Upon arriving in Mr. C's room, imagine my surprise to find him sitting on the edge of his bed...alone...no intruder to be found anywhere...glaring at me.
"Dad, what the heck! Are you alright?"
"Can I get a drink around here?"
"Can I get a drink around here? You're screaming profanities in the middle of the night for a drink? Open your fridge, man!"
At this point, I am tired, now crabby and ready to go back to bed. I get him his drink, and no I did not spit in it, and headed back to bed.
An hour later, what do you think happened? The old man is banging on our bedroom door, howling at the top of his lungs. Bob and I both jumped out of bed and ran for the door.
"Bob, there's a bunch of damn ghosts in there! They're having a party. I can't even get down the hall there's so many of em."
"Dad, you had a nightmare. There's no ghosts. You're ok."
"Bob, don't say nightmare. You'll give him ideas."
"Ideas? I think he already has ideas!"
So, Bob went back to bed, I led the ghostbuster back to his room, got him tucked in and headed back to my room.
Over the next few hours, I was summoned to King Charles' room twice more. Once to tell "the guy" standing outside he did not want to have a drink. He was tired and wanted to sleep. The last time, to discuss why all those damn people kept coming into his room to party. He wanted me to know he was especially disgusted with the old movie stars that were showing up. In his words, "I know these people, and I didn't like them then and I don't want them here now. You can tell them that for me!"
Now, I don't know about you, but if old, dead, movie stars kept showing up for a party in my room all night, I would not be as understanding as my dad.
Clark Gable, you have been warned!