tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-61559572970555947692024-03-21T03:47:13.213-05:00storeezeUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger30125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6155957297055594769.post-18894603461197849092024-02-27T01:42:00.018-06:002024-03-09T02:01:43.248-06:00The Dazzler<span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /><br />The girls left for Columbia,<br />Tired looks on their faces. <br />I turned out the lights, <br />Put my head on the pillow. <br /><br />I heard breathing. <br />The dazzler from the Maple Leaf <br />Was hot on me <br />In her thin-knit top. <br /><br />Her mouth was moving,<br />“Stay in my music baby, <br />“Stay in the music.” <br />I could hardly breathe. <br /><br />I shifted with a rush of adrenalin— <br />She slid off. <br />All was still. <br />No spirits to commune.<br /></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6155957297055594769.post-79770261288226221192023-12-14T01:30:00.000-06:002024-02-05T04:54:39.636-06:00Starbucks<div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">I threw a tantrum at Starbucks today</span></div><div><div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: large;">The barista put foam on my latte.</span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: large;">I clearly ordered it without</span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: large;">Written right on the cup.</span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: large;">I told her she was stupid.</span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: large;">“Fire her,” I told the manager.</span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">By the end of my tantrum</span></div><div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: large;">She was sobbing in the backroom.</span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: large;">The manager apologized and</span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: large;">Personally made me a new drink</span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: large;">To calm me down.</span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: large;">I took it and accepted his apology.</span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">I must go back and beg her forgiveness,</span></div><div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: large;">I haven’t had a shower in three days.</span></span></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6155957297055594769.post-58560492216617448122023-12-04T14:40:00.004-06:002024-03-09T01:24:02.895-06:00Bell, Book and Candle<div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"></span></div><blockquote><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Neither do men light a candle, and put it under a bushel, but on a candlestick; and it giveth light unto all that are in the house.—King James Bible, 1611, Matthew, 5:15.</span></div></blockquote><p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"> </span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Inasmuch as the recent events surrounding the Lady Arlene (if that indeed is her real name) are not widely known, I have attempted a rude and hasty account from marginal notes, eyewitness accounts and a late edition of the Creve Coeur Crier.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">The first indication of something amiss was a no-show for a four o'clock showing of The Favourite, a film illuminated by candles, for it seems that on the previous night, she had been resting under a canopy in her handsome, four poster bed after the day’s entertainments.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">The Crier did not state if she had recently drawn unknown persons to her baits or excited any passions, but one thing is certain—as of late, she had been much taken by a new cleansing ritual, touted by a talk show host with Axis pretensions, utilizing a regimen of pulverized kale enemas (not recommended). When she wasn’t running to the bathroom, she was reading Madame Bovary from a Steegmuller translation, endeavouring to recapture the glow she had long sought since her commonly courted youth and stroking Jack, her portly black cat, who took delight nesting in the crook of her belly.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">The last thing anyone wants to hear when in bed is an unfamiliar noise. Most of the time it would be nothing, but at what point should she trust her instincts when a sharp pop interrupted her erstwhile peaceful evening with Jack? Currents of unease began rippling through her until she sought fit to cast Jack from her bed and arise to see what, if anything was the matter.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Lamentations! A candle that she had left unattended in a bell jar had exploded, setting the TV over the fireplace ablaze in a shroud of flame. Naturally, she was undone by the mayhem: “What have I done to my house?” Not given to panic, she ran into the kitchen to fetch a pail of water and splashed it onto the lusty flames, which only encouraged them more. Was she not cognizant of EPA Regulation 103.45A.2?</span></div><blockquote><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Whosoever shall throw water on a fire of an electrical nature shall be shocked or electrocuted, for water is a conductor of electricity, and an excellent substance to do so, that it may encourage fire to course freely and ignite flammable materials attendant thereof.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"></div></blockquote><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Seeing that her house was filling with smoke and her living room was fast becoming Nebuchadnezzar's fiery furnace, she dialed in haste and spake thus unto the receiver, "9-0-4-1-0 Midrash Terrace."</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">"Thank you for calling the J. We are closed at the present time and will reopen tomorrow morning at eight o’clock. At the tone, please leave your message. Anti-Semitic calls are presently taken by the Chicago FBI at 303-225-2324. Others may choose to donate to Christians United for Israel."</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">At that, she came to her senses and realized that she had dialed wrong, and again beheld the fire. Though it was exceedingly hot, she sought out her cat in a vain attempt which was likely to be her greatest danger. “Jack-Jack, where are you? You gotta get outta here!”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Taking heed unto herself once more, she this time dialed correctly and saith unto the emergency dispatcher, “Jack has not come hither, what shall I do?”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">The dispatcher severely chastised her, “Ye must immediately go forth or ye shall be a dead woman! Forsake Jack and start running!! I shall bring forth the fire department.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Forthwith and thinly clad, she bolted from the ravishing flames and stood shivering and alone on the tarmac of her driveway on a cold January night, for her neighbors were afraid and kept their own counsel. Before she could comprehend the trauma and plot her next move, Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego arrived, bells clanging and sirens wailing.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">After pleading with them to rescue Jack, the burly men in boots, hats and hoses slew the raging inferno and handed the feline unto her saying, “Regard us, for did we not rescue Jack from the conflagration? For he was wise beyond his years, hiding under a box, that neither soot nor ash would blemish his coat.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Alas, the living room had been made a dunghill, but the burly men had not a hair of their head singed, neither were their coats changed, nor had the smell of fire passed onto them.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Soon servants of the Chaldeans issued forth to assess the damage and discover what it would cost them in moneys. The Lady Arlene was cast into exile and left in an unfamiliar hotel of suites until the Chaldeans could restore her home to its original, unkempt condition.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">As always, the lessons drawn from a singular event are all too common, but one can at least search for something, a grain of wisdom or a morsel of wit:</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"></span></div><blockquote><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Ring the bell, close the book and quench the candle.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"></div></blockquote><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: .5in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0.5in 0in 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large; text-indent: 0.5in;"></span></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6155957297055594769.post-24481868053738514952023-10-05T23:51:00.008-05:002024-03-10T22:21:15.115-05:00The Ladder Salesman<div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">I usually ignore my answering machine for hours, sometimes days, but when I heard, “It’s urgent,” I thought better. After all, it was kind of urgent the day she mentioned that her boyfriend of seven years had shot himself in the head. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: times;">This time it was two tickets at the Fox. </span><span style="font-family: times;">“Don’t you want to see Johnny Mathis?” </span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“No thanks.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Come on,” she said.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“I’m not in the mood.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Please?”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Why did you wait to the last minute?”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Well . . . nobody else could go.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">She needed someone to go with her since her brand-new car is, and always will be, asking for someone else to drive it. Of course, she’s blind in one eye and can’t see out of the other, especially when drinking.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Don’t you want to see Johnny again?” she said in her plaintive tone.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“He is 80. I guess maybe I should before he doesn’t come back. I’ll drive.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Do you have something really cute? A girl can never tell who she might run into when she’s downtown.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Mm-hmm. Yeah, actually.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“We need to hurry. Be over at my house by 6:30. You’re gonna love Johnny.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">I was in her driveway fourteen minutes early. To have a roof over your head, a nice roof, is very important. Of course, she has a lot more ground than I do. Lots of ground and statues everywhere. The other side of her garage has reindeer, Xmas stuff, and things she hasn’t looked at, piled to the roof. She takes the reindeer out every year though, and their lighted heads move around looking at all the statues, including David and the two lions. The lions are another story. Don’t get me started on the lions.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Phoning from my car, “Are we ready yet?”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“I'm getting out of the shower. Can’t you come in and wait?”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“All right.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">She never turns a light on. Hates to use electricity or whatever, but hey, you don’t need light to down the best champagne all day long.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Oh my God. I love your outfit.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Let’s goooo.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">The train rolls and it wasn’t easy, due to all the trees and shrubbery hugging the driveway. While I’m craning my neck to see around the bushes to get onto the street—number one, the dead-ex who shot himself, isn’t around to cut the foliage away anymore—she laments that boyfriend number three disappeared last week. “I really miss him. You know we were together for four months. I couldn't believe how good he was. Ten hours all night long.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: times;">I wondered why I hadn’t heard from her. </span><span style="font-family: times;">“Better than number two?”</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“No one’s ever been like that with me,” she says.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">I knew number one. He had planted trees, removed bushes and changed the statues in her yard. They weighed a ton—try picking up Michelangelo’s David. One day, he was supposed to be cleaning the pool when she looked out the window and saw him lying down on the job. She came out to the backyard screaming “Lazy!” and only stopped when she noticed he was sleeping a bit too soundly. After they took him away, she complained about the hole where his head was and now that had to be filled in.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">I knew number two pretty well, too. It seemed to me she took him out to dinners a lot. He would come over and we'd all get together around the pool. He would party in the backyard with his cigar while number one was working inside the house. Number one probably knew she was flirting with number two but he didn’t seem to care. They were all friends; they would all go out together, probably on her dime. Number two was going to move in after number one was gone, but now he’s gone—cancer. She never even called me. I heard it happened pretty quick.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">And now she misses number three so much. “Did you have an argument or what?”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“No, nothing like that. He understood me so well.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">They were soul mates on the same wavelength. He knew everything about her, unconditional love, yada yada yada. It was hard to believe any of this, but ok. “You mean all this time you’ve been with him and never had it so good and all of a sudden, one day, for no good reason, he disappears?”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Oh, yes. He thought it was great and everything, but he disappeared anyway,” she replies.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“What do you think it was? Maybe he needed a little space to breathe.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“He wanted to marry me. We were going to get married!”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“After four months?”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“We knew.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">She said it with such emotion that anything was possible. And the money doesn’t matter, right? After all she’s so rich, she can save the world like Trump. But then there’s a little hint of something else. “My friends don’t understand why I would go for a ladder salesman.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“That shouldn’t matter. They can make a lot of money, right, huh?”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">So, the whole way downtown she talked about their great conversations and sex until I let her out in front of the diner so she wouldn’t have to walk. (Her bad hip got us past the long lines at the airport on our trip to Greece.) I parked three blocks away on a busy night and came back to witness a large glass of wine sitting on the bar in front of her. It was very crowded, and she was getting agitated waiting for a seat: “We should have gone to Dooley’s.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Remember the last time we were there? The food was terrible. You want to start that up again?”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Where are my pills?” She tried to flag the waiter, a tall young man with a red carnation in his buttonhole who was ignoring us. Finally, they called her name. As soon as we sat down, the waiter was at our elbow with the bread and water. There was a smugness there. “Now here we are ladies. Welcome to Stage Left. I’m Wade. I’ll be your server.” She wanted a second glass of wine. I stared him down. Read my lips, no more wine. She orders a chili dog with cheese and onions and a cup of chili for me.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Back to boyfriend number three. “My friends think he’s ugly. Do you want to see his picture?” Sure enough, number three was uglier than number one and two put together. But then, love’s blind and she’s half-way. “By the way, I bought a ladder from him.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">The waiter returns and distributes the goods: chili, and a chili dog which was veeerrry long. She eats two bites and belches. She always does that, and I always think, <i>why didn’t we split it?</i> But no, she wanted it all. (We both got sick later that night and the next day our tummies were hurting.)</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">When I asked her why she bought a ladder, she said she didn’t have an immediate use for it. She has a new car on one side of her garage that she doesn’t have any immediate use for either. Same color and style as mine, but newer. That ladder must’ve been made from gold because it cost her $500.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">The waiter is back, looking to see that everybody is eating. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“When were you born, Wade?” she asks.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“November the 8th.” </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">She whispers breathlessly, “He’s a queen of clubs. He has dark spots from his past.” </span><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: large;">The waiter lays the bill on the table and tops off the water, leaving his thumbprint on the inside of her glass.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Oh shit! Snub-nosed Carol comes over from the other side of the room and things got progressively weirder. “What are you doing here?” she says to me.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“You know what I’m doing here; the same thing you’re doing here. We’re all going to the same place. Where’s your husband?”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“At home.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">I shut up because I know what she was going to say next, as if that was the most important bit of info I would get that day, and it happened. “I know your sister’s phone number: 8-6-7-5-3-0-9.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Repetition can be so repetitive or is it <i>sometimers</i>?</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Anyway, Carol, we gotta get to the Fox.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">We get to the Fox five minutes before Johnny goes on and manage to get past the ticket counter into the seats. Naturally, she had the best seats in the house.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">We didn’t have too much to talk about while we waited for the chatter to die down and the singing to start. I got a reprieve because she was enraptured with Johnny’s song about true love ninety-nine miles away. I’m sure she was thinking about her ladder salesman, but he was much further than that.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">At intermission, the truth comes out! They had been talking four months on the phone, ten hours a day. She works so hard all day. How can she talk on the phone at the same time? She was pouring her heart out to him until the last weekend when they met in person. How could she not fall in love?</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">The ladder salesman stayed for a week, talking all that time to get acquainted, before the last night, the night they had such good sex. ‘Course she couldn’t go into the details, but I could only imagine the energy and the variety of life coming from the bag full of vibrators and toys that Santa had brought for the wonderful night ahead of them. Then, poof! He took his ladder and toys and went home. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">She was devastated.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">I go to the restroom and come back to see she has another drink with peanuts in a gold bag which cost much more than it should have, like the ladder or the gutter guy, who cleans out her leaves which are abundant because of all the trees and stuff. (I’m forgetting my little weeping cherry tree that she trumped by planting two.)</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Soon the thrall of Johnny was over, the lights went up and she was off the wall because we had to walk all the way across this gigantic room to get out of the building. Her voice got louder and louder. Complained more and more. I couldn’t run and hide: “Shut up already. People are staring at us,” fueling more anger. She was shouting by the time we got to the side door. “Where’s the car?”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“We have to walk to the car.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“I can’t”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“You're a little too big for me to carry. Do you want to sit down here on the steps and wait till I get the car?”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“You’re making it impossible. I’ll walk, but my feet freaking hurt.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Do they?”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“They’re killing me.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Just try not to fall before we get you into the car.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">She kept complaining as she hobbled along. At the last few feet she says, “I can’t believe how long we’ve been walking.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Three minutes and twenty-nine seconds. It’s right around the corner. Do you want to stop here? I’ll back the car if you can’t make it.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“No, I’ll manage.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">A month went by and the bomb drops—a text message on her phone. She calls me, “Why the hell did his ex-wife’s sister have to tell me there’s a baby on the way between him and her? How could he do such a thing?” </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">It’s hard to find answers for things like that. “Darling, remember this: no matter what a ladder salesman does to a woman, she will eventually come out on top.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">So that sealed the deal or shut the door on him. For all they’d been through, she couldn’t believe a ladder salesman would do this. Just like a man, eh? After all, he was such an excellent long-distance therapist till he came, he conquered and was gone.</span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6155957297055594769.post-61824320765189635112023-08-24T01:30:00.001-05:002024-02-16T18:00:11.745-06:00Betty Blue<div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">I cracked her door on a wintry day—</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Waist-high rotting piles</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Spread beyond all hope.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">We drove away with a crooked mouth,</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Her eyes on me like a galliard tree,</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Descanting Ulysses, Joyce and more.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Read me sad poems, she softly said,</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Crystals, rings and virgin parchments</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">I have seen all these.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Late, I brought her home and</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">She held me close with an opera she knew—</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Pratzel’s closes at two!</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">What the hell!</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">She fell down dead,</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Day after Christmas.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">I ate a bagel this morning.</span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6155957297055594769.post-28538186736803689652023-08-24T01:00:00.001-05:002024-03-12T13:08:53.265-05:00Betty Blue Notes<div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: times;">Woman who lived, died a recluse will be mourned By </span><a href="mailto:bmcclellan@post-dispatch.com" style="font-family: times;">Bill McClellan</a></span></div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><div style="text-align: justify;">ST. LOUIS POST-DISPATCH</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Sunday, Jan. 07 2007</div> <div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">"She is wearing rags and feathers from Salvation Army counters, and the sun pours down like honey on our lady of the harbor."</div> <div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">— Leonard Cohen from "Suzanne"</div> <div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Most of Betty Wynn's bed was covered with trash, but there was a little corner in which she could lie down. That was all she needed. She was not concerned about the things that concern most people.</div> <div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">On the day after Christmas, her brother, Sam Lachterman, got up first. He is 85 years old, six years younger than his sister. He has long white hair, an unkempt white beard. He has a doctorate in mathematics, and he never married. He has lived with his sister most of his life. He was in the kitchen when he heard her call out from the room that had once been a dining room.</div> <div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">She was on the floor, which was, as always, hidden under mounds of trash. He almost stepped on her. Then she rolled over on her side and he saw her. He tried to help her, but after a while, he decided she was dead. He called 911.</div> <div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">The EMS crew must have been shocked when they entered the house. It's not a fancy-looking place, but it's in a nice section of Olivette. How best to describe the mess inside? Betty, who really did wear rags and feathers and had almost no middle-class sensibilities, would not let friends enter the house. She did not want people to see its condition.</div> <div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">The EMS crew put Betty on a stretcher and rushed her to St. John's Mercy Medical Center, where she was declared dead. Sam had ridden along in the ambulance, and a social worker told him he would not be allowed to return to the house. It is being condemned, she said. Was there a friend with whom he could stay? she asked.</div> <div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">He tried to think. He and his sister are widely known, especially around Washington University. For years, they have attended lectures, recitals and other events at which food is served. They were once banned from the university — they had been living in a car on a university parking lot — but sympathetic faculty intervened and pointed out that both Betty and Sam were Wash U. graduates. They were strange, yes, but they were part of the fabric of the university, their sympathizers argued. The administration relented, and the ban was lifted.</div> <div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Well-known though he was, Sam had a hard time thinking of a name to give the social worker. Sam is not a gregarious sort. He was an instructor at Washington University while working toward his doctorate, and he was a professor at St. Louis University from 1964 to 1974, but he has not worked since. He went to events with his sister, but it was mostly Betty who talked to people.</div> <div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">She was, by the way, a great conversationalist. Maybe it had something to do with the lectures she had attended over the years, but she was able to talk about almost anything, and she did so with great enthusiasm. The breadth of her knowledge seemed almost shocking because of her appearance. She wore old and mismatched clothes, and she carried things in shopping bags.</div> <div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Sam finally thought of a name. Pat Zollner.</div> <div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Pat has been an office worker at Washington University for 20 years. When asked how she had met Betty, she shrugged. "She found me." Pat may be the only person Betty had let enter the house, and even then, it was only in emergencies. When the phone quit working — Betty suspected rats had gnawed through the wires — Betty was afraid to let a repairman see the house, and so she called Pat. When Sam fell and hurt himself several weeks ago, Betty called Pat.</div> <div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">On the morning of Betty's death, a social worker called Pat. She went to the hospital. She took Sam to her home.</div> <div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">The house in Olivette was declared unfit for human occupancy. Pat and a friend, Bud Deraps, started a massive cleanup. They filled a trailer with trash. They've gotten a second trailer. When house is cleaned up, Sam intends to hire an electrician and a plumber and get the house habitable.</div> <div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">But how will he get along without Betty? She was the one who more easily related to the outside world. When the city tried to force them to remove a dead tree from the backyard five years ago, it was Betty who went to court and argued that the tree was really art. She won. Now Sam will have to more directly confront the world.</div> <div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">I stopped at his house one evening last week. Pat and a friend were hauling out trash. Sam and I talked. He said he knew things would be difficult without Betty, but he said he was eager to be back in his house. "I think of it as a refuge from the authorities," he said.</div> <div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Friends will hold a memorial for Betty on Jan. 18 in the lounge at the George Warren Brown School of Social Work. Betty graduated from that school in 1936.</div></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6155957297055594769.post-24123762990301878102023-05-01T21:15:00.005-05:002024-03-10T01:50:33.536-06:00Jay<div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">The brass came by, proclaiming their message of war. “When the NVA pounces, we’ll dump air and arty on him and wipe him out.” Lt. Martinez, a veteran presence with four years in-country, didn’t share the line. Martinez was of a mind that you had to be a little smarter than to raise a baiting operation in the Dog’s Head. He spoke with amused vehemence as if he understood everything from the beginning. “Firebases are not a good place. No real cover, no room to maneuver, no chance to flank the other side.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">I was wordless, wondering if the general staff will be in control, making smart decisions as the situation develops, though my immediate fear was an attack before Jay was hardened.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">After the last-light patrol sallied forth, it was time to wrap. Col. Hannas, who was not above taking point, was there to check our night readiness like a good neighbor. He eyed Thumper (my M79 grenade launcher):</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Are you ready to go, son?”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Yes, sir.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“It’s damn hot.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Yes, sir.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Do you need anything?”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“No, sir.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Notice anything in the bush?”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“No, sir.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“I like your attitude. Show me what you can do.” He pointed a hundred yards downwind. “See that fifteen-foot tree out there? Put a 79’er as close as you can.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">The sight on Thumper was adios long ago (one less item to catch in the bush). "Screw it." I loaded a grenade into the breach, closed the barrel, gritted my teeth and used dead reckoning on a fifteen-foot tree standing erect at the edge of the wood. PHOOT. A direct hit ripped out a four-inch chunk, sending bark and wood high in the air.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Forgettaboutit!”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">[monster applause]</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Well, you can't get any closer!”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Those in the woods were taking notes.</span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6155957297055594769.post-77441132080791675502023-03-12T20:16:00.009-05:002024-03-20T01:17:34.255-05:00Jamie<div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“The great question is: How can we win America's peace?”—Richard Nixon, Address to the Nation on the War (November 3, 1969)</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">J. R. and I hopped on the world stage when we walked down the steps of a Flying Tiger 707 at Cam Ranh Bay, a humongous seaside base, 180 miles NE of Saigon. No flowers or open arms, just “You are now in the Republic of Viet Nam.” Commies weren't coming for us, we were coming for them. Neither poets nor conquerors, we were gonna make a statement, even a bad one. Funny people, strange smells, nothing I could have invented. The weather was nice.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">A jeep drove us to a two-story barracks. We shared a blank room on a floor with fifty other guys, picked out beds from scattered empties, and lived out of duffel bags. Each morning after chow, the guys in the barracks lined up outside in roll call formation. A bitch box (bullhorn) called out names. Done for the day, if yours didn't come up. Night-time, we climbed a fifty-foot tower to pull guard with no ammo! They trusted us about as much as the VC.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Cam Ranh goes back a ways. The Russian fleet operated it in 1905. The French used it as a naval base during their colonial days. The Japanese Navy exploited it in WWII. Their spooky concrete pillboxes stare out over the water like heads on Easter Island. The U.S. redeveloped Cam as an air, army and naval base: a pair of 10,000-foot runways, a deep-water port, large stores of ammo and petroleum—an open invitation to the enemy to die for, which they often did.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">War zone or Twilight Zone, Vietnam wasn’t so bad. Gen. Sherman said ‘War is hell’, but once we settled in, we didn’t want to leave. For the first time in months, we were free from the constraints of daily life. In the morning, we lazed on the sugar-white beach and swam in the warm South China Sea; the sky was blue and the water wet. At the afternoon hop, Asian cats and half-naked foxes did a decent job covering American songs with their accents. Why did they always pick Leaving on a Jet Plane or Green, Green Grass of Home that made us homesick? The traditional Thanksgiving feast with turkey and all the trimmings. It felt very, very good, like home, until a rude voice called our names at the morning formation:</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“You are assigned to C Company, 2nd Battalion, 7th Cavalry of the 1st Cavalry Division currently situated at Fire Support Base Jamie. Get your gear and report back at 1400 hours. May God rest your souls.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">May God rest our souls?</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Vacation was over. J. R. and I were picked up in a jeep and escorted to a chopper for our first lift. We climbed in and took seats in the back. The turbine whined higher, the rotor did its thrumming, the nose dipped and we peeled away, flying southwest 170 miles to Bien Hoa for a day of indoctrination and abseil—climbing a tower and rappelling down to simulate bailing out of a chopper with a rope. My harness was attached to a rope with a D-ring which squeezed my gut so hard I thought for a minute that the rude voice would be right after all. Afterwards, I hid the ring in my backpack. Never needed it again, thank God.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">The next day we piled into the back of a combat Huey—a door gunner manning a free gun (an M60 hanging from a bungee cord) out an open door on each side. I belted myself into an armored fold-down seat in the cargo bay and nailed my feet to the floor. From fifteen hundred feet (safe enough?) I looked down on rice paddies, farmland and bush. My spirits were high: I was in battle dress holding my M16, the enemy was nowhere. Dreamy, beautiful country passed beneath until I eyed a gritty hundred-yard oval enclosed by concertina wire.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Jamie was the home of artillerists and a small support crew of engineers, cooks, and medics, twenty miles north of Tay Ninh City in the middle of the jungle, seventy miles from Saigon, five miles from the Ho Chi Minh Trail. The isolated compound had a lot less to offer than Cam—a gross understatement! A battery of 105 and 155 howitzers and a mortar section lay in the center, protected by sandbags and wooden ammo boxes filled with dirt. No gate, just a mess tent, an aid station, a tactical operations center and a com bunker. Everything dusty and dirty from chopper blow-by—too primitive for my tastes.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Up until the chopper stuck a landing, the war had been a curiosity. The lights were on now; we were playing army for real. J. R. and I were the new members of Charlie Company, a line outfit staked here to provide round-the-clock security. Wow! This is where I work? It seemed more like a hippie commune: bandanas, beards, flip-flops, no one in charge.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">I was assigned to 2nd platoon. After Bob Jackson, Sam Kuehn, and Bobby Parris introduced themselves as my squad members, a long, lean face stalked forward, put the spotlight on me and burst out, “Yo! A new citizen!”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">He wiped his face with a towel. “What's yer ideas ’bout killin?”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">I looked at him with astonishment. He drew on a cigarette and gave me a mystical smile. “Well, son, ya gotta do your thing and get you som’ gooks while yer here. Get this war over. Gooks dun’ mean nuthin."</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">‘Son’? I was the same age as he was, both of us older than most.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Gooks won't bother you none. Let's find some gooks and we'll kill 'em.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">No beads and sandals for this one.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Guess you could say it's a job to do, that's all. Dun' mean nuthin. Maybe you get killed or kill him. Better off him than me, any day. You see a dead gook, it dun' mean nuthin. Only time you really feel anything is when you see a G. I. messed up. Then sorta hurts you.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">He was dishing this to someone whose name he didn’t know. Was this 140 pounds of fury bullshitting? He left as abruptly as he came. My newfound mates </span><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: times;">organized my pack and got rid of stuff (still much too heavy)</span><span style="font-family: times;">:</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Looks like we found a new point man!”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Where you from, cherry boy?”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Minnesota.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Min-e-so-dah? Min-e-so-DAH get you killed.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Bobby, tell him how Killer got his name.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Killer?” I said.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Dunnuck. Sgt. Dunnuck from Virginia, you were talkin’ to. Smelled two gooks swimmin’ in a crater, tossed frags and blew ‘em away with 16.” (I found that immensely interesting, but I doubt they were anywhere near where it supposedly happened.)</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Dunnuck’s a head. You don’ talk with the man. You listen.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Where’s your piece? Walkin’ point’s where the action is.” </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">They were so pleased about me taking the lead, that I imagined myself in the middle of a highway with a bulls-eye painted on my chest. </span><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;"> </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: large;">CS Mike was riding around in a junky jeep, firing bursts from his M134 Gatling gun into the woods at 4000 rounds a minute with a great sense of style. He caught me downwind when he sent CS (tear gas) toward the woods. Aargh! Next time, I scurried to the far end.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">The dark silhouette of Black Virgin Mountain stood alone and desolate at last light. My first day had come to an end; we slept al fresco under curved corrugated steel sections covered with sandbags.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: times;">The following day, </span><span style="font-family: times;">I set about learning everything I could.</span><span style="font-family: times;"> W</span><span style="font-family: times;">e built a bunker out of perforated steel planking used for runways and landing strips. Stairs led down to three bunk beds, fashioned from ammo boxes. A firing hole in front faced the wire. “Watch the wire,” they said. “You don’t wanna hear ‘dinks in the wire!’ or ‘Tiên-lên!’ [‘First up!’]. Not that a bunker was all that great. At night, rats as big as miniature Chihuahuas ran over my body, looking to get my rations. Took my breath away. Bob took the hint and slept outside.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Not a kind place to be in, but at least the showers were half-way decent.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">I didn't join poker games because I didn't want to go broke. Some guys wrote home, others shot the shit. We cleaned our weapons assiduously, especially the machine gunners. The M60 had gobs of parts and fired tons of bullets. During contact, we would be more dependent on them than our 16s. Couldn’t chance M60s jamming.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">For the evening's entertainment, we smeared cheese on blasting caps, stuck ‘em in the wire, and hooked up a clacker (detonator) to the caps. When they shot off flares to illuminate the area, we hit the clacker and blew away the cheese-eating rats. Fewer rats… more sleep.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">We pulled first light and last light patrols the next week, making gaps in the bales of wire to let ourselves come and go. On my first patrol, someone pointed to a heap of white bones at the wood line, the remains of human wave attacks doused in diesel, burned, bulldozed into a makeshift mass grave, like concentration camps do.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">I couldn’t help thinking of Dunnuck’s invective, fraught with desire for vengeance. The way “dun’ mean nuthin” rolled off his tongue… he wanted to possess war; nothing could touch it as far as he was concerned. He was mad, but there was a little madness in all of them. Then it hit me—there was an empty spot in their squad.</span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6155957297055594769.post-44716962497224708892023-03-05T02:00:00.001-06:002024-03-09T02:04:39.494-06:00St. Louis Woman<span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">In a warm-lit St. Louis night <br />You drew me into a flame. <br /><br />Monday at BB <br />Your loose-knit top <br />Stares me in the face, <br />White-velvet <br />In a black-silk cage. <br /><br />I call for Monk and a tango. <br />Catherine D. Snow <br />Comes up fast— <br />You're hot, girlie! <br /><br />On an afternoon of morning <br />The dark is rising. <br />They’re here.<br />Do you feel it?</span><div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br />You lay cards, <br />Look for signs;</span></div><div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">The Second Child,<br />He is the reason. <br /><br />You’re tired. <br />It won’t be long. </span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6155957297055594769.post-55402820430431299662023-03-05T01:00:00.003-06:002024-03-12T13:14:43.236-05:00St. Louis Woman - Notes<p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">The first stanza is
really nice and a very solid image. In the second stanza, the images move
quickly and become more personal. On the third stanza, the details about Arlene
seem to center the poem and where it the poet is at his most confident. Some
symbolism is presented to the reader, and life and death seem to be the likely
code to decipher. It seems to parallel with the ‘The second Child/He's the
reason’. Whatever the case, I feel a balance is trying to be played, between a
personal observation and deeper philosophical insight. To thread these concepts
together can be difficult I give credit to the poet for trying his hand at such
a difficult endeavor. </span></p>
<p class="MsoCommentText" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><span style="color: black;">—</span>Kent Walker<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoCommentText" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">a. Rhyme face-cage. </span></p>
<p class="MsoCommentText" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">b. Richard strongly objected to the ‘stares’ personification of
the loose-knit top in ‘Your loose-knit top/Stares me in the face’. I left it in
for the rhyme, and because I had no good alternative, and because T. S. Eliot
uses a cat-like figure for the yellow London fog in his Prufrock poem. On the other hand, it was Richard who, upon hearing of
her death, suggested that Arlene was ‘a flame of exuberance’. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoCommentText" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">c. ‘Catherine D. Snow’ has
been interpreted by some as cocaine instead of a person.</span></p>
<p class="MsoCommentText" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">d. ‘Child’ is a Tarot card.
Arlene died from ALS, Lou Gehrig’s disease (Lou Gehrig was his mother’s second
child). ‘He’ refers indirectly to Lou Gehrig’s disease (Lou Gehrig was a fine
human being). Lou was Arlene’s first husband, father of Arlene’s only child,
her daughter Jamie.</span></p>
<p class="MsoCommentText" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">e. The horror of thoughts
in the last part of the poem becomes Arlene’s real, impending death. The poem suddenly
becomes a horror story.</span></p>
<p class="MsoCommentText" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">f. It has Astrology,
uncertainty and spirit. She was a numerologist.</span></p>
<p class="MsoCommentText" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">g. There are 3 x references
to Baseball: St. Louis, ‘cards’, and Lou Gehrig who played with the Yankees in the
1926 WS against STL.</span></p>
<p class="MsoCommentText" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">h. ‘Drew’ has two meanings:
pull and draw (Arlene was an artist)</span></p>
<p class="MsoCommentText" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">i. ‘Morning’ is used
instead of mourning to effect a double meaning (read or spoken) and force the reader to stop at the turn of the poem.</span></p>
<p class="MsoCommentText" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">j. ‘They’re here’ relates
to the scene in Streetcar when they came for Blanche. ALS is coming for
Arlene. </span></p>
<p class="MsoCommentText" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><o:p>k. </o:p>Concrete images are
mixed with the indefinite. Often a single image in a poem bears more weight
than all the others put together. ‘Child’ is a possibility.</span></p><p class="MsoCommentText" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">l. An earlier version was read Saturday 11/26/2023 at the Kindablue jazz club before the second set, thanks to Larry Fuchs, proprietor. Kindablue she would frequent. A few words from the poem were incorporated in the St. Louis Blues song played immediately afterward by Curt Landes on keys. It was also read at BB's Jazz Blues & Soups during a break.</span></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6155957297055594769.post-52143658452399165462023-02-03T22:42:00.002-06:002024-02-19T03:59:49.462-06:00Winston<p class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: widow-orphan; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"></p><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: times;"><div style="text-align: justify;">My life as a company clerk may not have been sexy, but it was the most sought after job in Vietnam. (Killer wanted it bad, but never got his chance.) Besides the full-time job of taking care of company business, I was mother confessor and personal vending machine.</div></span><span style="font-family: times;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><span style="font-family: times;"><div style="text-align: justify;">“Can you get me a Swiss knife?”</div></span><span style="font-family: times;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><span style="font-family: times;"><div style="text-align: justify;">“How about a Rolex?”</div></span><span style="font-family: times;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><span style="font-family: times;"><div style="text-align: justify;">“Any rings?”</div></span><span style="font-family: times;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><span style="font-family: times;"><div style="text-align: justify;">“Camera?”</div></span><span style="font-family: times;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><span style="font-family: times;"><div style="text-align: justify;">“A pipe?”</div></span><span style="font-family: times;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><span style="font-family: times;"><div style="text-align: justify;">If it wasn’t one thing, it was another.</div></span><span style="font-family: times;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><span style="font-family: times;"><div style="text-align: justify;">“I’ll give you a gook ear for an SKS.”</div></span><span style="font-family: times;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><span style="font-family: times;"><div style="text-align: justify;">“A TV?”</div></span><span style="font-family: times;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><span style="font-family: times;"><div style="text-align: justify;">“Chocolate covered cherries?”</div></span><span style="font-family: times;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><span style="font-family: times;"><div style="text-align: justify;">I’d been running around in a thousand different directions when I put away the typewriter and hit the sheets, tired. Sometime later, I began to dream:</div></span></span><blockquote><div style="text-align: justify;"><i><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">It was raining. My wife offered a ride in our Impala. I said, “I’ve been expecting you. I’m all right. I’m alive,” and got in. Her hair was mussed and she was wearing clothes she wore the day I left for Vietnam. We drove on and smoked cigarettes. Someone was in the back seat sleeping. My wife stopped outside our apartment and grabbed my wrist. I tried to pull away. She tightened her grip and sobbed, “Borgo!”</span></i></div></blockquote><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"> <span style="font-family: times;">My bunk mate Bob and the supply sergeant were yelling, “Get up! Get up!”</span></span></p><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: times;"><div style="text-align: justify;">Dogs were barking.</div></span><span style="font-family: times;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><span style="font-family: times;"><div style="text-align: justify;">“C’mon. Move!” they said.</div></span><span style="font-family: times;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><span style="font-family: times;"><div style="text-align: justify;">“Damn dogs!”</div></span><span style="font-family: times;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><span style="font-family: times;"><div style="text-align: justify;">“Sometimes I wish I was a dog.”</div></span><span style="font-family: times;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><span style="font-family: times;"><div style="text-align: justify;">They led me outside in my underwear, half-awake. “Have a look.” I shook the sleep from my eyes and saw a line of frags (fragmentation grenades) lying atop a four-foot pile of sandbags that formed the bulwark around the lower half of the wooden barracks. Enough force to blow the barracks to kingdom come, six feet from my bunk!</div></span><span style="font-family: times;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><span style="font-family: times;"><div style="text-align: justify;">It gave my nerves a shock. I strained my eyes to take in every detail. This was no random act of violence. The grenades were daisy-chained together with detonating cord. Wily Coyote lit the det cord, not knowing that it had to be set-off with a blasting cap. A fuse could have burned out. We stared at the blackened end where it had stopped burning, and looked at each other. Then back at the contraption. A half-inch away! Sheer luck. My heart beat; blood rushed to my brain. “I hate to sound philosophical, but who ordered anchovies? A frag rolled down the hall would’ve done us in,” said the supply sergeant.</div></span><span style="font-family: times;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><span style="font-family: times;"><div style="text-align: justify;">A Maalox Moment waited at the back door—a Claymore mine perched on its spindly legs, aimed squarely at anyone gettin’ out that way. It, too, wasn’t hooked up right.</div></span><span style="font-family: times;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><span style="font-family: times;"><div style="text-align: justify;">I retreated to the friendly confines of the barracks with my comrades, and turned to them for an explanation and assurance. “I can't believe this shit.” Bob filled me in. “When the dogs woke me up, I went to take a piss and stepped outside. I froze. There was a shadowy figure crouching next to our building. It ran off in the dark. I couldn't tell if it was U.S. or Vietnamese.”</div></span><span style="font-family: times;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><span style="font-family: times;"><div style="text-align: justify;">My brain was trying to figure out was going on here. A pack of wild dogs—led by a female answering to ‘Bitch’—roamed freely throughout the base day and night. Battalion fed and looked after them, but I paid them no mind until the curious incident of the dogs in the night-time saved us!</div></span><span style="font-family: times;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><span style="font-family: times;"><div style="text-align: justify;">We collected ourselves, cataloged the objects and rang up the base CID (Criminal Investigation Division). I posted a guard over the whatsis and stumbled back to my bunk to catch some Z’s on my rumpled poncho liner.</div></span><span style="font-family: times;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><span style="font-family: times;"><div style="text-align: justify;">The CID showed up early and took us through a bunch of rigmarole while he dusted for fingerprints and collected evidence. The rough surface of the pineapples (grenades) made fingerprint identification impossible. No matter. I recalled the bad feeling I had about the shape standing before me in a bushy Afro the previous afternoon:</div></span><span style="font-family: times;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><span style="font-family: times;"><div style="text-align: justify;">“Hey, man, wassup?”</div></span><span style="font-family: times;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><span style="font-family: times;"><div style="text-align: justify;">I replied, “Not much.”</div></span><span style="font-family: times;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><span style="font-family: times;"><div style="text-align: justify;">“I need a form.”</div></span><span style="font-family: times;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><span style="font-family: times;"><div style="text-align: justify;">“What form?”</div></span><span style="font-family: times;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><span style="font-family: times;"><div style="text-align: justify;">“I gotta get back to Chicago.”</div></span><span style="font-family: times;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><span style="font-family: times;"><div style="text-align: justify;">“See if you can get emergency leave.”</div></span><span style="font-family: times;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><span style="font-family: times;"><div style="text-align: justify;">“Aren’t you the one that types up orders?”</div></span><span style="font-family: times;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><span style="font-family: times;"><div style="text-align: justify;">“Yeah.”</div></span><span style="font-family: times;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><span style="font-family: times;"><div style="text-align: justify;">“Whose ass do I have to kiss?”</div></span><span style="font-family: times;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><span style="font-family: times;"><div style="text-align: justify;">“Find a higher rank, and I'll type up the orders.”</div></span><span style="font-family: times;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><span style="font-family: times;"><div style="text-align: justify;">“C’mon, man. You can fake ‘em,” he insisted, squinting out of his fiery eyes.</div></span><span style="font-family: times;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><span style="font-family: times;"><div style="text-align: justify;">“No chance.”</div></span><span style="font-family: times;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><span style="font-family: times;"><div style="text-align: justify;">His voice cracked, “You got a girl?”</div></span><span style="font-family: times;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><span style="font-family: times;"><div style="text-align: justify;">“A wife.”</div></span><span style="font-family: times;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><span style="font-family: times;"><div style="text-align: justify;">“You understand, then.”</div></span><span style="font-family: times;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><span style="font-family: times;"><div style="text-align: justify;">“What do you mean?”</div></span><span style="font-family: times;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><span style="font-family: times;"><div style="text-align: justify;">“Jody’s fuck’n my wife.”</div></span><span style="font-family: times;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><span style="font-family: times;"><div style="text-align: justify;">“Why don’t you see the chaplain?”</div></span><span style="font-family: times;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><span style="font-family: times;"><div style="text-align: justify;">He laughed. “What can that cocksucker do? I'm stuck here.”</div></span><span style="font-family: times;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><span style="font-family: times;"><div style="text-align: justify;">“You could write a letter.”</div></span><span style="font-family: times;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><span style="font-family: times;"><div style="text-align: justify;">He waved his arms, “You gotta listen to me. She’s cheatin’ on me, messin’ around.”</div></span><span style="font-family: times;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><span style="font-family: times;"><div style="text-align: justify;">“What do you want me to do about it?”</div></span><span style="font-family: times;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><span style="font-family: times;"><div style="text-align: justify;">“Make a deal. What are you doing here if you don’t make deals?”</div></span><span style="font-family: times;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><span style="font-family: times;"><div style="text-align: justify;">The gears in his head were cranking overtime, but his logic wasn’t. I had the winning hand and slammed on the brakes. “I don’t make deals.”</div></span><span style="font-family: times;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><span style="font-family: times;"><div style="text-align: justify;">He stormed out. “They’ll be a death in the family if I don’t make it home.”</div></span><span style="font-family: times;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><span style="font-family: times;"><div style="text-align: justify;">I put PFC Winston’s frustration and willful denial of what we call reality far from my mind that afternoon. That was that, as they say, but it wasn’t—he sacrificed everything to his passion and aimed his fury at me in my little bed.</div></span><span style="font-family: times;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><span style="font-family: times;"><div style="text-align: justify;">He wasn’t going to find me under a desk. I retrieved my trusty Colt .45 from the arms room and loaded it with a full clip, and until they took him into custody, kept it near and dear. There’d be no point in trying to outsmart a .45. It was on my desk at work, on the mess hall table, beside me in the shitter, the shower, under my pillow or in my holster. <i>Let the weapon decide.</i></div></span><span style="font-family: times;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><span style="font-family: times;"><div style="text-align: justify;">Winston went too far too fast and laid himself open to the charge of attempted murder. You’d think it’s more murdering to kill someone who’s asleep, but Looney Tunes got to go home after all. Rather than a trial, he pulled a DD (dishonorable discharge) and got dumped back in the world. A win for him and the army, but not for me and my nerves. I don’t care if he wanted to see his fuckin’ mother—one spark and my story ends here.</div></span></span><p></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6155957297055594769.post-3376788785028096652022-10-19T14:11:00.001-05:002024-02-26T23:40:47.356-06:00Stacy<p class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: widow-orphan; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">After two hours of fear and fangs at the Mayan exhibit,
I met a stream of white twenty’s with torn, bloody shirts moaning and groaning,
staggering down the Delmar strip. Could a zombie apocalypse actually be happening? I reached
out, “Go back to Pittsburgh!” <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: widow-orphan; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;"><o:p><span style="font-family: times;"> </span></o:p><span style="font-family: times; text-indent: 0.5in;">“We belong dead! Ha ha ha ha ha!”</span></span></p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: widow-orphan; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;"><o:p><span style="font-family: times;"> </span></o:p><span style="font-family: times; text-indent: 0.5in;">A bald black guy in his 40s startled me. ‘Stacy’ wanted to
sing like a troubadour. I left him and crossed the street to a two-piece combo playing
on the sidewalk. He followed, close on my heels. I ventured, “What’s the plan?”</span></span></p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: widow-orphan; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: times;"> </span><span style="font-family: times; text-indent: 0.5in;">“What kind of music do you dig?”</span></span></p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: widow-orphan; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;"><o:p><span style="font-family: times;"> </span></o:p><span style="font-family: times; text-indent: 0.5in;">“Jazz, blues, classical.”</span></span></p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: widow-orphan; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;"><o:p><span style="font-family: times;"> </span></o:p><span style="font-family: times; text-indent: 0.5in;">“You look like Mozart, brother.”</span></span></p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: widow-orphan; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;"><o:p><span style="font-family: times;"> </span></o:p><span style="font-family: times; text-indent: 0.5in;">“More like Einstein.”</span></span></p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: widow-orphan; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;"><o:p><span style="font-family: times;"> </span></o:p><span style="font-family: times; text-indent: 0.5in;">“I can see that. There's better music on the corner. I know
the band.” He leaned in. “What you want is a black girl.”</span></span></p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: widow-orphan; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;"><o:p><span style="font-family: times;"> </span></o:p><span style="font-family: times; text-indent: 0.5in;">“You’re married, I can tell,” he added.</span></span></p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: widow-orphan; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;"><o:p><span style="font-family: times;"> </span></o:p><span style="font-family: times; text-indent: 0.5in;">“No, actually I’m not.”</span></span></p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: widow-orphan; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;"><o:p><span style="font-family: times;"> </span></o:p><span style="font-family: times; text-indent: 0.5in;">The look in his eyes was disbelief. “Wait’ll we get inside.
You’re gonna love the music.”</span></span></p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: widow-orphan; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;"><o:p><span style="font-family: times;"> </span></o:p><span style="font-family: times; text-indent: 0.5in;">The zombies were at the bar. “Let’s get a couple drinks.
We’re gonna have a good time. Come on,” he says.</span></span></p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: widow-orphan; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;"><o:p><span style="font-family: times;"> </span></o:p><span style="font-family: times; text-indent: 0.5in;">I showed him an empty billfold.</span></span></p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: widow-orphan; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;"><o:p><span style="font-family: times;"> </span></o:p><span style="font-family: times; text-indent: 0.5in;">“I got the money.”</span></span></p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: widow-orphan; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;"><o:p><span style="font-family: times;"> </span></o:p><span style="font-family: times; text-indent: 0.5in;">He disappeared and came back with a round. We got nowhere
with the cute girls and nothing from the others, their laughter tinged with indifference
or malice. Maybe it was me. The cover band couldn’t start soon enough with Stevie
Wonder's </span><span class="MsoHyperlink" style="font-family: times; text-indent: 0.5in;"><i><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TiQ_JJOnDAk">I Wish</a>.</i></span></span></p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: widow-orphan; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span style="font-family: times;"> </span></span><span class="MsoHyperlink" style="font-family: times; text-indent: 0.5in;">The</span><span style="font-family: times; text-indent: 0.5in;"> zombies rushed the stage to catch the funky blast-beat from
the bass. I elbowed my way through the crowd. Stacy followed. The singer came closer,
singing on top of the general shout. The keyboard was nuts. The zombies
and everything was a serpentine, seething mob, shouting, jumping, and bumping
to the primitive beat.</span></span></p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: widow-orphan; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><i><span style="font-family: times;"> </span></i></span><span class="MsoHyperlink" style="font-family: times; text-indent: 0.5in;"><i>I
Wish</i></span><span style="font-family: times; text-indent: 0.5in;"> was
over. The zombies vanished amid shouts of laughter and applause</span><i style="font-family: times; text-indent: 0.5in;">.</i><span style="font-family: times; text-indent: 0.5in;"> The band lapsed into lackluster sounds. Different. Stacy clamped his hand on my shoulder, “Why are you
being like that, man? You’re ruining a good time. Stay here, I’ll buy another
round.”</span></span></p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: widow-orphan; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;"><o:p><span style="font-family: times;"> </span></o:p><span style="font-family: times; text-indent: 0.5in;">Everything’s fine. We’re drinking, talking about lighting
up the scoreboard, when he goes over to a table with a guy and two black girls.
One girl was knocked out on the table. They had been watching me. Stacy
came back with a changed voice and a new smell. “Here, drink this.”</span></span></p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: widow-orphan; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;"><o:p><span style="font-family: times;"> </span></o:p><span style="font-family: times; text-indent: 0.5in;">I did and put it down. “I feel funny.”</span></span></p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: widow-orphan; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;"><o:p><span style="font-family: times;"> </span></o:p><span style="font-family: times; text-indent: 0.5in;">“Don’t be sick. Come to my house. We’ll have a good time.”</span></span></p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: widow-orphan; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;"><o:p><span style="font-family: times;"> </span></o:p><span style="font-family: times; text-indent: 0.5in;">“Who’s gonna be there?”</span></span></p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: widow-orphan; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;"><o:p><span style="font-family: times;"> </span></o:p><span style="font-family: times; text-indent: 0.5in;">“Nobody, just you and me.”</span></span></p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: widow-orphan; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;"><o:p><span style="font-family: times;"> </span></o:p><span style="font-family: times; text-indent: 0.5in;">I could’ve poked into what my skin knew</span><span style="font-family: times; text-indent: 0.5in;">. Now was not the time. </span><span style="font-family: times; text-indent: 0.5in;">I reached into my pocket for the car keys,</span><span style="font-family: times; text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="font-family: times; text-indent: 0.5in;">took
a deep breath, </span><span style="font-family: times; text-indent: 0.5in;">walked out the front door, and
looked behind to see him following. </span><span style="font-family: times; text-indent: 0.5in;">We left opposite ways on Delmar. I laid a patch and drove
off, my head swarming with motley confusions.</span></span></p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: widow-orphan; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;"><o:p><span style="font-family: times;"> </span></o:p><span style="font-family: times; text-indent: 0.5in;">What if I was the creep in </span><i style="font-family: times; text-indent: 0.5in;">his</i><span style="font-family: times; text-indent: 0.5in;"> nightmare?</span></span></p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: widow-orphan; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><o:p></o:p></p><div style="mso-element: comment-list;"><div style="mso-element: comment;"><div class="msocomtxt" id="_com_4" language="JavaScript">
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</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6155957297055594769.post-61329332986607560062022-08-25T14:30:00.001-05:002024-02-07T13:53:23.898-06:00Chase<div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">The sun drives the seasons and the days between Legion ball and football practice. These were the best of times—running with Richie and his brother Larry, living on unemployment and sponging off the old man—more interested in getting laid than getting paid. Traffic tickets, pecker tracks in the back seat, a police escort home after midnight. Mom wringing her hands like Lady Macbeth, crying out loud, “Where did I go wrong?”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">On one of those dog day Friday afternoons, I turned my Harley onto Diagonal Boulevard. A mile from home, the bubble machine lit up on a cop car parked at a side street. I grabbed a handful of throttle—my risk insurance had expired—no license!</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">The Harley roar and the siren alerted mom as I swung past the house, wind in my face, the fuzz on my ass. I looped on 74th Street and flew past Marlys Pederson's, my fantasy until I saw Phoebe Crouch on the first day of seventh grade.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">At Portland, a busy thoroughfare, I said a prayer, goosed it and blew across without looking. I opened my eyes and was surprised to find myself alive with a good lead. I glanced over my shoulder. The cop stopped to look both ways. I crossed left onto Stevens Avenue. Cousin Buzz leapt up from the dinner table and ran into the street when he heard me shoot by, full throttle.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">A block from the exit to Bloomington, the next jurisdiction, I forgot Stevens ended in a tee. I yankkked my wheel hard left into a lowslider, wiping out against a chain link fence, and sprinted barefoot into the new subdivision.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">The empire struck back.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Patrolman Starcevic arrived, slammed on the brakes and took off after me on foot. He was followed by cousin Buzz, who had a special low regard for Starcevic, and was quite upset that the cop had his hand on his gun the whole time. More cops arrived and a crowd. My flight ended when I found no cover, gods or friends in the featureless backyards. Surrounded and captured, yes, but Buzz didn't give my name; he called dad. The cops perp-walked me back to a cruiser and loaded the fallen bike onto a trailer. The only thing missing was a Marine Color Guard.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">The Richfield police station was a modest affair in those days. Bare bones. The small, grimy-paneled ‘visiting room’ contained nothing to use as a weapon. The cuffs came off. They sat me down in a bust chair across from them at a beat-up metal table. When my inquisitors were satisfied with getting nowhere (no recoding survives), they cuffed me again and drove me downtown to a stone fortress, the Minneapolis Courthouse.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">The downtown cops booked me, rolled prints, took pictures and escorted me into an impressive steel vatican. Clang! Every door that opened revealed more doors and more rooms, until I lost track of what, when or where I was. When the last door slammed shut, I was behind bars in an old fashioned cell like in the Westerns, but without flies or Gabby Hayes, claustrophobic and panicky in my captive state. Now I knew why the condemned commit suicide in their cells in an atmosphere which is anything but hospitable or jovial.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">It wasn’t General Lasalle who rescued me from the pit and the pendulum, just dad. He bonded me out before I had time to entertain or befuddle my jailers. At home, I ate the supper that mom saved for me and opened a letter addressed to me. Oh, Mr. Postman!—TWO whole days remained on my insurance. I was legit all the time!</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Life goes on; sometimes we have no choice. The next day, while Richie was plying his girlfriend with roses, trying to get in her pants, her skank cousin was on her back in a flashy dress, legs up, chewing gum. Forty-eight hours later I knew why—Pedpiculosis pubis and Neisseria gonorrhoeae.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Richie’s older brother Larry was adamant that I would only get six months in the workhouse, the very thing I wished to avoid. I decided to plea bargain and called the Richfield City Manager at his home. He recommended the army recruiter who agreed to take the morning off and go to bat for me. (God bless cash in a drawer.)</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">The trial took place in a room noted for its shabbiness. Mom and the recruiter sat together. When my case came up, the audience tittered as the clerk read my rap sheet, and went into hysterics as he ticked off the new charges. What a gas. The recruiter stood straight. He made a rousing speech—honest, I had no idea who he was talking about. I got a fine and an invitation to join the Army that day, instead of the joint. Perfect timing and sound geopolitics—the latest Berlin Crisis was over and Vietnam hadn't ramped.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Children, ask not what your country can do for you, ask what you can do for your army recruiter.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Au revoir, idiot.</span></div><p></p><p></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6155957297055594769.post-79950297991376132572022-07-02T15:32:00.032-05:002024-03-14T17:39:46.370-05:00Follow the Stream Back Up<div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="background-color: red;">CONTENT WARNING: </span></span><span style="background-color: red; font-family: times;">READER DISCRETION ADVISED</span></span></b></div><div><span style="background-color: red; font-family: times; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: large;">“Whilst Man, however well-behaved,</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">At best is but a monkey shaved.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">—W. S. Gilbert (1884)</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">What I remember is Richie and I had our backs jammed against a freezing curb on a bitter January morning. We should have been trudging through the snow to classes at the U instead of wrangling a junkyard transmission into a ‘53 Packard. The massive car was jacked up on blocks. We were lining up the Ultramatic transmission, biggest I’d ever seen, when two cars rolled up. Alan would come upon you anywhere, anytime, and frequently intoxicated:</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Charlie?”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: large;">“Yeah, what?”</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: large;">“It’s your lucky day.”</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Oh, yeah? What are you doing here?”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: large;">The transmission teetered.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“We got two women.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: large;">Alan peered under the car. “Hear that? Back-to-back racks.”</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Hold it, right there, Richie. It’s Alan.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: large;">“Not Alan. Fuck no!”</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Check it out,” said Alan. I edged out for a look. Alan fished a loose cigarette from his jacket and lit it. “</span><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: times;">The one </span><span style="font-family: times;">in the Studebaker </span><span style="font-family: times;">has the hots for you.”</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“The one with twenty-four zeroes?”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: large;">“Yeah.” Alan began to hover. “We’ve got Bunny’s pad, but we’re not gettin’ laid unless you come along. ‘Cause otherwise, if we’re gonna have a problem we’re not gonna get any.”</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“No chance.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: large;">“You don’t want to fuck her? Wait till she sticks her tits in your face. Those nipples have to be the size of quarters.”</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: large;">“That w</span><span style="font-size: large;">ould make me a</span></span><span style="font-family: times; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"> shallow person.</span></span><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: large;">“Hey, we can’t sit here all day.”</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: large;">Richie and I went in and cleaned up and then out to the cars. Alan took me aside. “There’s one thing, though.”</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“What?”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“If we find out you kissed her, we'll never talk to you again.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">A weird tension was in the air when Richie and I took our places in the motorcade. I was in the car jammed against the fat one who was showing tit. “Uh, [laughs] I don't want you to feel creepy, but the thing is, I came here mainly because of you [laughs],” was how she began.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Yeah? I didn’t know.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">She said. “I mean, I thought about you all day.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">I should have said nothing. What I said was, “Yeah, [laughs] now I'm here, you know.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“[laughs] Yes of course,” she said, pressing a boob against me. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: times;">She said more on the way</span><span style="font-family: times;">—</span><span style="font-family: times;">including personal details about her past</span><span style="font-family: times;">—</span><span style="font-family: times;">but there was nothing she could say to make up for the thought that I could lose all my friends with a single slip-up. </span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">When we arrived at Bunny’s house, a few flakes fluttered through the air. Brian, who had been the burly, myopic guard on our high school football team, was downstairs, waiting. We talked for a second, turned on the music and began dancing. I rocked the chosen one, fondling her monstrous boobs while she swung a bottle of whiskey wildly in the air, takin’ swigs straight out.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Miss Baun, my old Latin teacher, should see me now!</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span>Everything was going good until the cute one raised the alarm, "I'm not doing anything!" and dashed out in the snow without any boots or coat. I grabbed Alan and took him off to a corner, trying</span></span><span style="font-family: times;"> to make sense of what just happened</span><span style="font-family: times;">. “What’s this crap?” </span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: times;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: times;">Alan gestured wildly. “She’s got the clap. Afraid we’d beat the shit out of her.”</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Sonofabitch! We’re jinxed!”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“No. No, no, no, no, no. Don't fuck up a good thing.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Shove it.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">The party had barely come alive and her friend was out in the snow with her teeth chattering. When problems arise, it’s tempting to expect someone else to address it. Sometimes, the only person who can fix it…is you. I took the heavy cavalry upstairs to a bedroom and closed the door.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: large;">“I sometimes get messages from the beyond,” she said, heated by the whisky.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: large;">Her vast curvature was a steep hill, but I managed to slip in after a few false moves. </span></span><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: large;">After a near stroke, I tapped on the footboard to signal Alan, the next one in the rotation.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span>When I got back out in the hall, Richie was on deck, huddled with Brian</span></span><span style="font-family: times;">. From the look on Richie’s face, I know he was thinking <i>How will I ever find the opening amongst the folds of skin and rolls of fat?</i></span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Brian<span style="font-family: times;"><span> raised his bushy eyebrows.</span></span> “What’s your problem?”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: large;">Richie shifted from foot to foot and whispered loudly, “Her hole.”</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span>Brian </span></span><span style="font-family: times;">squinted out of his coke-bottle glasses:</span><span style="font-family: times;"> “Have her piss and follow the stream back up!”</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large; text-indent: 0.5in;"><o:p></o:p></p></span></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 148.75pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><o:p></o:p></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6155957297055594769.post-1271520462379907902022-05-10T04:04:00.011-05:002024-03-20T14:41:13.891-05:00The Education of a Young Gentleman<div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;"><div style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="background-color: red; font-size: large;"><b>CONTENT WARNING: READER DISCRETION ADVISED</b></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div></span></div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><div style="text-align: justify;">Out of the ash</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I rise with my red hair</div><div style="text-align: justify;">And I eat men like air.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">—from Plath, Sylvia. “Lady Lazarus.” 1962.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">It was 1960. I was nineteen, living at home with my parents.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">“Charles!”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">“Uh?”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">“Richie has a flat.”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">I rolled out of bed and stumbled after my mother into the kitchen. She thrust a receiver into my hand and lit a Chesterfield.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div> <div style="text-align: justify;">I grunted. “Richie?”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div> <div style="text-align: justify;">“Git your ass over here.”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div> <div style="text-align: justify;">The line went dead. My mother stiffened and clasped her robe.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div> <div style="text-align: justify;">I threw on my cleanest dirty shirt and hopped into the '52 Pontiac—a hunk of junk that cracked up Ollie, Richie’s father. An anxious excitement propelled me through the ghostly streets; I parked behind the dark shapes outside Richie’s and hurried into the suburban house using the passage way between the garage and the kitchen.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div> <div style="text-align: justify;">An atmosphere of blighted camaraderie prevailed in the tidy, Sears-chic living room. Larry, Richie’s older brother, was saddled with a welfare cheat and five kids in the projects. He had a quarterback's arm, a damn good Elvis, a cock for a résumé and greatness in our eyes. Between Larry and two strangers was an individual whose boyish good looks and fine complexion hid a touch of cruelty behind an impish grin. His proclivity with young cooze earned him the nickname ‘Bunny’.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">J. T. (Richie and Larry’s cousin) lit a thoughtful cigar-butt. Larry turned up the collar of his dress shirt, took a comb out of his back pocket and slicked his red duck tails. “We were drinkin' Blue Ribbons over in Prescott when Bunny sees this 18-karat chick puttin' away ol’-fashions. She had a blow-out with her old man and wouldn't go home, not to her kids neither.”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Bunny took up the story with a grin and a characteristic lisp. “The little dolly’s a party girl,” pointing at his feet in perfect sincerity, “grabbin’ dicks right here, in the middle of this fuck’n living room!”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div> <div style="text-align: justify;">I was unprepared for anything of this nature, to put it mildly. Getting even with her husband? Single for the night?</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div> <div style="text-align: justify;">J. T. cut Hound Dog from the Philco and shoved a beer in my hand.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div> <div style="text-align: justify;">From the hall came the sound of a toilet and hard boots. Richie strolled in, sporting a bowling shirt and jeans. He wiped beads of sweat from his forehead and slumped onto the blue bouclé couch. He sniffed and cleared his throat, “She's yours, Charlie.”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">“It’s gettin’ late,” said Larry.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div> <div style="text-align: justify;">Bunny took a swig and swung his beer towards Richie, “His room.”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">My pulse quickened. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">J. T. rolled a beer between his hands and tipped his white Fedora. “Gwan, the bitch’ll make your tongue hard.”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div> <div style="text-align: justify;">The two scatty strangers laughed and nudged each other. I had no option but to flat-guzzle my beer and gravitate to the end of the hall. Richie's bedroom door was ajar. The Virgin Mary stared down at me from the wall. My hand was sweating the knob when I pushed the door open and stepped into the room where Larry had beguiled us with lurid tales of seduction. Warm, moist air hung heavy with stale perfume and semen. A low seraphic voice called out from the darkness, “Larry? Larry, is that you?”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">My breath escaped. I leaned towards the small form in the bed and uttered, “Yes....”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div> <div style="text-align: justify;">I shut the door behind me and moved closer. The coverlet my mother had made lay on the floor alongside women’s things. I dropped my drawers. My hand trembled as I pulled back the sweaty bedclothes and gazed down at their source of pleasure. I was not in my right mind until she splayed open with her fingers—no need to lick or remove anything. I shut my eyes and sank into her unguent warmth. She arched and let out a moan.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div> <div style="text-align: center;">*</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div> <div style="text-align: justify;">By the time I released her slim ankles, I had lost all sense of time and place. I stumbled over a pair of shoes on my way out. Only Richie remained in the avocado-green living room; the two bounders were in the kitchen, the others had vanished. I crashed on the couch. Bishop Sheen's Way to Happiness lay on the coffee table beside a pair of yellow gloves and a few careless pieces of jewelry. Richie had opened the drapes (there was a moon) and moved to Ollie’s chair by the TV. “I thought Larry was in KC.”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">“J. T. hauled his ass back.”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">“Oh, yeah? I didn’t see the Olds. Where’s Rose and Ollie?”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div> <div style="text-align: justify;">“Up north—Hanson’s place.”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div> <div style="text-align: justify;">Richie tossed a half-eaten bag of potato chips at me and shook his head, “Don't go downstairs. It’s clean.”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">“What were you doin’ before they showed up?”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">“Sleepin,” said Richie.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">“Anyone seen her before?”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">“No, uh-uh. Hey, what do you have for an ID?”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">“Bunny’s draft card.”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">“Uh-huh. It’s Saturday. I gotta clean this place up later and get over to Belmont’s.”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">“Hey, I’ll go. What about that Edina chick?”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div> <div style="text-align: justify;">“The ass on her! She says we should get together sometime.”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div> <div style="text-align: justify;">“Oh, yeah?”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div> <div style="text-align: justify;">“Like maybe never.” We were still laughing when Richie went to reclaim his bed. I had a jaw-dropping yawn and settled on the sofa, Bishop Sheen in one hand, a beer in the other.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div> <div style="text-align: justify;">Quiet had descended over the house when she suddenly appeared from the shadows—little more than five foot, early thirties, a blue-dyed rag around her head and a high, womanly chest cosseted in Richie's rough flannel shirt. I shrank back and put the book down. She stopped to gaze at the fine rain falling on the scattered leaves, searched her purse for a match and lit a long cigarette. She closed the honey-colored drapes and lowered herself next to me with half-averted eyes. "Yes, it's me."</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Yellowish light fell upon a face fixed with traces of care and thwarted sleep that had retained much of its girlish beauty. How pretty she’d be in a wide-brimmed hat! I took her scent and felt her breath—we were almost touching. She took a long drag and opened her mouth wide. An arabesque veil of smoke drifted into her cloudy, gray-green eyes. She straightened a tangle of dusky hair with her wedding finger, and bumped me with her toe. Her low, angelic voice was at my throat. “How old are you?”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">A hot blush came to my cheek. “Nineteen.”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div> <div style="text-align: justify;">She blew a jet and forced a laugh before placing her nicotine-stained fingers over my eyes. “Do I look nineteen?” I tingled. Her playful whisper demanded an answer, but I had forgotten everything but her half-parted lips. My tongue paralyzed. “I—”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div> <div style="text-align: justify;">“Ssshhh.” She put a finger crosswise to my lips and stared at me from under dark lashes. What did she want? If the answer lay in her eyes, I could not find it. She placed my beer on the coffee table and bent forward, the mist smoke not yet gone from her mouth.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div> <div style="text-align: justify;">“Kiss me.”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div> <div style="text-align: justify;">She kissed back hard, tasting of tobacco and stale mint. I slid fingers to her white-velvet breasts and to her nipples; her nostrils flared, a tremor crossed her face. She took the top off her drink and led me downstairs, her blood-warm clinging to my mind.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">I pressed the soft tip of my tongue on her c-section and in her low, sweet places. Painted nails dug into my back. She murmured, and a little silence fell. I ground slow and deep on the cold-hard floor until we passed out in a tangle next to our spilled drinks.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div> <div style="text-align: center;">*</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">The sunlight filtering through the casements spread on the floor. I dressed silently and climbed the stairs in an unsteady haze. The restless one with horn-rimmed glasses and plaid shirt in the kitchen spoke first, with false familiarity, “You're Charlie aren’t you?”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div> <div style="text-align: justify;">“Yeah. Richie's friend.” I stuck out my hand; none was offered. “Who are you?”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div> <div style="text-align: justify;">“My name is Friday, I carry a badge.” I raised my eyebrows. He yawned and removed his glasses, revealing pair of small eyes fixed on a rectangular face. “I’m Roger. J. T. is married to my sister.”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">“And the guy makin’ the coffee is Thursday?”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div> <div style="text-align: justify;">Roger winked at the short fellow in the white bucks and rounded shoulders. “You’re lookin’ at Johnny, the Accordion King, and you look like shit.”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div> <div style="text-align: justify;">I felt a flash of resentment. “What time is it?”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div> <div style="text-align: justify;">“After Ten.”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div> <div style="text-align: justify;">Roger took quick puffs of his cigarette and crushed it in the ashtray with a half-laugh. “She awake?”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">“No, not yet. Is Richie in the bathroom?”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div> <div style="text-align: justify;">“He’s in the garage.”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div> <div style="text-align: justify;">Before I was done in the bathroom, Roger was down the stairs and back up in front of me, beady-faced and pop-eyed, barely able to talk. “She ain’t breathin'.”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div> <div style="text-align: justify;">I flinched. “Don’t joke.”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div> <div style="text-align: justify;">“She ain't movin' neither.”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div> <div style="text-align: justify;">“Are you sure?”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div> <div style="text-align: justify;">“You had her last.”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div> <div style="text-align: justify;">Perspiration broke out on my forehead. I ran to the garage. Richie was taking the chain off his ’48 Indian. “Geeze, Charlie, you look like you seen a ghost.”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div> <div style="text-align: justify;">“The chick, Richie.”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div> <div style="text-align: justify;">“What?”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div> <div style="text-align: justify;">“Somethin’s not right downstairs.”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div> <div style="text-align: justify;">Richie threw his rag across the floor, “I don't have time for this!”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div> <div style="text-align: justify;">“Don't go apeshit!”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div> <div style="text-align: justify;">He trailed me in through the breezeway, cursing through pursed lips, and padded down the stairs in his slippers. He returned to the kitchen flushed-faced. “Why the hell you sweatin’ her down there, Charlie? Stuff's all over the fuck’n floor. Rose’ll kill me.”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div> <div style="text-align: justify;">“If she’s lookin’ for her purse, it’s up here.”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div> <div style="text-align: justify;">He rocked back and forth, wiping his nose as we stared at him from around the table. Then, in a hard little voice, “No. She’s dead.”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div> <div style="text-align: justify;">A dull pain entered my brain. Johnny looked up from the counter, “Did you touch her eye? If it doesn’t blink—”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div> <div style="text-align: justify;">Richie made fists. “What do you think—I can’t tell a stiff? I said she's a stiff.” He pulled up a chair, sat down beside me, spun the sugar bowl and practically whispered, “Jesus, Charlie. Were you out of your mind?”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">I had no answer.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div> <div style="text-align: justify;">“You did nothing wrong. There’s no case. It’s an accident. Definitely not murder,” said Johnny. “I know a guy who knows the court district. Tell em’.”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div> <div style="text-align: justify;">“Tell ‘em what, exactly?” replied Roger, with a touch of insolence.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div> <div style="text-align: justify;">“Tell ‘em what happened,” said Johnny.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div> <div style="text-align: justify;">“Yeah, that we fucked her to death? I can’t wait to hear a jury on that,” said Roger, putting his glasses back on and twitching my shoulder. “Hold on, now—what are we gonna do with our lil’ sis down there?”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">“Do wha—?”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div> <div style="text-align: justify;">Roger snapped his fingers, “The body, stupid. The stupid body.”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div> <div style="text-align: justify;">Johnny nodded and poured the coffee.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div> <div style="text-align: justify;">“Dig a hole.”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div> <div style="text-align: justify;">“Off a bridge.”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div> <div style="text-align: justify;">“No, dipshit. The swamp. By the airport.”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div> <div style="text-align: justify;">“Feed her to the pigs.”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div> <div style="text-align: justify;">“They don’t eat teeth.”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div> <div style="text-align: justify;">Roger stroked his chin. “Larry's gonna blow his stack.”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div> <div style="text-align: justify;">“Hey, fucker. Keep my brother outta this,” Richie shot back.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div> <div style="text-align: justify;">Johnny took out milk and Rice Krispies. I detected a slight tremble in his hands. “Her spirit is in the throne room of God.”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div> <div style="text-align: justify;">The air came out of the room. The only thing I heard was snap-crackle-pop, the beating of my heart and the dull whir of the refrigerator. I swallowed a mouthful of coffee. Johnny dropped his eyes to the floor. “Is there any wool?”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">“What?” said Richie. Roger looked at Johnny quizzically.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div> <div style="text-align: justify;">Johnny raised his head sheepishly, “Cotton wool to close her rectum.”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div> <div style="text-align: justify;">Richie struggled to control himself and took a short breath. His eyes raced around the table. “I’ve heard enough shit. Nobody touch her. Larry’s supposed to take her back. Nobody says nothing. Nobody calls nobody. Not the cops neither! An' nobody fuck'n leave. Nowhere.”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div> <div style="text-align: justify;">Roger finished the end of his cigarette and lit another. “Who’s this bimbo anyway?”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div> <div style="text-align: justify;">“She’s a person, a human being,” Richie said softly. “Somebody get her purse.”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div> <div style="text-align: justify;">I stood up, eyes fixed on Roger, and scrambled to locate her black leather purse. I laid it on the table in front of Richie and sank back into my seat. Richie picked through the contents. He set pictures on the table. “The boy’s like Corky. A little girl, too,” I said, filled with guilt.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div> <div style="text-align: justify;">Roger cracked his knuckles. “Jesus. Are you writin’ a fuck’n book?”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div> <div style="text-align: justify;">“Quit lookin’ at me.”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div> <div style="text-align: justify;">“Corine Whitney, 1236 Quail Circle, Hudson, Wisconsin. Birthday yesterday. Thirty-one.” Richie flipped the license and the billfold to Roger. “She don’t look it.”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div> <div style="text-align: justify;">Roger took out a Tupperware check. Johnny cleared the saliva from his mouth. “Tupperware?” Roger jabbed Johnny with his elbow. “Cut the gas.” Next thing, he held up was a pill bottle. “Red devils!” “Stupid bitch!” exclaimed Richie.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div> <div style="text-align: justify;">Johnny started to say something and changed his mind. I got up and looked out the window. “It’s half-past ten. I don’t see Larry.” Roger leaned back and gritted his teeth. “She’ll be the end of us, man. Gotta get her—”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div> <div style="text-align: justify;">Richie was up on his feet, shouting with a bitterness I'll never forget: “Who’s talking to you! Nothing happened here!”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div> <div style="text-align: justify;">Clink!</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div> <div style="text-align: justify;">The sound came from below. My feet stuck to the floor; Richie flew down the stairs. A moment later he was back in the kitchen grinning. “She's up!”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div> <div style="text-align: justify;">We drew a long breath with the air of those relieved of an intolerable burden, and gave her the Royale with cheese: free reign of the bathroom. A sidelong glance through the bathroom mirror from the curved figure in black—spike heels, cigarette in one hand, eye-liner in the other—was the last I saw.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div> <div style="text-align: center;">*</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">“You look upset,” said my mother when I got home. “Maybe you don’t want to talk.”</div></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6155957297055594769.post-87446191965510982952022-03-22T01:19:00.006-05:002024-03-14T18:56:56.252-05:00Bedford Drive<div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Los Angeles: Friday, April 4, 1958. 8:06 pm. Detective Ken Stricker left his ailing mother at the Valley Hospital, put on a coat and slid into his black '56 Packard. Vice was quiet. He caught a 273 and 314 on the scanner, switched it off and dialed in Guy Lombardo.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Veering off Laurel Canyon onto Sunset Boulevard, he stopped in front of the Mocambo, a place known to be on the wild side, and tossed his keys to the valet. “Don’t park it too far.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Ken ducked in. Mimi waited for him at the bar—tight, low-cut dress, green eye shadow, dangle earrings, heels kicked off. A cowboy in a ten-gallon by her side had Cherries in the Snow on his collar.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Ken placed his stingy-brimmed fedora on the bar. Mimi gave him a look, hitched up her hose and crumpled a napkin note. He cracked his thumbs and zeroed in. She glanced sidelong at the scar over his heavy-lidded eyes, took a drag and opened her mouth wide to let the smoke slowly drift out. She greeted him with a kiss. He tasted tobacco, stale mint and something else.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">He grabbed her arm. “Don’t be coy, Mimi. I’ve read this book before.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“You’re hurting me!”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Ten-gallon tapped the ash from his Maduro; a curly hair dropped into the ashtray. He clenched the cigar in his teeth and bored in under a cloud of smoke. “Son, I’m ridin’ this pony.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Ken released Mimi. She rubbed her arm. A faraway look crossed Ken’s face. “Cut the static, Cowboy, shouldn’t you be ridin’ the range?”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Ken pulled a snub-nose .38 and beat the cowboy senseless.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Stan cleared the cowboy’s spot at the bar. “I warned the sonofabitch. Told him you were a vet. Sure as hell did.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Toledo Sue picked up the cowboy’s hat and crushed a cigarette in his ear.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Ken handed the bouncer a twenty, called in a 415 and signaled Stan. Two martinis hit the bar; Mimi reached for hers. He slapped her hand away. "You got no class. If you got somethin’, say it."</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Forgive me Father for I have sinned. I’ll say four Hail Marys and three Our Fathers."</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Mimi stepped around the comatose cowboy to bum a menthol from Toledo Sue, tossed her dark Italian cut and blew a stream. Ken pushed a martini toward Mimi and gave Toledo Sue a strained look. "What are you in town for?”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“I’ve got Frank a couple fast fillies from Tony Z. Don’t get any ideas.” Toledo Sue looked at MimFi. “You’re blind—you’re too young. Hey Stan, throw me a rag.” Mimi posed with pouted lips. “There’s something on the side. Hold still.” Toledo Sue wiped the flecks of blood from Mimi’s cheek. “You’re fine now. Turn ‘round, I’ll fix your hair.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Ken waited a minute or two and tapped his watch. Mimi finished her drink in one, bumped him and reached into his coat. “You’re building up to something.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“C’mon, Mimi.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">She found her purse and put her green satin pumps on. “How do I look?”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Ken grimaced, “Like a million.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Mimi snuffed the menthol with her heel, “These shoes are killin’ me.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Ken showed his badge to the maître d’. “Sinatra’s in the room by the macaw, Lieutenant.” Mimi took a swing step and led the way through the Brazilian-themed dining room, stealing glances at the real-life notoriety. When they reached the padded door behind the bandstand, Rusty Bryant was breakin’ down <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ili97etMqGw"><i>Night Train</i></a>. A slick-haired goon in a tight-fitting suit strong-armed them. “Alto. Who are chew?”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Mimi gave a mean look from a bad movie. “Detective Stricker and Mimi O’Brien.” The goon licked his lips, checked the slip in his ticket pocket and opened the door. “Buenas noches.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Primitive masks populated the garish-red walls. A portrait of Dom Pedro hung above a teakwood mantel. Ken’s eyes looked for heat on the baby sister slouched next to the Iron Devil; Mimi stared at Sinatra’s stunning blue eyes in his Coppertone face. A B-girl in a cocktail dress was seated next to him at a circular table draped to the floor with a white tablecloth. Across from them, Lana Turner in a dazzling white evening gown was having a conversation with a tanned stranger in a silk shirt. Jo, the other B-girl, was on his lap.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Serving dishes, half-eaten plates of food, glasses and drinks littered the well-laid table. Sinatra’s girl gestured. “I’m Karin, honey. Frank here is chairman of the board.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“How d’ya do. Mimi’s my name.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“A star needs no introduction,” said Karin, looking Lana’s way.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“All stars flicker out, honey—except Frank’s,” cut in Lana. “You’ll see.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Karin patted the high-backed chair next to her and purred to Mimi, “What’s the matter, sweetie? Bring those fuck-me’s over here. What are they?”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Mimi modeled her pumps.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Cherry,” said Karin, “turn around,” sizing up Mimi’s bottom.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">The bodyguard left his corner, gave a small bow and seated Mimi.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Karin took a Chesterfield from a gold case, lit it and held it for Mimi. “If you don’t like me, just say so.” Mimi flushed and met Karin’s eyes straightaway. Mimi moved in close and lipped it, drawing hard, exhaling through her nose.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“I-I—”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Karin blew a complimentary cloud. “Tell the truth.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“You’re very pretty.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Karin tapped the ash off her cigarette. “The kid’s a barn burner, Frank.” Slim Sinatra cupped his hands around his whisky and water and swished the ice.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Excusez, moi,” Jo joked, loosening the laces on her down blouse. Lana dropped her cigarette in the au jus. “Aren’t you late for your French class?” Jo slid off the stranger’s lap, revealing the push of her bosom to Ken. “Don’t just stand there. Come over here, baby. Sit down and stay awhile. I’ll even pour one.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Ken moved toward the empty seat next to Jo. “Johnny Stompanato,” said the tall, muscular stranger in a soft, deep baritone voice, reaching for Ken’s hand. Ken’s eyes were on Jo; he almost lost his balance returning the grip. “Ken Stricker, L.A.P.D. Vice.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Stompanato arched his bushy eyebrows. Ken settled in next to Jo. “Give my regards to Mickey.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Mr. Cohen to you, cop.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Thanks for the information, friend.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Friend? You’re no friend of mine. Why don’t you—”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Cut it Johnny, we’re having a quiet little dinner,” Lana said over her drink. She pushed her half-eaten hamburger away and picked up a bread knife. “Understand?” </span><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">She kept her eyes on Ken as she stroked the knife with loving care. “Frank’s giving me the low-down on Imitation of Life. Pre-production is in two months. Universal is clippin’ me.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Sinatra added an ice cube to his drink, “Universal is giving you a pat hand. It’s the best role since Scarlett O'Hara and more glamour. Louis B. Mayer was an SOB, but he loved movies. The guys today don’t even like movies. Go to Ross direct, like you did with Mayer. Ross’ll give you what you want. You’ll net fifty and be back on top again.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Jesus Christ. She was fuck’n Connery on the set,” cackled Stompanato. “Another clunker and she’ll be doing half and half.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Lana slammed the knife down and waved a finger in his face. “I’m the only one who knows that story and it’s gonna stay that way. I don’t know why I bother. I could cock my little finger and have a thousand guys like you.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">He grabbed her wrist. “Don’t fuck with me, Lana. You’ll regret it.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Let go of me, or I’ll put you back in the sewer where I found you!”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Mimi rose from her seat.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“No you won’t, Mimi. Stay out of this!” Lana commanded.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“I’ll hurt you where it counts. I’ll—”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Sinatra turned red and banged his glass on the table, “Shut the fuck up, pimp! Act like a man.” Lana jerked her arm away from Stompanato. Mimi sat down. A contemptuous silence came over the table. Only the tinkle of ice in Frank’s glass could be heard. Lana resumed with a mischievous smile, focusing the attention on herself. “I told Frank what a fool you were in London. You’re the laughing stock of Hollywood.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Up yours,” said Stompanato, sulking.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Thank you for the invitation,” said Lana. “Anybody heard of Sean Connery?” She waited for the reaction. “Nobody has. He’s amazing. We were filming a cozy little love scene for MGM when my big baby comes running on the set, yelling and waving a loaded gun. I screamed. Sean decked him before he could pull the trigger.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Scotland Yard—I didn’t know at the time it was a real thing—they put him on the next plane out.” Lana raised her hands in triumph. “Done. Finished. Adios.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Stompanato fumed, “Really nice little performance. I’m good enough to fuck you, but not to walk on the red carpet. You’re no class. All you do is suck people dry.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Let’s go home and get it over with. I’m going to throw you out with the trash.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">The goon burst through the door with a house extension. “Deez fon ees for joo, Meester Ken Streeker.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Ken took the receiver. “Who? Yeah. Right now? What’s the address? . . . I got it, thanks,” and hung up. “District needs a cover car.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Sinatra lowered his voice, “I’ll get Mimi home safe and sound.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Ken made for the door. “Where you gonna be?” asked Mimi.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Check with Maury.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Ken closed the door on the way out. Baby Please Don’t Go drifted through the walls. Jo leaned across Johnny to light Lana’s cigarette. “I think your films imitate life.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Not my life,” moaned Lana. “I wanted one husband and four kids, not four husbands and one kid.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Ken hurried through the dining room, past the furs, into the bar. Stan was in dispute with the officer handcuffing the Cowboy. “He owes a twenty.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Empty his pockets,” Lou replied. He looked up at Ken. “I reckon you knocked the Cowboy off his horse for good.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“I didn’t see nothin’,” exclaimed Toledo Sue.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“What do I need to get outta here?” asked Ken.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Sign here, detective. Maggie’ll fix it,” said Lou.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“I owe you, Lou,” Ken said.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Before ya go,” inquired Stan. “Lou wants to use orange juice in barbecue sauce. Are you pro-juice?”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“I’m not anti.” Ken put his hat on. “Tab?”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“You’re good,” said Stan.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Ken handed Stan twenty bucks. “Split it with the valet.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Car’s out front. What’s the word?”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“A 261. West Hollywood.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“That’s a dirty shame,” observed Toledo Sue. “Happy Easter, for Chrissakes.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Next thing, Ken was out in the fresh air, under a glass canopy.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">A redhead looking for business extended her arm. “Hey, sweetie. Want a good time?”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Ken tipped his hat. “Excuse me. Have we met?”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“I suppose that’s funny. Wanna give it a go? Huh?”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Take it back to the stroll. I know scum when I step in it.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: large;">“Coming from you, that’s a compliment!” called a blonde, making short, uneven strikes on the sidewalk with her spike heels. She pushed up close and flicked her cigarette into the street and teetered. “You </span></span><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">could use some fun. Whadya say?”</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Ken saw a bright flash. Houses across the street took on a grave, grainy texture. The valet held an umbrella and jerked the car door open. Ken climbed in under the wheel. “Thank you—thank you so much,” jeered the redhead.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Ken backed the big Packard and skidded onto Sunset Boulevard. A Chevy full of teenagers crossed at Fairfax and suddenly, he was staring at the Naktong River. He cracked the window for air. His stomach wasn’t right. Waiting for the light at Pacific, a checkerboard superimposed itself on the distant hills. He opened the car door and puked, watching it dissolve in the wet pavement. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">The car behind honked. The man stuck his head out the window. “Hey buddy, get a move on. You outta you mind?”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Ken gassed it.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">9:10 pm. Ken’s hands trembled as he pulled behind the flashing lights at 1245 North Orange. He paused on the pavement before pushing past the peeps and squares to the door awning. A face in the crowd yelled, “Get a load of that hot-shot in a hundred-dollar suit.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Ken showed his badge to the bull, “1-A, Chief.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">The nude body was face down on the living room couch, hair tied back, brassiere and bathrobe on the floor. Lawrence Welk was on the TV. “Looks like an atomic bomb,” Ken said to the patrol cop staring out the front window. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Here comes the lab boys.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Ken stepped over spilled cigarettes. “See that footprint? A lot of rapists have big feet.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“That so?” said a second cop.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Whadya deaf?” Ken walked over to the couch. “Cuff bands on her wrists. Ligature marks. Missed that, didn’t ya?”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Now I remember,” sneered the cop. “You’re not homicide.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Cut the crap, Ace. I've got more important things to do. What about the parents?”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“They’re comin’ from Minnianapolis. The sister’s in the bedroom, out of it.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Ken put gloves on and crouched by the body. The jaw was gaped open. He felt the lower part. “Strangulation. The face is black. Cyanotic. Cover the face. Don’t close the eyes. The photo cops need those. Wait till the coroner removes the body before you call the backup boys. Keep the press outside, and while you’re at it, look for evidence out there. I’ll get the medicine cabinet.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Ken was examining something in his tweezers when the print man showed him a note—a single sheet of college-ruled paper, written in a neat, Georgia Bell pen. “Was she clutching it?”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“It was on the table.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Somebody could have placed it there afterward. Read it for me, please. Out loud.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“If I can’t see my dad here, I will—“</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Give it to me.” Ken sniffed both sides of the note and handed it back. “Smell.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">The print man did as he was told. “I don’t smell anything.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“You see. No perfume. Slowly, now, from the top.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“If I can’t see my dad here, I will see him from above. I’m trying to watch TV, but I don’t know. It’s so lonely here. I want to sleep. I keep thinking about the pills, but I’m scared. I want out but oh I don’t know. I’m so cold. I can’t stand this empty feeling. My head is horrible. Stop the pounding. Somebody do something.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Glassine?”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Here you go, skipper.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Ken dropped the object in the envelope and handed it back to the print man. “A button came off during the struggle. One of ours. Mark it ‘bathroom sink’. </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">You
have a good criminal list on this?"</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; text-indent: 0.5in;">“Uhm…I believe
it’s Jake. Jake is okay.”</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">See that he gets the note and the envelope.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Ken closed the medicine cabinet door. “She was strangled by someone who knew her. The ligature is missing. The tampon was probably pulled from the vagina. I can’t say she was raped. All her clothes are missing except for her shoes. A woman this beautiful, there’s more to be learned here. Check on sis. Ask her for any boyfriends and what the victim was puttin’ out. Find out </span><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; line-height: 115%; text-align: left;">if she was depressed.</span></span><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“One more thing,” said Ken.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Yeah?”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Somebody water the hydrangeas.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Ken went back outside, past the shouts and blinding flashbulbs, to the refuge of the Packard. He made notes and sat listening to the rain drumming on the roof before deciding on Frank & Musso’s.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">9:42 pm. Sal, the bartender in a red jacket, was reading the L.A. Times. Ken hung his hat on a hook and took a spot among the single men at the mahogany bar. “A hot blond in the sand.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Sal poured it himself, and added cream and sugar. “You look like you seen a ghost.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Ken poured the coffee into a saucer to cool it. “A couple. Got somethin’ for a stomach?”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Mitch—whip up Adam & Eve on a raft and wreck ‘em. I’ll get the Bromo.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Who just left?”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“John St. John. He was buying dinner for Raymond Burr.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“He showed him the Dahlias, didn’t he?”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“A glossy. The one in the grass.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“There’s a problem with that picture,” said Ken.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Why? It was real clean and focused.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“It was taken at night, with a flash, Sal.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“I thought they found her in the morning.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Check.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Are you jes gonna leave the Dahlia like that?”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: large;">“I got no time for cold cases, Sal. I’m losin’ my mind.”</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">10:15 pm. Mitch handed the phone to Ken. “For you.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“I’m feelin’ better, Mitch.” Ken traded his dirty dishes for the phone and dropped five on the bar. He looked at Mitch and covered the mouthpiece. “Loose lips sink ships.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Mitch moved off.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Go ahead, Maury.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“L-A-N-I-T-A is on the other line. She didn’t call to hear your pearly voice. Flipped her wig.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Where is she?”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Says hurry up and come to 7-3-0 North Bedford Drive. Come alone and don’t ask questions.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“On the way.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Check. Bedford and Lomita. You better count your chickens. There’s a full moon.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">*</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">10:36 pm. Ken passed a Rolls on Sunset and turned over onto Bedford at the Church of the Good Shepherd. He couldn’t help thinking of his mother and Mimi, and Kanoaka, the Japanese girl who took the bullets out of his gun.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">10:38 pm. He rang the doorbell at the only house with the lights on, a large white Colonial with blue trim. Nothing stirring but the wind in the trees. Two more rings and a striking fifty-year-old woman in shades opened the door—dark hair, fifteen years on Lana.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Ken held up his badge, “Detective Ken Stricker, Los Angeles Police Department, ma’am.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Police?” she gasped.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“That’s right.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">She looked him up and down. “Anybody can carry a badge.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Yes, ma’am. I’d like to talk to Miss Lana Turner.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Well… you cannot!”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“She asked for me. Personally.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“She’s not here.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Mind if I come in and wait?”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“What’s this about? There is nothing wrong here. I am her mother. What makes you think she wants to see you?”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“We had dinner tonight with Frank Sinatra.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Oh. I see—pardon me, I am such a mess,” she cried, with as much dignity as she could muster. She lifted her shades and wiped the tears away with a handkerchief, before assuming a quiet sociability. “Come in. Don’t just stand there in the rain.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">A large portrait of F.D.R. hung in the foyer. Daffodils and a statue of Child Jesus sat on a table beneath a framed mirror.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Thank you, Mrs.—”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Miss Mildred Frances Turner,” she panted. She turned away to the mirror to stroke her hair, fix her dress and catch her breath. “I’ll take your coat and hat. You will find my daughter upstairs. Dr. MacDonald will explain. I need to lie down.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">When Ken reached the first landing, Lana was running back and forth yelling, “My career! My career! They’ll fire me! I’ll be a nothing!”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">One of the bedroom doors was ajar. Ken pushed it open. He froze. A doctor was shining a light in Johnny Stompanato’s eyes.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Doc?”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">MacDonald stood up in surprise.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Ken stepped in and showed his badge.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“L.A.P.D. what took you so long?” and turned off his pen light. “The eyes are glazed over, pupils fixed and dilated. Obviously, this individual—”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Ken dropped to a knee.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Are you okay?” MacDonald said.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“I thought you were a medic—“</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“You could say that. You’re a vet, aren’t you, son?”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Without waiting for a reply, Doc helped him up, explaining, “It was a single stab wound to the abdomen, executed with the skill of a commando. I conclude Mr. Stompanato died from hypovolemic shock—his abdomen is distended and blood is still extravasating from the wound. Probably one of the large splenic or mesenteric arteries was severed.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“How long—”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Approximately three minutes. When I arrived, Mildred—Miss Turner’s mother, if you don’t already know—was administering mouth-to-mouth respiration. Of course, any attempt at resuscitation would be futile. I administered an injection of adrenaline as standard protocol.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Doc’s kind assurance had snapped Ken out of it. “Doc, you saddle up and check on Mildred, would ya? She’s a nervous wreck. Might be a breathing problem.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Doc disappeared with his bag. Lana swept in, crazy-eyed and confused, waving a cigarette. “You’re here, thank God!” She sprawled on the settee like Cleopatra. “Ooooh, do I need you! Could you get the ashtray on the dressing table?”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Ken handed it to her. “Well now—”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Lana exhaled a cloud. “I’m not going to talk about it.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Okay. Suppose you tell me about it.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“I can’t bear it… honestly. I feel like killing myself,” Lana said, crushing her cigarette.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“C’mon. You must’ve had a reason.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“I walked in on Cheryl and Johnny.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Cheryl?”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“My daughter. My fourteen-year-old daughter! A child of fourteen was in bed with a thirty-three-year-old man!”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“What did you say?”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Are you kidding? I—I was too shocked to say anything.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“What position were they in?”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“On their back, on top of the covers. Sleeping.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Mmm. Hmm.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Lana’s fake eyebrows narrowed. “He was resting up after the dirty deed. On my side of the bed. Disgusting! I went crazy. Berserk. Is that a word? Berserk? Opened the drawer of the nightstand. Grabbed the knife and plunged it into his stomach.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Nice going.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“I swear I only wanted to castrate him.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Uh-huh. What happened then?”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Cheryl woke up screaming.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Hmmmm.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“All he said was, ‘What have you done, Lana.’”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Was anyone else home?”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“No. The servants had the night off. Boxes all over the kitchen. It’s a mess!”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Any visitors?”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Del and Bill Brooks.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Who’s Brooks?”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Del’s boyfriend. They left before all this started.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“And your mother?”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“What do you think? She was at her place.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“The knife?”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Lana shuddered as if she’d seen a ghost. “He kept looking at the knife, making weird noises.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“I have to know where the knife is.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“I bought it from the hardware store. It’s about this long—”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Where’s the knife you whittled him with?”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“I picked it up. Razor sharp, how it would feel against my skin. I put it in the drawer.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Lana!”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“It’s in the sink.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Don’t move, I’ll get it. What else did you do?”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“I called Frank.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Where’s Mimi?”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“With Frank.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Ken went into the bathroom and wiped the prints off the knife. When he returned, there she was—tall and strong-looking, hair dark like Mildred’s and trembling.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“I didn’t know you had a daughter,” said Ken.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Most of the time neither does she.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Lana’s neck muscles tightened. “Cheryl. This gentleman is Sergeant Stricker. Inspector Stricker.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“He’s tall,” said Cheryl, her eyelids flickering at Ken.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Never mind. He’s helping us today. Can you stay here a minute?”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Cheryl’s eyes opened wide.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Will you answer your mother?”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Help us with what?”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Homicide,” declared Ken, “The killing of one human being by another. An offense against God and man.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Jesus Christ. I only meant to scare him,” explained Lana.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Cheryl exploded. “Scare him? Mother, you scared him straight to Hell! Say it! Say it!”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Lana reached out, “I’m your mother. What do you want me to say? That I killed the SOB?”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“No, mother. I know you don’t want us—”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“I killed the son of a bitch. Satisfied? And stop bringing up that idiot!”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Ken struck his palm with a fist. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Let me handle this.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“You can’t talk to her when she gets like this,” Cheryl muttered.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Lana lit another cigarette. “Ye—es, Ser—geant. Of course, Ser—geant.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Ken grunted, “Now let’s get organized. The rest of your life depends on it.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“It’s been nuts these last few days. You deal.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Ken watched Cheryl bite her lower lip and pull the hair away from her face, first one side then the other. “She’s tall, a whole five inches taller than you.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Lana eyed Ken suspiciously through a cloud of smoke. “Five-and-a-half. What does that have to do with tea in China?”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“I have an idea. Johnny has threatened you on various occasions. Correct?”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“And my daughter. And my mother. And the other day the idiot asked me for four thousand dollars. When I stalled, he said, ‘When a man works with his hands, I cut off his hands. You work with your face; I will destroy your face. And if I can’t do it, I have friends who can. Your mother, your kid, I cut ‘em in half.’”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Ken held out his hands, palm up. “Prints are gone. No witnesses. Cops know nothin’.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Ken paused for effect until Cheryl’s eyes met his. “Suppose Cheryl stabbed Johnny.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Cheryl blanched and dropped limp to her knees. Lana’s face filled with fright. “No! She hasn’t done anything!”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Baby! Baby!” Lana got down with Cheryl on the plush pink carpet and gave Ken a furious look. “You didn’t mean that. You’re joking!”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">He took a step back and warned Lana. “You—”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Not my daughter! I told you I did it. See! The blood’s on my hands.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“I don’t see any—maybe a trace. The fact is, you ran him through with a carving knife. They’ll throw the book at you. What’s the worst for Cheryl? Six months in juvie?”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Cheryl looked at Ken as if he were mad. She pulled a strand of her hair to the front.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“At least you won’t have smoke coming out of your head,” put in Ken.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Why?”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Not in the gas-chamber chair.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Dread crossed Cheryl’s face. “Ohhh.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Lana caught Cheryl’s eye. “It’s cop humor, honey.” She gave Ken a wicked look. “In Korea, did you kill anyone? You know, in the service of your country, something to be proud of?”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“I don’t like to talk about killing a man,” he said, loosening his tie, “but I rather enjoyed watching him die.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Oh, right! Thank you for that,” Lana winced and drew deeply. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Cheryl tossed her head in rebellion, “I’m not helping you with anything.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“She’s been cross, lately,” apologized Lana.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Mother, please. You, of all people, couldn’t possibly understand,” countered Cheryl angrily. “You don’t know what I’m going through. It’s nothing to do with you or Johnny!”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“What now?” said Lana.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Ken scratched his ear, clearly discomfited. “We don’t have all night. Shut up and listen. Cheryl’s in her room doing homework or watching TV… with the door shut. She hears you and Mr. Personality arguing in your room. She comes to your door and listens.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“I know! This is where I give Johnny his walking papers. ‘I’m through with you. Pack your goddamn bags and get the fuck outta my house! Go back to your gangsters!’”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Ken led on. “He calls you a cunt and threatens to cut you. Stay with me now. This is where it gets tricky. Cheryl goes back to her room. She hears the mutilation shit about her and Mildred. Follow?”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“It’s not Mildred. It’s Gran,” snorted Cheryl, rocking back and forth, with a hint of surrender.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Ken looked out the window while he considered his next step. “Cheryl goes downstairs to the kitchen for something and sees a knife on one of those boxes. She’s looking at the knife. She’s had enough and runs back upstairs with it. She stands outside your bedroom door, uncertain what to do, except to keep the princess safe from the pirates.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Lana stood up sharply. “Let me take over. Johnny and I are screaming at each other. More threats from the lunatic. Now... um... um....”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Go ahead.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“No. You go ahead.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">”Cheryl grips the knife and yells, ‘Mother, mother, are you all right?’ The door flies open. You’re panic stricken. Johnny’s chasin’ you.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Now the clincher,” said Ken. “Come over here, Cheryl.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Lana tilted her head at Cheryl. “Will you quit pacing and let the gentleman do his job?”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“You have no idea what I’m thinking,” said Cheryl, avoiding her mother.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Please don’t raise your voice to me. I want you prepared, baby,” Lana reassured.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Cheryl approached Ken warily, watching his every move.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Ken struck a pose. “Johnny’s hand is raised. He’s screaming at your mother, ‘You’ll never get away from me. I’ll cut you good, baby! No one’ll ever look at that pretty face again.’ You’re wielding the knife like so. You step in the room and stab him, like so.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“How do I do it? No matter how much I hated him, I couldn’t do it,” Cheryl protests.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Okay, he either runs into the blade or you stab him—you can’t remember which.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“What? How’s that gonna go over?” Lana said sharply.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“People get scared and they can’t remember. Johnny looks at the knife, ‘Cheryl, Cheryl.’ He stumbles and falls. You and Cheryl stand there, shocked. He had nothing in his hand.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Cheryl sniffed and reached out to embrace her mother.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Lana gently pushed her away, “No, sweetheart, my hair.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Cheryl began to sob. “Mother, I love you so much. I don’t know what I’d do without you. You’re all I have. My life would be ruined. I’m scared.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Lana sat down at the dressing table and touched up her hair. She took a cigarette from a silver box. Ken steadied her hand and lit it for her. She looked up. “That’s a lot for Cheryl.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“I can’t do it,” said Cheryl in a monotone.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“We’ll go over it, honey. We’ll rehearse. I’ll coach you. I’ll show you the marks.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Cheryl swallowed hard. “I couldn’t follow everything he said.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“I’ll break it into small pieces. You’ll figure it out.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Ken cleared his throat. “Lana. This is your big role. You can ad lib as long as you stay within the overall script. Cheryl. You’re young. They’ll guess right and put the heat on your mother. They’ll put you in separate rooms. They have a tape recorder. They’ll switch facts, getcha workin’ against each other, getcha to roll over.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Lana closed her eyes and put a hand up to her forehead.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“What is it, Lana?”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“I gave him presents. I tried to get rid of him but he would beg and I would give in. I’m soft, too easy. I don’t know, Ken. “I’ve fought monsters all my life. They’re not gonna destroy me now!” What do we do when the police come?”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Let them ask the questions. They’ll come a time when you’ll have to make a statement. Stick to the basic scenario. Volunteer nothing. Cops are gambling on a confession. You’re not playin’ a chess game, you’re eatin’ the pieces.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“When do we call the police?” wondered Lana, freshening her lips.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Cheryl rose to her feet, showing her teeth to Ken. “Aren’t you a cop?”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“He’s not like the others,” interrupted Lana.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“I can’t stay for the show,” Ken said idly.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Lana looked at Ken through the mirror. “Johnny lies there like a block of ice.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“What?”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Schoenberg. Aria from the Mirror of Arcady.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Hmm.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“I’m not a dumb bitch.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Ken moved over to the bed. “Fear no more the heat of the sun, or the furious winter rages.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Who dreamt that crap up?” exclaimed Lana.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Shakespeare. Now let’s slide this stuck pig off your sheets.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Lana stirred from the vanity and faced Ken. “Like Hell! I’m not gonna have blood on the carpet!”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Ken pointed to the body. “There’s no blood. No blood at all.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Cheryl eyeballed Johnny. “I don’t care. I’m not gonna touch him.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Lana beckoned Cheryl, “Baby, please. Please don’t make it any worse. Come on, now.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“The head is the heaviest.” Ken took the head, Lana the feet, Cheryl the torso. “All together—one-two-three, upsy daisy!”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Johnny came off the bed with a thud, clean, face up on the pink rug. Cheryl shivered. “I’m gonna be sick.” She covered her mouth and ran for the bathroom but failed to make it.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">While Cheryl cleaned up her mess, Ken used his hands. “Lana, from my angle, when someone is stabbed in the gut, they fall forward. Johnny’s position is all wrong for that. Your job is to convince the police, the judge and the jury that he danced a jig and fell over backward.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Lana pushed up to Ken. Her features sharpened, like her mother’s. “Will Cheryl be on trial?”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“No. She’s juvenile. She’ll be locked up in the Hall or out on bail, if she’s lucky. The inquest will be held here in Beverly Hills. You’re the star witness.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Oh that’s a relief,” said Lana sarcastically.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“You’ll have an audience. The room will be packed. The press’ll be there, lookin’ for anything. Your mother and doc’ll be there. Also a D.A. That’s the pigeon you sell. A trial means J. Miller Leavy and questions, embarrassing ones.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Ken, what would you think if I was close with Andy?”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Chief Anderson?”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Yes.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“How close?”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">She made an obscene gesture.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Your odds are good. I’d put four grand on no trial.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“I need to believe that so much.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“You still play your cards right. Tweed. White gloves and tweed.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Cheryl returned from the bathroom. Lana put her arm around her, “If anything happens to Cheryl—”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Mother, your cop buddy-friend walks into our house like an omniscient god, and—”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Baby… take a deep breath—”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Whose side is he on anyway?”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Hush. You’re not yourself.” Lana wiped Cheryl’s face and fixed her hair.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“I thought he’d be short and ugly. When did you first meet, anyway?” Cheryl said icily.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“I don’t think it’s something you need to know. We—”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Excuse me, ladies. Can I take my bribe and be off?”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“He’s gettin’ paid?” asked Cheryl, raising her eyes to Lana.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Don’t be silly.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Ken noted Johnny’s address and took his black book; he left keys and wallet for the police and checked his watch. “Cheryl, bundle the bedding in a laundry bag.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Those are my pink satin sheets!” Lana shrieked.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“It’s all gotta go. Everything.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“I’m not Lizzie Borden,” scoffed Cheryl, as she stripped the bed.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Ken leaned in to Lana, removed the cigarette from her lips and took a drag. “Let me see your hands.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“It was a cantaloupe.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“What are you talking about?”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“It felt like I was cutting a cantaloupe.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Did you cut yourself? I don’t see any blood on your dress.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“No. Only a cut on my lip. See?”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Ken placed the half-smoked cigarette between her lips. “So you bit your lip.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“You seemed to enjoy a smoke. I thought you quit,” taunted Lana.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“I’ve wanted one all night.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Lana made a bee line for the bathroom. “Watch the orange stain.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Ken followed. “What about doc?”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“He’s a family friend. He’ll go along. Same for mother. You met Mildred?”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“I believe so. Say, who you gonna call?”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Giesler.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“I know the name. Well respected. He got Bugsy Siegel off and he’s got a file on the Chief. You can’t do better than that, but you’re gonna have a little problem with him—his links with Cohen.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“You think I don’t know?” mumbled Lana.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Ahhh—one more thing. Why was there a knife in your nightstand?”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“A lady needs something to protect herself.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“You got your point across.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“What got into you tonight?”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Better watch your step, you’re gonna be hot for awhile.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Umm.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Are you listening?”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Hand me a towel. That one.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“It has fringe.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“It’s a Turkish towel.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Or a Turk in a towel. Now, as I was saying, check on your mother. I don’t care if she’s bawlin’ her eyes out, move her outta here. Don’t forget to make the bed before you call Anderson.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Ken lugged the laundry bag to the car, stashed it in the trunk and checked the scanner. When he returned, Lana and Cheryl were rehearsing in the living room. Mildred was out cold.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Lana brought Ken’s coat and hat.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Everything clear?”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Ye-es, except,” Lana glanced around at Cheryl, “When she was born she wouldn't stop crying. I can see she’s unhappy, but I don’t know what to do.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Maybe that’s her way of telling you something.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“She judges me all the time. The way she tells it, I’m what’s wrong with her.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Mothers and daughters are like that. Pay more attention to her.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Yeah, I know. I wish my life was more stable.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Ken put his coat on. “Don’t make her run.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“She means a lot to me. Anyway, I hate goodbyes. Here’s the four grand. Buy yourself a silk shirt. It’s on Johnny.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Ken took the pink envelope. “That’s a nice thank you,” he said without gratitude. “How about something more personal?”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">The thought brought wonder to her face. She twiddled her bracelets. “You mean—”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">He looked at her straight. “A mink coat.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Lana coughed. “For Mimi? She can have mine. I never cared much for mink.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“She’ll love that.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Lana reached for Ken’s hand, “I’m a fool, not some crazy bitch. Italian men are soooo handsome—John was backward, but he really grabbed me. We wrote love letters, like high school sweethearts.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“At least it kept you from killin’ each other.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Lana pulled away contemptuously, “Are you this rude to your sweet little angel?”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“You couldn’t care less,” returned Ken.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“That’s very touching. You listen to me. You were waiting for Mimi all your life. She’ll destroy you.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Mind your own—”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">At that moment, Sinatra crashed through the half-open front door with Mimi.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Frank, Frank!” Lana cried, “Something terrible—”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">*</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">11:27 pm. The rain stopped falling on the great, barbarous city. The neighborhood was still deserted. Ken and Mimi climbed into the Packard and nosed out onto Bedford Drive. Mimi snuggled up to him in the front seat with her mink coat on. “Sir, is your nose workin’?”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Madam, that’s by Nikolai Gogol.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“I withdraw the question.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Seriously, there’s a dark 1958 claret in the trunk. I think it’s Type A.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Ken cracked a window. Mimi opened her wing vent, “They say blood will have blood.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Not in this.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Why?”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“It’s all set.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">They turned east onto Wilshire and cruised along the wet boulevard. Mimi bent down to light a cigarette from the car lighter. “You’re sweaty.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">He felt her bottom. “You’re warm.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">She squirmed. “You threw me to the crocodiles, n’est-ce pas?”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Lana’s 187 crackled over the radio, followed by a burst of noise. Ken switched it off. He had no feeling of conquest or job well done—that’s life as a cop. He handed the black book to Mimi. “This is his last will and testament. See if you’re in there.” She opened it and began to read aloud, gravely. “June Allyson... Anita Ekberg... Zsa Zsa Gabor... ooooh… Rock Hudson... Cole Porter... Liz Renay. Liz Renay?”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Liz Renay is Cohen’s whore.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Mimi tossed her cigarette out the window. “This guy Cohen—”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“This guy? This… are you kiddin’? He’s not writin’ numbers. He’s got L.A. locked down and the whole West Coast.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“That’s what I’m sayin’. We know Stompanato was servicing Lana—”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“That’s cute.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Say what you want. How do you know Cohen wasn’t loopin’ her with Johnny?”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“We don’t.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Somethin’ like that.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Yeah… maybe. Come to think of it, Cleopatra mentioned letters.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Cleopatra?”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Yeah. She thinks she’s Queen of Egypt.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Queen of clubs you mean. Night clubs.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Don’t let her get near you with a knife.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Ewwww.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“No kidding, though, if any pictures or tapes get out, she’s goin’ downtown.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“We better get over to Johnny’s before Cohen does,” urged Mimi. “Don’t ya think?”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“806.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“What’s that?”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Robertson. That’s where he lives—use to.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">11:38. Ken turned onto Robertson and slowed in front of Stompanato’s.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Shouldn’t we go around the back?” said Mimi</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Can we?”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“There might be an alley.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Ken drove past and around and killed the motor in the alley back of 806. Mimi entered the lobby first. “Eight mailboxes. Means eight apartments.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Sure.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Johnny is no. 6. Stands to reason it’ll be on the second floor, doesn’t it?”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“I suppose.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Second floor, second one down. Ummmm, there’s a Cohen here, too.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Oh yeah?”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Mimi half-smiled. “I’m a good picker.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Mimi took her Jourdans off. They climbed the fire escape to the second floor. The glass pane in the bathroom window of no. 6 was open. Ken cut the screen. “Ten minutes.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Mimi licked her lips with the tip of her tongue and crawled in with a flashlight. A gold-framed picture of Cohen and Johnny in the living room, three locks on the front door. She ransacked a few drawers, took a jar of K-Y from the dresser and found a key. She didn’t notice the leather shaving kit with fourteen letters from Lana tucked inside.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Footsteps. Lock noise. She clenched the key between her teeth, held her breath and crawled out the way she crawled in. They crouched together on the escape, whispering. Mimi showed Ken the key. “With my brains and your looks, we can go places.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“A railway locker. Cops don’t check train stations.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">A car came down the alley. Mimi handed Ken the jar of K-Y.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“What’s this?”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Good times every time.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">A dog barked.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Is something wrong with me, Mimi?”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“What do you mean?”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Look at me. Say if there’s something wrong.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“I dunno.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Something’s been going on in my head. It’s like headaches.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Mimi leaned closer. “I saw the pain in your eyes after you hit the Cowboy.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">The smell of her hair excited Ken. He took Mimi’s chin in his hand. “I was so ashamed when I hit you. I don’t understand. Look at me, Mimi. Say if there’s something wrong.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Shhhh. No.” She kissed his scar. “I’ll make you forget it.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Wait. I saw a shadow—that couldda been Cohen. C’mon. I’ll get you down.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Ken drove fast. Mimi checked for a tail. She tuned in Bill Balance on KFWB. “Tequilaaa!” she yelled, “One more time!” clapping and snapping her fingers to the music.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“I never knew how good Tequila could sound.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“You’d love to see Jayne Mansfield dance to it, that’s what.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">*</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">12:25 am. The key opened a locker at Union Station. They took a wooden box back to Ken’s apartment and sat down on the sofa to go through it.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Johnny’s penis was the most photographed in the world,” declared Mimi.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Well, it’s damn sure photogenic,” Ken agreed, handing her the box.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">She tossed him a pillow. “Some night, huh?”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“A roller coaster.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Yeah.” She plopped down on his lap. “Am I disturbing you?”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“No.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Do you think somewhere in the world there’s peace and quiet?”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“It’s here with you.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“So you imagine.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">He unzipped her dress down to the small of her back and unclipped her bra.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Ohhhh. Your hands are cold. Want somethin’?”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Um-hm.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">She turned and kissed him on the forehead. “Name it.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“A roast beef and a double 7up on the rocks.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">By the time Mimi returned from the kitchen, Ken had dozed off. While she waited for him to come around, she took a few negatives to the darkroom.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Soon she came roaring out, waving a wet 8 x 10. “The fuck! This is you and Cleopatra!”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">That woke Ken. She threw the photo at him. Her eyes filled with tears. “She’s disgusting.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“What are you doing, Mimi? I’ve—”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“You? You’re disgusting.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><div>She opened a fresh pack of Chesterfields. “I never want to see you again. You hear?”</div><div><br /></div><div>She lit one, and blew an angry gust. “Why, oh, why?”</div><div><br /></div><div>“Umm—”</div><div><br /></div><div>“Don’t you dare lie to me.” </div><div><br /></div><div>“Take a good look at that picture! You think you’re gonna fix this?”</div><div><br /></div><div>Ken averted her eyes. “Stop. You’re shaking.”</div><div><br /></div><div>“You cheat on me and don’t fuck me. At least fuck me!” </div><div><br /></div><div>Ken raised himself from the couch. “It was just—”</div><div><br /></div><div>“You’re a liar. Was it good? Her mouth’s smaller than mine! Right? </div><div>Huh?”</div><div><br /></div><div>“Stop it—”</div><div><br /></div><div>“Do you realize how much I’ve given up for you?”</div><div><br /></div><div>“Keep your voice down.”</div><div><br /></div><div>Mimi stopped pacing and shook a fist in his face. “Don’t touch me! </div><div><br /></div><div>Don’t you dare or—”</div><div><br /></div><div>“Or what?”</div><div><br /></div><div>Mimi put on the mink, backed away and eyed the door. </div><div><br /></div><div>“Where are you going?”</div><div><br /></div><div>“Leaving.” </div><div><br /></div><div>“You’re off your rocker. You don’t have clothes.”</div><div><br /></div><div>“Take a good look, you lyin’ bastard. It’s the last you’ll ever see!”</div><div><br /></div><div>“I’ll find you.”</div><div><br /></div><div>“I’ll kill myself!” </div><div><br /></div><div>“I’ll bring you back and your fuck’n mink.”</div><div><br /></div><div>“Liar.”</div><div><br /></div><div>“Liar.”</div><div><br /></div><div>“I hate you!”</div><div><br /></div></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">*</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Saturday, April 5, 1958. 10:32 am. Ken and Mimi burned the bedclothes and the box. (You don’t fuck with The Family.)</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">A week later, Giesler exclaimed, “This is a case of justifiable homicide. There is no justification for a trial.” The judge agreed. Everyone else agreed that the Stompanato murder was one of the least investigated in the history of the L.A.P.D.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">*</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">They say the greatest fear for a star is to be forgotten. Tourist buses still stop at the large colonial on Bedford Drive, still puzzling over Good Friday.</span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6155957297055594769.post-66021984122259823722022-03-13T14:50:00.003-05:002024-03-09T01:31:00.088-06:00Lysistrata<span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Wassup your butt, Beta? <br />Thing from Miletus, <br />fits guys in one place. <br /><br /></span><div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Borrow your thing? <br />Baby got no bread.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Baby Doll got no bread? <br />Kick it to the Rock, <br />yer bazooms flatter the bums. <br /><br />Who's playin’? <br />Santayana & the Four Realms. <br /><br />Punctuate it.<br />Put on your pads <br />color your lips <br />and agitate the gravel.</span><br /> </div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6155957297055594769.post-34979153230274293982022-03-13T13:16:00.003-05:002024-03-20T14:48:20.747-05:00Lysistrata - Notes<p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: times;">Lysistrata
("Army Disbander") is an ancient Greek comedy by Aristophanes, first performed
in Athens in 411 BC. It's an account of a woman's mission to end the
Peloponnesian War between Greek city states by denying all the men of the land
sex, the only thing they truly and deeply desired, which only inflamed the
battle between the sexes.—Wiki</span><span style="font-family: times;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">The
two persons would be lesbian or straight. I thought two straight young women. Beta’s
routine is a playful derivative of Lysistrata. Her girl’s night out could
inform a modern rendition of the play. She'll be soon back in the saddle
enjoying it more, having made the point.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: times;">Beta—2</span><sup style="font-family: times;">nd</sup><span style="font-family: times;">
letter in Greek alphabet, a young woman</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Person
Two—a young woman</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Thing—a
dildo</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large; text-align: left;">Up
your butt—an expression, metaphor or ….</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Miletus—The
jewel of Ionia, on the western coast of what is now Turkey and what was then
the boundary of Greece and Persia. It was the most prosperous of the Greek
trading posts, a place of confluence and multiculturalism, known for dildos.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Rock—the
Acropolis in Athens</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Bazooms—they’ll
crash the concert on the Rock by bouncing their boobs or showing their tits.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Santayana—a
modern philosopher, the leader of the Four Realms at the Rock. He’s on the on
keyboard. The Four Realms are essence (alto), matter (trumpet), truth (bass), spirit
(drums).</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: times;">Pads—</span><span style="font-family: times;">50’s slang for </span><span style="font-family: times;">footwear
or falsies.</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: times;">Agitate
the gravel—5</span><span style="font-family: times;">0’s slang for </span><span style="font-family: times;">peel out, ends the poem on a rhythmic note.</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Punctuate
it—an expletive of some sort, see Urban Dictionary.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">The
poem arose from a prompt given by a young poet at the Pulitzer art gallery during
a zoom conference. It emphasizes jazz rhythms, hipster talk. 50’s slang sitting
in for ancient Greek slang.</span></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6155957297055594769.post-25717458862111301052022-02-10T03:56:00.000-06:002024-02-05T05:13:59.209-06:00Now I Lay Me Down To Sleep<p></p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">My first sense of a Higher Power walked in with death:</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Now I lay me down to sleep,</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I pray the Lord my soul to keep.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">If I should die before I wake,</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I pray the Lord my soul to take.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">—Child's bedtime prayer, 18th century</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Before my mother taught me the prayer, I had had no thoughts about death or God. Afterward, those were all my thoughts.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">The prayer, a childhood favorite at the time, established a supernatural realm and the agency to connect it with the material world. It reminded children of the impermanence of life and the certainty of death. Withal, it promoted the curious idea that the sovereignty of the prayer would not only reassure children before bedtime, but also preserve the innocence of childhood slumber following its recitation.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">This can’t be right, can it? How could I go to sleep if I might not wake up? Terrifying. As we prayed together each night, she taught me to pray for others. Would they die, too? This sad bedtime poem generated more questions than answers. What is a soul? Where would the Lord take it? Why couldn’t He leave it alone so I could live forever?</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">As I grew older, I sought more data on this soul-taking God. Neither my mother nor father were regular churchgoers, so it was up to me—I even brought my younger sister Suzie with me to Sunday school.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">When I was eight, we moved from the city to the suburbs. Not long after, my mother and I became charter members of House of Prayer, a new church in the neighborhood, in the Augustana Synod. I asked an older kid and he said, “Synod? I don’t think we’re Jewish or slaves in the Catholic Church.”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">As soon as confirmation classes opened, I enrolled. The class met in the basement of the pastor's house. I studied the Bible, a tract played up as the inerrant word of God which I first found fascinating before my own thoughts began to intrude. Three versions of Jesus' last words. Two versions of creation. Did seven or two clean animals of each type go into the ark? You can’t do it here, but you can do it there. One morality for men, another for women. Brutal pragmatisms everywhere—polygamy for men, rape for female captives, death to the other.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Fears of dying multiplied after I learned that Hell was not just for atheists, and that I was subject to eternal damnation if I didn't die in a state of grace. Add the risk that on any given day Jesus might return to earth and end the world, and you have a very nervous teen.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">If you start asking difficult questions, well, that’s when the real trouble began. I asked Pastor Bingea, who kept God as well as anyone I knew, how exactly do you die in a state of grace? Must I have faith in the Gospels? The Apostles' Creed? The virgin birth? The miracles? Any room for doubt? Was Jesus really a word? Was belief in Him good enough or do you need something else? What if God’s eye was not just? Worse yet, what if it was? Some were answered, some not and some, “We’ll get into that later.”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Despite my misgivings and unanswered questions, I did the homework, aced the tests and became president of my confirmation class. When the day approached, each classmate had a final hurdle—a private visit to Pastor Bingea's study on a Saturday morning. He greeted me warmly, as always, and then turned to something on the agenda that I was unprepared for—a sort of vision quest that the Great Lakes Indian boys my age went on. I was to open a secure communication channel with God. Christ was a god of personal moments and I was to feel Him communicating directly to me.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">I dialed the Figure in the Sky long distance, saw nothing, felt nothing, heard nothing, not even a dial tone. Sensing I was coming under increasing strain, Pastor inquired gently of my progress, but all circuits were busy. “No such number. If you want to make a call, please hang up and dial again.”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">I rubbed my eyes. It wasn’t working. Nobody was up there. I was talking to myself; things had gone from bad to worse. Seeing that I had lost all confidence, Pastor inquired sharply, “Pray in the name of Jesus.”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">I rubbed the bottle again, but saw no genie. I could’ve faked it. I could’ve said God called my name. At last, I was let go with my tail between my legs.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">After that, I wasn’t in a good spot with a God that could take my soul like a thief in the night. He was no more accessible to me than He was to Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane. How do you get a direct experience or knowledge from the supernatural? How could a wordless God provide safety, inspiration or guidance, not sudden indictments and death?</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Oh, I know what you’re thinking—Constantine the Great. What would the church be today, if he had not beheld that brilliant cross of light above the sun at Milvian Bridge before the battle that put Christianity on the map?</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">After my failure to launch, I wasn’t shunned like the Indian boys who failed to see a vision or hear a song in the forest. I was confirmed with Pastor Bingea’s hand-written passage in the flyleaf of my confirmation bible:</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Seek ye first the Kingdom of God,</div><div style="text-align: justify;">and the righteousness,</div><div style="text-align: justify;">and all other things shall be added unto you</div><div style="text-align: justify;">—Matthew 6:33</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Yet the seal of divinity still eluded me. I joined the youth group and went to church Sunday after Sunday with my mother. My father became the church photographer and a lifelong friend of Pastor Bingea.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">In the middle of all this, Dave, my astronomy buddy, invited my friend Gary and I to a Wednesday night service at the Little Flock Pentecostal Church. Dave’s taciturn manner had not prepared me for the joyful mood that his mother and comely sister were in when they picked us up. To this point, I hadn’t the thrill of being in the back seat with such an exciting young lady. Heaven knows what I was getting into.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">As we descended the stairs of the low-slung church basement, I felt an unmistakable buzz. Electricity everywhere—tunes, tongues and testimonials, spontaneous outbursts and ominous sermonizing.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Jesus surely lives here!</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">I thought I had caught the drift of the dialogue until Brother Stefan stopped chastising the Devil, and with arms outstretched to God, declared, “Let everything that hath breath praise the Lord. Praise ye the Lord!” He then grasped a hooked stick and made an impassioned altar call. “Sedahfu shah ma ma casa. The time has come to enter into a new day. Akee la bossy. I have ended your captivity. Ala la ruba. In the name of Jesus, come forth to be born again, free from sin!” (At least for the moment, as I understood it.)</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Members of the congregation jumped up from all over and burst forth with what I first thought were shouts of rebellion, gestures of defiance and an impending revolt, but were simply heartfelt testaments.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Dave’s mother was opposite from a cold, judgmental Christian woman. She lovingly beseeched us, “You will be made whole by the power of God. Let the Spirit of God touch you. This is the day. This is the time!” The piano was playing Jesus is Calling. Gary began to wobble and broke for the rail.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Dave’s sister was younger than me, but her self-possession and beauty made me feel that God sent her to earth to redeem me and show me perfection. She corralled me with a hasty brush and a “Hey-hey-hey, God Jesus, let me smile from my heart, Lord, and sing about you!” I had no interest to oppose the passion issuing from her wondrous lips, for it set my heart a-pounding, and not for the right reason, if anyone cared to notice. The stars in her eyes beckoned me to follow in Gary’s footsteps, but I demurred. I was not so far gone, for I had heard no God and had no vision—my spiritual aspirations were boosted by worldly desires.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">All eyes turned to me while Brother Stefan worked over my wingman, but I held my tongue and stayed my feet until he came back bawling, thoroughly shaken by the Holy Spirit.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Dave and his family were good with God, but the spirit wasn’t in me. The inconclusive evening brought me no closer to God or to the best part (Dave’s sister), even after she confided in me, “I don’t want to be alone at the End Time.”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">My struggle with the fear model continued:</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">He that sacrificeth unto any god,</div><div style="text-align: justify;">save unto the LORD only,</div><div style="text-align: justify;">he shall be utterly destroyed.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">—Exodus 22:20</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">I couldn't sleep. Was my belief in an unresponsive God standing in the way? Did He have spies? Was He angry with me? Laughing?</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Meanwhile, my mother was drawing strength from her daily devotionals when she went to an untimely death from cancer, convinced that she was going to live with God. Where was I? There should have been something in it for me, but the God-silence continued.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Who created God? Who does this hidden God believe in? Who set all this up? Why does anything exist rather than nothing? Superstition, magic, and religion have dominated every known human culture. Is there a god gene? Are we wired for belief or has a propensity to construct grand schemes evolved in our brains over the years?</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">The God thing seemed too good to be true and I had too many questions. It had a good beginning, Adam and Eve. Jesus is the Son of God and Mary’s side of the family has a lot to recommend, although the story often gets very dark as in “and the bloodshed of the firstborn…” I was almost to the point where I might buy in if they could fix some of the cracks in the story, but I’m afraid the publisher would still send it back. God and I were stalemated in a chess match for eternity until lightning struck in a darkened movie theater.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">The widest of all the seas</div><div style="text-align: justify;">is the ocean between a Christian and a pagan.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">—Princess Morgana to Eric, The Vikings (1958)</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Kirk Douglas’ mad, headlong battle-quest for Morgana (Janet Leigh) finally gave me the courage to take on the Great One. I was incapable of divine intercourse, and decided godlessness was a necessity; I let go of despair and stopped examining my own damnation, played my hand and won my peace. I could sleep, talk religion, and attend funerals and church, without fear of the fiery pit.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Death was a light bulb burned out; nearness to God was silence.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Not so fast. I cling to superstition and question coincidence. I keep a crucifix handy against vampires and wonder what would have happened if I had a vision in Pastor Bingea’s study.</div></span><p></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6155957297055594769.post-46698556512856492292022-01-11T23:48:00.001-06:002024-02-19T04:00:53.140-06:00Tanks<div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: large;">Tanks for the memory</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: large;">Of crap games on the floor,</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: large;">Nights in Singapore</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: large;">You might have been a headache,</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: large;">But you never were a bore</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: large;">—from Rainger, R. and Robin, L. (1938). Thanks for the Memory [lyrics]</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">You never know what you're gonna run into when you’re breakin' bush in the middle of a war. One fine morning, March second, I recall, the jungle was jungle. Then, Presto Mundo—a three-acre clearing with a road running through it. There was no bush on the sides of the road and no leaves on the trees. Agent Orange had been here—“Only you can prevent a forest.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><div style="text-align: justify;">The entire area had been bladed and sprayed extensively. Busybody U.S. engineers had created a wasteland, except for a big pile of logs and brush on the far side of the road, next to a termite mound.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Lt. Martinez shouted, “We're makin' a combat assault on the road!”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><i>Huh? Against a road?</i></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">The lead elements of Charlie Company stepped into the clearing. We glanced at each other. No traffic lights. Like obedient Civil War soldiers, we formed a hundred-yard-long line along the road and began the crossing.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">“For the love of Pete. Look!”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">“Where?”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">“There!”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">“Where?”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">“By the wood pile.”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">When you see a turtle on top of a fence post, you know it didn't get there by itself. Same for a group of men busy attaching leafy branches to their bodies by a brush pile.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Light bulbs lit up all along our line. What’s this? A camo party we weren’t invited to? Before they could finish getting into costume, we emptied the punch bowl with our M16s and frags. Wood chips flew everywhere. They jammed their gearshifts into reverse and fled into the jungle. That should keep ‘em off the streets.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Bobby Parris, a fellow squad member from rural Georgia, had done a peck of bird hunting, was expert with knife work and not afraid of the devil. He packed a special-issue Remington 12-gauge and a supply of double-aught in a sack draped on his belt, opposite a razor-sharp 6-inch buck knife, a gift from his mother. Bobby suspected a rat in the woodpile. He approached on tenterhooks and blasted round after round of buckshot at the logs. After the dust settled, we pulled out a dead dink. His canteen made a sound like a toy rattle—a BB from one of Bobby’s shells was lodged inside. Bobby had a souvenir.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Charlie Company was back in the zone. We had escaped casualties twice—first, while strung out on the road and then when Bobby got dangerously close (twenty feet) to the logs.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">A dead monkey doesn't stop a circus. A squad reconnoitered the area while the rest of us stood arms at the ready. After the squad returned, we gathered at the tree line, formed a column and followed the shadowy figures into the jungle. Later that day, we ran into an over-sized log lying across a path. Instead of pushing deeper into the jungle, we stopped and camped a good thirty yards away (helpful hint: don’t sleep next to a path).</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">While others set a standard security perimeter and dug foxholes, J. R.'s squad reckoned it was time to make donuts. They had trained with demolition and explosive experts and experimented with ambushes. Like Wily E. Coyote eagerly opening his parcel from ACME Blasting Products, they were gonna lay a trap and beat Charlie at his own game.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">A kill chain is creative, sensitive work. Intricate and stressful. A trip wire is strung over a log and connected to a specially designed fuse, some det cord and an array of deadly Claymores set in series along the path, concealed with the utmost pains. The plot was blood simple. The enemy point pauses to climb over the log. His colleagues pause behind him, lining up with the Claymores. The point steps over the log and trips the wire. The fuse breaks, det cord ignites, Claymores blow and the patrol is dead bananas.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">The feigned innocence of our clever mouse trap was the main topic of conversation as we fortified our evening nest, posted guards at the perimeter and went to bed on pins and needles.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Dawn arrived along with a rude blast from just beyond the trees. The trap was sprung! Adrenaline was rushing, prepping us for the real deal. Our squad was closer, but J. R.’s boys had set the trap. They knew the score. The honor fell to them. J. R. brandished an M60 machine gun as his squad cautiously approached the path, following a blood trail.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">For the moment everything seemed right until a sniper bullet hit one of his men in the head. The squad opened up and dove for cover, except for J. R., who ran along the path like Rambo, walking fire from his cock-high M60. The medic had used the covering fire and was already treating the wounded man, talking to Bien Hoa medical, telling the man to trust in divine providence. Upsetting? Absolutely. A gap in a squad is hard; soldiers are not interchangeable. God wishes to save all men, but war is a guarantee that we would lose comrades.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Now that the pig was out of the python, nobody knew if it was a few stragglers, the clowns at the woodpile or an entire regiment. J. R. guessed two had survived—one in a tree, another in a bush. (A tree? We worshiped the ground.)</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Capt. Jackson wanted no more surprises—dinks will wait forever. One seriously injured man was enough. A tank platoon was around the corner, so he ordered up a Big Boy. “If you could swing by, it would be greatly appreciated.”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Before long, the faint sound of a heavy diesel in the distance. Louder. The ground began to shake. A dull, angry roar accompanied by the sound of falling timber echoed through the jungle. Out of the woods came a monster from the deep, clanking to a noisy stop on our doorstep. We gazed up at the Patton M48 battle tank like grasshoppers, dumbstruck by 99,000 lbs. of blast furnace steel in the middle of the jungle.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">A man popped out of the beast, shouting over the idling engine, “You rang?” <i>Kelley’s Heroes anyone? </i>Tankers were notorious for tossing grenades from the turret at dinks and running over them. We pointed right, “Shoot there,” and asked for a bit of caution. “Don’t run over J. R.’s squad. They’re out there.”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">A spoonful of Patton was just what the doctor ordered. For the plat du jour, the commander selected Beehive 90 mm M377 canister to end the Mexican stand-off with the enemy stragglers.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">A Beehive round breaks apart when leaving the gun barrel, propelling 5,600 flechettes (nails with fins) in a dispersal cone, a load of shot like you’ve never seen. Its melliferous name comes from the soothing sound the arrows make flying through the air, exenterating anything in the way with startling ease. Range, 1200 ft.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Flechettes were first used in Vietnam by Landing Zone BIRD in the Kim Son valley. They had been overrun and taken numerous casualties. The officer in charge ordered the last artillery piece to load Beehive ammo and aim at ground level. He took out two hundred NVA with a couple rounds, saving the day. The popularity of flechettes soared, and reports of enemy soldiers nailed to trees en plein air began appearing in the press.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Commander, “Gunner, Beehive, woods.”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Gunner, “Identified.”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Loader, “Up!”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Commander, “Driver move out, gunner take over.”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">The armored knight shifted into gear and slowly ambled away, bashing trees and crushing dead bodies with heavy treads.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Gunner, “Driver stop.”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Gunner, “Power.” The tank bowed and turned its turret before lowering its gun barrel. Turrets moving under power have a reputation for cutting off body parts; main guns have a habit of slamming down on those walking under them.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Commander, “Fire.”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Gunner, “On the way!” SWOOSH!!—we had just been insured by the U.S. 11th Cav, funeral arrangements still pending.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Commander, “Target! Ceasefire. Driver back up,” and the queer mechanical shape went on its way.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">We waited for the MEDEVAC (God’s lunatics) to rotor in before tracking the tank to its den, where a strange comfort was waiting. Four Pattons and four armored personnel carriers had encircled a disabled M551 Sheridan light tank, like elephants do with their young. Earlier in the day, the Sheridan lost a wheel to a pressure mine. A grunt riding on the rear with his legs dangling down lost them, too.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">While a repair crew worked on the disabled tank and the radio kept us updated on our injured comrade, we partied to transistor radios, built bonfires, and pulled guard duty. Bob and I stayed with the Sheridan and sacked out inside for the hell of it. No need for a security perimeter or entrenchments; what fools would dare to bring the massive firepower of our combined arsenals down on their heads? To prove it, a tank riddled the wood line with flechettes, cutting down a cloud of trees in a big WHOOSH!</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">In the morning, we shut our eyes against the future and went on our way, the jungle opening and closing behind us, leaving no trace. During the day, news reached us that our eleven kills set a division record for an ambush and that the injured man hadn’t made it, a blow to our hearts. No one spoke. Who will know our grief?</div></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6155957297055594769.post-78308349236117717382021-12-11T14:31:00.001-06:002024-02-07T13:21:36.304-06:00I-255<span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Barry’s roadster <br />pressing vapors and clouds, <br />foggier and doggier. <br />Silver stanchions <br />lamp-lit the stage. <br /><br />Coronas, <br />dreamy signs <br />billboards— <br />The Arch <br />bathed in blue light. <br /><br />Hearing your voice <br />out of the fog, <br />I wish I tasted your eggnog <br />laced with whiskey, <br />long sips… <br /></span><br /> Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6155957297055594769.post-30350735508948720632021-11-09T00:35:00.018-06:002024-02-19T04:01:36.186-06:00Refusal to Bury<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">On the sunny
afternoon of 8 August 1970, a courier dropped the daily casualty report on my
desk. The day prior, Charlie Company had been investigating a suspicious area
in the bush. Capt. Martinez, who inclined toward the unusual, had set up an LP
(listening post) away from the main body. An LP was the least popular
assignment and most unsettling because the enemy owned the night. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><o:p> </o:p><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Two of the
newest men in the unit, an FNG (fucking new guy) and SP4 Pondextuer Eugene
Williams, a vet from The Big Red One, were put out there in no man’s land like
tethered goats, to pick up enemy traffic. They were huddled around their radio
listening to the night noises for tell-tale signs when a Viet Cong snuck up and
planted a mine. The blast took Williams' head off and critically wounded his
companion. Doc Gerrits went out to check. Williams was done for, so he treated
the wounded man.</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><o:p> </o:p><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Taking care of your buddies is utmost, but Williams’
friends were shaky because of recent enemy contact. “He’ll be just as dead in
the morning.” It fell to 3</span><sup style="text-indent: 0.5in;">rd</sup><span style="position: relative; text-indent: 0.5in; top: -4.5pt;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Platoon to muster a detail to recover
the men. A group of fearless whites volunteered. “Hell, we’ll get ’em.” The
volunteers fashioned stretchers out of ponchos and bamboo sticks, carried the
two men back from the outpost and loaded them onto the MEDEVAC; the wounded man
died shortly from injuries inflicted in the blast ring.</span></span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><span style="color: black;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">As
company clerk, my job was to type up a letter to each family using proper,
dignified language. If the one-page document had any white-outs, smudges,
erasures, or typos, I started over with fresh stationery. I described the
action with assurances that they died bravely, surrounded by their friends. The
battalion executive officer signed off and the letters went out along with the
bodies.</span></span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><o:p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></p><p style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Back in the
U.S.A., Williams' mother, Mrs. Mary Campbell of Ft. Pierce, Florida, had been
told of an ad circulated by Hillcrest Memorial Gardens in her local News
Tribune: </span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;">As an honorably discharged veteran of the United States Armed
Forces, you may be qualified for free burial space in the Garden of Peace,
however, you must register for this. </i><sup style="text-indent: 0.5in;">[1]</sup></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">According to
Mrs. Sarah Peek, funeral director of Lee-Peek Funeral Home in charge of local
arrangements in Ft. Pierce, "[the offer] would apply more to one who had
given up his life than a discharged veteran." </span><sup style="text-indent: 0.5in;">[2]</sup></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Mrs. Campbell
called privately-owned Hillcrest. The manager, Mr. James Livesay, refused,
citing contractual and legal issues with the five thousand property owners.
Instead, he offered to purchase a plot for her in Pine Grove, the black
cemetery in town.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: times; text-indent: 0.5in;">That wouldn't
do—Mrs. Campbell wanted Hillcrest, a picturesque, well-landscaped cemetery on a
hillside, much more attractive than Pine Grove. "It is such a beautiful
cemetery and I want the best for my boy. I realized that because he had eaten
with them, slept with them, fought with them, and died with them, why couldn't
he be buried with them?"</span><sup style="font-family: times; text-indent: 0.5in;">[3]</sup></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: times; text-indent: 0.5in;">Mayor Dennis
Summerlin admitted the situation was an "embarrassment" for the city,
but claimed his hands were tied. Mrs. Campbell was at her wit's end. "We
know there's going to be a burial Sunday [August 23], but I'm just not sure
where, yet." </span><sup style="font-family: times; text-indent: 0.5in;">[4]</sup></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">While her
twenty-year-old son lay in his aluminum transfer case, awaiting further developments,
she submitted a formal application to Hillcrest, endeavoring to take advantage
of its better standing. Livesay turned it down, writing that per Hillcrest
bylaws, "burial would be strictly limited to members of the human race,
and the Caucasian race only." </span><sup style="text-indent: 0.5in;">[5]</sup></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">A day of infamy
for Hillcrest—burial plots for white GIs, not for blacks.</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> She</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
countered with an offer to purchase the plot outright. He turned that offer
down and blocked one by Mrs. John R. Diehl, a seventy-two-year-old white woman,
to use one of her plots. We couldn't afford racial prejudice in the field, but
Livesay could. He stood fast. Only a court order would permit Williams to be
buried there. </span><sup style="text-indent: 0.5in;">[6]</sup></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: times; text-indent: 0.5in;">Ft. Pierce
Legion Post Commander Virgil Hayes concurred, "As far as I'm concerned personally,
there's no action contemplated on this whatsoever. There's a Negro cemetery
down there, a very good cemetery, I'd say." </span><sup style="font-family: times; text-indent: 0.5in;">[7]</sup></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: times; text-indent: 0.5in;">Mrs. Peek
demurred, "They've been told he was fighting for his country, for freedom
and democracy, and now he can't be buried where his mother wants him." She
vowed to bring the matter before the mayor's Biracial Committee. Neither she
nor others in Ft. Pierce's black community could understand the controversy.
"His mother is still in a state of shock, and a lot of the young men in
the community are getting uptight about it." Also, "There may be a
matter of false advertising. There was no stipulation in the ad that the
veteran had to be white, black, green or purple." </span><sup style="font-family: times; text-indent: 0.5in;">[8]</sup></span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">A half-hearted
statement from the U.S. Attorney in Miami surfaced next: "I don't blame
her. After all, he got killed in Vietnam. What more can he do for his
country?" </span><sup style="text-indent: 0.5in;">[9]</sup><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> He proffered no opinion on a potential civil
rights violation.</span></span></p><p style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large; text-indent: 0.5in;"><br /></span></p><p style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: times; text-indent: 0.5in;">Public
sympathies were with Williams, a popular church-going athlete who had
integrated the local high school four years earlier. On Sunday, August 23, the
three major TV networks, five hundred blacks, and forty whites, members of the
American Legion and VFW, turned out for a first-class service at the armory. As
she was assisted into the armory, Mrs. Campbell sobbed, "Oh my God. Oh my
God! Why did this happen?" </span><sup style="font-family: times; text-indent: 0.5in;">[10]</sup></span></p>
<p class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: widow-orphan; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Mrs. Victoria
Roberson of Lyons, New York, said her nephew [Williams], "had a busted
eardrum. He should have been sent home." </span><sup style="text-indent: 0.5in;">[11]</sup></span></p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: widow-orphan; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: times; text-indent: 0.5in;">The Rev. C. Byrd
of Bethel Baptist Church intoned over the flag-draped coffin, "Eugene will
not be buried today. He has no home to go to. I don't think we should squabble
about where he should be buried because the earth belongs to God." </span><sup style="font-family: times; text-indent: 0.5in;">[12]</sup></span></p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: widow-orphan; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: times; text-indent: 0.5in;">Lt. Col. Weldon
Wright, a white chaplain from Hunter Field in Savannah Georgia, told the
audience, "We're here to stand beside you because our hearts beat in tune
with yours. There is no discrimination in military cemeteries. If it had been
our decision, we would have decided to bury this young man in the cemetery of
his mother's choice with full military honors." </span><sup style="font-family: times; text-indent: 0.5in;">[13]</sup></span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">The rifle squad
detailed to fire a 21-gun salute remained on the bus and Williams was returned
to the cooler. The 24-hour vigil resumed, and the quest continued.</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Livesay received
hate mail, portraying him as an "animal" and a "racist
pig," along with "despicable" and other epithets. Mrs. Peek also
received threats. "If you bury that nigger in that cemetery, you're going
to have trouble, baby." </span><sup style="text-indent: 0.5in;">[14] </sup><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">(That
energy flowed to George Wallace who won the Democratic primary in Ft. Pierce
and all Florida counties sans Miami-Dade in 1972.)</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Willis Edwards,
a black Vietnam vet and student activist at Cal State, dropped his studies and
traveled across the country. "I am calling today on the leaders of our
country to stop this injustice." </span><sup style="text-indent: 0.5in;">[15]</sup></span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Mrs. Campbell's
lawyers, the ACLU, and the NAACP got on the stick. News of her troubles
traveled fast, provoking disgust in Vietnam, the Nixon White House, and the
Justice Department. Attorney General John Mitchell asked the U.S. Southern
District Court of Florida to declare invalid the racially restrictive sections
of the cemetery's charter.</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">In the end,
Livesay got his court order Thursday, August 27. Mrs. Campbell, dressed in
black, her face covered by a veil, witnessed Judge William O. Mehrtens, a
Lyndon Johnson appointee, declare that Williams' burial at Hillcrest proceed,
"immediately, without delay." </span><sup style="text-indent: 0.5in;">[16]</sup></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large; text-indent: 0.5in;">The week-long
legal battle between Campbell and Livesay concluded with a Hillcrest burial two
days later under a cloudless sky. The unavoidable media spectacle overwhelmed
the locals as it included many more whites than at the armory, network
television people, news reporters, a filmmaker, security guards, even a contingent
of Vietnam Veterans Against the War. Willis Edwards conducted the memorial
services.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: times; text-indent: 0.5in;">Bells chimed
softly as Mrs. Campbell wept, "God has heard my prayers." </span><sup style="font-family: times; text-indent: 0.5in;">[17]</sup></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Dennis Shortt, a
member of the Peace Revival at Ft. Pierce Jaycee Park, had only this: "How
many more?" </span><sup style="text-indent: 0.5in;">[18]</sup></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Acknowledgment: Dorothy Blair,
Reference Department, St. Lucie County Library, provided clippings from local
papers and national news services. Tributes for Williams are posted on the
Virtual Vietnam Veterans Wall of Faces.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 12pt 0in; text-align: center;"><u><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Footnotes<o:p></o:p></span></u></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 6pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">[1] Martz, Ron. "GI's Body
Awaits Burial as Court Action is Sought." FORT PIERCE NEWS TRIBUNE, 24
Aug. 1970, p.1.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 6pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">[2] Lundin, Dick. "Whites
Offer Burial Plots for Negro GI." FORT PIERCE NEWS TRIBUNE, 21 Aug. 1970,
p.1.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 6pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">[3] Lundin, Dick. "Whites
Offer Burial Plots for Negro GI." FORT PIERCE NEWS TRIBUNE, 21 Aug. 1970,
p.1.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 6pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">[4] Jones, Dean. "Fort Pierce
Burial Plots for Dead GIs—but No Blacks." THE PALM BEACH POST, 20 Aug.
1970, p.1.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 6pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">[5] "Soldier's Rest: Burial of
Poindexter Williams in an All-White Cemetery." NEWSWEEK, 7 Sep. 1970, pp.
33-34.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 6pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">[6] Martz, Ron. "GI's Body
Awaits Burial as Court Action is Sought." FORT PIERCE NEWS TRIBUNE, 24
Aug. 1970, p.1.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 6pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">[7] Royko, Mike. "Legion Stays
Out of Ft. Pierce Row." DAILY PRESS (NEWPORT NEWS, VIRGINIA), 27 Aug.
1970, p. 14.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 6pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">[8] Jones, Dean. "Fort Pierce
Burial Plots for Dead GIs—but No Blacks." THE PALM BEACH POST, 20 Aug.
1970, p.1.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 6pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">[9] Jones, Dean. "Fort Pierce
Burial Plots for Dead GIs—but No Blacks." THE PALM BEACH POST, 20 Aug.
1970, p.1.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 6pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">[10] Martz, Ron. "GI's Body
Awaits Burial as Court Action is Sought." FORT PIERCE NEWS TRIBUNE, 24
Aug. 1970, p.1.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 6pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">[11] Harbolt, Pat. "Williams'
Mother Doesn't want Other Sons in Army." FORT PIERCE NEWS TRIBUNE, 28 Aug.
1970.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 6pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">[12] Martz, Ron. "Funeral
Gained National Attention." FORT PIERCE NEWS TRIBUNE, 24 Aug. 1970, p. 1.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 6pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">[13] Martz, Ron. "Funeral
Gained National Attention." FORT PIERCE NEWS TRIBUNE, 24 Aug. 1970, p. 1.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 6pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">[14] Martz, Ron. "Threats and Intimidation
Mar Burial of Black GI." FORT PIERCE NEWS TRIBUNE, 30 Aug. 1970, p.1.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 6pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">[15] Martz, Ron. "Funeral
Gained National Attention." FORT PIERCE NEWS TRIBUNE, 24 Aug. 1970, p. 1.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 6pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">[16] Murray, Frank (AP).
"Burial at Hillcrest Ordered." FORT PIERCE NEWS TRIBUNE, 27 Aug.
1970.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 6pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">[17] Murray, Frank (AP).
"Soldier's Burial Breaks Race Bars at FP Cemetery." FORT PIERCE NEWS
TRIBUNE, 30 Aug. 1970, p.1.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 6pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">[18] Hale, Tom. "Rites Given
Wide Coverage." FORT PIERCE NEWS TRIBUNE, 30 Aug. 1970, p.1.</span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><o:p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6155957297055594769.post-60181846067211615852020-08-01T08:57:00.002-05:002024-03-09T01:36:00.060-06:00Pythia<span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Amidst old smoke and stale perfume of a broken night,<br />a seraphic voice<br />posed a question in the dark—<br />to tremble <br />to hear a moan <br />to sink into unguent warmth <br />in a sacred retreat. <br /><br />In the green room, <br />yellow gloves lay on a coffee table. <br />She lit a cigarette and gazed at the fine rain. <br />I took her scent and felt her breath. <br />Her nostrils flared, <br />an arabesque veil of smoke <br />drifted into cloudy gray-green eyes. <br /><br /></span><div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">A nicotine-stained finger crossed my lips. <br />“Have we spoken?” <br /></span><div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">A hot blush came to my cheek. <br />“Your blood is warm.” <br />“I read Bishop Sheen.” <br />She forced a laugh <br />and blew a jet from under dark lashes. <br /><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“I adore Coblenz. Kiss me.” <br />She tasted of tobacco and stale mint. <br />I slid fingers to her nipples. <br />Her bosom swelled, a tremor crossed her face. <br />“The wench is dead—would you like a trip to Greece?” <br /><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">(That’s where I want to go.) <br />White-velvet breasts <br />C-section <br />painted nails <br />on a cold-hard floor. <br /><br />I woke to a curving figure in a wide-brimmed hat, <br />black-spike heels, <br />cigarette and eye-liner <br />staring in a mirror, <br />headlights in the drive, <br />shouts at the front door.</span></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6155957297055594769.post-43948199524663606952020-08-01T08:00:00.008-05:002024-03-21T03:46:40.801-05:00Pythia - The Poet Speaks<p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><i>Pythia</i> arose from <i>The Education of a Young Gentleman</i>, a nonfiction short
story which tells of the late-night encounter between a 19-year-old boy and a
29-year-old married woman in a highly charged sexual atmosphere. She is fixed and unattainable at the conclusion of the poem, like the characters on Keats Grecian urn.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">My
style tends to be sardonic. My words are on the definite side, they don't caress each other. My first sense of literature was from the 19<sup>th</sup>
century writers. My introduction into culture and politics was high school
Latin. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Pythia</i> owes much to
Catullus and Lesbia, Thackeray and Vanity Fair, Eliot and Prufrock. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Why
poetry? A poem is an attempt to take the human, the historical, and the finite to
the realm of the universal and infinite, which, on the face of it, is
impossible using the materials of this world. Yet I try to distill feeling,
emotion, what it is to be alive, and moments in life, in order to create an
alternative world. I’m not above using fiction, rhythm and beauty to get at the
truth. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Each
word carves out a specific cultural niche. Reading a poem allows you to enter
that world and those niches, albeit not always what the writer has in mind. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Poetry invites you to let loose; <i>Pythia
</i>seeks power and sensuality.</span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6155957297055594769.post-82038548086284345382020-08-01T07:00:00.173-05:002024-03-09T02:00:03.434-06:00Pythia - Notes<p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large; text-align: left;"><i>Pythia </i>owes a debt to the poets Catullus and T.S. Eliot. It brings myth to modern life, traces of the past lying beneath the surface of the present. The poem is bookish and raw. It reaches across history and it has personal concerns. It casts antiquity in today’s imagery.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif";">The
poem is a distillation of a short story by the author, </span><i style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif";">The Education of a Young Gentleman</i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif";">. In
the first stanza, a woman extends an invitation during a night of debauchment.
She appears in the guise of a muse in the second stanza and seduces the boy
with a tantalizing image of mature erotic beauty. She gets the tipping she
desires in the fifth stanza and leaves him disillusioned in the last. </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif";">The
boy achieves momentary harmony with the muse, has a
sexual awakening, gains a measure of self-discovery, and turns it into a personal mythology. </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif";">a. </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif";">Pythia, the
Oracle of Delphi, sits in a cauldron on a tripod, making her prophecies in an
ecstatic trance state, like shamans, and her unintelligible uttering. The
tripod was perforated with holes; and as she inhaled the vapors, her figure
would seem to enlarge, her hair stood on end, her complexion changed, her heart
panted, her bosom swelled and her voice became seemingly more than human.—Wiki</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: large;">b.
The opening scene is a bedroom in a Catholic suburban home, instead of the Sanctuary
of Apollo at Delphi.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: large;">c.
Smoke and perfume signify the vapors at Delphi. Gasses of ethane, methane,
ethylene, and benzene rising from the fissures at Delhi helped Pythia achieve
her trance, as drugs do today. Others have suggested laurel leaves (oleander)
and fermented honey.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: large;">d.
The boy enters the room and takes the woman as Pythia, a possessed woman who
was a vehicle for the ambiguous messages Apollo delivered at Delphi.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: .5in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0.5in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif";"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: .5in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0.5in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif";"><span style="font-size: large;">Through her
nostrils thick with incense<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: .5in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0.5in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif";"><span style="font-size: large;">The Pythia hurls
a breath of flame<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: .5in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0.5in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif";"><span style="font-size: large;">Panting,
howling, drunk…<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: .5in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0.5in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif";"><span style="font-size: large;">—Paul Valéry.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: large;">e.
The woman has an anxious conversation with the boy, asking questions, speaking
in the idiom of the present day, trying to connect. He reacts to the temptation,
trembles, referring to Kierkegaard.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif";">f.
Anaphora (word repetition in successive clauses) occurs in two places:</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif";"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif";"><br /></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: .5in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0.5in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif";"><span style="font-size: large;">To tremble<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: .5in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0.5in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif";"><span style="font-size: large;">To hear a moan<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: .5in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0.5in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif";"><span style="font-size: large;">To sink into unguent warmth</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: .5in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0.5in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif";"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: .5in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0.5in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; text-indent: 48px;"><span style="font-size: large;">I slid fingers to her nipples</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: .5in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0.5in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; text-indent: 48px;"><span style="font-size: large;">Her nostrils flared</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: .5in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0.5in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; text-indent: 48px;"><span style="font-size: large;">Her bosom swelled</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: .5in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0.5in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; text-indent: 48px;"><span style="font-size: large;">A tremor crossed her face.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: .5in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0.5in; text-align: justify;"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif";"><o:p><span>g</span></o:p></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif";">.
‘the green room’</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: x-large;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: .5in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0.5in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif";"><span style="font-size: large;">And here were
forests ancient as the hills, <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: .5in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0.5in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif";"><span style="font-size: large;">Enfolding sunny
spots of greenery. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: .5in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0.5in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif";"><span style="font-size: large;">But oh! that
deep romantic chasm which slanted<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: .5in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0.5in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif";"><span style="font-size: large;">Down the green
hill athwart a cedarn cover!<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: .5in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0.5in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif";"><span style="font-size: large;">—Coleridge, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Kubla Khan</i><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif";">h.
‘Have we spoken?’ </span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif";">buttonholes the boy.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif";"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif";">‘</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif";">Don’t you know me, Philip, even after I
have been among you such a long time?</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif";">’ </span><span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif";">(</span><i style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif";">New International Version</i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif";">, John 14.9)</span></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: large;">i.
Bishop Sheen had a pop TV show at the time. ‘Bishop’ is a masturbation
reference, as in “Beat your bishop.” ‘Read’ is in both the active present and
past tense. ‘Bishop’ also refers to the American poet Elizabeth Bishop. The woman
laughs at the jokes.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: large;">j.
‘I adore Coblenz’ is repartee. Coblenz (or Koblenz) could be misunderstood as a
person. It’s a fortress at the junction of the Rhine and Mosele Rivers, a favorite
haunt of the poet Jules Laforgue whom T.S. Eliot adored. The woman speaks with
a deep Eastern European accent.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif";">k.
‘Kiss me’ is from The Brian Auger Oblivion Express—<i>Compared to What</i>, live at Baked Potato, Hollywood, 2004, at 3:35 </span><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CrkxrgTiVyk"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif";">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CrkxrgTiVyk</span></a></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: large;">l.
One reader found a vampire vibe in the poem.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: large;">m.
The woman exhibits metempsychosis—previous lives buried within, that suddenly speak and are gone:</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif";"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: .5in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0.5in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif";"><span style="font-size: large;">Thou hast
committed—<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: .5in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0.5in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif";"><span style="font-size: large;">Fornication? But
that was in another country, and besides, the wench is dead. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: .5in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0.5in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif";"><span style="font-size: large;">—<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Jew of Malta</i><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: .5in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0.5in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif";"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: .5in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0.5in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif";"><span style="font-size: large;">The bitch is
dead now. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: .5in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0.5in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif";"><span style="font-size: large;">—last line
of Ian Fleming’s <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Casino Royale,</i> 1953<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 12.0pt; margin: 12pt 0in 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif";"><span style="font-size: large;">n. The woman is neurotic
and bored e.g. ‘I read, much of the night, and go south in the winter’, (T.S.
Eliot’s <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Waste Land</i>) and offers
the ancient world to the boy. Greece is the location of Delphi and also refers
to Lord Byron. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif";"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: .5in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0.5in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif";"><span style="font-size: large;">You promised me
that I would be taken by divine Achilles,<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: .5in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0.5in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif";"><span style="font-size: large;">For his
legitimate wife, that he would carry me away in his ships,<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: .5in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0.5in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif";"><span style="font-size: large;">To Pythia, where
our marriage would be celebrated among the Myrmidons,<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: .5in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0.5in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif";"><span>—McCarthy, Mary, and Simone Weil. “The Iliad, or the Poem of Force.” Chicago Review, vol.
18, no. 2, Chicago Review, 1965, pp. 5–30, </span></span><a href="https://doi.org/10.2307/25294008"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif";">https://doi.org/10.2307/25294008</span></a><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif";">.</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif";">o.
‘That's where I wanna go.’ is from </span><i style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif";">Mesopotamia</i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif";">
by the B52s.</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif";">p.
The Caesarian Section or C-section relates to the Roman Caesarians and Julius
Caesar in particular, who held at least one poetry reading by
Catullus.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif";"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif";">Her scar marks an alternate
entrance to her uterus and a profane contrast to the sacred virgins Mary and Pythia. A C-section grounds the poem and may be considered its navel—exotic, like a
tattoo. Mother, childbirth, pain and sacrifice.</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif";">q.
The ‘cold-hard floor’ of the house basement refers to the temple floor of marble at
Delphi. The haiku-like rhythm of ‘on a cold-hard floor’ is a play on ‘on a wet,
black bough’ in the last line of Ezra Pound’s haiku, </span><i style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif";">In a Station of the Metro:</i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif";"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif";"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif";"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: .5in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0.5in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif";"><span style="font-size: large;">The apparition
of these faces in the crowd:<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: .5in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0.5in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif";"><span style="font-size: large;">Petals on a wet,
black bough. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: large;">r. After
a final description of the woman, she vanishes. The emotional core of the poem
is the connection and disconnection between the boy and the woman. The last two lines predict a hard landing for the boy; </span><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">he's </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: large;">lifted out of the scene to see her for what she is: a shape, a silent form fixed in his memory. Passion desires recurrence, but he's left in a void, to figure
it out for himself. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: large;">s.
Much of the power and verbal music of the poem is in ones, twos and threes: old smoke,
stale, night, green room, kiss me, stale mint, cold-hard floor, C-section, black
spike heels, etc. Most lines end in a monosyllable. The sounds attempt to
override the meaning of words. The speaking voice interrupts the narrator and adds
tension, making the action and characters real.</span></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0