I’ve been flying this baby a couple of times each week for years.”The couple were still apprehensive about using a seaplane, but they had come thi... far; time to suck it up and soldier on. Charles finished pushing the cart to the entry door. Al asked them to pass him the bags and he’d stow them in an available spot.Al invited them on board. “I’ve got the co-pilots seat and a folding jump seat up front, or you can use the folding seats here on the bulkhead. I’m sorry the comfortable seats aren’t. From the song “Fancy” by Bobbie Gentry (1969) & Reba Mcintire (1991)Prologue (Here’s your one chance Fancy)Time: 1930s depression era Louisiana Place: One room shack on the outskirts of New OrleansMiss Fancy Mae Devereux sat in an oversized galvanized washtub trying her best to scrape and scour the humiliating filth of poverty from her flawless, alabaster flesh. From the corner of her eye she could see her sickly, coughing mother slaving away ironing every wrinkled crease from a satin dancing. His suit was obviously expensive, well tailored and fit as it was designed; Paul Smith, she thought.Jean appraised him, judging his age to be around middle forties. His brown leather shoes that complimented the rest of his garb were polished to a high shine, almost patent in lustre.She realised he was smiling with an enigmatic lift of one corner of his sensuous mouth. Small creases at the edge of his eyes gave rise to the supposition he might smile often. Jean realised his smile was directed at. I head over to my car and pull the cables out of the trunk as he pulls his truck in front of me. He pops his hood, but isn’t getting out to help. ‘What a gentleman,’ I think to myself as I hook up the cables. ‘I can’t believe this asshole isn’t even going to get out and help.’ I have everything hooked up and get back into my car. I figure this will work as it has dozens of times before and turn the key. Nothing. I can’t believe this. I turn it again and again but nothing is happening. I get.