “Every time I clean my blue carpet, the water is almost black. Taupe Berber it is. I was thinking of calling the Fix It Men in the park to get the job done.”

The Fix It Men is a loosely formed group of men who live in Wander In. They are mostly old codgers and aging duffs who are bored with retirement, love to get out of their houses, usually at the requests of their wives, and consider themselves wannabe repairmen. When residents of the park need small jobs done and they don’t want to pay too much money, they call the Fix It Men. The men occupy a small room next to the woodshop, where they mostly sit around, drink coffee, and tell war stories, otherwise known as lies, while waiting for jobs.

As soon as her friends left, Tanya called the Fix It Men. Carl Fife answered.

“Hello. Fix It Men here. You need a man – we gotta plan. This is Carl speaking.”

Tanya recognized Carl’s voice. She knew him from around the park as a kind-hearted, easy-going individual who spoke a good line but had seen better days. She also knew that Carl was a bit absent minded, but honest.

“Hi Carl. This is Tanya Sawyer. I’m looking for someone who can install a new carpet into my Arizona Room. Is that something the Fix It Men can do?”

“You’ve called the right number. In fact, I’ve installed many carpets in my days. Just installed one for Ben Campbell a few weeks ago.”

“Great.” Tanya said. “When can you install a carpet in my Arizona Room? And how much will it cost?”

Carl thought for a moment. “If you can get the carpet delivered by next week, I can install it then. I figure it’ll cost about two hundred bucks for me to pull up the old stuff, put down new padding, and then the new carpet. I’ll need you to remove the moulding, but I can reinstall it. Sound good?”

“That sounds wonderful. I’ll let you know when I know when the carpet will arrive. Thanks for your time, Carl.”

The carpet arrived the following Friday and Tanya called Carl to arrange for the work. Carl told Tanya the upcoming Tuesday is the only day he could come.

“I have a few appointments in town on Tuesday, but you can work then. I’ll leave the door unlocked and the carpet and pad on the deck.”

Carl agreed. The date was set. Tanya looked forward to having the new carpet finally installed.

Tuesday morning arrived. Tanya sat on her front porch, enjoying a cup of coffee before heading out of the park. The morning was quiet. A few golf carts passed by, their occupants waving hello to Tanya. In the distance, she could her the cooing of doves, which always made Coco, her pet parakeet excited.

“Simmer down.” Tanya said, turning around to see Coco hopping around in her cage. “I’ll be leaving soon and you won’t hear the other birds talking about their freedom.”

Tanya finished her coffee, made sure everything Carl needed was on the porch, and drove away. Twenty minutes later, Carl arrived. He surveyed the Arizona Room, made sure he had everything he needed, and started the task. Tanya had removed the wall moulding. It didn’t take him long to move a few small pieces of furniture. He had the old carpet and pad removed in less than an hour. He made a sweep of the room, looking for any nails or staples that might be protruding from the floor. When we was satisfied he’d removed them all, he laid the new pad down and using his staple gun, secured it to the subfloor. Next, he muscled the new carpet into the room, rolled it out, and pushed the far end onto the existing tack strip. He stretched the carpet out, making it snug and smooth. It looked good, so he secured the rest to the other tack boards. Satisfied with his work, he re-installed the moulding trim and replaced the steps that led to the trailer. He made one more pass to examine his work and gather his tools. That’s when he noticed a lump in the carpet, close to the back door.

“Well, I’ll be.” he muttered to himself. “Looks like I missed a nail.”

He grabbed his hammer and gave the nail three good whacks. Pound, pound, pound. The carpet was flat as a pancake, as it should be, and he was again happy with his work. He packed everything up, hooped in his truck, and drove back to the Fix It Men shop.

Carl was still at the shop, drinking lukewarm coffee with Horace and Grant, his two friends and fellow Fix It men. His phone rang. He recognized the number as Tanya’s.

“Hi Tanya. This is Carl. How does the carpet look?”

Tanya confirmed that the job Carl finished looked very professional. She then started asking Carl some questions. Carl sat on the phone, nodding his head, and repeating, “Um hum, Yes Ma’am, I see, No Ma’am.” After a few minutes, Tanya ended the call.

“What was that all about?” Horace asked Carl. “Did she like your work?”

“Oh yeah.” Carl said. She thinks it looks very nice.”

“What else did she want?” Grant inquired.

“Well, she asked me if I’d seen a little parakeet flying around while I worked. I told her I didn’t. I mean, what does she think I am, a pet-sitter?”

Ben Campbell needed a break from life at Wander In, the adult community where he lived in Arizona. He needed to get out of his small house, which, even though the air conditioner ran constantly, still seemed hot and stuffy. He just wanted to get out on the road, even if just for a few hours.

Summer had been unbearably hot, and the torrid temperatures still hovered over one hundred, even though September was half over. Fortunately, for Ben, his ancient car had a strong engine and an even stronger AC unit. He left the park early in the morning, heading for unassuming back roads that traversed Pinal and Pima Counties. Ben loved the isolation of these roads; the quiet yet beautiful desert landscapes and the lack of other cars. He knew he could escape the commotion that he often dealt with at home, ever since his wife Ruby passed away in January.

Ben readied his red 1980 Buick Rivera with everything he needed for the day. He made a couple of ham sandwiches, packed some cold beers in a cooler, and grabbed a box of jazz cassettes. He also brought Roscoe, the sixteen-year-old something-doodle mix he and Ruby adopted from the Mesa dog pound. Ben and Roscoe were on the road by eight in the morning.

The temperature was already in the low nineties when he made his way out of Maricopa County, avoiding interstates by taking surface streets through Chandler and Sun Lakes. He jumped onto Highway 87 and drove south, until he crossed a dry gulch, better known as the Gila River. From there, he proceeded to take smaller, less-defined roads past cotton fields and cattle farms.

Ben and Roscoe were somewhere between Ray and Dripping Springs. The temperature was now hovering near one hundred and twelve. The Buick’s AC pumped out cold air and the tape deck pumped out cool jazz. John Coltraine sang Blue Train. Ben reached into the cooler and grabbed a beer. Roscoe sat in the passenger seat and enjoyed the ride. Life was good. Life was peaceful. Mostly though, life was devoid of people. The void, though, didn’t last.

A listless figure sat on the side of the road, a hundred yards ahead. Ben couldn’t believe anyone would be out on this highway in this weather. He slowed down and stopped by the disheveled-looking man. The man looked sad. His eyes were sullen and his hair disheveled. It looked as though he’d been sitting on the side of the road for a long time. Ben opened the passenger window and yelled out. Roscoe looked on with interest.

“What in the Hell are you doing out here in this weather?”

“Ain’t your business.” the young man replied. “I’m just fine here. Leave me be.”

“Can’t do that.” Ben said.

“Why not?”

“Cause I like to drive out here from time to time, and next time I do, I don’t want to come upon what’s left of you after the coyotes finish you off.”

The young man stared at Ben and Roscoe. He couldn’t fathom the idea that someone actually cared about him. Ben continued. “Come on. Get out of the heat. I’ve got an extra sandwich and a cold beer.”

The stranger stood and approached the car. “Your dog friendly?” he asked.

“Mostly. Unless I tell him otherwise. Right now, he’s more curious. He won’t bite. Hop in.”

“Back seat, Roscoe.” Ben commanded. Roscoe jumped into the back and the stranger climbed into the front seat. Ben gave him the sandwich and a beer. They drove in silence for a few minutes. Ben, curious himself, started up a new conversation. “You lost?” he inquired.

“Nope.”

“Where are you heading?”

“Nowhere.”

“Well, I can’t take you nowhere. If you’re going somewhere, I can get you at least some ways there.”

After a couple more of minutes of silence, the young man replied, “Thanks for the food and beer. I appreciate it. You can let me out here.”

“I ain’t letting you out until you tell me what you’re doing here. Cause, by the looks of things, I’d say you’re out here to die.”

“I don’t have much to live for, so this is a good a time as any to die.”

“What’s your name, son?” Ben asked. “And why are you giving up on life?”

“Charlie. Life gave up on me. I lost my wife and son, my job, and pretty much everything that meant anything to me.”

“I’m Ben. Good to meet you, Charlie. But you listen here. You’re just a young kid. You’ve barely given life a chance. When you get as old as me, you’ll see what life offers, and I can tell you, most of its good.”

Charlie replied. “Well, that’s not how I see it. I don’t want to be here anymore, and you or no one else can make me feel otherwise.”

“So you’re just gonna sit out in the desert and fry yourself to death?” Ben asked.

Charlie replied. “That would take too long.” He reached under his shirt and brandished a small caliber pistol. “This would be quicker.” Charlie pointed the gun toward his head.

“Put that thing down.” Ben exclaimed. “You want to shoot your brains out, fine, but not in my car. I’ll let you out and you can take care of business on the road.”

Charlie slowly lowered the pistol. Ben kept driving while keeping any eye on Charlie. He felt for the young man, and in some ways, knew of his loneliness.

“You going to stop and let me out?” Charlie asked.

“Yep.” Ben replied.

The Buick kept driving down the straight and dusty road. Instead of slowing down, Ben was speeding up. The 5.7 liter V8 had power to spare, and before Charlie knew it, the car was travelling close to seventy miles per hour. Charlie didn’t know what Ben was doing, but he wanted no part of it. He pointed the gun at Ben.

“Stop the car now, or I’ll shoot.” Charlie demanded.

Ben looked straight down the road. They’d entered a small canyon. Rock formations and steep drop-offs surrounded the speeding car. With his foot stepping down harder on the accelerator, he said to Charlie, “That would be a mistake. You see, we’d both end up dead now, and I don’t think you really have it in you to kill another person.”

Charlie felt defeated. He wasn’t a killer. He just wanted to die alone. Now, this Ben guy ruined his escape plans.

Ben spoke again. “I lost my wife earlier this year. We’d been married for over fifty years. I know what it’s like to be lonely and lost. All I have left is Roscoe. But I also know that life is worth living. Don’t give up quite yet. Give it a little more time.”

Charlie was shaking. Ben saw the sad look in Charlie’s eyes.

“Give me your gun, Charlie. Today’s not your day to die.”

Charlie was in tears. He handed the pistol to Ben. Ben slowly closed the hammer and placed the gun on the floorboard. He slowed the car down to a manageable speed, drove south into Tucson, and pulled up to the Oro Valley Hospital.

“You should think about talking to someone. Maybe someone here can guide you in the right direction.” Ben said, as he stopped the car in front of the hospital.

Charlie was still crying and shaking when he climbed out of the car. In a trembling voice, he thanked Ben.

“Charlie. My name is Ben Campbell. Get the help you need. After that, the next time you’re in Mesa, go by the Wander In adult community. Look me up. I’d really like to see you again.”

“I will.” Charlie replied.

Ben reached over and closed the passenger door. Roscoe jumped back into the front seat. Charlie looked up one last time to see the old Buick driving north, back toward Mesa.

Tanya Sawyer was ecstatic when she heard the news from California, and called her friend Henrietta right away. “Henrietta. I won!” she yelled into the phone.

“Won what?” asked Henrietta.

Tanya reminded Henrietta of her trip a few months ago to visit her son in Los Angeles. “Remember when I went to visit Tom? And remember when I told you I went to a taping of ‘Your Dreams Come True’ at the ABC studio? They asked people in the audience what we would dream for. And guess what? They chose my dream, and now I get to go back to Hollywood to be on the show.”

Henrietta was impressed. “That’s wonderful, Tanya. When are you going? And what is your dream?”

“I leave in the morning. Tom bought me a plane ticket. I’ll stay with him and his family again. The show will be taped on Wednesday.”

”And your dream?” Henrietta asked again.

“You’ll be jealous. In fact, all of the ladies in our water aerobics class will be. I get to have coffee with George Clooney!”

Tanya told Henrietta how after seeing George on TV one day, all she wanted to do was sit down with him and enjoy a nice cup of coffee while looking into his dark eyes and savoring his warm smile. “Look. I’m in my mid-seventies, I’m single, and a girl’s gotta dream about something. And now it’s going to come true.”

“You’re right. I am jealous. Hey, if you can, give him a kiss on the cheek for me. Just don’t tell Horace. He’s the jealous type too.”

Wednesday came quickly. Tanya landed in LA the day before. She spent a nice day with Tom, Becky, and the grandkids, then went to sleep early. She didn’t sleep much. She was in deep anticipation of the next day. Tom dropped her off at the studio in the morning and told her he’s be back at five to take her back the airport.

“Hello, Ms. Sawyer.”

Tanya looked up see the show’s producer, Bob Bidnus, extending his hand. “Hello.” she replied.

Bob took her to a dressing room, where she was made up, and where she met the other two winners for the day. The whole experience was a whirlwind of activity, but Tanya kept her composure. She wanted to be cool and collected when she met George.

At exactly eleven o’clock, Biff Boufont, the aging emcee, entered the studio and took his place at his desk. Biff looked good for his age, and Tanya rightfully guessed his youthful looks were the results of extensive plastic surgeries and hair plugs. Tanya also surmised that Biff used enough bleach on his teeth to fill the pool back at the Wander In Resort where she lived.

“Let’s get this show started.” Biff announced. The three contestants took their seats on the stage. They received last minute directions from Bob. Tanya was nervous, but also excited knowing that she would meet George in a few short minutes.

“Here we go.” said Bob. “Five, four three . . . “, he said, using his fingers to count down the seconds. When he reached one, Biff took over.

“Hello America, and welcome to ‘Your Dreams Come True’. I’m your host, Biff, Boufont, and today, we have three eager people who will all get their dreams answered. Stick around. We’ll be back after a word from our sponsor.”

Before the show started, Tanya drew the shortest straw, and had to go last. She sat upright and kept a smile on her face as she watched the first contestant, Lois Langberger, from Feline Heights, Minnesota, feed and cuddle an imposter cat who she swore was Morris the Cat. Lois was a cat lover at heart, and Morris had been her hero ever since he stared in 9Lives cat food commercials in the 1970s. Lois was in Heaven until Buzz, the cat who looked like Morris, coughed up a hairball on Lois’ lap then ran from the stage. A commercial break followed.

Next up, Zachariah, an eighty-something, burned out hippie from Seattle, recounted his love for the Puget Punks, one of the first grunge bands to come out of Seattle. Zachariah, whose real name was Harvey Hackmore, always dreamed of jamming with Seth, the lead singer and guitarist from the Puget Punks. When Seth’s name was announced, Seth walked on; really he stumbled onto the stage, carrying an out-of-tune, and badly damaged Silvertone guitar. Zach’s dream was soon shattered when he realized Seth was quite stoned and couldn’t remember any of his big hits with the Punks. Seth sang a couple of incomprehensible songs that Zach had never heard, but tried to hum. Another commercial break arrived.

Tanya finally got her chance. Biff asked her about her dream. Tanya looked straight into the camera and told the audience how much she adored George Clooney and how much she loved her morning cup of coffee, and how her life would be complete if she could sit down with George and enjoy a cup of hot, delicious coffee with him.

Biff announced, “Well Tanya. Today is your lucky day. Your dream is about to be answered. It just so happens that George is in town filming his next movie. Let’s have him meet you. George . . . ?”

The curtain flung open and George Clooney stepped into the stage, pulling a cart with a shiny, new espresso maker. He smiled to Tanya with his friendly smile, teeth whiter than Casper the Ghost. “It’s so wonderful to meet you, Tanya.” George said, as he motioned for her to join him.

Tanya had a look of confusion on her face as she approached George. “Well, you’re a lot taller than I thought. And you have more hair then last time I saw you on TV. But it looks nice, and pretty real too.”

George kept smiling as he tried to figure Tanya out. “Well, Tanya, Thank you for that. You ready for coffee. I just happen to have a Perspresso machine, and I’ll make you the perfect cup of espresso.”

George made two perfect espressos with the Perspresso, handed one to Tanya, and then invited her to sit on the couch with him. Tanya still looked a little confused, but thanked George for the espresso, and remarked, “I’ve watched all your shows on TV. Remember when you tried to save the whale who had a golf ball in his blowhole?”

Now it was George’s turn to look confused. “I’ve never saved a whale. I did save Gotham city from Mr. Freeze.”

Tanya looked stunned, and hadn’t started on her espresso. “But I know that was you who came up with cotton uniforms for the Yankees. That was so funny when it started to rain. I thought Steinbrenner would . . . “.

George cut in. “Ma’am. I’m not sure who you’re referring to. I hate the Yankees. But maybe you saw me in Leatherheads. That’s a football movie.”

Tanya was becoming angry with George. “You’re starting to burst my bubble. Just like you did to that poor little boy in the bubble. It’s a good thing Jerry and Elaine came to the rescue.”

George lost it. He grabbed the cup of espresso from Tanya’s hand and chided her. “Costanza! Costanza! You have the wrong George, lady. He’s the short, fat, balding George and I’m the tall, handsome one. He’s on NBC. Their studio is down the street.”

With that, George Clooney grabbed the cart with the Perspresso machine and scurried off the stage. Tanya looked up at Biff and said, “Well, I like the other George better. I bet he makes good coffee, and not that espresso shit.”

Thursday morning, Tanya and Henrietta sat in the bistro at Wander In and laughed about Tanya’s encounter with her dream. “I don’t know how I confused the two. I watched every Jerry Seinfeld episode. I really wanted to have coffee with Jerry. That is, until I saw him throw a chair across the stage once. What a bad temper he has.”

Henrietta smiled at her friend and said, “Maybe it’s time to stop dreaming and just live your life in the present.”

Saturday found Horace and Grant at the pickleball courts. Grant worked the previous Friday night dance and stayed late to help clean up. He slept in until close to ten, and didn’t make it to the courts until noon. Friday night dances took their toll on Grant, especially when the band was hot and Gloria was in a dancing mood. Even though Grant worked, Gloria snagged him more than a few times to dance.

Between games, while waiting for open courts, Grant told Horace about the craziness of the previous evening. “Last night sure was busy” Grant said.

“I heard they set a record. This morning, Tim, the Dance Committee leader, told me he’d never seen so many people jammed on the dance floor all at once.” Horace replied.

“When the band played the booty scooty song, I thought a fight would break out between the regular dancers and those out-of-control line dancers. I was ready to lay down a wager on the line dancers. They sure did look determined.”

Horace smiled. “It’s worse on County and Western Night. I always say, ‘Don’t be messin’ when the bunkins are two-steppin’.”

Someone called Horace and Grant’s names and they trotted off to a court for a game. They lost to a couple of young guys and were back on the sidelines in ten minutes.

“Who invited those young punks to come play here?” Grant asked. “They should go play where they live.”

“Sorry to inform you, Grant, but they live here. And they’re in their sixties.”

Grant grumbled, and then changed the subject. “Back to the dance last night. Guess who showed up? Rich Cazayu. He was there with his wife, all dressed up real flashy and glitzy?”

“You mean the financial advisor?” Horace asked.

“You know him?”

“Not really. But he gave a talk for the Wander In Social Club a few weeks ago. It was all about how to protect your assets, in other words, your retirement savings, by giving it all to him.”

Grant nodded. “Yeah, him. I remember now. He was dressed up all rich and wanted us to think that if we give him our money, we’d all become rich too. Anyway, I dealt with him last night. I was selling raffle tickets and strolled by his table. I saw him sitting there looking all snooty and such. And his wife looked like she was getting ready to have an interview with Robin Leach.”

“Except Robin died a few years ago.” Horace interjected.

Grant continued. “I thought she was wearing the Hope Diamond, but when I looked closer, I realized it was way too small to be the Hope Diamond. Anyway, I asked him if he wanted to buy some tickets. I told him they cost five bucks for eight tickets. He opened his wallet and pulled out this huge ol’ wad of cash. But all he had was four one-dollar bills and a bunch of fifties and hundreds. And I didn’t have change for bills that big.”

“What did you do?” Horace asked.

Grant pulled a dollar bill from his pocket. “I had this dollar in my pocket. I took it out and handed it to him so he could buy eight tickets. He gave me back my dollar with his four and I peeled off eight tickets. He thanked me and shoved his wallet back into his pocket while Mrs. Glitz and Gliimmer grabbed the tickets.”

“That sure was nice of you.” Horace said.

“And guess what? He wins. Two hundred bucks. When Tim called his number, his wife, smiling like the Cheshire Cat, jumped up like a hen on a hotplate, sashayed up to the front waving her jewelry all around and grabbed the winnings.”

Horace remarked. “Well, I guess it was her lucky day.”

“Here’s the worst part.” Grant said. “A few minutes later, I strolled by again and congratulated him for winning. In my mind, I was thinking that since I gave him my dollar, and that my dollar could have bought the winning ticket, and that one in five is twenty percent, and that twenty percent of two-hundred bucks is forty bucks, that maybe he’d realize that, since he’s obviously a numbers person, and give me forty bucks.”

“Did he?” Horace asked.

“Nope. I don’t think we was going to give me anything. But his wife said he should give me my dollar back and he did. So they went home with a hundred and ninety-nine dollar profit, all from possibly using my money.”

“Well, that sounds about right for a financial advisor.”

“Yep.” Grant said. “I think I’ll keep my money right where it is. I’ve wisely invested it, and it’s safe and sound.”

Just then, one of the two young guys who beat Horace and Grant earlier called their names. “You ready to lose again?” he smirked.

Grant reached into the pocket and pulled out the dollar bill. “A buck says we kick your butts this game.”

Horace looked up and shook his head. “I don’t think that’s such wise investing. But it sure is a better bet than forty dollars. Let’s play.”