

# LOVELY SUMMER SMOKE DELUGED

# (POSIE'S OCCULT TEMPEST)

### By Edward Drobinski

Copyright © 2013 by Edward M. Drobinski

All rights reserved.

### Chapter 1

" _Twenty-first century._

No chivalry involved.

No Bushido."

Patti Smith, from the song "Radio Baghdad" on her 2004 "Trampin'" CD.

After attending the theatre, they went to her apartment for a nightcap. While drinking their second glasses of chardonnay they instinctively embraced.

He dryly said; "This was our third date, the usual time sex takes place."

Her soft body became stiff as his and she broke away, saying; "How utterly romantic. ................... Are you trying to sweep me off my feet?"

His silence reflected his inability to deal with sarcasm not his own.

She still felt playful, but not in the same manner and said; "My mood has now changed to your lackluster rationalism. So, three is the correct number?"

"Oh, don't be difficult. That has been my experience."

"Charming. Tell me. Can the number ever be four?"

"......................................"

"Or one? Or infinity? Or none of the above? Please enlighten me. It's only fair that I understand the rules of the game as you see it."

"Since you choose to get finicky; what on earth did you mean by 'mood'?"

Those who deserve the most sympathy are those who never request it. If the preceding conversation has piqued your interest, or if you're still enthralled by the banal, played out, double binds of conservatism I'd strongly suggest that you stop reading right here, as it has no relationship whatsoever to this book. In that regard suffice to say;

" _Darkness at the break of noon_

Shadows even a silver spoon,

A handmade blade, the child's balloon

Eclipses both the sun and moon.

But, understand you know too soon

There's no sense in trying."

Bob Dylan, from the song "It's Alright, Ma (I'm Only Bleeding)" on the "Bringing It All Back Home" CD. Vinyl version first issued in 1965.

The brutal winter snow pelts the two north facing double-hung, floor to ceiling picture windows of my preferred writing room, but has thus far left the two facing east unscathed. Driven by a blustering northern wind the insistent tiny barrage of indifferent and unique shells melt against the heated glass, and the result runs in small irregular streams to the pane. There it patiently waits and slowly tries to work its way inside, doing its relentless worst to infest the warm safety of my long term sanctuary, attempting to gain my confidence by satirizing water. I hope for a return of the sun before the trickster achieves dubious glory through accomplishing the inevitable. I feel as if I am under attack by a camouflaged sky which one-sidedly offers no discernible target.

I sit on a mahogany Queen Anne armchair, comfortably leaning back, lost in my window view of the accumulated mountain snow, creating cold cream wreaths where purple proudly prevailed in warmer times. I have no idea what to type into the laptop which is motionless on a righted tilt-top table in front of me. I stare at what is already there, characterizing it like a critic devoid of vision. I have a vague feeling of word inadequacy. It doesn't seem to be saying what I thought when I eagerly put down the words. Yet it doesn't not say them either. Perhaps that is the nature of words. Perhaps words not in my vocabulary are required. Editing efforts only produce increased confusion. I can put down words, but that won't make them come. Only two weeks ago I thought it would be easy to tell my favorite story.

The two bookcases leaning against the white painted, stucco over stone, drafty walls provide my best defense against the harsh realities of winter. It prominently displays titles such as "Ada or Ardor: A Family Chronicle," "The Great Gatsby" (which I despise) and "Alice in Wonderland." In a corner the open kas exhibits my damaged stereo system and C-D's of Patti Smith, Bob Dylan, Jimi Hendrix and Bob Marley. But today is not one for music. It might ruin the mood. Maybe tomorrow. Today they perform surrealistically by acting as a silent shield which surrounds my head with a heartfelt glow which almost compensates for the chill slowly permeating the rest of my temporary, decaying, incarceration carcass, which must now rely on sweaters and multiple sets of trousers.

It's difficult for me to believe that the story is old, but my faulty sixty-five year old memory in consultation with the indisputable World Wildlife calendar insists on it. The oversized 2015 on top of the December leaf on veiled exhibit resides on the reverse side of an upper kitchen cabinet door. It looms over me more ominously than the nuzzling pair of snow leopards pictured. It scowls at me whenever I reach in for hot chocolate. Without having had the "benefit" of seeing the boxes and numbers I would be under the impression that the story took place yesterday or today, as everything exists in this moment in my mind. In my mind. I take the calendar off its rusted nail support and put it out the front door to battle the accumulated inch of snow. It seems fair.

So as not to appear demented to others I consider obtaining another calendar of a long past year which had the same date alignment. It couldn't be very expensive and being unaware of the precise month and day raises suspicions of Alzheimer's disease. I don't want to fall prey to a checklist-armed Social Worker's surprise visit and risk being declared unfit to take care of myself. I am not yet ready to sit in a wheelchair at a senior's facility and make cheery chit-chat with the med nurse, whose drugs make no one feel the least bit intoxicated, as I watch other fossils spit out their teeth while attempting to joke about Viagra. It's a very real dilemma, but I decide to gamble incarceration, rather than endure the possible tedious accusation of "descending into mere nostalgia," said to be a mortal sin for a writer, as if anything written, re-written, edited, re-edited, re-written, printed, advertised and distributed has one iota of "immediacy."

Its concealed prominence out of my house I try to think of my story. It haunts me in its demise, yet provides comfort in its thought. Perhaps making an account of it will shed light, or provide a new experience. I can't remember the sequence of the events, save the first, and wonder if they had any order at all. The subsequent, venomous disclosure and its resultant separation seem to have come from the undesirable aspect of chaos.

I realize that I persist in telling the long suffering reader another account of a writer's difficulty in doing his chosen profession. Why should they have any interest? Turning the tables it would fascinate me as much as enduring a technician telling me the difficulties he faces in repairing my engine. Just fix it if you can! Just write it if you know how!

I remember Kale Hallinger conveying his recollection of the summer morning he was driven to his "new" Washington (though Washington is the legal name, this Washington is most often referred to as Long Valley, to differentiate itself from the two other state Washingtons' residents consider to be of lesser quality), New Jersey home by a perfunctory, fiftyish, female social worker either with too many cases or with a secret desire to be in the races. As the beige, recent model SUV steamed up the gravel driveway Kale obtained his first view of the three story structure and thought it seemed most suitable for ghosts and demons. At the age of fourteen the long, light brown haired, tall and thin boy had a small collection of "mystery" comic books which told bizarre stories, one of which was fittingly titled "Forbidden Worlds." He was immediately certain that this freshly white painted structure was the artist's model, upon seeing the tower pierce the sky over the tri-level house. In an early demonstration of his fascination with the eclectic revivalism of the "Second Empire" style, he mumbled; "Very interesting," inaudible under the air conditioner's arctic wind. He wondered who or what lived on top.

Like a typical American teenager in 1964 he had no knowledge of or interest in economics. Consequently he was unaware that his step-parents-to-be chose this huge old house not thinking about anything "interesting" in its appearance, but rather functionally desiring to maximize the number of bedrooms. They wanted to adopt as many children as energy and space allowed, while the Social Service Department insisted that each child have their own bedroom. The third level was now an attic, which the owners intended to turn into bedrooms for more children.

The little family came out the front door and huddled on the pillared porch. As Kale exited the car, bags in hand, he saw Posie Conciesse (pronounced kon-chess-uh. Name left on a note with abandoned child, now known as Posie Collinaire, utilizing her step-parents surname.) for the first time. His eyes were drawn to her as she broke away from the group and leisurely descended the stairs, coming a few steps out of the shade. Keeping her head motionless, her brown eyes slowly moved up and down perusing the entirety of her new housemate. Just shy of mid-day, the sun's intensity, both from above and reflecting off the many driveway stones, coupled, causing Kale to perspire in the re-enforced heat. He put down his bags and wiped his forehead with the arm of his well-worn, white, short sleeved shirt while she continued her relaxed approach. The pale-skinned girl brushed an arm across her flimsy white lace, summer dress and used two fingers to wipe a dot of sweat from his cheek.

He cocked his head to the left side and gazed into her static brown eyes and a bead of moisture appeared over the left orb. He wiped it with a finger of his left hand, which he then placed to his lips. Kale felt a need to stretch out after his cramped car canter. He put one hand on his lower back, pushed it forward and her clever eyes followed his movements. She offered her port hand, pinky positioned at the pinnacle, and he carefully clasped and caressed her fingertips with both of his keen and curious hands. She closed her eyes and he admired her long, graceful neck, pointed chin and regal nose. As he leaned forward to sniff her long, vanilla-scented black hair a momentary, tiny zephyr blew some into his face. The world was forgotten and all he saw and sensed was her.

Rudely re-introducing the reality of the crowd, Mildred Martinet, the social over-worker, bustled her ample frame to them, took Kale by his upper arm and pulled him toward the waiting group. Posie silently laughed as off-balance-Kale's pupils shot to the sky and he shrugged his shoulders. Mildred efficiently commanded; "Come, come." She climbed the steps with him in tow, and said; "Mr. and Mrs. Collinaire, here is your new charge. Kale is sometimes called Smokey because of the color of his eyes. You have thirty days to decide if you want to keep him."

Patricia Collinaire, at times referred to as Bee, instinctively put her arms around Kale and gave him a gigantic hug, while her eyes set upon Mildred, and she said; "Oh, what a thing to say. Of course we want to keep him." She looked to her husband and added; "Don't we, Wellborn?"

Wellborn Collinaire (sometimes called Hi, predominately in private) stepped forward and put his hand on Kale's shoulder, looked sternly at Mildred and said; "We wouldn't have come this far if we didn't intend to go all the way."

Kale had a strange thought which he kept to himself. "So far it seems that I am here to be touched. Conversation is directed toward others."

Mildred said; "Good," and presented the Collinaire's with documentation which required their signatures, the boilerplate of which was based on the standard donkey lending agreement. Having had previous experience with this sort of paperwork they promptly signed. Mildred dashed to her SUV and rolled away so rapidly it made Wellborn wonder if she now worked on a commission basis.

Patricia introduced herself to Kale saying that her other children referred to her as "Mom," and asked if he'd be comfortable with that. Kale said; "Yes," appropriately his first spoken word at his new home. The same process was undertaken with Wellborn, excepting the fortyish, tall and thin man's preference for the word "Dad."

Patricia introduced Amber, a short, slightly overweight girl of fifteen. Amber smiled, did a small curtsey and said; "Charmed." She giggled, drawing Patricia's attention. Kale's gaze alternated between the light brown-skirted girl and Mom, at any moment expecting an interjection. It didn't come and he slightly bowed his head and said; "Charmed," for the first time using the word he had previously heard in pre-1950 British movies.

Amber again giggled, prompting Mom to sharply say; "Amber, on your best behavior." Amber Hopschild, now known as Amber Collinaire, fell correctly in line. The daunting honey blond was born in Lexington, Kentucky and her gregarious, free-spirited, heavy drinking parents brought her north in a Mercury-powered, cross-country Exodus when she was ten. Their end came in a crash, legally determined to be the fault of Budweiser and their truck driver. While she was normally competent at burying that memory, watching the interaction of Kale and Posie, some sixth sense resurrected it.

Dad brought out a boy of about sixteen with a blonde Beatles 1964 mane, who seemed to prefer a poor attempt at hiding in the background. Patricia said; "Kale, meet Otis. Otis, this is Kale."

They exchanged handshakes and "Pleased to meet yous," but when Otis got a close view of the almost imperceptible lizard insignia (actually a chameleon doing a soiled white impersonation) on Kale's shirt pocket he added; "Far out, man."

Kale nodded, thinking that he sensed a brother, separate from that which was provided by law and answered; "Courir en liberte," (run wild), demonstrating the partial French fluency he had acquired growing up in Portland, Maine, where his biological father had manufactured whoopee pies, which became a household mainstay. He looked to Posie, who returned the approval question with a smile and brown eyes which found the house high tower.

Patricia thought it time to register her disapproval and chastisement. She opened her eyes widely, their shape approximating the contour of her roundish face, and said; "Kale, I want you to hear this, and Otis, you will re-hear. This house is one in which the first rule is that English is to be spoken properly. I will tolerate no other language, slang or corruption. As you age you will see that this is of the highest importance in faux classless America."

In an off-hand manner, Otis (formerly Westhaven, now Collinaire) said; "My apologies," possibly fulfilling the letter of the law, but not the intent. Kale considered the commentaries about returnable merchandise and said; "Please forgive me" with sincerity. Patricia and Wellborn nodded a mild approval and Patricia motioned for Posie to join the group. She said; "I have seen that you two already met, but now it is time to formally do so. Kale, meet Posie and Posie meet Kale (Hallinger, perhaps soon to be Collinaire). Their eyes locked like magnets set to the correct polarity. She curtseyed and slightly bowed to her left. Kale took her hand and moved it upward as if he was lifting her hand as a Queen's Knight might. Still holding her hand, he then performed a deeper bow, saying their first spoken words; "My lady." He rose and their eyes returned to their magnetically charged position.

Wellborn unnecessarily cleared his throat and delicately touched the chest area of his sprinkled blue work shirt, Kale amusedly noting what he considered a dichotomy. Wellborn said; "You will be meeting two more siblings," which Kale thought was an incorrect term, pointed more at trifling castigation than accuracy. "They are currently in summer school, not due to any deficiencies, mind you, but rather because they love to learn. Let me show you to your room." He put his heavy hand on Kale's shoulder and directed him to the red front door.

Like Amber, Otis, too, sensed something unusual happening at the Collinaire's. His intrinsic laid-back nature led him to no particular thoughts other than the stoned 1964 California jargon, which was impermissible to utter in the Collinaire's Washington Township, New Jersey bastion. But they had not yet found a mechanism capable of stopping him from thinking; "Cool," "Far out," "Let it be," and a new addition to his lexicon; "Courir en liberte." He was not yet aware of the precise translation, but he was of the opinion that anything French and libertine had to be good. He glanced at Posie, who quickly averted her eyes and dazedly ambled off toward the road.

Dad pushed the red door open and motioned for Kale to enter first. Dad said; "That's thank you." Kale responded as directed and viewed the vast front to back center hall. A feeling of privilege to be in the grand dwelling came over him. The planked wooden floors were almost entirely covered with intricately designed, predominantly burgundy and sky blue, Farsh, Persian woolen rugs. The walls were hung with the finer examples, some displaying vase and formal European garden motifs. The kaleidoscopic texture staggered Kale; the six closed doors produced curiosity. An opened Art Nouveau, ebonized and rosewood, lady's writing desk with ivory inlay rested near the center accompanied solely by an ebonized and inlaid, Aesthetic Movement armchair. At significant intervals three more lined each side wall. Kale's view of the white-painted, plaster, box-designed ceiling holding a yellow, leaded glass chandelier with green foliage was abbreviated by Dad's shoulder tap. He said; "It's not as large as it seems. Sparse furnishings cause the visual illusion of size."

He grinned as he led dazzled Kale up the open winding staircase. He made a left at the second floor landing and went through a door, Kale, behind him. He said; "This is your room."

He must have noted the distress on Kale's face and said; "It's nothing like the hall, which is meant to make an inspiring first impression; the American way crossed with a Persian drunkard. We'd like you to put your own touches on the simplicity in here. ........... Or you can choose to leave it as is and make no statement at all. It's yours."

Kale scratched his cheek and replied; "There is no question in my mind that a statement, as you put it, is called for."

Kale's head craned around as he took in the barren room, which contained a mattress and a pressed wood chest covered by a strip of plastic, imitation wood-grain. He tried to curtail, and at the very least, not advertise his feeling of being appalled. Partially intending to change the subject, he said; "I haven't noticed any clocks in the house. Where are they kept?"

Dad smiled and answered; "Clocks are irrelevant as the time is always now. For those who do not see that the time is always never."

Kale smiled and said; "Interesting, and I believe astute observation." He thought; "Far fucking out."

Still grinning, Dad extended his right hand, saying; "I'll leave you to get settled."

Kale shook it and sincerely said; "Thank you for the challenge."

Dad exited. Kale put his bags on the mattress and sat with them. He visualized possibilities; the primary one: Posie. The oak inlaid floors were easily mendable, doubtless requiring only the simple massage of linseed oil. The peeling, lime painted walls posed a greater problem. Something would have to be done to curtail the shedding and Kale desired a more naturalistic, shaggy texture, in keeping with the beauty of the center hall. The smooth, uniform lines of Art Deco were anathema to the random curls of an unaffected garden. The white-painted plaster ceiling was innocuous. Kale considered removing it entirely to expose the hidden beams and whatever surprises might be found. The unattractive furnishings could be easily carted out and replaced after visiting an "antique" store.

Posie appeared at the open door. He leaned back and viewed the visible shadow of her long legs, which seemed to be held together at the pinnacle by a prominent, pileous patch, which produced a panty-less preference. She closed the door behind her and walked straight to him, tripping insignificantly on the sway of the undisguised parquetry. She balanced herself in front of him by spreading her legs. He gazed upward and she down, their eyes in unblinking communion. He thought; "Courir en liberte," as he hid his head beneath white lace and his starving soul was irrigated.

They removed the unnecessary baggage and lay on the mattress. He started kissing at her forehead, gradually working his way downward, attempting not to neglect any of the milky white flesh available. She put her right hand behind his neck and her left on his ninety degree angled protrusion and found a resting place for the alabaster rudeness with a deft hand movement and some acrobatics. Four eyes widened and six lips open mouth smiled. Posie put a finger in his open mouth and whispered; "Slow, slow. Think Antonioni."

"L'Avventura?"

"Precisely."

The thought of time was lost as they gently moved sideways more than forward and back. He said; "I'm going to ..."

Her eyes brightened and she said; "Micheli."

He halted halfway across the bridge. After two tiny steps he was compelled to run the rest of the way.

He felt exhilarated and inadequate at the same time as he had made no note of any upheaval in her. She turned her head and looked at him slyly and searchingly. He slowly nodded once and slid down her body, making stop-overs at her breasts and navel. As he departed the ticklish spot, he murmured; "Best part of the meal. Dessert," and he rested his head in her downy pillow.

Thirty-nine winks later he felt her brace and he said; "Take your time. I can do this all day," which only served to produce the contrary effect and brought on a small gasp and the fortieth.

They turned on their sides and lay together, Kale at the rear. He soon felt ready for another trip across the bridge. Posie giggled and dexterously explored as he kissed her neck.

The world imposed itself with a staccato drumbeat on their door. Boom, boom. ......... Boom! She jumped up and started to dress, as did he. She said; "That's Arthur's trademark."

Kale called out; "Just a minute," to the now silent door, dressing as quickly as motion allows.

Posie grinned and seemed to be going at her own pace. Kale entertained the thought that she either found him prudish in his haste or that she favored a bit of exhibitionism, perhaps both.

Boom, boom. ......... Boom!

Kale said; "Insistent, isn't he? Did you lock the door?"

"Yes and no. You'll like him, ...... somewhat." She flashed her brassiere across his face, and then fastened it in place, lifting her light gray pullover.

"Into Antonioni?"

"No. Closer to Bunuel."

"Good."

"The Exterminating Angel."

"Oh."

Fully clothed, the two stood and Kale said; "Entrez, s'il vous plait."

Arthur (originally Doughtry, now Collinaire) pushed the door open with flair evocative of a G-man on a raid, took two steps in, and said; "I've come to greet my new brother."

Kale smiled at the faux Dali approach and walked to the fifteen year old boy garbed in overly tight khaki pants and a black and white striped, pullover shirt. His tall, slightly overweight body was topped by neat, closely cropped, black hair held in place by an oil with a weak musky scent which produced a fabricated shine in certain lights. His alert face was sporadically dotted with insignificant acne, somewhat camouflaged by the early growth of a beard and mustache.

Posie's ocular review began and ended at Arthur's khakis.

They shook and introduced themselves, subsequent to which Kale, much too nervously explanatory, said; "Posie is helping me decorate my room."

Perhaps with a twinge of friendly sarcasm Arthur said; "I see."

Posie said; "We've hardly started."

In an attempt to change the focus of the conversation Kale uttered; "I understand you are attending summer school."

Arthur replied; "That rumor is correct. I'm taking courses in Art History and the Surrealist Perspective. I can't get enough."

Perhaps revealing a gauche tendency toward simplicity, Kale replied; "The ancient and the fluid."

"One could also say the primal and the adaptable."

"My sincere apologies. I intended no value judgment. I find your characterization intriguing in its breadth."

Arthur acted as if he was pleased with the response, by vocalizing thankfulness. The words emanated from pursed lips. He said; "Perhaps I might be of assistance right here." Arthur scanned the room and said; "Pragmatically, most start with the ceiling in consideration of its tendency to splash onto what is below. I would suppose that you are one who first considers the lower elements." He stared at Posie as he paused for possible clarification. Perceiving paltry protestation, he continued; "In that vein, for the walls, might I suggest Modigliani?"

Posie somewhat derisively interjected; "You are undoubtedly referring to his collaborations with Miller."

Kale said; "I adore Posie's taste."

Arthur opened his eyes widely and matter-of-factly retorted; "Business is inevitably done." He turned on his heels, saying; "I must be on my way. A pleasure."

Kale and Posie simultaneously said; "All mine," and turned to each other beaming. Minds fixated on artful decoration and again alone they explored tactile possibilities.

### Chapter 2

Mom and Dad chose to make dinner special that evening in honor of the new house guest. All dressed in their casual best, which meant that the men wore sport coats and the women were attired in anything not appearing un-clean, too frilly or loud, preferably with a bow somewhere. The first floor dining room was decorated with Rococo Revival finery, the height of 1850-1860 fashion, which was actually not very reminiscent of any former style. It was "extremely busy," perhaps the lure for the adult Collinaire purchasers. The availability of machine cutting (since 1825) resulted in design next to design, attractive to many, as it was intricate and unaffordable when hand tools prevailed.

Posie and Kale sat next to each other on cushioned rosewood armchairs, with the other four children on the table sides. Posie told him that Dad was at the head and Mom the foot, though how anyone could differentiate the terms was not obvious to Kale. His best guess was that the foot was the end marginally closer to the kitchen door.

Kale was introduced to Tory Mossback (now Tory Collinaire). She sat across the table and made suggestive eyes at the newcomer, when she saw his affinity with Posie. "Pleased," she said; "Very pleased indeed." She flipped her wine-colored hair and pretended to look elsewhere, while she furtively peered at Kale and Posie, her mind occupied with sensual vagaries.

As the group helped themselves to the sliced beef, potatoes, corn and an array of juices, to the tune of proper "Pleases" and "Thank yous," Kale and Posie contented themselves playing footsy under the table, both having removed one shoe. Their bare feet explored the other's leg causing sensations in the entirety of their body's lower halves. They knew they were risking public viewing, but this only made the instinctive game more interesting. The result was heightened mid-regions and leftovers.

Mom used a fork to tinkle her juice carafe. Attaining full attention (she thought) she announced; "Mr. Collinaire has something important to say."

Wellborn rose from his seat, cleared his throat and saw that all eyes were upon him. He said; "This is primarily for the benefit of our new guest. I hope the rest of you will kindly bear with me."

Any groans were adequately stifled and Wellborn continued; "It is imperative that any household of this size abide by certain rules, manners if you will." He paused and scanned the table, noting a variety of postures. Some busily ate and drank, attentive to what they consumed. Kale and Posie exhibited patronizing grins which he didn't fully understand, but accepted. Arthur paid rapt attention and Amber showed surreptitious disdain by focusing her attention on the oft seen painting of a ship losing its battle to a stormy sea, the execution of which left something to be desired, but the concept impeccable.

Amber wasn't seriously injured in her free-wheeling parents' mortal automobile debacle, but cannot tolerate the three inch scar on her upper left thigh. It unsettles her image of herself as the perfect Southern belle. She was "rewarded" with an enviable trust account and its attendant fear of being pursued solely in the interest of it. She likes the Collinaire's the majority of the time, but on occasion thinks that Mom and Dad's passion for dignified manners and proper speech are constraining, a trifle silly and most of all, unnatural. She expected another repetition of their time worn declarations.

Wellborn had long known his step-daughter's predilections and thought that there was nothing wrong with her outlook. He considered her rebellious, but he also considered it a parent's responsibility to give their children something against which they could rebel. To do otherwise risked a suicidal rebellious child with no cause. He thought she would understand one day, and if she didn't she wasn't all that bright. He remained seated when he said; "Exhibiting good manners and proper speech is of most importance in America. You will not find many to confirm this opinion, but that merely suggests one reason for the majority's dissatisfaction. In this house, it is the goal of the rulers (he nodded to Patricia) to instill this in all children. It has been my personal experience that when one acts first class, one is treated accordingly. To say that cynically, I could testify that when people recognize style and intelligence they do not attempt any nonsense, which they reserve for those they perceive as lesser, and therefore susceptible."

Arthur stood, nodded and vigorously said; "Here, here." Accompaniment was muted or nil.

Wellborn proceeded; "The largest lie told in this country is that it is a classless society. Poppycock. The second largest lie is told by those who recognize the class based structure, and attribute the differences to merely income. The residents of this household will learn the truth. ..................... And they will find that doing so will not significantly impinge on their freedom. Freedom is much more impacted in ignorance." Wellborn sat.

Arthur again stood and played best boy, this time receiving auxiliary mimicry from all. Most did not feel obliged out of any particular sentiment toward the previously heard manifesto, but because Wellborn's seating indicated that the speech had ended.

The clang of cutlery and pottery combined with polite chatter. Kale put his hand on Posie's upper thigh and whispered; "It means we can do whatever we'd like as long as we don't do it in the road."

Posie giggled and somewhat choked on her beef.

### Chapter 3

Posie massaged Kale's face with her palm. She said; "Let me read to you from the book I've been writing."

A new deep blue Lincoln pulled into the driveway. Posie went out the door and walked down the driveway fully exposed, with her hands behind her head, hips rolling from side to side. she let herself in the front passenger's door and Linguistically addressed the driver. Jackson sat in the front seat with his motor running, stick shift ready. engine extremely hot, She slid over and kissed him, enjoying the Surreptitious neighbor viewing as well as that of the two gentlemen in the back seat.

in too short a time, Jackson said; "Enough. I want to see you with my friends." She said; "Don't leave yet. I want Kale to see this." She got out, as did one back seat occupant, allowing her to get between them. She put one hand on each and smiled at them. One demandingly said; "What are you waiting for?" She switched back and forth between the two and after a few minutes of live entertainment for Kale, the car left and Jackson drove to Hooked Harbor Road in laissez faire borough. The only scenery Posie saw was the glistening kind she loved.

kale went to the family car and followed the lincoln. he had a bit of difficulty concentrating on his driving, as his eyes were riveted to posie's bobbing.

Jackson parked in the center of the crowded parking lot and as the four walked to the entrance, the latecomers watched as Posie tried to keep both hands busy, openly swaying, ogling the ground. she concentrated on her arts and crafts dalliances as the multitude scrutinized her jiggle.

The men took seats near the rear, while Posie preferred to use the floor near Jackson, balancing her body by resting her hands on his friends. The group got nearby attention, despite Jimmy nuwangi's having concluded his opening announcement and the curtain rising. kale observed, standing in the rear.

A fortyish white American woman stood at center stage, her head shaved while hirsute with long curly black hair elsewhere. Her 5'5", 160 pound body was partially covered with elbow length black leather gloves and black lipstick.

Thirty shackled, slim African women danced on stage and made a beeline to the American dominant, combating each other for the privilege of worship. In a cluster they reminded one of substantially shorn black sheep who haven't eaten for days. The sneering white woman allowed them their passions and then commanded; "Stop...... Go to your frames."

The african women eagerly followed orders and waited patiently until their commandant attached them. As each picture thanked her for her work and attention, the American sprayed their canvases with a preservative. After they were all firmly in their places, thirty dark african males marched out. They took turns kneeling before their white mistress, each allowed four brief kisses.

Posie's eyes darted to the swinging dark prizes, let go of Jackson and said; "Please, master. Let me go on stage."

He was expecting that reaction, looked forward to seeing it and simply nodded his head. She said; "Thank you" and gave each of her friends one last tongue kiss. She proudly walked through the crowd of chairs and people; her red lipstick smeared an inch from her wet lips and climbed the steps to the stage.

All eyes were on her. She thought the proper protocol would be to submit to the dominant American white woman. She knelt before her and said; "May I." When she heard; "Yes" her excitement compelled her to try to outdo all of her predecessors. She was rewarded with a quenching.

Her temporary possessor said; "I want to watch you with all the men," and the thirty dark men bellied up, each allowed a minute or so. Posie was then ordered to get on all fours and approach the promising pedestrian projections. She was now full of tastes very exotic to her and started touching herself.

The white American mistress said; "No one gave you permission," kicked Posie's hand and showed her a small whip, Posie with this game and winced.

She was instructed to approach each of the bound african women and to give every one four lengthy kisses.

The men paired off with the women, the fruits of their labors used to treat posie.

The mistress unchained the African girls and instructed them and the men to leave. She had seen that Posie was the hit of the show, so she positioned her alone on stage. The american sat a few minutes and then announced to the audience that they could come up on stage.

Before the show was over, approximately twenty members of the audience took advantage of the offer, fully covering her. When all were through, posie said; "My favorite!!"

The curtain came down to resounding applause. Posie was probably more excited and proud of herself than any other time in her life. She jumped off the stage and ran to Jackson and each of his friends. She got her dream and she was driven home unable to stop her stage act, she thought; "the greatest actress of all time," which excited her, enhancing everyone's pleasure.

Kale heard the car enter the driveway and saw Posie get out and saunter to the door. She moved her shoulders, her glistening body jiggling in all the right places. He wondered how many neighbors were watching the show as the car occupants loudly called out various commentaries.

Posie looked back, blew them a kiss and entered the kitchen where she saw Kale very anxiously waiting. He was standing at full attention, when he silently took her by the hand and hurried her to the living room chair, where he spent the rest of the evening showing his admiration for an unparalleled performance.

### Chapter 4

Desirous of spending more time outdoors Kale and Posie went walking in their neighborhood. That day they found still life preferable to Jackson Pollack. They didn't hold hands or any other parts of the other, for that matter, as they wished to keep their secret. They were still too young to have learned the impossibility of this endeavor. They walked slowly under an apathetic morning sun, which was continually hampered by stationary, gray, bulbous clouds, which seemed to dare being resolute devoid of wind, but actually were quite ready to be ushered to a new locale. Their resultant humidity had no chance of becoming saturation until they stirred. (A la Bob Marley.)

Posie kept her hands clasped behind her back, sometimes fidgeting with the tied bow of her light blue dress, which accentuated her hourglass figure. Her eyes riveted on the path immediately ahead and her shoes. Kale's gaze alternated between the houses and her face. He wondered what she was thinking, but didn't want to disturb the calming silence to ask. A reasonably perceptive eight-year-old could discern the "secrecy" of their togetherness.

After passing six "colonials" Kale was compelled to remark; "The other houses are alike. Ours is the one that's different."

Having been there longer, Posie took that for granted and previously paid it no attention. She made a tiny laugh and only said; "Yes."

Kale was compelled to expound on his powers of observation and added; "These were all built recently and are just like each other. The only differences are the facades and whether the garage is placed on the right or left."

"A Warhol-esque silkscreen with subject matter less stimulating than Marilyn."

"Functional?"

Posie shrugged.

On the ensuing front lawn Kale saw a painted statue of a black jockey, replete with wide grin. Not wanting to point, he nudged Posie and getting her attention, his eyes directed her to the object. He said; "I didn't think anyone would have the nerve to display that in this time of civil rights."

"Time is ignored in Long Valley."

Kale recalled what Dad told him, but didn't think she was referring to that. Actually, he had no idea what she meant, but also did not have anything bright to say or ask. He lowered his eyelids and mildly nodded, affecting the posture of one sophisticated, hoping it would not be confused with ignorance.

Posie laughed and said; "I don't know what that means either. Mom and Dad say it regularly."

"He told me of the concept behind the lack of clocks; now or never, but time itself? Do you like them?"

"What a silly question."

"I'll admit it's a bit forward, but I'm curious. I know that we both appreciate their dedication to needy kids. I'm wondering if we're all on the same wavelength."

"They're fine. Their main priority is appearances, and I don't think we share that priority. Michelangelo versus Cezanne."

"That's good. I didn't expect them to be mirror images. Excepting his movies I have my reservations about Cocteau. Are they tolerant?"

"They will tolerate anything that doesn't openly violate local customs."

"The joy de vie must be occult?"

"In its first meaning."

Kale noiselessly surveyed the ground near his feet.

Posie must have seen his consternation and added; "They're not the type to try digging up dirt. In fact they would be more likely to sweep it under the rug. ................ But, if you are dumb enough to put something right in their face ..........................."

"Petit bourgeois in the mental sense as opposed to the economic one?"

"Surface on both. Don't ever forget that we are in America. When in Rome .........."

"I was born in Maine where there is a heavy French influence."

"Courir en liberte."

"Courir en liberte."

They foolishly and openly embraced in complete disregard of any watchful eyes.

After lunch, they entered the well-stocked library to see that Marian Meridonald, part time maid, cook, piano instructor, etc. was already there, perusing "Lady Chatterley's Lover." The fortyish widow sat in a light blue, tufted, Chippendale wing chair and seemed to be engrossed. Posie interrupted her reverie by tapping her bare shoulder and saying; "Lawrence takes you away, doesn't he?"

Marian grimaced at being rudely brought back to "reality," and absently said; "Mellors can trim my garden." She looked up to see Kale and quickly closed the book while exhibiting a pink glow on her lightly freckled white, Irish face. She placed it face down on the Queen Anne card table in front of her and stood.

Posie introduced the two while Kale overtly ogled Marian's long, meaty legs, barely covered by white short shorts. He said; "You must try 'Aaron's Rod.'"

Marian thought that was a cute remark, coming from a fourteen year old, and answered; "I have many times and will again."

Posie's face became a severe minimalist painting in red and green while her eyes became that of a stoic sculpture.

Marian and Kale took seats on the golden-red, Phyfe meridienne, while Posie trudged to and sat on Marian's wing chair.

Marian asked if the pair was familiar with the "other worlds," and Kale asked; "Like Huxley or Burroughs?" Posie shook her head; "No," seeming disinterested, while in actuality her curiosity was awakened, but she didn't want to encourage Marian.

Marian crossed her legs, her top foot tapping Kale's knee. She convincingly smiled in Kale's direction and said; "Strange. I heard rumors about them for much of my life, and last year Carolyn Frichton wrote a book about them titled; 'Down There.' I assume you like fantasy. Most everyone does."

Kale said; "Yes, most certainly. That sounds very interesting. Please tell me ......... us, more."

"They are all below the surface of the earth and each has further political subdivisions. The first I'll mention is called Tierra del Fuego, Land of Fire. Many consider this to be based on the concept of hell. Frichton refutes that, saying that the people there are happy and that people here have difficulty with the idea of it being ruled by a woman, a queen. The fires don't burn flesh, but provide extreme heat. Consequently, no one wears any clothing at all. In the absence of secrets, revelation is continuous, and men are unable to hide that they revere their insatiable rulers. They are well rewarded." Marian eyed the single cut flower standing stiffly in a vase across the room and said to Kale; "You are unable to conceal. Actually, I too am unable to conceal. You might detect that were I naked in Tierra del Fuego."

Kale felt embarrassed, but also unchained. He leaned back and got very comfortable with his legs apart. He asked; "What if you were naked right here?"

"That depends on a number of things, including degree of experience, both yours and mine. But, you're getting me off the fantasy story. The political subdivisions arise primarily from the desire of the male. At the extremes, in some provinces men are equals and in others they are slaves. "

Posie said; "Just like here."

Marian replied; "Here it is hidden."

Posie and Kale caught each other's gaze and followed it to the ceiling.

Posie asked; "That's like Plato's world of perfect forms, here being only poor, corrupted reflections, correct?"

Kale said; "Not Cocteau, I hope."

Marian said; "I really don't know. Frichton didn't go into that."

Posie was petulant in saying; "She certainly should have. It's elemental."

Kale said; "Or, you might have said elementary."

Posie fumed and Marian shrugged. Kale eyed his pants.

Bee buzzed into the room and said; "Marian, good afternoon. I was expecting you in the kitchen a bit earlier."

Marian said; "I'm sorry. I got a bit carried away," and followed Bee out. Kale watched the shimmying crease in her shorts and Posie lividly watched Kale's eyes. She said; "You're so vulgar. She's a maid."

"Your book isn't exactly demimonde and I didn't complain."

"My book is precisely that; a book; a fantasy. It also has the air of Reage and I know you enjoyed it."

Kale smiled and briefly showed the tip of his tongue, then reached for Lady Chatterley's open book. Posie joined him on the meridienne and stretched for "Aaron's Rod."

Later, Arthur made his signature (bang, bang ....... bang) knock on the open door and entered. He announced his acerbic surprise at again finding the duo together "like Dick and Jane."

Surprised at the directness of his commentary, neither replied.

Arthur buoyantly continued; "I understand you are writing a book," directing the journalistic statement to no one in particular.

Posie said; "Where did you hear that?" perhaps giving some credence to what could have been a wild cast.

Arthur smiled as he said; "Ah, I don't reveal my sources. Posie, you should know by now that there are no secrets in this house."

Kale did not yet have a feel for the statement's accuracy, or the lack thereof. He looked at Posie with concern and she looked back with weariness.

Arthur shrugged at the no-comment and said; "If you decide that you want to make some money, I know a publisher who might be interested. He's hot to do something in the juvenile area." He left.

Kale said; "Juvenile!"

"That's what passes for a sense of humor with those of his ilk."

They read to each other from a Lewis Carroll collection, laughing at the caustic political observations which still apply today, but having the most fascination with going down the rabbit hole.

Amber breezed in and cooed a breathless; "Hi," which the duo puffingly echoed. She sat between them and seemed to have a need to balance herself by placing her hands on their upper thighs. She slowly shook her blonde hair, much of which re-located from the back of her white sundress to the front, settling in the cleavage. She slowly placed some of it on the outside and said; "Whooo. Sometimes it really hits you weird, doesn't it," trying to sound very Southern down-home friendly-stoned, and hoping no house paparazzo would report her linguistic impropriety to Mom and Dad.

Kale was flattered and mildly amused when he responded; "Yeah, you know, like right now I'm sittin' here, kind of spaced, not feeling my body, and the whole little world and two great big chicks are revolving around my head. Fucking weird but nice." He helped Amber move the remainder of her misbehaving hair.

Posie was still groggy and was content to watch the kaleidoscopic dream unfold.

Amber said; "You guys have the right idea. Books are fine. But, music is super fine. When I get into this space Robert Johnson singin' "Spoonful" goes right through my head and I want to move my feet. Slow, like Bessie Smith, if you know what I mean."

Kale said; Honeyboy Edwards lippin' "I've Been Around." He took Amber's hand, kissed it and licked the palm.

Amber playfully raised Posie's dress and moved her hand to the zenith. She whispered; "What do you say. Three is the perfect number."

Kale lifted Amber's dress revealing a two inch scar on her left upper thigh. It was a simple healed line, far from repulsive, but the area got Kale's interest and he leaned in for a drowsy close-up. Posie's eyes opened widely and for the first time she was fully aware of what was going on. She became fully aware of having someone's hand on her crotch and that her boyfriend had his head near a scar on the owner of the hand's thigh.

She bellowed; "What the .........," and rudely removed the hand and the head. She added; "Is this some kind of joke?"

Amber's first reaction, having been boorishly brought back to sobriety from a very mellow high was one of being insulted; as it seemed to her that they were compatible until they saw her loathed scar, and were only then turned off. The issue with which she was most sensitive, like a teenager with a face full of pimples, was obviously what had fouled the tete-a-tete-a-tete. She hated them for gauchely making that so obvious. She stood up, fought off tears and ran from the room.

Posie said; "Would you please tell me what is going on."

Kale extended his hands to the sides and answered; "If I knew, I would."

Not quite satisfied with that response, Posie re-phrased, saying; "Would you please tell me what you think was going on." Her tone was serious and assertive.

Kale took a few seconds to collect his thoughts and came up with; "I think Amber was in a partying mood and changed her mind when you did."

"I didn't change my mind."

Kale sighed and looked in her eyes.

Posie added; "I didn't have a mindset to begin with." She laughed for a variety of reasons, stimulated primarily by her last Gracie Allen type of observation.

Kale said; "Neither did I." As his eyes diddled her nether region, his gut felt it was the moment to go ahead with gourmand gluttony.

After brunch Kale and Posie were greeted by two other book lovers teamed to even out affairs. Otis and Tory joined hands after they entered the library and Tory shut the door behind them.

They say that opposites attract, and if that is true, Otis and Tory are a perfect example of this "wisdom." While he gives the outward appearance of being California laid-back, quiet and easy-going, internally he is oversupplied with thoughts and feelings which he has not yet put into any order, maybe never will, and maybe doesn't care to. Tory is gregarious and out-going. Raised in small town New Mexico (which is no different from Smalltown, Anywhere) she has accepted the cultural norm of being outwardly polite to all, thrilled to greet them and refers to those with whom she says a chirpy "Hello" as friends. She plays the external role superbly and is a popular member of the "Hello Club." When she gets privately stoned she often wonders what she has of a true self, if anything, and if it wouldn't be more conducive to meeting trusted mates to show that to the world. In the meantime she spends some time with Otis, fully realizing that the thing he likes most about her is her proximity and availability. She finds something vaguely wrong with having so many "friends" while she is predominately solitary. She suspects that the small town definition of the word is misinformation. Not wanting to be viewed as anti-social, she reverts to Ms. Cheerleader in company. Though she chastises him for it, she is fascinated with Otis' "whatever" approach and he is fascinated with her ass.

Posie was a trifle tired of visitors, and in a desultory manner said; "The room has become as popular as Peter Max, hopefully with the same staying power." She sarcastically smiled like George Scott playing Patton, shuffled in her seat and made undue importance of straightening her dress.

In an attempt to counter the thinly veiled affront Kale called out; "Courir en liberte," to which Otis responded in kind, still not fully aware of the precise meaning.

Tory said; "Good afternoon," and was cognizant of the reason behind the chuckles. She was annoyed, let go of Otis' hand and said; "Would you prefer my saying drop dead?"

Posie answered; "I'd prefer you being more entertaining than the automat."

Otis questioningly said; "Automat's cool."

Kale said; "Lichtenstein."

Otis replied; "Yeah, comics."

Posie was now amused, partially because Tory's face indicated that she wanted to say something, but no words were at her disposal. In frustration Tory blurted; "You think you are so smart because you write books. Any idiot can."

All eyes were on her. All mouths were closed and Posie's lips were pursed. Tory shook her head despondently and said; "I'm truly sorry and apologize sincerely. I hope you'll accept that. I'm not acting properly. This is what happens when one speaks freely." She took Otis' hand and led him back to the door.

After they were gone, Posie and Kale looked at each other with tired eyes and sighed. They held no grudge as they didn't care what anyone else thought of their books. They were only intended for each other. But they were now fully aware that their existence was public knowledge. Hiding or destroying them was of the essence of practicality when the mood arose.

### Chapter 5

No wind and a high, clear sky were with them, foretelling a day of roasted and re-heated residuals. Posie packed a picnic basket and motioned Kale to the front door. "Cezanne awaits," she mock-dramatically said. They walked through and out of the development, passing into a wood of willow which didn't make obvious any hints of recent human encroachment. They flattened the grass in a small clearing and she laid a blanket in the indirect sun. Posie opened the basket and doled out the now cold French toast and wine she had siphoned from the Collinaire closet.

After the fourth taste Kale felt chatty and said; "You've never spoken of your parents. Do you have any particular reason?"

Posie grimaced and replied; "You have the savior faire of Quixote. Until reminded, I have been successful in putting them entirely out of my mind. They didn't want me and I'm proud to say that without any bravado I return the favor." Her eyes did not blink when she stared at him.

"I'm sorry. It's better your way."

"I suppose you were thinking of your own. Tell me their story." He couldn't detect if she was truly interested or exhibiting noblesse oblige.

He hesitated.

She widened her eyes.

He said; "I feel very imposing to be saying this now, but since it has started let's follow the thought to its conclusion. ........ My father owned a factory and always seemed to be stressed. He'd worry about things like whether he should market the whoopee pies as cookies or cakes."

She found that as silly as he and they both laughed.

He half-seriously continued; "Really, issues like that are of the highest importance in the business world. You wish to sell someone something, and if they're in a buying mood want to know what you've got, without a doctoral dissertation."

"That does sound like a serious problem. He 'named' them "pies" and couldn't decide whether to 'call' them 'cookies' or 'cakes.' Why did he 'name' them 'pies' in the first place?"

"I don't know."

"Well what were they?"

"I guess you haven't had the pleasure. They have some aspects of cookies and some aspects of cake."

"How about pie?"

"Yeah, I guess. ...... Anyway he died of a heart attack two years ago and I think Mom followed him. I miss both of them, though I really never knew him very well. He was always busy taking care of us."

"I think it's easier for me."

"I hope so." Desirous of curtailing the morbidity he clumsily started, Kale continued; "I have not yet made any changes to my room. Do you have any ideas?"

"Sorry, actually no. Perhaps we can go shopping later and find something that strikes us. I find that I can get ideas out of my head, but that seeing the object is necessary to feel conclusive. I'm very visual by feminine standards."

"Me too."

Early that afternoon they walked to a store a mile from home. It exhibited no sign and operated out of a place formerly occupied by a plumber who succumbed to plastic pipe. Though in some places it would be considered an "antique" store, the proprietor thought the term more apropos for Christie's and The Manhattan Arts and Antiques Center. He felt silly in using that characterization for his "junque" shop. Previously visited by Posie and unable to answer her technical furniture style questions, the proprietor had self-effacingly explained that the nature of his business was to merely chase death notices, meet the heirs and offer them $100 and the clearance of all the now unwanted furnishings of the past. He seldom knew exactly what he was getting, but did know that he could sell it for more than $100, regardless of style details. Posie liked him.

They entered and Posie said; "Hi, Sal."

Sal pushed back his unkempt black hair and said; "Hellooo, Posie. It's been a while."

"Yes. I've got a new brother who must furnish his room. Meet Kale."

The two exchanged greetings and Sal said; "I just got through unloading a house full of things I picked up in Rumson. Man, it's hot. Pardon me while I sit. Oh, let me just show you one thing I'm dying to get rid of. I've had it forever and someone finally took it yesterday. But they brought it back today saying it didn't fit anywhere in their house. I think they were referring to size. It is big."

He led them to a ten foot long, William and Mary (sometimes called Pilgrim) styled sideboard. He noticed Kale and Posie looked at each other and made small "no" head shakes. He said; "Ten dollars."

At the time a comparably sized and styled piece would have sold for at least $400.

When Sal saw no reaction, he said; "Five." He laughed and said; "Please. I'm sick of looking at this thing."

Kale said; "Size is not my problem. It's a re-production of something that probably never existed."

Sal just stared at him.

Kale felt a need to explain and added; "Sideboards were not known to be made in the William and Mary era. They didn't appear until Heppelwhite was the fashion norm, one hundred years later."

Sal wiped some sweat from his brow, waved one hand at what he considered to be his albatross, walked away and sat.

Kale started to amble toward other items. Posie stood still and whispered; "Kale. Come back here. Look at it. If they did make sideboards in William and Mary times they would have looked exactly like this. And, who can be sure? Maybe some were made and they merely didn't survive. Maybe there are some remaining that will someday be found tucked away in some old barns, considered junk by the owners."

"I see your point; walnut, braced cross stretcher, trumpet turnings, teardrop hardware. I don't know. It's a strange concept."

"It really is possible that some were made back then."

"Possible, but not at all likely. The burden of proof falls on the one making the claim."

"So, say there weren't any. Five bucks."

"Can't beat that."

Posie put her hands to her cheeks. Her eyes widened in excitement. She said; "This is great. It will confound Arthur. Drive him crazy. He so smartly classifies everything, but there is no classification for 'a re-production of something that probably never existed.' It would be like trying to explain purple to a blind man."

"Far out."

"Then, we'll take it?"

"Yeah. Maybe we can also get Sal to give us a break on something else for doing him the favor."

Posie leaped, wrapped her legs around Kale and they kissed. With just as much determination Posie broke away and looked toward Sal, who was sitting twenty feet away, near the cash register, with a huge newspaper in front of his face.

Kale said; "What's wrong?"

"I told Sal that you are my brother."

Kale grimaced and said; "Oh yeah. .......... Okay, let's be cool."

They put their hands behind their backs and perused the store, like a dreadfully bored married couple.

Kale said; "I'd really like to dispose of that plastic over pressed wood chest."

Posie pointed to a mahogany secretary and shrugged slightly.

Kale said; "Eclectic, but not in a good sense."

"Sometimes you get so picky. You'll have the storage space and might I remind you that you are working with a budget."

Kale groaned and with the expression one gets just prior to heaving, he said; "Overall Queen Anne styling, but some idiot mixed in Chippendale fretwork and Pilgrim ball feet. Come on, now."

"Do you like Queen Anne?"

"Yes."

"Do you like fretwork?"

"Yes and I know where you're going."

"Do you like ball feet?" Posie smiled wickedly.

Kale laughed as he thought of many inane answers to make which involved Posie and balling, preferring non-spherical feet and proper cabriole legs. He said none of them as their demeanor was best comported as that of brother and sister in the proximity of Sal. He said; "You're right. It's really not bad at all. Besides, it will give Arthur something to joke about. What would he say? Confused, three dimensional cubism rendered entirely in monochromatic brown?"

"I think that's a reasonable guess." Posie's face brightened and she briefly left her feet. "I thought of a game I would enjoy. Let's try to anticipate Arthur's words."

Kale was a bit confused as he thought he had just done that, and said; "I think I'm missing something here."

Resisting the play offered by another tangent, Posie adhered to her first line of thought and said; "We'll write down what we think will be Arthur's evaluative characterization and then if he in fact does say that, we'll show him what we had written and say; 'You're so monotonously predictable.'"

"Won't that anger him?"

"YES. But he'll try to hide that which will increase the humor."

"I have nothing against Arthur. Do you dislike him?"

"No, silly. If I disliked him I would just ignore him. This is only a small harmless game."

Sal used his dented, mustard-colored, late 1940's pickup to drive Posie, Kale, the sideboard and the secretary home. Posie sat in the middle, which necessitated her straddling the stick shift. Kale wasn't overly fond of the situation, but contented himself with the selfish thought; "Better her than me," rationalized with another thought; "It's only a mile and this just naturally happened. No sense in making a fuss." Posie had no such thoughts, as she instinctively chose the position. Sal thought they were cute.

After the items were in their places, Kale said; "I've never seen your room. May I?"

Posie was surprised and showed hesitation. She timidly said; "Did you ever read 'A Room of One's Own?'"

Kale surmised the direction of her thought, but his occasionally insistent nature prompted him to act as if he didn't and answered; "No. I never even heard of it."

Posie strongly suspected that he was being willfully obtuse, and as on occasion she liked that aspect of him, she just muttered; "I was afraid of that. .......... Come on, but don't get too inquisitive."

Kale eyed her enquiringly.

She said; "You are not allowed to go through drawers, open closets and the like. If you can't see it, first ask permission."

"Sure, I understand." He wasn't sure that he did, but wanted to be civil.

She wasn't sure that he did either, but appreciated the "lie," corkscrewed her face a bit and said; "Come on." She led him out the door.

They traversed the uncluttered hallway side by side. Posie stopped in front of a double paneled door with vertical tongue-in-groove boards in each. Kale considered the color unique as it was much like clear, weathered pine, however it was also obviously stained or washed with a hue approximating pine, but deepened the color to a cleaner, more consistent almost tan. Posie fumbled in her dress pocket and looked to Kale.

He shrugged and said; "I can't unlock it. You neglected bestowing me with the key."

She remained silent and appeared the damsel in distress. Kale carefully reached into her pocket, negotiated his fingers through the combs, empty key chain and small brush. He found a key at the bottom and removed it, saying; "I hope this one works." He inserted it into the waiting knob and turned. The door opened and he put his hand on Posie's back, escorting her in. The past noon sun streamed through the open western windows, producing a soft, incomplete illumination. Posie half-jokingly said; "Be kind. This is one of the maid's vacation weeks."

Kale's first impression was one of casual disarray, well supported by twentieth century functionality. Two cushioned, darkly stained Arts and Crafts love seats (sometimes called settees, and this pair much in the vein of Gustav Stickley) faced each other at the center. Between them stood a tiny steel (base, light metallic blue) and marble (top, cream colored) console, functioning as a table strewn with books and magazines; some open and some fallen to the floor. Kale sat and quickly had company. His eyes surveyed the rest of the room as she anxiously watched him focus on the wall tapestries and the bed's quilt. Indian flower circles in reds and blues hung on the eastern wall and a bordered tree of life in browns and green decorated the west. The bed displayed a purple butterfly. Curious to see her reaction, wondering if he was taking in the right decorations, he looked at her looking at him. He whispered; "I like." Eyes widened curiously and index fingers partially covered Mona Lisa smiles.

Late that evening, totally dependent on lamps, Kale and Posie sat together on the deep pile shag carpet of the library, cursorily perusing picture books. Neither found anything they considered showing the other. Kale resisted a close call with a Josephine Baker compilation and instead said; "Let me read some of my writing to you."

kale watched her derriere in awe as she walked to the phone to make a call. He heard;

"Hi, Virginia Lee, this is marian."

unheard response.

"Fine, very fine. I've gotten an idea."

unheard response.

"How about you and your friend Caroline meet me at my house AND WE'LL SEE a guy who just loves tasty surprises."

unheard response.

"Oh come on. He and I can be at your complete service. We'll do anything you like."

unheard response.

"If he doesn't, I'll do it myself. Please, for me. I want your big, black, hairy presences for lunch."

unheard response.

"sure, that's fine, too. Anything you like."

unheard response.

"great. you won't be sorry."

marian told kale to be on his best behavior. unnoticed, posie entered the room. she had heard the phone call and was expecting a performance. she took a seat in the louvered closet.

When kale heard the knock at the door, he hid behind the couch, feigning embarrassment, as marian let Virginia Lee and Caroline in. She led them into the family room and they sat down. Marian kissed them and said; "Here's my plan. crawl out here, kale." five appendagestouched the floor as he followed his order. Marian said; "Lunchtime."

Virginia Lee, a thin light skinned black woman, originally from Georgia, said; "he certainly looks interested,"

Marian said; "I told you he loves it.... And if I'm wrong, I do."

the two honored guests removed their garments and extended their feet to kale. he was appreciative.

Caroline, a heavy chocolate delight, with a big grinning face, said; "White household help has to explore the dark side of the moon."

kale tried to follow marian into the bathroom, but she locked the door. He rapped at it and called out; "marian, I don't even know these people."

Marian laughed and countered with; "You know me well enough."

marian had made up her mind. She was tired of the same old drudgery, she exited and led kale by the unit to the guests and pulled him down.

kale reached for her hand, but she pulled it away, saying; "kale. This is it. just do what you like."

He said; "I love you, marian," and tried to engage her resolute blue eyes with his pleading smokey ones.

marian said; "You love everybody. Go drink up."

He said; "It's not my fault" and gorged himself on her. Marian was not surprised at the tone under the circumstances and softly replied; "If your girlfriend has hang ups, it's not my concern," while Virginia Lee and Caroline smiled and nodded.

It touched a nerve. he didn't consider posie hung up, yet he couldn't take his gaze off the three waiting treats, thinking of them as different flavors; vanilla, butterscotch and chocolate. The girls sensed his compliant demeanor and Marian grabbed him and said; "Come on over here baby. We'll make you feel better." A prisoner of his passions kale allowed himself to be led to the couch, where the three now sat.

He was out of control and instinctively wanted to taste the drumsticks Marian brought with her. She said; "This is a special incentive for boys who do what they're told." She massaged herself and watched him. He elevated to the drumsticks and saved her the trouble of massaging herself.

"Good slave," she said; "But you're forgetting my friends." She pulled his hair and diverted him to Virginia Lee's light brown delights. He started low and worked his way slowly up as Virginia Lee coldly watched. When she was done, she said; "Go get my friend's dark chocolate."

kale shifted over to Caroline and climbed the sweet ladder. She said; "Tell me how much you love it." His entreaties worked and he was rewarded with a spray he sloppily got all over himself.

posie saw a drenched kale on his knees animatedly eating dark chocolate as Marian lay on the floor enjoying her own choice morsel. she wasn't surprised to find the sight stimulating as she had often thought of Kale being attractive to other women, desiring them without abandon and he was all hers. For the next two hours kale and Marian both did as they were told by Virginia Lee and Caroline, getting whatever food or beverage they demanded from the kitchen. They danced upon command, having their bodies groped while grinding away. They begged and if done well enough were allowed to sample dark culinary delights. They were head over heels with each other on the floor as Virginia Lee and Caroline watched the performance and verbally evaluated it. The two black women gave kale and Marian treats if their deeds were good enough. Sometimes they greedily kept them for themselves and sometimes they shared them. When they left, Marian said; "There's more of this available to a good servant."

Posie made her presence known and Kale kissed it. She locked the door and they spent the rest of the evening making a multitude of miraculous mouth mischief for whoever might be left in the room, with no apparent manacles on their munitions.

### Chapter 6

Hi and Bee could not contain their excitement. Ruben Beardsley, one of their long lost high school friends, had called asking permission to visit, of course being eagerly obliged. Ruben had become impresario--writer-actor-chief cook and bottle washer and psychological-hand-holder to a small troupe of actors and actresses. They worked wherever they were allowed, putting on stage shows and making films, some for hire and some self-produced, the latter category being their elusive road to the stars. More than two decades of life on the road had left them with little more than a name known as "competent" to the few interested in populating their own visions, a bevy of plays and films nobody had seen and a passive-aggressive desire to hit it big, coupled with an intense disdain for commerciality which indicated that if they were to "hit it big" that would be the day their work became banal. And they were tired.

Hi and Bee attempted to prepare the kids for something that could be mundane, but also might be unusual, realizing that was a highly difficult task, while nervously trying to stress proper "manners" if the kids saw or heard something they considered inane.

Posie asked; "Will we be required to sit through any of their productions?"

In a high pitched voice Bee said; "Your value-heavy phraseology will not be tolerated. If we are fortunate we may be blessed with some of their fine work."

Posie turned from Bee and looked at Kale with raised eyebrows.

Kale remained grim faced and asked; "Do they have more similarities to Altman or Corman?"

Posie smiled in a vindicated way.

Wellborn knew Kale was treading on thin ice (Not as in "Tenth of December") but he considered it deftly done and therefore not meritorious of chastisement. He answered; "They were a rather heterogeneous group, and I haven't any idea what they've doing the past few years. Could be Newman for all I know." He flashed a grin. "I've told Mr. Beardsley that my children are well educated in the arts, and he is looking forward to receiving youthful assessments. A film's financial success is largely dependent on the reaction of teenage boys, as absurd as that may sound. I'm sure you won't disappoint me."

The duplicitous meaning was well taken. Kale and Otis smiled; Amber, Tory and Posie remained stone-faced; but Arthur's feathers were ruffled and he was compelled to blurt out; "The old has no choice but to make room for the new."

Not the least bit startled by the well-worn axiom, Hi calmly said; "That's the way it has always been and always will be. I guess I'm just a bit disappointed that in previous generations the young showed competence BEFORE taking over."

Arthur was still unsettled and much too directly said; "Do you consider me incompetent?"

With a lilt possibly masking sarcasm, Hi said; "Of course not. I'm referring to the unthinking crazies I read of in Time Magazine."

Bee laughed and was soon joined by everyone but red-faced, serious Arthur, who contented himself busily brushing blunt the lack of wrinkles on his up-to-the-neck, bogus, Beach Boys, blue, button-down.

Amber flipped her hair and over-dramatically said; "I am destined to be an actress. There is no time. There is no place. ....... I may consider leaving with them."

Tory seemed entirely rational when she followed with; "I've always been more attracted to the editing end of the business. The directors, actors and actresses receive all the glory, but without good cutting the audience would soon see the unsightly blemishes."

Amber thought this was an overly obvious reference to the small car-crash scar on her upper left thigh, with which she was extremely sensitive. In actuality, the rather innocuous two inch red line was of importance to no one except Amber. Her eyes shot daggers in Tory's direction and she sarcastically responded; "Why is it that editing fascinates the best looking women?"

Bee stepped in with a reproving look to both and said; "Cattiness is reprehensible and only results in the laughter of certain males. I will have none of it in my house."

Amber and Tory simultaneously opened their mouths, intending some protestation of their guilt. Bee cut in with; "I didn't make any accusations. Consider my statement a disordered interjection of an item of importance to me."

Otis said; "Get thee to a nunnery," and received guffaws from Hi and Bee and mild amusement from the others, predominately for his timing.

Late afternoon brought a driveway rumble as four vintage foreign mini sports cars sputtered toward the house; an Aston Martin, an Alfa Romeo and two Fiats. Hi and Bee trotted to greet them, while the kids huddled on the porch, noses wrinkled, evaluating the change in air quality produced by the exhaust spouting dwarfs of the highway. Hi hugged Ruben and asked him when he would get an efficient American car. Ruben made no response and introduced his fellow travelers.

Exiting Ruben's Fiat was a thirtyish woman who apparently had a fascination with makeup artistry, as there was not one part of her face which exposed natural skin. Ruben referred to Katharine (not Kathy) Oxford as his "leading lady" as she carefully and reservedly approached Hi and Bee, offering tepid embraces. She fanned herself waving her left hand, a reference to her intolerance of the late day summer heat (and perhaps its drying effects) and walked to the porch shade, joining the kids. As she posed in expectation of admiration, Posie stared at the untraditional use of mascara on Katharine's mask and the bizarre patterns unnerved her, subliminally reminding her of the Wicked Witch of the West. Kale sensed something was wrong and squeezed her hand, which was well noticed by Katharine, who boldly said; "Special friends?" While not receiving any answer she took in their bodies, moving her eyes in such a way that her appearance further unsettled Posie, who went back inside the house. Katharine basked in the glory of answering questions about her favorite roles, films and plays by giving unnecessarily lengthy answers, as she was certain that she must establish context to people who have not seen or heard of any of her defining performances. She also greatly relished being the center of attention. For the moment she was able to forget that the primary reason she was there was that her freaky appearance turned on Ruben. Kale showed his opinion by walking back into the house to find Posie in the middle of one of her run on sentences.

Margarita Valenciaga left her Alfa Romeo, shaking her long, curly, black hair as a seeming greeting to the heat. Her olive skin bore no "enhancements" other than a genuine smile in recognition of having reached her destination and finding it emboldening, in its display of parental affection and many shy kids.

Jonathan Brakeswater made a production of leaving his Aston Martin, enjoying the silliness he exhibited in his English gentry's campaign posture, wearing short khaki pants, a white cotton shirt and a plaid beret, topped by a pith helmet. In actuality he grew up in Brooklyn and would not be able to locate Johannesburg on a map, even if aided by Google.

Luc and Sandrine Malaire remained seated in the other Fiat, voices contained and hand gestures virulent, superficially having some sort of a tiff. Noticing that the other party members were introduced, they cleared their throats and exited, "ironing" their static charged clothing with both hands. Their proper attention to public civility was endemic of their Montreaux upbringing, while their private games of abandon probably stemmed from summers spent at Beziers in le Midi.

The group brunched from tables brought to the center hall, some sitting on the inadequate amount of chairs brought in for the showing. Posie felt uncomfortable near Katharine and tried to position herself as far from her as possible, which served to compel Katharine to keep moving in her direction.

Ruben stood in front of the screen and announced that he would be showing a film oriented specifically at "young people." The adults retired to the chairs and the children sat on the rug. Amber mumbled; "Sex and violence," and heard a number of hearty "Yeahs" from a few of the other young people. Ruben said that he welcomed thoughts after the showing, as this was not yet "in the can." He walked to his chair, shutting the last remaining light in the room. The projector whirred and a severe isosceles, three dimensional triangle highlighted the dust as its images hit the screen. Credits of names now familiar to the people in the room were followed by the simple title; "Gabrielle" in light brown.

Don burst through the front door and exuberantly yelled; "Martha, my love. You'll never believe what just happened!" He didn't see his love in the living room, so he entered the master bedroom and saw her sitting up in bed reading "Through the Looking Glass." She slowly removed her wire rimmed glasses and placed the book in her lap. She placed her bleary eyes on him, and he said; "The greatest thing just happened. I just met an angel." He paused a second and again spoke to her incredulous face; "Well, I think she's an angel. She didn't actually say that." He sat on the bed's edge and kissed her pink cheek as she brushed back her long gray hair, still reserving comment. He nervously added; "I should have said that I've met another angel. I love you, Martha."

She warmly smiled at his jittery playfulness as she continued to get a whiff of wine. She was a bit annoyed that he had again imbibed after countless promises to the contrary. But she wasn't surprised and thought that he had at least come up with a more inventive story. She sportively said; "Did the angel share the same bottle?"

He took her hand, his 68 year old eyes smiling into her 68 year old blue ones, and said; "No. I was finished with the bottle by the time she showed up."

She took a hard look at the crusted mud on his beard and clothes, now flaking onto her and the bed and softly chastised him with; "Get off the bed, at least until you clean yourself up a bit." He didn't move quickly enough and she gave him a little push.

He said; "Sorry, I should have thought of that. I just got so excited."

He stood up and she eyed him saying; "If it wasn't for that ancient face and silly beard, you'd look like an eight year old who just finished skating at the local mud hole."

"Kids still do that?"

She sighed and said; "I really don't know. It's been a long time since I've been around any little kids."

Don saw the wistfulness and felt the same way. It was 25 years since their last child left home, like his sister relocating to another part of the country. It was understandable as there weren't many good jobs locally, but still the loud little busy kids were missed. It was so quiet now. He tried to restore the upbeat feel he just had and confidently said; "Well, you will soon be seeing more kids than ever. So start brushing up on your grand-mothering skills."

Martha just looked at him quizzically, so he continued on; "I know that I've said it before, but I've had my last drink." He saw a look of cheerful disbelief on her, so caught himself and spoke a little more precisely adding; "Well, at least my last excessive drink." She wanted to believe that and fluttered her eyes, still a bit overwhelmed by this evening's revelations.

Don excitedly continued; "The angel helped me. She said that instead of drinking and doing nothing other than dreaming about the past, I should do something useful today."

"I'll bet that's not the first time you heard that."

"No, it's not. But I was so embarrassed not being able to stand up in the mud, and she was so young, it really registered this time."

"Taking care of kids?"

"Kind of. There's lots of old discarded junk down by the river. Some of it gets dumped and some floats down from God knows where. The angel said that it would be good for everyone if I take the old toys, fix them up, and give them to the local kids."

"That would be nice. Can you do it?"

Don furrowed both brows, looked right in her eyes, and confidently said; "Sure, I've been fixing up old houses all my life. I can fix anything."

Martha reflected quickly on the accuracy of that pronouncement. She and he had lived in old fixer uppers all their married lives, including this five room adobe casita in Tedesco, New Mexico they had been occupying the last two years. She said; "So, you'll be doing that instead of drinking?"

He loudly answered; "Yes, starting sunrise tomorrow." He paused, then sheepishly added; "You know, a glass or two here and there won't hurt anything."

Martha got up and put her arms around Don, forgetting the caked mud and said; "God bless us, baby." They cuddled awhile, and then she cajoled; "Just one thing, honey. Don't tell anyone else about the angel. That will be our little secret. All right?"

Just an hour earlier the situation was a bit different. Something woke him and it wasn't the sound of a gong. It could have been the light snow pelting his face; it could have been the twenty-eight degree temperature; or, it could merely have been the right time to end his slumber. Don, again, found himself on his back at the edge of the Rio Grande River. Though it was undoubtedly night time he could see no moon or stars, those being obliterated by the zillions of unique delicate objects now falling to earth. Don put a stop to his musing as something much more important was facing him. He had one too many again, fell asleep, and now would have to go home and face his wife.

What could he say that hadn't already been said? What promises could he make that weren't already broken? What adventure story could he concoct that anyone would believe? Maybe it would be for the best if he just stayed where he was, and patiently waited for a new thought. Bad idea; the snowflakes were accumulating on his chest length white beard, melting on his face, and running down his neck. He never minded being wet or cold, but couldn't tolerate both conditions at the same time.

As a prelude to the task of standing, he rolled onto his belly. His ungloved hands got in push-up position, but his 68 year old body didn't co-operate. He thought; "Oh, great. Now I've got mud all over both sides." He tried again, but this time his hands slid forward, producing the same result. Worse, the mud was now in his beard. A new tactic was called for. He again rolled onto his back and tried a sit-up. It worked! Now, could he do a leg-up? "With difficulty at best", he laughingly thought to himself.

He bent his knees, put his hands on the ground behind him, got his butt in the air, and then another disaster; his feet slid forward. He took a break and looked around. He was ten feet from the nearest tall tree. If he could get to it, he could probably use it to pull himself up. He began slowly sliding over to it when he heard footsteps. He looked in the direction of the sound and saw her.

Her body was well dressed for early December in a bulky green jacket and heavy black pants. Her long blonde hair escaped from the brown woolen scarf wrapped around her neck and part of her face. She looked pretty and young, backlit by a now emergent full moon, but all women looked pretty and young to him at his age. He was dazzled at how the moon chose to sit right behind her head.

As he stared at her dumbfounded, she with an innocent and proper tone said; "What on earth are you trying to do?"

He thought the answer was obvious, and he was also embarrassed, so he gruffly replied; "What does it look like I'm trying to do? And, what are you doing out here alone at night?"

She shook her head from side to side and replied with a tone that suggested that she had just heard the dumbest thing, saying; "I'm not alone. You're here. And I suppose that either you're trying to be a turtle, or you're trying to stand up."

Don thought a bit. Being a turtle might be preferable to his current state of affairs. It also sounded like it could be a lot of fun. But, he decided to keep that thought under his hat, at least for the time being, and answered; "I'm trying to get up and go home. I must have fallen asleep. Who are you, anyway?"

"My name is Gabrielle, and it looks like I'm here to help you, first, with getting on your feet." She put her left hand on her knee, stooped a bit, and offered him her right. He grabbed onto it with both hands and tried to elevate. He slipped, but got his arms around her belly, lurched forward, and was standing. She took three small steps to retain her balance, and exhaled; "Whoompf."

Don let go of her and said; "Sorry."

Rather than making a standard response Gabrielle said; "You should be."

Somewhat confused, Don blinked a few times, and said; "I beg your pardon."

She repeated; "You should be sorry. Look at the mess you've made of yourself. Not to mention others you've touched."

Don indignantly said; "So, I had one too many today. I don't need a lecture about it."

"Today, yesterday, the day before yesterday, on and on."

"We've just met. How do you know so much about me?"

"I've just chosen to make my presence known to you today, but I've seen you countless times."

Don felt embarrassed, uneasy, quizzical and guilty. He said; "Well, I'm not hurting anyone, but myself, and frankly, I don't have anything else to do."

Gabrielle raised her voice and said; "You're hurting Martha, you self-centered so and so." She chose not to say the word that was in her mind.

Don sighed and was silent, wondering how she knew of Martha.

Gabrielle continued in a calmer tone; "Try forgetting yourself once in a while. It's so easy to discern the feelings of others when you do." When Don looked at the ground she thought it was the right time to add; "And as far as having nothing else to do, didn't you ever consider helping anyone? Lord knows lots of people need some."

Don said; "Nobody wants any help from me."

"Sure they don't. In your condition you'd give them more problems than they already had."

"Are you from AA or something?"

"Look, Don, all I'm trying to say is that it would be nice if you considered Martha first, and there are lots of kids around here who need toys to play with. There are loads of broken ones here. Why don't you take them home and fix them up? I know you can."

Don said; "Mind if I call you Gabby?" When she laughed he added; "I think I'd like that. It's probably healthier for me AND MARTHA, but the kids don't come anywhere near me,"

Gabrielle said; "Now they have no reason to. Their parents probably tell them to stay away. But I assure you that if they see workable toys in your yard they will come."

Don felt very sober, and nodded his head thinking; It's worth a try. Martha will like it too." He also became very conscious of being old, while someone so young had better insights. He hugged her, let go, and said; "Thanks, Gabby."

Don started to walk home and Gabrielle went the other way. After each took a few steps she stopped and said; "Don." When he looked back in her direction she said; "I'm not as young as you think. Just remember to consider the other. It's fun." She warmly smiled, then continued on her way.

After a few steps Don thought; "She must have read my mind." He turned around to ask her something, but she was gone. He continued his fifteen minute walk home hearing only the flow of the river and the snowflakes settling on brown leaves.

Don was so excited that he had trouble sleeping that night. He tossed, turned, got up for drinks of water, and generally kept waking an annoyed Martha. When he saw the first glimmer of sunshine behind the mountain he got up for good.

He made coffee and looked out the kitchen window as he waited, and saw that last night's snow had stopped, leaving a half inch layer; just enough to make two legged walking tricky. After he drank a cup he decided that under the circumstances he needed a bit of fortification, and downed a small glass of red wine, hoping that Martha wouldn't come out at that moment.

He was fortunate, felt a bit warmer, put on his heavy clothes and woolen cap, and went out into the 25 degree air. As he closed the door of the light brown adobe casita, some snow tumbled from the entrance overhang, settling on his head and shoulders. Undaunted, he continued slowly down the winding path to the river, thankful for the lack of wind, and sorry that some snow was melting on him, and running down his neck. The rabbits and squirrels scurried away when they saw him coming and hid behind cottonwood trees. They were wet and facing a more difficult day than usual, their gathering activities hindered by the snow, and now this large beast.

"Can't you move a little more quickly!" called out one impatient bunny and the others made small click-clicks of agreement. Not to be outdone, one of the larger squirrels climbed ten feet up his tree and said; "Come on, you can do better than that.", and his family stood on their hind legs and shook their heads in approval. Don never had learned rabbit or squirrel talk, so he thought they were greeting him, said "Hi", and waved to them.

"What a pleasant way to start out," he thought, as he picked up his pace a bit. He wondered if Gabrielle was watching, hoped she was, and headed north, toward a place that seemed to attract unwanted items. It was a piece of land that jutted out into the river, and was underwater when the tide was high, and became a catching receptacle for things people threw in. He had seen it many times before, but wasn't interested in anything there, sometimes annoyed that "slobs" couldn't dispose of their junk properly. Today he was wishing that they threw in more, and that the precious stuff was all still there.

His lucky day continued, as when he got to the spot, it looked like it was all still there. With the rough terrain in the area, he couldn't bring in his little red wagon, so had to carry anything back home by hand. He took a red and yellow plastic tricycle first, as it appeared not to need much, if any, repairing. He thought it was a good idea to start out slowly, at least until he had re-honed his skills.

As he walked back home with the tricycle he was unaware of the eyes on him. It wasn't Gabrielle. It wasn't the local squirrels or rabbits. It was the neighborhood kids, looking out their windows, wondering what Don was doing.

Don got back to his yard, went into the shed and found his old tools. Martha watched him go to work on the old tricycle and was pleased. In no time his skills came back and with the addition of a few improvised replacement parts he had a working machine. To be sure, he sat on it and pedaled around the yard. Now the kids thought that he had really lost it.

He walked back to the Bosque devoid of human company, but in the presence of many squirrels and rabbits who sighed as they scurried out of his way. Comments of "Can't you make up your mind?" and "He doesn't know whether he's coming or going," were heard by those capable of understanding rabbit and squirrel, while Don focused on his new mission and heard click-clicks and rustling leaves. He rapidly returned with most of a small plastic sliding pond. He went to his shed, took some screws and plywood and soon he had two toys. He really wanted to take a slide, but couldn't come anywhere near fitting.

The kids' interest started to outweigh their fear of a nut and the boldest of them, Ramon, took a casual stroll to Don's property line wire fence. When Don looked toward him Ramon was prepared to run while he quickly rattled; "What are you doing with those old toys?"

"I was fixing them up, but I find that I no longer fit. I guess I'll have to give them away. Interested?"

Ramon's friends Sharon, Billy and Melissa were now two feet behind him and Melissa couldn't contain herself and called out "Yes," as she had always wanted a sliding pond.

Don said; "Come on," walked to the gate and let them in. Through her window, Martha saw the activity and joined everyone outside. Melissa ran to the slide and climbed it, while Martha also ran to it, only for the purpose of support as it was not yet tested. Melissa said; "Whooo," as she descended the curved slide and then prevented herself from falling forward at the end by using her hands for temporary balance.

"It worked," cried a jubilant Don.

"It worked too well," retorted a more cautious Martha.

"I'll just rub it with sandpaper to slow it down," and Don proceeded to do so.

Ramon, Sharon and Billy took turns on the tricycle.

Don happily and diligently worked on more toys and the kids made use of each, sometimes bringing them home and sometimes storing them at Don and Martha's place.

The flurry of neighborhood activity got the attention of two old biddies (what didn't?) who lived together in a Victorian house built around 1910 and not maintained since 1940. People stayed away as it looked like a haunted house and the occupants, Petra and Olga, fancied wearing pointed black hats, though it was merely to cover their pointy pin heads.

They stopped the playing kids on the dirt road in front of their house and informed them that they looked ridiculous (they had the audacity) playing with inferior merchandise. They pointed out the toys' numerous imperfections and snidely laughed in the appropriate places. Their ploy, intended to end all frivolity in their environment, worked as the kids now saw the serviceable toys as laughable junk and returned them to Don's yard.

He was working there on a dollhouse, when he saw them angrily leave the toys, Ramon saying; "Keep your stupid junk," as they turned and left.

Don called out; "What's wrong?"

Billy said; "They're second rate."

Sharon added; "Third or fourth."

Melissa said; "It's an embarrassment."

Don was shocked.

Martha was watching and came outside to console Don. She was not shocked, but disappointed. She massaged his slumping shoulders and said; "They'll be back," not thinking that her momentary encouragement held much truth.

Don lost interest in the dollhouse, went inside and lay on the couch, staring at the ceiling. He slept and woke after dark. He checked to see that Martha was already asleep in bed, took a bottle of wine and walked to the river; each step increasingly more of a stumble than a walk. He sat on the bank and watched the edges freeze in the dropping temperature. His head began spinning and fearful of falling in he lay on his side, snickering when he thought it possible high tide was on the way. He heard a rustle behind him, but didn't feel like moving until he heard Gabrielle's voice say; "Don!"

He turned and again saw her standing with the moon behind her. He said; "Hi, Gabby. Got any more bright ideas?"

Gabrielle hesitated, finally saying; "Feeling sorry for yourself is more disgusting than making second rate toys."

She gave him a bit of a kick in the butt and he said; "Get out of here."

Her tone became more apologetic. She said; "All right. I admit that I made a mistake."

"Darn right."

"So what did it hurt? It just cost you a few days' work. You didn't have anything better to do anyway."

Don grimaced, held up his almost empty bottle and waved her away.

She said; "I admit that I got that one wrong. I haven't been here in some time and things have certainly changed. But I have another idea."

Don offered her the bottle and said; "Want a slug?"

Gabrielle said; "New times call for new solutions. I may be overstepping my bounds, but that's my problem. One can make things materialize by truly wishing them for someone else. No one ever noticed this because they are too busy thinking about their own deficiencies, wishing things for themselves, despite the fact that it obviously doesn't work. For some its psychiatric induced devil worship. The self, the self and the self. Just like you right now. Martha is probably worried to death about you."

Don felt a twinge of guilt, but was far from convinced. He said; "I've never been to a psychiatrist."

"Then there is hope for you. Go home and make Martha rest comfortably. Tomorrow go out and teach the kids what I've taught you."

"And look like a complete fool. Show me that your 'wisdom' works."

"Oh ye of little faith. All right. I'm going to wish something for you." She closed her eyes as tightly as she could and Don stood up and went to her, thinking that she was having some sort of seizure. When Don touched her elbow Gabrielle opened her eyes widely and said; "See, you have regained your balance."

Before Don could make a reply Gabrielle turned away and walked into a thicket of cottonwoods. Before disappearing she turned and said; "Just do it."

Flabbergasted, Don walked soberly home and got into bed with Martha. She pretended to have slept through his excursion.

The next morning was particularly cold and the gray sky threatened snow. Undeterred, Don ventured into the great outdoors, while the rabbits and squirrels still remained in their bunkers. After wandering in the bleakness for a freezing hour, he saw Melissa bringing out the family garbage to a can at the road. He called to her, and though she first tried to avoid him, his persistence worked and she turned to him.

Don excitedly told her of his new "toy manufacturing method."

Melissa was certain that he was crazy, as the kids always suspected, and took a few steps toward her house.

Don gambled and said; "I can get you a new slide."

Still a bit frightened, but intrigued, she decided to stop and wait one minute in the frigid air. Don was nervous. He was not sure if it would work, but like Gabrielle, he closed his eyes and thought only of Melissa. It took some concentration as he had difficulty forgetting about his own potential embarrassment as well as the possibility of being some kind of hero. He thought that his mind went blank and when he opened his eyes, Melissa was sitting at the top of a brand new slide, ready to descend. She successfully did it and laughed. Don was elated. As he stood there and watched her slide and slide and slide, Ramon, Billy and Sharon came to investigate.

Melissa told them what Don had done, and they asked him to do the same for them. Don explained that his participation was not necessary and that it was better if they learned to do it for each other. It took some convincing, but in not too long a time the kids were materializing each other's favorite toy, brand spanking new and top of the line.

Don got his reward in seeing them happily play as the sun burned its way through the gloomy clouds, warming the land.

However, Don was always a worrier and today was no different. Though Gabrielle had not told him, he had a fearsome thought; "What can the kids answer if asked where they got their toys? They could be accused of stealing them. If they demonstrated the truth, they ran the risk of becoming mere servants to adults demanding their own coveted wishes. And if the kids couldn't fulfill the adults' needs, who knows what would happen next?" Before he went home to tell Martha the exciting news he told the kids that when they were through playing that they should do the reverse process and make the toys disappear. They could always make them materialize again, the next time they wanted to play.

The kids seemed to understand, didn't ask any questions and said that they would do exactly that. Don went home and materialized something for Martha and she returned the favor.

The kids did as promised and things seemed to be going extremely well. Don and Martha enjoyed watching them play and the kids would show off for them doing daredevil stunts.

However, the old biddies (possibly witches) were watching events unfold. Petra and Olga took shifts at their largest window in an effort to find out the source of the largesse. With jealous, painstaking study they were correctly able to see that magic was being done, but incorrectly concluded that Don was the magician. Neither having previously been accused of having a sharp pencil they had made prior observations that the source of their house's minimal heat came from the sun because the upper room was always warmer than the lower and that their water supply came from the rain and snow as if there were water under the ground, the earth would obviously collapse. This was fortunate for the kids, but a problem for Don.

Petra lured Don into their decaying house under the guise of Olga having been hurt. When he knelt to the still body of Olga on the floor, Petra slipped on handcuffs and the two proceeded to tie him to a chair. They insisted that he perform his "magic" for their benefit. Don insisted that he had no "magic" in him that everyone else doesn't also have, and he thinks that it would be impossible to do anything for them, as that would require thinking only of them. Yuck, yuck and yuck. When it became obvious that they were not going to release him Don made a deal. He said; "If you release me, I will produce whatever you want." The non-magical witches had their doubts, but decided that Don was honest enough to live up to the bargain if they untied him and that there seemed no other approach to get their way.

They undid his bonds and informed him that they wanted a new Lamborghini.

Don said; "Okay," and tried to focus only on Olga. His difficulty came from clearly seeing her steely, cold, mean eyes and the hair protruding from the warts on her face. He gave up and tried to focus on Petra, this time keeping his eyes closed. Olga screamed when she saw a new, silver Lamborghini in their driveway.

The two took a ride through town, waving and yelling to everyone they didn't know to make sure that they were seen in their sleek, fast, status car. Petra got it up to 120 MPH as they laughed and watched the people they thought were envious. Paying attention to things other than driving caused Petra to slam into a 120 foot cottonwood tree and the two mercifully died instantly.

Other would-be, non-magical witches heard various versions of the story and decided to make Don produce what they need. Don learned of this through the internet savvy kids, and it prompted him and Martha to leave.

The kids performed their magic judiciously and played on the grounds of Don's empty house.

A five year old boy, Timmy, with multiple sclerosis, had been watching all the action from his window in the room where he had spent most of his life. He never went out and spent his days and nights with his furry white bunny, Snookers. He loved the bunny and wished that it didn't have to spend all its time in one room like him. He knew how bad it felt and didn't want his lifelong friend to endure the same punishment he experienced with his inability to walk and play. He cried as he looked at Snookers and wished with all his might that his only friend could have a life.

Snookers, the rabbit moved his legs and Timmy let him outside, but the boy couldn't follow on his crutches. The puzzled rabbit spent two days near the house waiting for his friend, not understanding why he was put out. The boy saw him and wanted to chase him away so that Snookers could live a full life with the other rabbits. Timmy tried to go outside and fell in the snow. Snookers now understood and wished that his friend, Timmy, would be well. Timmy stood and took four unsure steps, laughing and crying at the same time. Leaving the crutches in the snow, he walked the rest of the way to waiting Snookers. They heard carolers singing "Oh Come All Ye Faithful" reminding them that it was Christmas morning.

Gabrielle watched from a lofty perch in a tall oak tree and thought that it was great. She kept her horn in her back pocket.

A huge red "THE END" appeared on the screen and soon everything went dark.

Ruben walked to the screen, lights came on, and he said; "That's as much as we've completed on that one. It might be as much as we will. Thoughts?"

Arthur's "date," Melanie, was very interested in impressing him. She wanted a lucrative career and was interested in the business acumen she thought he had, and also liked art and was mesmerized with his knowledge of that. To her it was a perfect mix. Her demeanor was much too enthused, when she stood and blurted out; "I think it is excellent. Uplifting tales are too uncommon."

Arthur remained on the floor and followed with; "It is much like early 1950's fantasy film, said to be a reaction to the then played out "noir," mixed with a well-known children's story, 'The Velveteen Rabbit,' with an allusion to faith and unfortunately God. I do find some aspects of Don and Martha's relationship interesting as well as the suggested personal Catch-22 in their having to leave. I think this audience is a bit old for the film, with one exception." He peered at Melanie in unhidden disdain. She was mortified, began crying and ran from the room. Arthur shrugged his shoulders and unemotionally continued; "I'm not saying that it is a failure. I'm saying that you would do better in assessing its commercial value to show it to an audience under the age of eight. Or, perhaps show it to parents, who pay for the tickets, of children under eight."

Ruben said; "That is quite an outlook coming from someone so young. I'll certainly keep it in mind. Are there any other thoughts?"

Silence ruled the hall as each thought that any commentary they could offer would be simplistic in comparison.

Ruben, prepared to introduce the next film, said; "Well, ......... ."

He was interrupted by Posie, who flatly said; "I just liked it. It's warm. .............. Wouldn't you agree, Kale?"

Kale said; "Without a doubt."

Arthur snorted and replied; "You two are always together."

The hall again became silent as each thought they knew that to be true, but felt it improper to convey that, considering Arthur's unnecessary comment more than an innocent faux pas.

Ruben seemed to detect the mood, wanted to break it and said; "This one is a bit different; a private eye story spoofing itself and other mysteries, crossed with a 'Walter Mitty-ish lead, a laborious start, a ridiculously quick end and a small commentary on the value of mothers. We're hoping the black and white photography attracts the art houses, as we otherwise expect the commercial value to be virtually nil, an anathema to mystery lovers." Ruben chuckled and looked at Hi, adding; "One might ask why bother. The answer is simple. It only took two days of our time and we did think that the boilerplate mysteries deserved a bit of a chiding, not in the vein of Clousseau or Smart. I hope this one is more in line with Arthur's discriminating palate."

The projector did its thing and the title, "Another Crapass Mystery" followed the credits.

He ran into the library to answer the blasting phone, and was immediately reminded of his long delayed desire to have it changed over to a system which plays some type of watered down musaak; an "easy listening" nothing-ness, subdued orchestration of Jerry Lee Lewis "Great Balls of Fire" came to mind. He was so excited at the prospect of work he tripped on an edge of the Persian rug, but picked up the receiver on the sixth ring. Afraid that he missed the call, he said; "Hello! HHHHHH ello!"

The male voice responded; "Is this Mr. Crap-ass?"

Peeved at hearing the incorrect pronunciation he had endured most of his life, he advertised his annoyance when he said; "That's Cra-pass. It's French continental."

"Whatever, you're a private eye, right?"

"That's private investigator. This isn't a 1940's film noir or a 1950's French New Wave adaptation."

"What?"

Remembering that he really wanted the work Crapass said; "Yes, I'm a private eye. What can I do for you?"

"Well, Mr. Crap-ass, one of my family members has disappeared."

"Again that's Cra-pass. Isn't the police missing persons unit working on it? What would you like me to do?"

"Of course the cops have been called, but they say he hasn't been missing long enough to warrant their involvement. Are you being purposely difficult? I want you to find him. What do you think?"

Reticent to explain the many possible custom services that could be provided, he was quiet two seconds, during which the caller had second thoughts and offered a clarification; "Actually, the bastard owes me money and finding it will suffice. It's probably a package deal though."

This was his first possible investigation and he had not yet established a routine and he was not prepared to ask any relevant questions, so not wanting to sound stupid, Crapass said; "I think we should make an appointment to meet in person. Bring anything relevant to the case with you, and of course some money. Let me check my schedule." He paused and counted; one thousand and one, one thousand and two ...... one thousand and ten, in an attempt to advertise his high degree of activity. He then added; "I can fit you in at 2PM this afternoon. Is that good for you?"

"Yeah, that works for me. At your place, I guess?"

"Of course, unless you'd like to buy me lunch somewhere nice. Ha, ha."

"No, I'll be at your place at two." He hung up.

It was only 9:30 AM, so it gave Gunther T. Crapass time for last-minute preparation. He needed it, as this would be his first foray into the real world of crime in a sequestered 45 year life. He belatedly realized that to appear professional he would have to take care of little details; like getting the caller's name and phone number. Up until today Gunther had spent most of his time as a voracious reader of mysteries, and they never dealt with those kinds of boring details. They dealt with other kinds of boring details; like a wordy description of the sound of a waterfall, a precise description of the music wooden wheels make on a cobblestone street, cobble by cobble, or the perceived psychological effect all the "action" was having on a delicate relationship with some relative, remotely and tangently connected to the "story" and it's super-insightful and super-intelligent sleuth/hero/heroine.

For the last ten years Gunther had used his mystery books to create a data base, containing information such as crime, motive, how caught, sleuth techniques, nutty relatives, informants who know whole "story" (in case writer runs dry), usual suspects, false leads, topography, dwellings, sex activity (infrequent, always tasteful) , etc., etc. Trying to refrain from spending exorbitant time with the last item, now, using this database, Gunther wanted to spend the remainder of his, to date, sheltered life seeing if the books contained any semblance of reality.

Gunther was short, prematurely balding and devoid of female companionship, and though people didn't tell him, they thought he resembled Don Rickles, with forty additional pounds in his belly and ass. However, he worked on affecting the look of Hercule Poirot, at least as he was portrayed on television. He thought that the quick, intelligent, sophisticated air of the little one with the upwardly curled mustache, living in the wild world of the 1920's would counter the truth that he was more than a little embarrassed about. He considered adopting an unusual accent, but correctly concluded that approach would be of better use in Europe than it would be in Plainsboro, New Jersey, where a simple down-homey, working hard, and "We all put on our pants the same way" approach seemed more apropos. At least that was the plan that would get its first trial today.

He sat on his ornate Chippendale chair and turned on his computer, which rested on the overworked Chippendale desk, the only furniture in the library, excepting the overflowing, highly decorative Chippendale bookcases, which lined the walls.

His ornate Chippendale ass wasn't rested for ten seconds when the phone rang again. Drawing on his previous experience this time he was prepared. He picked up the imitation French antique receiver and confidently said; "My secretary is indisposed, so you've got Cra-pass, himself."

The female voice was incredulous in tone, and said; "Gunther, what kind of nonsense are you up to?"

He dragged out the first word; "M-o-o-o-o-m. I'm kind of in the middle of something."

"What you should be in the middle of, is finding a nice girl. You know you're not getting any younger."

"Mom, I'm all right as is."

"Or even finding a nice boy. Times have changed and nobody cares about that sort of thing anymore. . . . ." Gunther was at a loss for words, as he was never interested in boys, men, or in-betweens, but knew that his single status and appearance would make people consider the possibility, and was occasionally very uncomfortable about it, like now. This wasn't the first time Mom broached the subject, but even if he were so disposed, he wouldn't be discussing it with her. He attempted a quick subject change and came up with; "I saw a really good movie the other day; "The Postman Always Rings Twice."

"What was that about?"

"Oh, it's an old "noir" one. John Garfield playing a drifter hot for Lana Turner."

"I don't know any of those names you're saying."

Gunther was at a loss for words, trying to decide whether to sound professorial, and explain more, think of a one-liner he didn't have, or risk getting back to his least favorite subject. The indecision cost him as, in the momentary lull, Mom went right back to her currently favorite subject, and said; "Do you remember Tommy Long, that tall boy who played a lot of basketball?"

"Yeah, we were in some of the same classes in high school."

'Well, he's one of them."

"Mom, I don't really care."

"Did you know him well?"

"No, and I really don't care."

"That's the point. That's what I'm trying to tell you. Nobody cares anymore. It's all right. Even the Catholic Church has gay parishes. That, frankly, doesn't make a whole lot of sense to me. They condone that, but only allow men and women to do things that make babies. .................. Hell, I don't know."

Gunther's mind was racing; perhaps it was more akin to spinning its wheels. He rubbed one hand over his forehead, of course not able to come up with anything that might derail his mother's one tracked mind. He considered lying and saying something really gross about "getting some pussy' recently, but decided against it.

With the lack of response Mom was compelled to elaborate; "Of course, if your father, God rest his soul, was still alive . . . . . Ah, but, he was always kind of traditional when it came to the sex stuff. Sometimes, even I could have kicked him right in his ass."

Gunther felt as if he were again 13 years old, trying to think of a response, that would at least temporarily divert the tide, so he desperately and abruptly changed the subject to something of interest to him, full well knowing that this topic could also become unpleasant and said; "Mom, I'm going to be handling my first investigation today."

Mom said; "Well, if you're really uncomfortable talking about it."

Gunther yelled; "Mom."

In a discouraged and weary tone, Mom said; "So what are you investigating?"

Just like the confident big boy he now was, Gunther casually responded; "Oh, the usual stuff, missing money, a missing person."

"That could be dangerous. Why don't you read a nice book instead?"

"I've read them all. It's high time I got some real world experience."

"I'll say. How about some real experience with a nice girl? . . . . . "Or boy?"

"Mom, for Christ's sake, cut it out. And what would I want with a NICE girl anyway? I like the other kind."

"Gunther, don't start talking blasphemy to your mother."

"I thought you started it with that boy stuff."

"That's not blasphemy. There's some other word for that. I can't remember it right now. You know the one."

"I can't think of it either."

"Oh, come on. You're better with words than I am. What is it?"

"I don't know. It's your thought. You tell me."

'I know you know that word."

Gunther was thoroughly annoyed with the entirety of this conversation, as he had endured a facsimile countless other times, but rather than saying something about not being a mind reader or that he didn't care anyway, and risk being accused of being surly, he chose to play it tritely and, again, changed the subject and said; "How's everything in Florida?"

"Hot."

"Hot? Is that all?"

"Yeah."

He hoped to get her talking about something other than him, and tried again with; "It's hot here, too." He tried his best to sound like a sarcastic Johnny Carson and added; "So, how hot is it?"

Mom took the cue and said; "It's so hot ........ that the rubbers are emitting steam on the beach."

Though he didn't find that particularly funny, he considered it okay for an improvisation, and laughed outrageously, most significantly, in an attempt to end the conversation on a good note.

Encouraged, Mom continued with; "You should see the dogs doing their own form of investigation."

Gunther visualized that and found it amusing, laughed, and said; "That's a good one."

"I'm not kidding. That's what I see out my window."

"Wish I was there. Speaking of out the window, my client is coming down the driveway. Got to go."

"All right. So, everything's okay with you?"

"Fine. How about you?"

"Ah, we'll save that for another time. You be careful, all right?"

"Sure. You too. Gotta go. Bye."

"Bye."

There was no car in the driveway. That was just an efficient way to end the call. He wanted to do some last minute research before encountering his first real client. He also knew from previous experience that his mother's "Ah, we'll save that for another time" answer was nothing to worry about. Next call she would either not remember what she was referring to, or again, tell him about the guy living on the floor above her, and his abnormal desire to walk around loudly, always right over her head, listening to everything she said.

Back to the computer. Database program. Crime. Motive. How discovered. Unnecessary filler. Ironic conversations. Scenery and sound conditions. Weather. False leads. Man who knows all. Gunther forgot about lunch, attempting to tie the "facts" together. His mental indulgence ended when he heard the sound of a car truly coming down his gravel driveway. He looked up at the faux antique rococo wall clock, and saw that it was already 2PM. "Dammit," he thought as he dashed to don his best clean suit, a black pinstriped Mickey Spillane model. He made a quick bathroom stop, where he brushed back what remained of his black hair, and made it to the front door ahead of his guest/customer.

He peered through the transom, and saw a modestly well-dressed man of about 40, peering through the transom at him. He felt overdressed, as the other guy was obviously wearing attire that screamed; "Money," but whispered; "I'm not stooping to try and impress." More specifically he was wearing designer- just pressed- blue jeans and a mail order label red shirt, open to the third button.

Gunther opened the door, extended his right hand, and said; "Come right in Mr. . . . . ."

"Slattery, James." They shook, in Gunther's case all over, he hoped, undetected. The little one extended his left hand and said; "Right this way to the library." He hoped that the mere fact that he HAD a library would impress the client with his intelligence.

He offered Slattery a seat, simultaneously realizing that it was the only one in the room. He briefly considered standing, but thought better of it. He said; "Please excuse me. The last client moved things around a bit." He knew that didn't make much sense, but couldn't resist the opportunity to say that he had other business. He went into the adjoining bedroom and returned with an ornate Chippendale chair.

Slattery was fingering the computer, and Gunther quickly put his arm on his client's shoulder, and said; "If you don't mind," ushering him to the newly arrived chair. He sat in front of his computer, and after a few masterful strokes, was back at his preferred database program screen. He said; "Name?"

With a tone of slight annoyance the client again said; "Slattery, James."

"Is Slattery your first name?"

Slattery continued in the same tone responding; "Of course not."

"I expected that, but I had to ask because one cannot make any assumptions in this business. You'll come to appreciate that." He smiled at his imagined prey and added; "You know that if you break down the word 'assume', the result is that you make an 'ass' of 'u' and 'me.'"

Slattery didn't smile back and said; "Yeah, I may have heard that somewhere."

Gunther continued; "Do you always put your last name first?"

"I don't know. Sometimes. What difference does it make?"

"Nothing I can think of at the moment. But, who knows the future? Address?"

"500 Juniper Crescent."

"Plainsboro?"

"Apartment number 308. Missed that one, ace. And yes, Plainsboro."

Gunther was sure his face flushed. "Phone?"

"With or without area code?"

"As you wish. I'll make the appropriate adjustment here."

"Good man. 237-6567."

Gunther looked Slattery in the eye and said; "I believe you said something about missing money and a missing relative, the latter of subordinate interest. Would you please elaborate."

"Well, about a week ago I tried to contact my bum brother-in-law, Bernie. And I couldn't."

Gunther interrupted and said; "Think I got you this time, ace. Bernie's last name is not Slattery, correct?"

"Right, genius. It's Protokowitz. Anyway, I made the mistake of loaning him $300,000 a little over a year ago, haven't gotten a nickel back, and now he's nowhere to be found."

"What was the purpose of the loan?"

"I'm really not completely sure. I felt sorry for him at the time. I think it was used to do some drug deals."

"Did he have experience with that sort of thing?"

"Only as a user, I think."

"Very unwise."

"No shit, Sherlock. Let me just continue the story a bit."

"My sincere apologies for the interruption."

"The other disturbing thing is that Gladys, Bernie's wife, is also nowhere to be found."

"Your sister is probably with Bernie."

"I hope the hell not. They divorced a year ago. Gladys is his new wife and a drug fiend. Gotcha."

"Very amusing, my friend. I see we enjoy a similar brand of gamesmanship."

"Thought you'd appreciate that one." Slattery emptied a pocket and tossed some papers on the ornate Chippendale desk, and said; "Here is everyone's addresses, phone numbers, e-mail addresses, known hangouts and some miscellaneous crap. Most interesting to Gunther was a photo of Bernie and some woman, as Bernie looked like Gunther's double. The only significant difference was that Bernie's balding head was host to long black hair tied in a ponytail which reached the middle of his back.

Not to be fooled twice with the same thing Gunther was proud of his wiles, and asked; "Is this Gladys?"

Slattery laughed and said; "No. That's my sister Agnes."

Gunther looked at him questioningly and Slattery added; "Just kidding. Yes, that's Gladys. Some shit, huh?"

Not accustomed to this manner of speech, Gunther tried to sound the part, and replied; "Yes. Really some turd." Slattery looked at him strangely, which Gunther didn't notice as he was eyeballing the photo of the sexy middle-aged blond, with a crazy, large, psychedelic Star of David around her neck, bearing most of the colors of the rainbow. He asked; "Jewish?"

Slattery said; "Yeah, Protokowitz and Baumstein. She pronounces it Bowm-stine, and hates it when someone says Bomb-steen. You understand, I guess."

Gunther cleared his throat, and said; "Now, about my fee." Slattery wrote a check.

Slattery silently left. Gunther thought he did pretty well for a first effort. His self-evaluation was that after a weak start segueing into an okay middle, he had a strong ending, better than most of the mysteries he had read. He sat at his computer and searched.

Owes money. Drug involvement. Divorce. Client possibly lied. Family intruder ................

Gunther didn't find a clear course of action, so he decided to make a perilous journey into the real world, hoping that it would lead him in some direction, or at least narrow the possibilities suggested by his used IBM 360, depending on one's viewpoint. One of Bernie's listed hangouts was "Pete's Paraphernalia Pub" in downtown Plainsboro, which Gunther knew well, at least from the outside, as he had passed it many times on his way to the town superstore.

He went into his mother's former bedroom and found the black fall he remembered her wearing years prior, when she mistakenly got "modern" with a pageboy haircut. It was in one of the closets, and he used a rubber band to tie it into a ponytail, and attached it to the back of his head. As he looked at himself in the mirror, he thought; "Cool." His suit now appeared out of place, so he changed into a pair of blue jeans that he usually wore while gardening and a Rolling Stones tee-shirt.

He jumped into his 1965, four door, almost silver, Impala. After again admiring his new look in the rearview mirror, he felt good and confidently headed out into the sultry summer late afternoon, visualizing himself as Humphrey Bogart in "To Have and Have Not." He got into it, turned on the tape player and blasted Chuck Berry doing "Roll Over Beethoven," front windows wide open. Nearing his destination, he saw three pedestrian young women in tube tops, tight jeans, and high heels turn their heads in his direction. He slowed down, lowered the volume, waved and called out; "Later, girls. Got business." As he again picked up speed and volume, he looked in the rearview mirror and saw the three look at each other, then his car, then back at each other shaking their heads. Gunther didn't take it as any sort of rejection, and interpreted it as; "I don't know him. Do you?" He briefly considered driving around the block for a second viewing, but decided against it, suddenly remembering that he was Gunther Crapass, rather than James Dean.

His mind raced as he turned the corner; "Bad mindset. Got to get rid of it quickly. I'm almost there. What went wrong? ................. Started to think of reality. Got to stay in fantasy. Don't know what I'm walking into. Could be dangerous. Think drugs. Think money. Think bluff. Think big-tit Gladys Baumstein. Think bad-ass Bernie ....... Protocowitz? Stop thinking."

He parked in the side lot of "Pete's", as far away from the entrance as possible. It was still on the early side of nightlife, he surmised, as there were only six other cars, and no doubt a few belonged to employees, while the lot had an approximate capacity of fifty or sixty. Either it was early, or Bernie was one of the few to like the place.

He walked through the paved lot and saw no one hanging around. He then focused on the building itself; one story, brick, flat roof, few windows with shades drawn, and a plain black and white wooden painted sign which said; "Pete's Paraphernalia Pub" enclosed by a crude drawing of a twisted snake, with exaggerated fangs and tongue, eating its tail. He pushed one of the heavy, black double doors open and entered the darkness. The cooler air was his first observation, and the dim lighting suited him well. With only the slightest degree of trepidation, he would now execute his simple plan; to say little or nothing, and hope that someone would mistake him for Bernie Protokowitz, and tell him something interesting.

He only saw one man who wore a sporty, light green vest with black pinstripes, made of some shiny plastic composite, complete with a "Pete's" designation, in a red circle, on the rear, with his back to Gunther, squatting and meticulously putting away some glasses, behind the bar at the right of the room. Gunther slowly sauntered over, watching the barman watch him in the mirror that ran the length of it. He sat on one of the twenty high stools, picking one near the center and the squatting man, who now pretended not to notice him.

He spoke in a normal tone of voice, and said; "Hey. Service, man."

The squatting man slowly rose, with a threatening look on his stone face. As he walked over to Gunther he did a double take and his expression changed to a surprised smile, and the man whose nametag indicated "Tony," said; "Bernie?"

"Yeah, man. How 'ya been Tony?"

"All right. Where the fuck you been?"

"Here, there and everywhere. You know."

"Hey, man, I'm like fucking desperate. You holding?" Gunther confirmed what he already was told; Bernie was a dealer.

"No, man. That's why I'm back here. It's dry. Motherfuckers keep intercepting the boats. Somebody's got to be playing both ends."

"Ah, I hope they crucify the fuck. Well, what can I getcha?"

"The usual shit."

Tony mixed a double Dickel and soda, and placed it in front of Gunther/Bernie.

A door to the back and side of the bar opened, and a vision appeared. It was a fortyish blond woman wearing a pink tube top and a red mini-dress. Gunther knew it had to be Gladys Baumstein when he saw the psychedelic Star of David emerge from between her breasts, dangling like a heavy bondage chain. Bernie saw her eyes staring right at his pants, and that caused him to give her a better view. He waved off Tony, and turned to the hot chick, who slowly sauntered over with her head down, and took the seat next to him at the bar. She said; "You ain't Bernie. What game you playin'?"

Gunther got up the nerve to put his hand on her well-exposed left leg. When she made no objection he slowly slid it to the apex, and felt the humidity increase. He removed his hand, put it to his lips, and said; "Shh. It's complicated. I'll let you in on it little by little, Gladys."

She smiled, licked her lips, carefully circling the entirety of the red painted kisser and massaged his growing interest.

After meeting the standard-mystery-story-ominous-people, including a hermit, two hopeless drunks, a crooked cop on the drug take, several would be bad asses, a penny ante drug dealer, a blind paraplegic beggar who thinks she knows everything, one legitimate bad ass, a double dealing information peddler, a deranged addict, a rich freak who likes to see "real life," a snitch who doesn't know his ass from his elbow, a thieving lawyer, two lesbian teenage hookers, Slattery in drag, and one boring "normal person" Gunther-Bernie wound up with Gladys and all the money. They lived happily ever after; all thanks to his mother's fall.

"THE END" flashed on the screen and lights went on revealing many cautiously smiling faces on the verge of laughter, but which were looking to each other for approval. Cognizant of the impasse, Hi stood, clapped his hands and said; "Bravo, bravo maestro." The children laughed, applauded and babbled to each other.

Not within earshot of Hi and Bee, Otis whispered; "Doesn't give one hint of a shit."

Amber added; "Fuck you all over."

Kale smiled toward Posie and cooed; "Whatever comes to the mind."

Arthur, the son who still thought he was fooling someone by playing "good" Abel in the context of Hi and Bee's rules of lexicon, thought he closed the discussion with an audible, authoritative and anachronistic announcement; "Not only an amusing satire, but a biting dismissal of semi-sacred cows."

Not to allow Arthur the last word Kale called out; "Yay for muthas."

Receiving silence he added; "Just a goof. ...... Not as in mistake, as in making fun."

While Bee made the faintest of smiles, Hi shot Kale a look bordering on malicious. He had two thoughts in his mind, neither benign. One was infuriation at Kale's open use of the vernacular and the other verged on a guarded wariness, not completely coherent to him.

Posie whispered to Kale; "God help making fun."

### Chapter 7

It was a partially overcast, humid and clammy summer morning. Unable to sleep, Posie entered his bedroom and Kale was already waiting. Smiling, they walked slowly to each other and embraced. She gently pulled away.

She said; "Kale, we've got to do something this minute."

He started to slide a hand under her blouse and said; "The morning seduces the initiated."

She moved away and seriously said; "No, I didn't mean that. I believe that we may have attracted the attention of someone deranged. I think the best approach is to take the family car and leave."

Kale's nerves were in full display as he quickly rattled off; "Who might that be? I haven't detected any lunacy."

"I'm far from certain. It's more akin to a sixth sense."

"Don't freak out, babe. The acid reflections of being known are common."

"Common! Do you consider me common?"

"No, of course not. I'm sorry. You're mistaking me. ............... But, you must have some tangible idea of what is upsetting you."

"It's so vague, I hate to say. Can't you trust my feelings?"

Kale felt ashamed. Of course he trusted her feelings, and moreover, he wanted her to be sure of that. He put his arms around Posie's waist. His attempted kiss was rebuked with a head turn. He said; "I'd like to leave with you."

She felt silly in creating an issue which might mean nothing. She recalled that she had been seeing people in strange ways recently. She had seen Dad as a petulant little boy and Mom as a nervous little girl with no friends. In an attempt to end what she had started, she blurted out; "I don't trust Arthur and the theatre people. I'm sure he knows about us and would like an excuse to get our books to sell. That woman with the garish makeup, eyebrows pointing toward the ceiling makes me queasy."

"Artists can regularly be crazy. Some act the part to convince themselves. But, I don't think they're harmful to anyone but themselves."

"I've known him longer than you. Arthur is no artist. He makes no judgments. He flaunts his knowledge of the subject to impress. He's merely a dealer, who denigrates the objet d'art of the holder and extolls it to a potential buyer. He might have a potential buyer of our books and wants to pocket the gross."

"Let's get to that car."

Posie got behind the wheel and drove them away.

After a few miles Kale said; "I'm your prisoner. Where are you taking me?"

"I don't know. Somewhere away from Long Valley."

He put his left hand high up on her right leg and softly massaged.

"That's my driving foot. Can't you wait a while?"

They smiled at each other and he put his hand back in his lap.

Silence persisted for a few minutes while she continued to drive.

He said; "Where are you taking me?"

"Some hotel."

"Umm."

She drove another quiet quarter hour.

Kale said; "I've been very good. I love you, not only your body."

"You don't love my body?"

"Are you trying to be difficult?"

"No."

"I do love your body. You should know that by now. What I'm trying to say is that it wouldn't matter to me if you weighed 250 pounds and had surgical scars all over. Don't you understand? I love you, your spirit; the totality of you."

"You're so weird. I love you, too."

Suddenly the clouds were pierced by sky-crossing lightning. A downpour soaked the flat terrain. They noticed a store with the moniker; "Theatre, Theatre and Theatre," alone in the middle of nowhere, just prior to the torrent's partial eclipse of the windshield. Posie pulled into the paved, well maintained lot, parking far from the store.

She said; "To be safe, I'm going to sit here until it blows over."

"I don't want to sit here forever."

"Be patient baby. Things can quickly change dramatically."

"What do you mean by quickly?"

"I've often seen storms with this ferocity end in five minutes."

"Well, just in case this one doesn't, let's go inside and see what kind of toys they've got."

"Arthur has probably ingratiated himself here. More importantly, we're about two hundred feet from the door and I really can't see at all."

"I can still see some. Either let me drive up to the entrance, or let's get soaked."

They looked right at each other and slyly laughed. She screamed; "Let's get soaked."

They exited the car, slamming the doors behind them and started running. Kale successfully reached for her hand and they blurted out indecipherable happy sounds as they ran. The rain was coming so hard they got totally saturated, though neither cared. They were pleasantly surprised that the water seemed warmer than the day's air.

The shop sign was of lavender neon hung across the largest front window of the two story, older, white clapboard covered structure. No doubt it was a private residence at one time, the attic enclosed by the sloping, slate roof, a vantage point for many past children and adults. The climbed up the two steps leading to a wooden porch, which contained a few chairs, a bench, some potted plants and a small table hosting a well-used ashtray. Still exhilarated, but dripping wet the two paused for a second. Posie said; "We really shouldn't go in. We'll make a mess."

"I don't understand."

She used her free hand to give his head a blow, not as gently as he would have liked.

He said; "Hey, that hurt."

"I know you like a little pain."

They both let go of the others hand and faced each other with stern looks on their faces, though in his case it was feigned. He started to laugh first and she joined a few seconds later.

Kale said; "We're going to have to make a rule here. How about 'No unrequested hits?'"

"How about no hits at all?"

"I'm with that, but how about expanding it to one of Grace Slick's best rules, "Do not put your hands on another person, unless you intend love."

"I don't remember that line and I know many of the Airplane's songs."

"Oh, it wasn't from a song. They were on stage, when some fights broke out in the audience. It may have been Altamont. She just went to the mike and said that."

"I like it."

The front door opened and an elegant, tall, graying woman came out. She exhibited a friendly distinguished air when she said; "Don't stay out here in the cold. Please come in. Are you theatre people?"

Kale showed surprise and emphatically said; "No."

Posie rolled her eyes and said; "Not professionally."

Kale swayed from side to side, watching the water run from his pants to the porch floor. He said; "It would be rude to go in. As you can see we're soaked. We might ruin something precious inside."

Lady Stagedors admonished; "There's nothing in here which wouldn't be improved with a little water. So don't argue with me and come in."

The two followed the gracious woman through the lavender door, into the shop. The door stuck in his mind as a contrast to the white clapboard paint and the ginger of the window trims. Their attention was immediately drawn to the masks and numbers hanging on the wall.

Lady Stagedors inquired; "Do you like masks?"

Kale said; "Some yes, some no."

Posie registered a similar outlook.

Lady Stagedors efficiently said; "Interested in owning a few?"

Kale just looked at Posie who said; "Probably."

Lady Stagedors demurely smiled and said; "I'll go in the back and let you look around at your leisure. First let me point out one of my favorite items." She led them to the middle of the store and stopped in front of a dress, which was pink, frilly and laced. "This was once worn by Judy Garland in 'Meet Me in St. Louis.'"

Posie said; "I'm into performance art and am tiring of dresses."

Kale said; "As am I." He paused a few seconds. "Now, if you have a tight pair of blue jeans worn by Marilyn Monroe, I might have an interest."

Lady Stagedors said; "Wouldn't we all." With that, she turned and went into a back room, joining a man her age playing solitaire. When she was out of sight Posie gave Kale an open handed slap on the shoulder.

Kale smiled, though he used one hand to protect his head; "Don't you remember; 'Don't put your hands on another person unless you intend love.'"

Posie calmly responded; "I did." Kale closed one eye and gave her a smiling, but also questioning look. They walked the entirety of the store, focusing on the walls, for a few silent minutes.

Posie asked; "Have you seen at least seven masks you like?"

Kale said; "Sure, easily."

"Good, me too. Let's get that woman back out here."

They walked to the open door leading to the back room and she knocked on it twice, before slowly pushing it open. The presumed proprietor popped up from the chair she occupied behind a light, pecan desk, stained a light brown. The man was nowhere in sight. She said; "Have you two decided?"

Posie responded; "Yes, we have," and directed the woman to the seven masks she had chosen. Lady Stagedors found the appropriate duplicates in plain boxes on shelves, directly below their aerial model. Kale went through the same process.

Posie: "Do the numbers cost much?"

Lady Stagedors: "No, $2 apiece."

Posie to Kale: "Do you have any favorite numbers?"

Kale: "Yes, but not in the styles, colors or materials I see here."

Posie: "I don't have a favorite, but I like them."

Posie to Lady Stagedors: "Why don't you pick out thirty different ones for us?"

Lady Stagedors: "Is there any color preference?"

Posie: "No."

Kale: "No."

The Lady Stagedors went about her business and tried to accomplish his task. The numbers on the wall were not as easy to line up with their lower counterparts as were the masks, simply because they were smaller, which resulted in one unintentional duplication. She rounded everything up and put the thirty boxes in a brown paper bag and carried it to the cash register, followed by the two.

Lady Stagedors: "That will be $110, please."

Both reached into their pockets for wallets, intending to use their credit cards."

Posie to Kale: "Do you have any cash?"

Kale to Posie: "Sure."

Posie to Kale: "Let's pay $55 each."

Kale to Posie: "Fine."

They each found the exact amount and handed it to the check-out woman. She thanked them and they walked back outside, taking note of the other items on the shelves that they had missed the first time through, imagining the ones they had never seen at all.

Reaching the outdoors, they were glad to see that the torrential rain had completely stopped and a bright golden sun tinged with red was rewarming the soaking land. Though they didn't expect it this quickly, at a distance it looked as if new green plants were starting to protrude from the clay soil. They put the bag in the back seat, got to their usual positions and she drove out of the parking lot back to the road. On the ride they didn't see any houses and their attention, if any, was given to the orchards of apple trees, still in the process of shedding their pink-white blossoms.

In a few minutes they entered a small town and were on a tranquil main street with a variety of retail stores, which served as foundations for the apartments above them. Most buildings were two stories, made with brick of varying ages, exhibiting colors in the spectrum between almost brown and rather bright red.

They drove through the entirety of the sleepy little place. At the edge of town Posie sighted a hotel and instinctively pulled into its lot. The plastic, aluminum and painted wood three story structure stood in defiance to the main street. Its mass produced modern appearance was only countered by its seeming lack of innovation.

She parked in front of the office and went in, leaving Kale in the car.

"Good day," the overeager office attendant chirped. She was an attractive and extremely neat blond woman of about thirty. She wore a uniform dress of orange and brown buttoned to the neck. No books were anywhere in her proximity. Her plastic name tag said Linda Harker.

"Good day," mimicked Posie.

"It's sure been a fine day today, hasn't it?" the blond cheerfully said.

Posie didn't feel like giving her an evaluation of the day's prior high and low points, so simply said; "Certainly has. I hope you're doing fine yourself."

"Just great, thank you. You're in luck today. There's a special on our two bedroom suites; $60 per night for two bedrooms versus $50 per night for one."

"We'll only require one. But we'd like it to be on the top floor."

"No problem," replied Linda, moving a few feet to a computer and putting her hands to the keyboard. "Name please."

Tedious, customary, chirpy chit-chat prevailed, until Linda made a point of eyeing Kale waiting in the car and snidely said; "One day, I presumed."

Posie simply said; "One day," not bothering to inform Linda that, in some senses, there is really only one day.

Linda turned around to retrieve some keys from a light brown peg board behind her. "Number eight should do nicely for you."

Posie took the keys, said "Thanks," and as she turned to leave Linda said; "Have a good time." Posie turned her head back toward Linda to see her smiling at her knowingly. Posie mock grinned, continuing out the door and to the car. When she got back in the driver's seat she said to Kale; "We're in number eight. It's on the top floor. Can you see it?"

His gaze took a panorama of the facility. In a few seconds he noticed a pattern to the ersatz modern structure and he directed her to the appropriate parking space near an unstained wooden stairway. He got out of the car first and took the package from the back seat. She exited a few seconds after him, noting that they were near the center of the three buildings, their wing built in a straight line, parallel to the road, the second of similar size perpendicular to the first and the third again, perpendicular to the second, also of similar size. Escape, if necessary, was easiest through the fourth unimproved side, which was contiguous to the road and directly in front of their temporary domicile.

Of necessity he led her up the stairs, as the size of the staircase itself, precluded easy movement of side by side passengers. They joined hands at the third floor landing. He leaned his shoulder against the green painted heavy metal door and opened it. She brushed by him and led him down fifty feet of brown carpeted hallway to number eight, seemingly near the center of it. A thought of being left holding the bag crossed his mind, but he dismissed it as silly and perhaps funny. The red stained wooden door numbered eight stood out from the others in its intensity. She inserted the key and turned it to no avail. She checked to see if there was anything on the small chain containing the number eight and indeed, there was.

Posie said; "I wonder if they misapplied which keys belong to which room." She turned away from the door and took a step back in the direction from which they came and added; "I'm going back to the office and ask Linda to straighten this out."

Kale gently put his free left hand on her shoulder, stopping her and said; "First, let me try." He offered the same hand and she put the keychain in it. He inserted one of the three keys and turned it. The door did not immediately open, but when he lowered his shoulder to it, adding some force it sprang open. He said; "You must have picked the wrong one."

She entered and first flipped on the light switch near the door and then closed the blinds covering the picture window which ran the length of the front, excepting the door. In the artificial light the room took on a grey tone though that was not the natural colors there. The walls were painted a light green. The bedspread was embroidered in a rainbow of colors covering an eggshell background. The bed itself occupied the center-back of the room, against the wall and was seat to two plushy pillows embroidered in a similar fashion to the bedspread, a swirling pattern. At one side of the bed was a small functional cream colored table with a snake stemmed, black lamp. The only other furniture in the room was a knockoff early American chest of drawers, painted a cream color with a severe looking chair next to it of poorly executed Art Deco styling, upholstered lightly in red over a medium brown frame. A telephone, notepad and two pens sat on the chest, which was below the unattached mirror, enclosed in a grey metal frame. The ceiling was painted white in a spiral pattern and contained a screen, presumably a television; however there was no evidence of any device that might operate it.

Kale closed the door behind him, put the bag down on the burnt sienna, medium-shagged carpet, turned the two latches and secured the chain. He said; "Where should I put our toys?"

Posie pondered a few seconds and then responded; "I'll take my boxes into the bathroom with me. Put yours on the bed. Open the thirty boxes and spread the numbers, as randomly as possible, all over the floor."

She quickly walked to the bathroom, opened the white paneled door and turned on the light. It was extremely bland with the sink, tub and bowl a light blue. The tiling on the walls and floor were more complicated with mixed shades of blue and white. The ceiling had the same spiraling white appearance as the main room. She slowly removed her garments, evaluating the exposed flesh in the harsh, unnatural light. She didn't like what she saw and rotated, taking in views from other angles. She put one leg on the commode and felt somewhat encouraged.

"Giorgione, correct?" she called out, possibly with a degree of trepidation.

Though he liked Giorgione he said; "Goya," only to be playfully different.

She exited the bathroom carrying her seven boxes, and he responded with a sly look in his eyes and a slightly tilted head. Kale was sitting on the carpet, naked, with his legs in a yoga position, though leaning back on his hands for balance. He audibly sighed.

With a warning tone, she said; "I haven't showered today?"

"That's quite fine with me. I hope you didn't shower yesterday either. I took one last night."

She said; "Fine with me."

He answered; "I knew we both had good taste."

Her unsettled nerves re-appeared, having a similar effect on him. She said; "One more thing," and returned to the bathroom with a box.

She returned wearing a mask, surprising him. The facial disguise looked like an austere 50 year old Oriental woman with pale yellow skin, slits for cruel eyes, bizarre eyebrows, black hair tied up with elastic bands going in all directions, a small nose and a sarcastically smiling mouth, either evocative of a spider or a hawk. He wasn't sure if the smile was with him or at him. He nervously tried to joke and said; "Shanghai Gesture?"

Posie said; "I'm trying to keep you from focusing on the body I was just looking at."

"Posie, your body is perfection to me. Take off that stupid mask."

She took a second approach saying; "Don't you believe in foreplay?"

"I thought that's what we were doing all day."

"Well, I want more. Go put on a mask."

Kale got up and went to the bed, where he had left his boxes. While he had his back to her, Posie took a hard look at his naked body and started to evaluate it just as she had done her own. There were quite a few deficiencies, but she decided that she would voice her observations the same time she decided to be a bitchy makeup artist. Kale looked at his seven choices and decided to go with the angelic little boy with a sad countenance. He put it on, picked up the other six, walked over to Posie and took his former position on the floor. She adopted a similar position facing him. After ten seconds they both started laughing.

Posie said; "That was fun. Follow me again." She removed the Oriental mask and put on one of Marilyn Monroe. Kale happened to have one of Clark Gable and used it to replace the other. However, this time when they faced each other, no one laughed. They tilted their heads in many directions trying to get all perspectives of the other. After a minute of this, he said "As in 'The Misfits.'" She nodded yes.

Kale continued, "Let me go first this time." He picked a happy white clown face, with gigantic smiling red lips and a protruding tongue. She responded with a bored, fat, ebony lady, eyes discerning and a wide open mouth. They both immediately laughed out loud at this particular pairing, but continued to stare at each other in the masks for a minute.

He put on his Superman mask and she quickly responded with Lois Lane. She raised her eyebrows, but eventually laughed with him.

She put on one of Ayn Rand and he jumped to one he called "Baron Leopold." She sternly viewed him. He said; "Please let me lick your feet." She said; "My feet are too good for you. Beg for them." He got on his knees and pleaded. He was allowed to slurp her soles until she pushed him away like a dog. He stood up at strict attention. She said; "Get your next."

He said; "I'm comfortable with Baron Leopold," and was rewarded with a rude twist and a command to; "Get it now." Reluctantly, he donned his Rudolph Valentino disguise and was soon glad to see her in a rubber replica of Nazimova. (Sometimes referred to as Adelaida Nazimova or Alla Nazimova.) He said; "I'm your slave." She stood in front of him and he got on his knees and said; "May I please kiss it?" He looked up to her face and she said; "Keep your head down and make love to it." He went into ecstasy and lost all sense of time, gorging unashamedly on the wooded hills.

Posie pulled his head close and groaned. She sighed and said; "It doesn't matter who goes first this time. We each have only one left."

Kale replied; "That's what you think." She didn't think anything, as she didn't understand the comment.

They both put on the last of today's repertoire. She put on a mask that looked like him and he put on a mask that looked like her. Both were startled and he was confused, prompting him to sadly ask; "Is the game now over?"

She said; "Of course not, we still have the numbers."

"I don't know anything about numbers."

"You don't have to."

"I don't want to end this game."

Posie said; "That's impossible. Look, I'm going to pick a number and then you pick one, that's all."

"All right," he said questioningly.

She picked up a red seven made of stained wood and held it in front of her smiling anxious face with two hands. He saw that he had many to choose from. His favorite number was always eight, but that might have already been overplayed and choosing it could appear that he was trying to top her. He saw that there was another red seven, this one made of plastic.

"Come on," she said, "I'm not waiting all day."

He quickly rejected the available seven as he didn't want to imitate her and also didn't like plastic. He then saw that there was another seven identical to the one Posie had chosen. As he didn't know anything about numbers, he thought this might be a safe choice. He didn't want to lose this game. On the other hand he thought that he had just intuitively rejected an imitation, so he certainly did not want a duplicate.

Posie said; "Come on. This isn't difficult."

Kale thought that he could stare at the numbers for hours and still not have a clue. He didn't know why, but his eyes seemed to be drawn time after time to a six, made of wood and stained deep purple with a light furry white fringe on the edges. He picked it up and put it in front of his face, holding it in two hands.

Posie's eyes and mouth opened widely with exhilarated surprise, dropping her number seven to the floor. Seeing this, Kale dropped his six, moved over to her, kissed her on her bare left foot and ...........

Music only they heard played and played and played. Someone's body must have touched a button that turned on the overhead television. It was playing black and white footage of the Merry Pranksters. A male voice, with electric guitar and organ accompaniment sang;

You're alone in the early spring wood.

Won't you come over to me.

Come, come.

Only you can.

There will never be another you.

Take a chance.

Try, try.

Come, come.

Don't measure me.

Lead or follow.

Allow me, allow you.

Come.

Stop time and remember.

We were together.

She, he.

Come again.

Day and night.

Lend me the moment.

Debt quickly satisfied.

Come, come, come.

I know your feelings.

I know your dreams.

I know your mind.

And you're mine.

Only.

They didn't get much time to savor the moment, as there were two loud knocks at the door. Posie got up, no doubt hitting the same hidden television button, as the picture and sound disappeared. She walked to the door naked and through the peephole saw that it was Linda. She partially opened it, stuck her head out and whispered; "Hi."

Linda said; "Excuse me. There was no 'Do not disturb' sign up." They both smiled. "Anyway, I'm telling everyone that the company is offering a free lunch in the office."

Posie lost it and started to laugh uproariously and said; "We've already eaten." Linda also laughed a bit, smiled genuinely at Posie and put up her right hand to shoulder level, wiggled her fingers "Bye-bye," and continued on her mission.

Posie shut the door and turned to Kale still naked on the floor, saying "Let's get dressed and go."

"Already?"

"Yeah, Linda broke the mood."

He yawned. "I'd really just like to get in bed and hold you a while."

She walked to the bed, rolled down the covers and climbed under them. He quickly followed behind her putting his right arm around her waist, his right leg over both of hers. This moment was the one he always dreamed of. He wondered if she felt the same way, but didn't want to ask. She did. They drifted off to sleep for at least an hour. She rose first and said; "Come on let's get dressed and go." He groaned indicating a soft "No." She joked; "Come on. We both need more lunch." With that she grabbed one of his feet and pulled him out of bed. They both dressed.

"Ready?" she said.

"Sort of," he replied, "We've still got to pick up all these masks, numbers and boxes." He quickly bundled the toys.

She grabbed his arm, pulled him toward the door and said; "Come on, Valentino."

They slowly and quietly drove toward home. They both knew that something would throw another curve ball at them, but for now, they were happy.

### Chapter 8

Posie cajoled; "Let's not split yet. I know a movie theatre five miles away that plays old films. Let's go sit in the dark for a while."

"Anywhere with you is great with me. I like old movies anyway. I might fall asleep, though."

They took the family, "woody," station wagon and she drove silently to the appointed spot. They parked in the small dirt lot, which looked as if it had not been maintained or repaired for some time. It contained no other cars. They saw the plastic lettered marquee indicating that "All That Heaven Allows" was playing. Neither of them knew the film. As they walked to the ticket booth they noticed that the stills were in black and white.

Kale said; "The title suggests that this is going to be a long one."

Posie looked at him, with a bit of an incredulous posture and deadpanned; "Not if it had a good editor."

The ticket booth was empty when they got there, so they walked right inside. They shuffled around the lobby looking at the stills on the wall, keeping an eye out for help. When none came in a few minutes, they decided to walk right in. As he was opening the door a woman of about sixty entered the lobby from another door, trailed by a man of similar age. She had long gray hair and dressed younger than her years. His countenance was more of a disheveled acquiescence to his time, wearing proper attire that was maintained as well as the parking lot. He also had long gray hair, though much of the middle was now missing. He seemed somber. The old woman smiled at the venturesome couple and said; "It's already started, so go right in and enjoy it."

Posie said; "We really should pay you something, shouldn't we?"

The older woman replied; "No. It's already playing and it's too much trouble for me to start handling money right now. We've got other things to do." She looked at her companion and smiled. He silently followed her out through the same door previously used as the entry.

Kale and Posie simultaneously said "Thanks" and continued through the door which led to the screening room. No one else seemed to be there, though they couldn't be sure in the dark. He followed her down the center aisle to furry seats about ten rows from the screen, right in the middle of it. Kale loved the soft, brushy feel as did Posie.

The movie was at a point where the actions and dialogue made no sense to them. All that seemed to be was worry, combat, disaster and randomness. They leaned heads and shoulders against each other and quickly fell asleep.

They woke up to a crescendo of classical music, apparently the end. Still half asleep they watched the two lovers on the screen hold each other. As it was early in their awakening, they could have been wrong, but visually, it seemed that the two screen characters merged. He became her and she him. Posie and Kale both had the same thought. The merger could be an illusion caused by their dreary state, but they would have bet their lives, that at the very least, her eyes became his and vice-versa.

The movie did end right there and the two stood up to leave. Each knew the thoughts of the other, so they exchanged questioning and knowing looks as they walked. Neither knew the right thing to say and didn't want to ruin the mood. They slowly walked back to her car, the bright sun shocking them back to the reality of the moment.

Kale said; "That old boy can really wake you."

She nodded yes in a subdued, but confident manner, her mind still partially in the theatre. She silently drove, slowly regaining 100% focus. When she pulled into the driveway, he leaned over and kissed her on the mouth. For some reason he was concerned about her and gently said, "Are you all right?"

She said; "I'm good. This hasn't been a bad day, even after the rocky start."

He touched her hand gently and said; "I don't want to leave you. Let's go to Sal's again. My room needs more work."

She drove back down the driveway and onto the road.

Sal sat in front of his shop, saw them coming and when they got close he said; "Greetings to my best customers."

Posie answered; "Working hard, Sal?"

"Hardly working. I got some stuff from Saddle River in yesterday. It'll probably pay the rent for two years. Take a look. Very chic and modern."

Kale and Posie made controlled, but slightly contorted faces which suggested; "Yuck."

Sal saw and said; "Gotta get with it. The world is changing."

Kale retorted; "I accept the changes I find appealing." He looked at Posie's derriere.

"Cool, but check it out. Some of it might surprise you."

The couple walked in to see that the new arrivals were in front.

Posie derisively said; "Boxes of glass and chrome. I hate to be around these kinds of things. If you touch them it's like touching ice cubes. Anything made of glass and chrome should contain fish and small turtles."

Kale was more magnanimous and light-hearted saying; "It does. Suits some perfectly. Look, there's some leather over the twisted metal on the couches and some of the chairs."

Posie took him to be seriously devoid of any sense and responded; "Sticks to bare skin. Bad for the one on their back or sitting."

"Hey, look at that. Serious plasticity." He pointed to stacked tables of different sizes, colored black or white, each succeeding one large enough to encompass its predecessors.

"Evidence of the fact that people acclimate to anything and learn to like it."

"Us?"

"Hasn't yet been tested."

They left the area. Posie had her hands in the air as she danced away, careful to avoid arctic contamination. Kale bugged his eyes, raised his hands and wiggled his fingers like a campy Bela Lugosi. He chased her into the Victoriana.

She ignored the huge combination pieces of furniture, looked to the walls and cried out; "Neo and post- impressionism."

"Manet's 'Olympia!'" He head motioned toward the lithograph; a woman reclining on a flowered shawl and bedding, wearing only a slipper, a neck ribbon tightly tied and a pink bow in her hair, being served by a black maid. A tiny black cat shared the bed. "Rather tame today but outrageously scandalous (vulgar) in its time." (1869.)

No comments were made on the other wall lithographs; Bonnard's "Dining Room in the Country," Seurat's "The Watering Can," Gauguin's "The Beach at Dieppe" and Cassatt's "The Daughter of Alexander Cassatt," though the latter made Kale think; "Rich and homely."

"My eye was more drawn to Monet's 'Waterlily Pool.' The horizon line highlighting the sun's reflection; the effect of day and night on the water lilies."

Kale said; "Degas' 'Woman on the Terrace of a Café.'"

They paid little attention to Morisot's "Young Woman in a Party Dress," Sisley's "Boat Races at Molesey," Degas' "L'Etoile," and Guillaumin's "Sunset at Ivry," though Posie thought that Ivry was in a smokestack swamp somewhere in New Jersey.

Posie feigned a ridiculously proper stance and said; "Renoir's 'La Loge;' the amber tones giving this feminine specimen a mother-of-pearl countenance."

Kale said; "How about 'The Bather?' I adore those hips and thighs. (An adequately proportioned nude woman painted by Renoir in 1902.) I find it strange and backward that this painting was accepted at the turn of the century, yet when I saw ads for photographers today, they all specified; 'No nudes.'"

"That was in Europe, baby. We're in the good old US of A; more in tune with John Clymer's commercial 'nature' illustration. Oh, wow. Van Gogh's 'The Starry Night,' a swirling, insane night sky of golden stars, pierced by cypresses. It is said that it contains the mystery of all creation."

Kale affected a nasal tone and said; "And it still remains a mystery to me."

Posie shrugged and sighed.

Kale lifted her from her feet and kissed her lips. He said; "I like it. I just fail to understand. I see creation in you." They tested the resilience of the Egyptian Revival settee, gazed upon by numerous combinations of human and animal figures. One of them carried the moniker of Salvatore. Posie had the best vantage point and upon seeing him jumped up, as Sal pretended to not have noticed, going the other way.

She muttered; "Shit."

Kale corrected; "Merde."

They stood and commenced perusing the furniture.

She said; "Two in one."

He responded; "Three in one. Maybe four."

They were in a grove of Rococo Revival pieces of furniture. Some of the pieces on display were made during the period when some manufacturers combined things; a mirrored chest of drawers had an attached coat rack and one particularly ambitious loveseat was fronted by a coffee table and had a lamp table on each side.

They looked to each other and commenced laughter. Posie said; "They don't know what they want to be."

"Do they reflect society or does society reflect them?"

"That's the age old question. I think society goes both ways, afraid it might miss something."

"Invariably it does anyway because all it can do is look, categorize and criticize. Arthur is on course to be a pillar."

"Of salt."

"I find his type to be akin to buzzards. It's the injured and the predators that one has to be careful with."

"Crazies too."

"Mmnnn."

Posie's eyes popped and she thundered; "See that kas." (Sometimes called a wardrobe.)

Glancing in the wrong direction, Kale said; "Sure do. Great piece."

Posie opened the double doors and showed Kale the spacious interior. The plain space was only disturbed by a top shelf and a pole for hanging clothes. She said; "You can remove the pole, put in more shelves and store a stereo system and records. And it's pretty."

"What style is it?"

"Technically, it's Queen Anne. However they were made the same way for 200 years after the Queen was passé. And now they've had resurgence as people want a place to hide their ugly entertainment systems."

The oldest American houses were built without large clothes closets. Later, when people acquired more apparel, they needed a place to store their outfits. Earliest settlers kept all their things in a two by three chest; essentially a box with a lid.

Kale said; "I like the simplicity and the golden handles."

"That's brass."

Kale laughed and Posie said; "What's so funny?"

"I can't explain it. It might have something to do with that tab."

"Come on. Let's get it."

"Excellent. How about a few of the lithographs? Say four; one for each wall."

Posie grimaced and said; "No texture."

"We've got enough texture to fill the room."

"All right. Then 'The Starry Night' and 'Waterlilly Pool' for sure."

"Those are trips. I like. How about 'Olympia' and 'The Bather?'"

Posie's eyes shot to the sky and she said; "I might have guessed."

"Problem?"

"No. I like where your head's at."

Kale's eyes shot to the sky and he said; "I won't say it. Let's find Sal and get out of here."

Posie nodded. They got Sal and business was done. Sal drove behind them to deliver the items before they could change their minds.

They reclined on the unmade bed, evaluating the lithographs on the walls. Quality was not a consideration; they focused on placement and the consequent play of light. The door rumbled almost imperceptibly. If not for the complete silence they would have heard nothing. They sat up and Kale said; "Come in?"

The door creaked slowly open and they saw Marian Meridonald grinning sheepishly. She said; "Come at a good time?"

Posie replied; "There's never a bad one."

Kale said; "Here, here."

Marian sauntered in and sat on the bed between them. She said; "We were rudely interrupted last time. Would you like to know more of the underground worlds?"

Kale said an emphatic "Yes."

Posie said; "Yes," however in a more subdued manner.

Marian said; "This is the oldest; Tierra de Hielo or Land of Ice. It goes back to the ages when men hunted animals and dragged women around by the hair. Their population has been declining with the malcontents finding their ways to one of the other worlds. Many men have found other work more rewarding and many women prefer other forms of persuasion. They have recently had an upsurge under Republican leadership in a Republican-caused declining economy." She contemptuously laughed and added; "I guess that makes sense to some. Then there is "Tierra de Homo." I imagine you can correctly guess the cultural composition. Here the residents play the same games played in Tierra de Hielo, except that men pull men by the hair and women pull women. Frichton points out that it would be de classe to say that as they think they are doing something new. Apparently there is a dearth of Greek and Roman history books. There has been a bit of a population boom recently. While the male population grows minimally, many women have relocated from elsewhere, some preferring pulling and some preferring the pull of a female hand. This has effectively stopped the talks of 'necessary recruitment.' Do either of you find any of the places I've mentioned a candidate for a vacation site?"

Kale said; "The one you mentioned last time; Tierra del Fuego."

Posie shook her head in agreement.

Marian went on; "Tierra de Dominio is interesting. Genitalia are almost irrelevant; practically surrealistic. Both sexes have masters and slaves interested in anyone with the opposite mindset; all are switches. The population is small, but exhibits a high growth rate. If continued they will need more land. Consequently they are viewed as potential aggressors by the other underground people."

Kale interrupted, saying; "If Posie was my slave, would I also have to have one named William?"

Marian answered; "For simplicity's sake I could say yes, but that wouldn't be entirely true. It's actually more complicated than that. Masters or mistresses of one are usually slaves to another and slaves to one are usually masters or mistresses to another. While one can temporarily be master, mistress or slave to one sex, to do so in the long term produces social ostracism."

Posie wrinkled her nose and said; "Surface subterfuge freedom with underlying mandated conventions. Genitalia are indeed relevant, though they say it's not. Politician double speak."

Kale bobbed his head, nodding as if to say; "Yes, I wish I said that."

Marian said; "I did say 'almost irrelevant,' but that is the joke of it. Very astute, little ones.

Posie and Kale wondered if they had been triflingly insulted, but held their tongues in deference to their liking of Marian, who smiled and continued; "And then there is the well-known Atlantis, which includes all."

Kale said; "Do you believe these places really exist?"

Marian reached out and gently slapped his and her thighs, shrugged and said; "I haven't got the slightest idea. Frichton says so and she was bright enough to write a book." The three shared a laugh. Marian got up to leave.

Posie said; "If these places did exist, where would you live?

Marian stopped and thought for a few seconds. She scrutinized the ceiling, the said; "I'm a traveler. How about you?"

Posie said; "Tierra Del Fuego or Atlantis."

Kale added; "I'm always with you."

As Marian exited, she smiled warmly and said; "Compatible babies."

### Chapter 9

Posie and Kale had trouble sleeping in the middle-July heat. No position was comfortable for long as the initial comfort zone too quickly turned to a swamp. They revolved and slithered. They tried spells on their backs, spells on their bellies, spells on their sides, spells in between, spells sitting up, and even spells ignoring the bed entirely and making use of the floor. They left the house before sunrise, feeling the cool morning air. They passed the all too short garden path, went down the driveway and onto the heat radiating asphalt.

After passing a few of the "colonials," more attractive in the dawn obscurity, they entered a wooded area, comprised mostly of mature willows. They were surprised to notice a clear path as far as they could see. Dismissing the likelihood of it being the result of any resident, suburban humans, they concluded that there must have been recent deer activity.

They stopped and Posie looked at Kale curiously.

He said; "Let's do something really different." Her gaze showed the slightest hint of trepidation. He continued; "Let's follow the path and see where it goes. Maybe the deer know something we don't."

They held hands and began their journey side by side. As the sun rose, Kale looked ahead. He was able to see well in front of them as the land sloped a bit downward and the path seemed as straight as the letters "I" (capital eye) or "l." (Lower case el.) He said; "This might only be due to the proportions created by distance, but it seems as though the path gets narrower and narrower the further one goes."

For the first time Posie contemplated what might be ahead. She shared Kale's assessment of the possibility, but was not of the disposition to be concerned. She said; "You might be right. But, if you are it's irrelevant to me. If the path does indeed narrow we have a number of options. If we desire to be side by side at all times one can remain on the path and the other can walk alongside it. Or we can both get off the path, one being slightly to the left of it and the other slightly to the right. Or, if we show a bit of patience one can get in front and temporarily lead."

Kale said; "I like looking at your ass."

Posie responded; "And I like looking at yours. So there should be no problem."

Though not disturbed, Kale was surprised, squinted his eyes and said; "You like looking at my ass?"

Posie frowned and said; "Don't get off on this."

"I'm not getting off. I'm intrigued. What do you find attractive in my ass?"

Posie looked at the ground and shook her head.

"Come on, tell me. I have to know. What is your twisted little mind thinking when you look at my ass?"

Posie showed exasperation in her tone of voice when she answered; "That with a skinny ass like that, you're fortunate not to have been born female."

After being temporarily speechless Kale said; "I'm not sure if I've been insulted or complemented. I suspect the former."

"Well, it's your own fault. You kept pestering me."

"I was hoping that you'd indicate whether or not it was an insult."

"I don't know either."

Kale grimaced.

Seeing that, Posie continued; "You know, it's like girls look like this." She pulled her dress tight as she ran her fingers over her hips. "And guys look like that. What it is. Viva la difference. All right?"

Kale was all right as soon as he was reminded of the outline of Posie's hips and forgot what prompted the stupid conversation. He reached for her hand and whispered; "Yeah. Whatever. Who cares?"

In a line as if they were in grammar school, seven chickens followed by a gobbling rooster dashed across their path. One of the chickens must have been very tired of running and flew all the way to the treetops. Kale was impressed as he had never previously seen a chicken get more than a few feet off the ground. He excitedly said; "Did you see that?"

Posie responded with a questioning; "Yeah," as if the view was of something seen daily.

Kale said; "I take it you regularly see chickens fly to the tops of trees."

She had not seen the flight of the fat bird and only now knew the source of Kale's amazement. Posie was now amused, looked up and saw no chicken, but said; "Oh, yeah. That was amazing. Sorry, I was daydreaming." She considered asking Kale if he knew that women were surreptitious cock watchers, but decided to leave that for another day. The willow branches playfully swayed in a mild breeze knowing that they were firmly supported by trunks decisively rooted in the earth. Robins, blue jays, yellow-breasted warblers and other birds made their presences known in a startling wave of beating wings as they, too, sought to beat the heat by completing their well-practiced routines before the unchallenged, ascendant summer sun reached full strength.

As they traversed the path they learned that the distant segments which appeared smaller were of similar proportions when viewed closely. But, Kale still remained concerned, though less so, over the narrow appearance of the remaining path still in the distance. He was either displaying an early disposition of one who worries about events projected into the future or the fact that he had not yet taken a course in landscape painting.

The birds pecked at the ground, unafraid of or disinterested in the human couple. Kale said; "Animals know things, instinctively. Humans have deferred their instincts to science. The birds know we don't want to hurt them and come near. I really like that. It makes me feel like Saint Francis."

"That's a nice thought, but I wouldn't recommend sharing it with anyone else."

"I already have."

"Thanks. Now, I'm feeling a bit more comfortable with being watched. They're probably looking at you, saying; 'There's Saint Francis. Let's see what kind of interesting things he does today.'"

"You leap to erroneous conclusions, my Princess. I've only told the birds and the trees."

Posie's face went blank, and she said; "I suppose that's an improvement. ............ I suppose ....................... Tell me; what kind of a response did you get?"

"The birds chirped and the tree leaves rustled. I don't know what they said as I do not yet speak Chirp or Rustle. Do you know any books on the subject?"

"It's a good thing that you're not dangerous."

"How can you be sure?" Kale widened his eyes like the Phantom of the Opera and with a feigned palsied hand grabbed and tickled Posie's waist. She screamed in jest and they ran down the road, Kale (or the Phantom) in hot pursuit.

Out of breath, they stopped and held hands, seeing strong light ahead. They were still in by the willow forest and were protected by their leaf canopies. They enjoyed the flickering light which gave them an other worldly feel, as if they were in an early silent movie. But, twenty feet ahead was brightness, stark illumination.

Kale said; "It's too early in the day for harshness."

"There is no good time for harshness."

"It's straight ahead. The only way to avoid it is to turn back."

Posie sighed and said; "Just hold me awhile." He put his arms around her and she did the same, burying her head in his chest, thinking that she could feel and hear his heartbeat.

In too short a time he interrupted the melancholy, restful delight saying; "I'd like to stay right here forever, but that's not possible."

Her eyes implored and her mouth cantankerously said: "Why not? Who says so?"

He kissed her forehead, sighed and said; "I don't know. I just don't know. I do know that my father had something to do with it. He always said; 'Keep moving.' I guess I can blame him. He's not here to put up an argument."

"Did you always listen to your father?"

With a silly look on his face Kale said; "Yes."

"I had no idea that you were such a jerk." She broke away.

Kale grinned and said; "I said that I listened to him, as in I heard everything he said. I didn't necessarily OBEY what he said. Some parts sounded fine and some didn't."

Posie angrily said; "I'm having an emotional crisis and you're joking? I ought to ................."

Kale lifted her from the ground and tried to kiss her face, and kissed her hands with which she protected it. He said; "I'll leave it to you. If you want to go back, I'll go. If you want to stand still, I'll stay here till we die of dehydration. If you want to move ahead, I'm with you. Don't you understand; I'm with you no matter what."

Posie relished hearing the words. She knew that's how Kale was, but needed to hear it every so often. She also thought that she was being handed the tough decision, however she realized that she kind of asked for it. Kind of. Before she would have time to think herself into inertia, she grabbed Kale's hand and ran to the harsh brightness, hoping it was benign illumination.

It was neither, at least not in their first perception and understanding of it. It was a sunny field, just a sunny field.

Though they would have been happy with this a few minutes ago, all the talk of "harshness," "going back" and "why" led them to be nonplussed by the very ordinary field. They almost disdained the drab, brown dirt with grassy patches, which may have once been a cornfield. They viewed each other with raised eyebrows and pupils pointed at the sky and simultaneously grinned. Kale kissed her parted lips, looked up into her eyes and said; "It's just one gigantic, well lit, obstacle free path."

### Chapter 10

Posie remained at the edge and performed visual surveillance. She took one last look at the lovely woodland behind them and guided Kale into the field. Their lack of sunglasses necessitated initial squinting, which quickly led to completely shut eyes and an impromptu, flat out breather. The glow permeated their eyelids, still registering with their optic nerves, strongly suggesting to them that the full-strength sun might be very unobjectionable with fitting preparation. As they nattily nuanced natural needs they braved broadened beholdings of the blazing ball and found their eyes sheltered by their soul mates shielding smile.

They rose and continued through the center of the uneven field. Kale said; "Have you read any good books lately?"

Posie laughed as she watched her footing.

He continued; "Some people are doing good science fiction in pulp-like magazines. Of course, also there's Vonnegut."

"Rocket ships don't do it for me."

"No, it's different now. The surface story is just used as a vehicle to make social commentary for the perceptive."

"Oh, like the pod people actually being a metaphor for the commies coming to get us and make us all the same with no feelings?"

Somewhat dejectedly Kale answered; "Yeah, sort of. Except they're no longer worried about the commies."

"Who are they worried about now?"

"Repressive inner demons. Deliberate misinformation. Sophisticated stuff."

"Kafka is spacesuits?"

Kale laughed and said; "I guess."

"I've tried Mailer, but not for long."

"Why?"

"Little guy trying to be Hemingway. Worships the fight. I'm sticking with the originals; Hardy, Mann, Twain."

"Twain? I can't stand Twain. Makes a big deal out of people acting differently in the wild and in civilization. Like, no shit Sherlock."

"Your parlance leaves something to be desired. If Mom and Dad heard you, you would be in serious trouble."

"Afraid to deal with the substance, my little parliamentarian?"

"You know better than that. On the level of substance Twain stands out. Too much time has passed since his writing days for the humor to be appreciated by the rabble."

"I beg the princess' pardon. Rabble?"

Posie shrugged.

Kale pouted and hopped over a mound, slightly stumbling as he hooked his left foot on the edge.

Posie asked; "Well, how about Hardy?"

"I like him. He was a hit and then wrote 'Jude the Obscure.' Everyone was horrified at what a horrible thing it was to tell the truth. So, he said; 'Fuck you,' and never wrote another."

"Did he really say fuck you?"

"Probably in private, but only in essence publicly."

"Smart man."

Mom advised the children that dinner would be a formal affair. After thinking; "Yuck," Posie assessed her possessions in an effort to appear compliant, but not deferential. After all, she was a competent, experienced woman on the short side of 20. As she went through her drawers, she muttered; "Tube top .......... out. Cut off blue jeans .......... out. Hmmnn. ...... Good little girls wear frilly dresses. Here's one." She held it in front of her and admired the frills. She thought; "Very conservative. ....... I won't wear panties. They wouldn't dare check."

Kale faced a decision which required no tiring brainwork, as he was under the impression that when living in the "country" formal meant that the blue jeans worn did not evidence prior usage in the fields or with the pigs. He complemented the pants with his favorite blue, button-up shirt; a modern day "Blue Boy." When he got to the dining room Posie was chatting with Arthur and Amber. He briefly sniffed her neck and sat next to Posie.

He heard Amber say; "I couldn't have a bigger disagreement. Impressionism always struck me as something anyone can do, as it takes little refinement or skill to paint an unreal tree."

Arthur retorted; "The classicists demonstrate no thought. They see a tree and paint that same tree. The invention of the camera made them completely irrelevant."

Posie said; "A photograph has no texture, nothing to feel."

Arthur was annoyed with the "correction," and asked; "So, I suppose you prefer the inept, subjective approach."

In a tired voice, as if she was barely tolerating abject idiocy, Posie replied; "Define inept and put it in the context of modern abstraction."

Arthur hesitated.

Kale said; "Regardless of approach, an artist is one able to convey feeling or thought."

Arthur said; "I agree! The classicists had their time, but that is not today. Artistically they are as valuable as a family photo album. Monetarily, the museums will buy whatever they can get, and then let it collect more dust."

Posie deadpanned; "Texture."

As Hi and Bee entered the room, Arthur displayed frustration, saying; "Like you and Kale, I suppose."

Hi sat, looked toward Posie and Kale and devoid of any expressionism said; "Rough edges?"

Posie flushed and Kale removed his intemperate digital brush from her texture.

Amber, who seemed to be responsible for the discussion, before dropping out "accidentally" rubbed her bare leg against Posie's.

Feeling that she had been confronted on many fronts, Posie excused herself and darted from the room.

Amber heaved a sigh which displeased the white ruffles at the crown of her light blue, low cut dress. Kale appeared academically pensive as he positioned his fingers on his lips. Arthur was comforted with the restoration of order. Hi was contented with grinning and patiently waiting for some response. Bee felt uncomfortable with the stasis and over-politely asked; "Did we interrupt anything?"

Kale said; "Not really. We were just having a typical, every-day sibling dialogue. It can be re-started anytime."

Hi questioned; "How about now? I hate to feel left out."

Amber said; "It had too much context to reconstruct now."

Arthur sarcastically added; "And texture."

Otis and Tory entered and sat. In the silent room Otis was compelled to ask; "Did we miss anything?" receiving a smorgasbord of stifled smirks, tight-lipped grimaces, curious eyes and questioning ones, which revolved from person to person, much like a sign bordered by circling light bulbs, which can't decide whether it is light brown or deep yellow, set to its lowest rate of rotation.

Again, Posie flushed, and cautiously returned to her seat, unsure whether it was proper or im, too late wondering if she should have curtseyed before sitting. Though it was done unconsciously,(still possible for someone with the birth name of Conciesse), her upper body leaned toward Kale and away from Amber, who couldn't have been more conscious of the inclination, and thereby felt slighted.

### Chapter 11

In the stone (some say stoned, a derivation from Western Sumatra ca. 1927) garden, Kale sat with Posie under a round-headed, leafy sycamore. Having been around the rock a half hour prior they were flagging and were looking for that special something, as the day was still quite young. Kale said; "Let me try reading to you from my book," and she nodded.

Kale got a thrill, when sitting alone eating in the cafeteria styled restaurant, three women, who were the cooks, brought their trays to the table next to his and sat facing him. One had medium length frizzy black hair and looked about forty. She was both dark and light complexioned, a Jamaican Dugla girl. One had meticulous long blond hair and was a little younger. The third looked about sixty with medium length, pinned back black hair. What they had in common was that they paid no attention to him, sat with legs slightly parted and didn't seem to be wearing any underwear. He did his best not to be obvious, but was compelled to solve the panty mystery with prolonged observation. After determining that today was a laundry day, he continued his gaze and his pants got tighter. This was too good to be true.

"They must know what they're doing," he thought. He tried to catch an eye and when he did he would lick his lips and the eye would turn away. Though he desperately wanted to, he couldn't get up the nerve to approach three older women; one young one was difficult enough.

The same thing went on for days. Kale was continually aroused and thought that this was no accident. Why didn't one of them at least look his way? Was every day laundry day? Why did they always sit where he had the view of paradise? Don't they ever cross their legs? He wished that he could meet all three of them, one after the other.

one day the frizzy black haired woman showed up alone and took her customary seat. Having no one to talk to, she put a book in front of her face; "The Catcher in the Rye," and sat with her legs as widely open as nature would allow. Kale looked at her brown unadorned skin and centered on one spot. The hair seemed to cover the entire region and was sticking up as if it had just been back combed. He couldn't stand it. He kept trying to catch her eye, but both remained behind her book. He fantasized. After twenty minutes passed, he realized that she might leave any time and that he may never again get the opportunity, so he picked up his tray and walked by her, dropping his spoon near her feet. As he bent down to retrieve it, he whispered; "I see that you've prepared more goodies for me today."

She took her eyes off the book and put it on the table, Kale afraid that she would yell out something. She spoke in a low tone and said; "What took you so long?" Kale heard the sweet patois and learned that she and her friends loved providing munchies.

Kale learned where Frizzy lived and was invited to visit, where he was taught the finer points (or buttons) of the arts. He liked the taste, aroma and texture of her long curly hair so much, that he became a frequent guest, eventually meeting the other two.

The three continued their lunchtime game, though now all smiling, as he focused on the beauties. He never joined them at their table, not wanting to call attention to his "friendship" with them, but also because he liked the view from his current seat.

Posie's voice broke his reverie; "It's been more than an hour. Are you going to do this all day?"

"Um hmmm."

"Well, okay, but I have to take a break."

"I can save you the trip."

Posie always had mixed feelings about the procedure; at times it excited her to do what seemed to be a heightened kick and other times she thought there was something wrong about it. Today she decided to oblige him, saying; "All right. If you really want it."

"I want to taste all of you," and he did.

The door opened and in WALKED, Virginia Lee, Wanda and Caroline, each holding up their fabric with two hands, legs spread slightly, showing their dusky, puckered, petulant, prevailing prizes. Astonished, Kale broke from his beverage and ogled them. Posie got up and ran to the bathroom. In a southern drawl, Virginia Lee said; "No need to go, baby. We can wait until you're done, or we can make it a four on one." The three newcomers unbuttoned their obstacles, dropped them to the floor and stood near Kale, massaging themselves and smiling at him.

Kale begged for the sweet wine. He was rewarded three times and showed his appreciation by worshipping the dark chocolate chalices.

Posie played piccolo perfectly. While pleased, Kale popped primal projections.

### Chapter 12

A knock came to Kale's door. Bop, bop .... Bruuum. Kale and Posie looked at each other curiously as they dressed. Bop, bop .... Bruuum replayed.

Kale said; "Do you have any idea what this is?" as he zipped his pants.

"I'm learning."

"Nooooo. I mean that beat?"

"Coltrane?"

"Posie. You know exactly what I'm referring to."

"That's a new one to me."

Bop, bop .... . Bruuum. Bop, bop .... . Bruuum.

Posie yelled; "Come in."

The door opened irregularly, slowly at the start, gradually increasing to manically fast at conclusion and there stood Arthur. At least they were reasonably sure that it was Arthur as the person was sloppily dressed in baggy cuffed pants made for someone two sizes larger and a soiled, multi-colored pullover shirt. His hair went in all directions as if he had slept on every square inch of his head.

Kale said; "Arthur?" When he received no correction, he added; "Are you all right?"

Arthur said; "Of course, my young Philistines. And I see that you can't do anything but a duet."

Posie replied; "Coltrane did his best work when he partnered with Tyner."

Arthur derided; "If you're referring to my new style of greeting, you are no jazz aficionado. Coltrane was smooth and romantic, obviously your favorite. What you heard was Parker with Charlie's discordant flats, more of an acquired taste, but generally considered superior."

Posie drolled; "Parker was never redundant."

Arthur bristled noticeably and directly said; "I'm not here to discuss aesthetics. My interest is the possible monetary value of your books."

Kale said; "Where did you get the impression that we have something for sale?"

Arthur sighed heavily, before he said; "Must every step be a protracted process? I know you are writing books. But, fine, have it your way. ............... If you were writing books would you have an interest in having them properly marketed?"

Kale said; "If we were writing books and if we were interested in selling them we would obviously have an interest in having them properly marketed. That's kind of a no-brainer sales pitch."

Arthur had trouble deciding his next "sales pitch," as Kale and Posie had a knack of making him feel inadequate or silly or something in between; the bottom line was that he was not fond of either of them, but he was compelled to pursue them, being the rational businessman that he was striving to be. He tried to assuage both compulsions by saying; "My sincere apologies for having insulted your intelligence. Be assured that my next approach will require at least half a brain. Posie, you should certainly know that there are no secrets in this household. If brought to the surface, those books would serve as evidence of your misbehavior, and one of you will be shipped to Jackson Hole, Wyoming and the other to Krakow. I'm offering you the best deal anyone ever had; you can dispose of the evidence and get paid for it."

Neither had anything they wanted to say and Posie tried to further aggravate Arthur. She didn't see anything to lose since he was already aggravated, a seemingly absolute thought, with no need to calculate degrees. He had already been threatening. However, she had no intention of selling her book and neither did Kale have any intention of selling his. She suspected that at the bottom line Arthur would have to remain at his current place, as the only way he was going to profit from their books was if he had the rights granted by them. They could always sell them to someone else or even destroy them to "get rid of the evidence." She was disturbed hearing that the books were common knowledge and felt vulnerable to an irrational act. Despite that she had no intention of voluntarily giving up her book. She said; "Are you sure that It's Jackson Hole and Krakow? We were otherwise advised that it would be El Paso and Blagoevgrad."

Kale purposely hid a small smirk with an impolite half-sneeze-back-of-the-hand-nose-wipe, not wishing to add to the existing rancor, yet demonstrating unity with Posie.

Arthur thought that there was no sense in it for him to push the conversation further -------------- today. He made a brief polite grin, and then turned to leave. With his hands in his oversized empty pockets as he walked away, without turning, he said; "When you decide you need money, remember that we are in a public domain AND who your friends are; siblings in a sense."

When Arthur shut the door behind him, Posie looked at Kale and slowly shook her head, now worried more than ever. Kale held her and did what he was supposed to. He told her not to worry and that everything was going to be all right. She knew he was lying, but liked hearing it. Exhausted, they slept.

Kale woke, first noticing the peeling lime paint on or off the walls, depending on viewpoint. It seemed to be exposing more of the underlying, blotchy gray plaster than he previously saw and it resembled abandoned, lumpy oatmeal growing fungus in the tepid late day indirect sun. Posie seemed to be wide awake, but she put her head back in the pillow, preferring the surreality of dreams.

A light backhand tap came to the door and Otis' voice loudly whispered; "Hey man, you in there?"

Kale said; "No."

Posie rose and sat at the edge.

Otis said; "Can we come in?"

Kale said; "Yeah, sure," and sat next to Posie.

Otis and Tory walked in appearing somewhat unsure. Tory said; "You guys all right?"

Posie said; "Yeah, yeah. Never better." She frowned.

Otis sat next to Posie and leaned against her. Tory mirrored the move at the other end. Otis said; "Ummm. So watchew guys been doin'?"

Kale deadpanned; "Playing canasta."

Otis nodded a few times and said; "Dig it. Dig it. .......... Doesn't that game go better with four?"

Kale and Posie were both flabbergasted and speechless.

In their state of mind (and body) Otis and Tory took that to be a demonstration of shyness rather than a rejection and Tory put her hand on the back of Kyle's neck and pushed his head down toward her lap. Otis did the same with Posie. She stood up, breaking his grip.

Otis eyed the floor and rubbed his chin. He matter-of-factly said; "Hey, you know it's like getting to be common knowledge that you guys are into ...... canasta, as you put it. It's more fun when it's a multi-player game and we like you and all of that."

Kale stood up and said; "Get the fuck out of here, man."

Otis, too, stood and held up his hands defensively, saying; "Sorry, man. It's cool. You know how it is."

Kale was still irate about what he considered to be near an invasion and responded; "No, man. I don't know. Enlighten me."

Tory got up and started for the door. She said; "Come on, Otis. Some people are still living in the fifties." She led him out by the flag pole, with the two of them doing their best to display disdaining stares.

When the door shut Kale shook his head, looked at Posie and groaned, worried about the effect the incident might have on her.

She appeared nonchalant and said; "That might have been fun."

Kale said; "You're kidding me."

"No. You never asked my opinion on the matter. I'll admit that the approach was on the course side, but sometimes you forgive some over-familiarity with friends."

Kale was speechless and felt as though he was the prude in an increasingly wild 1960's world.

Posie said; "I was kidding. I just wanted to see your reaction. They freaked me out." She kissed his cheek.

He said; "The more I think about it the better I like the idea. I'm going to try to call them back." He moved toward the door and Posie pulled him to the mattress. They laughed as they rolled on it until they fell asleep.

They woke to an assertive door knock. The boom, boom, boom sounded as if someone was using a mallet. They leaped and quickly dressed as Kale said; "Jesus fucking Christ. No wonder there are no clocks in this place."

Boom, boom, boom.

He called out; "Wait a minute." He whispered; "Are you ready for this?"

Posie exhaled and shrugged.

Kale said; "Come in."

A female voice said; "Are you decent?"

Kale said a long; "Yes."

The female voice said; "Too bad." The door opened and in strolled Amber, completing the sibling meeting day. Her pink tank top fell revealing one pointy breast.

She laughed and said; "Let it all hang out. It's fucking hot." She shook her head and pulled back her long blond hair, but ignored that which protruded from her tight, cut-off jeans.

Posie thought; "Oh, shit."

Kale thought; "Oh, shit. Nice."

Amber stumbled to the mattress and wiggled her way between the two, kicking off her shoes. She said; "You all don't mind. Do you? People are friendly where I come from."

Posed with a direct question, Posie responded; "Yes, as a matter of fact we do mind. Don't we Kale?"

He said; "We most certainly do," sounding a bit like Maxwell Smart.

Posie and Kale got to their feet and stared at the intruder. Amber was on eye level with their crotches and didn't look up. She shifted her eyes from side to side and said; "Who's first, or would you like me to switch around?"

Posie said; "What I'd like you to do is leave. Maybe take a course in subtlety."

Amber said; "Uptight?"

Posie and Kale continued to look down on the one-eighth dressed provocatrix.

Amber felt embarrassed only because she thought that they were fixated on her upper thigh scar. She got up and angrily said; "You two think you're so special. Everyone knows what you've been up to and it's only a matter of time before you get your just desserts. She stormed out of the room and slammed the door.

Kale made sure it was locked. They looked at each other despondently.

Posie said; "The damn thing is that this house is full of freaks. Yet we're going to be the ones punished. I know it. I know it. I know it. How did we become lightning rods? We're not bothering anyone." Tears welled up.

Kale put his arms around her and held her close. While he thought that Posie's dabble in futurism was a clearly possible scenario, he came to a conclusion she hadn't considered. He said; "Let's say everybody knows about us. So far all the harm it has caused is snide comments and offers to participate. Maybe that's all there ever will be. In the meantime; courir en liberte. If they want to get us, they probably can. A little more won't make the least bit of difference."

Posie giggled and wiped her eyes.

Kale guided Posie to his mattress and sat next to her. He said; "It's been a really weird day today. No sense in trying to fight it. Let's do something we've never done before. Let me read to you from your book."

"Are you sure that god won't turn us into salt, zap our brains with electrodes or something?"

"No. But that makes it infinitely more exciting. Don't you think?"

"Far fucking out. I'm going with the flow." She got up and Kale looked at her quizzically. She said; "I'm going to get my book, silly. Where did you think that I could carry it with me?"

Kale grinned and raised his eyebrows.

Posie placed two fingers on his lips, said; "Don't you dare," and went off. She quickly returned, handed him the book, her finger in a certain page, and she said; "Here. Read this part."

Marian was sitting high on the desk as kale entered his office, leaning back on her left hand, her right removing the cigarette from her bright red lips. Her uncrossed legs were covered with gray opaque seamed nylons held up by black garter belts. He fumbled attempting to put the keys back in his pocket and dropped them. As he stooped in a retrieval attempt, his right hand felt the ground while his eyes remained elevated enough to see that it was too hot a day for underwear. She followed his sparkling eyes and calmly laughed, exhaling smoke saying; "Like the air down there?"

Temporarily oblivious to the peeling light green or yellow paint on the wall and brown carpeted floor, kale said; "Air's fine. View is even better." he felt a compelling need to moisten his dry lips. Marian got off the desk and walked a few steps to a framed lithograph of a yellow sailboat going down near port, her short loose red skirt brushing the face of the crouching man as she passed. Her back to him she said; "I'm desperate and I think you provide the type of service I want."

He leaned forward and pushed a button saying; "Do you like art?"

"Certain types. Boating scenes don't do a thing for me."

He looked at the long blond hair parted in the middle of her head and knew it was a bleach job and said; "Call me kaleidoscopic. What kind of thing can I do for you?"

"Surveillance," she said, laughing and parting her uncombed hair.

He laughed, too, surveying her almond shaped green eyes from a truncated vantage point, coyly saying; "Of what?" in a garbled manner.

Posie tugged his hair and said; "Don't try to get funny. Pay attention to what you're doing. Make believe it's Marian's and I'm watching and waiting."

Kale covered her with kisses.

### Chapter 13

Feeling encouraged that they had survived the night, the next morning Posie said; "I've done another interesting chapter. Would you like to hear it?"

Kale smiled and nodded approvingly.

On the saturated side of laissez faire borough, the Hooked Harbor Road warehouse show was about to start. Approximately 200 cars jammed the parking area and roughly six hundred eager patrons sat on folding wooden chairs, 90% male. Among the female contingent WERE POSIE with Jackson and Marian with Cuthbert. The curtain remained down on the improvised stage, when "Jimmy" nuwangi, the African host climbed up and said; "Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. We have something a little different and special for you tonight and we hope you enjoy it......" When he saw some looks of consternation, perhaps from those preferring the same old act, he wanted to assuage them and added; "As usual, no one is permitted on stage and after the show, the girls will be available at the usual rates." He departed and the curtain slowly rose. A white American woman of about forty was sitting in a grand red 1880 Turkish Frame winged armchair. Her curly black hair matched the chair's thick fringe. Her 5'5", 160 pound body was only covered with a black push up brassiere and a tight black waist corset attached to and holding up fishnet stockings. She reached behind her and clasped a red, white and blue leather whip and caressed her body with the handle.

Thirty slim African girls writhed onto the stage wearing merely hand and foot shackles, each supporting three small US Flags on seven inch stems. They clustered around the great one in the chair, anxious to please. after allowing each a taste The woman stood and used her whip on them as she walked, followed by the crawling thirty to X-frames nailed to the wall, where she attached each one with four chains, leaving them with a last loving crack of the whip.

She sat back on her throne, while thirty nude African boys, all desirous of showing homage, marched out and bowed to her. They pushed each other, attempting to get a better location, as she laughed and made use of her whip. As unadorned Posie watched them swaying, she grabbed Jackson's arm and said; "You've got to get me in that show."

Jackson pulled his arm away and said; "as soon as you give me the photos."

Posie said; "I'm trying," as she put her hand on his lap and said; 'Can I, right here?"

Jackson roughly pinched her and sullenly nodded.

The men seated nearby looked her way and smiled a "Yes," simultaneously holding onto their horses. She became the center of attention as people re-arranged their chairs to give her room. The audience thought they got to know all of Posie's aspects, though she would never be able to identify their faces. On the other side of the auditorium Marian saw the commotion and said to Cuthbert; "My mom taught me well and I think I can do better than that."

Cuthbert motioned to his adjoining compatriots, who moved their chairs, making room. She did her best to show that she was number one. A number of other women in the room got a desire to be sociable and followed suit.

On stage, the white woman gave a command to her groveling black slaves. Remaining seated, she said; "Enough. Go over to the girls."

Half of the flags were protruding from heavy, well watered grass and half were in fields lacking vegetation. The men briefly looked for their favorite and did as they were told, as the girls bumped and grinded to the much desired attention, male heads lowered with their lustful eyes fixed on the prize.

The commandant called out "Switch," and the men scurried around to find their second favorite choice. Later she would again say; "Switch" a few more times, prolonging the action.

The White Queen got up from her chair and said; "Stop." She walked slowly over to the girls and one by one removed them from their frames, allowing each to pay homage to her for the blessing. She then re-chained each of the girls' legs, this time to the floor; their arms pulled over their heads and attached to the bolts in the wall, leaving them on eye level with their objects of desire.

She then said; "Remove the top flag and replace it." The men anxiously did as they were told as the ladies struggled to get the firmest grip possible. The men were content to watch them in their endeavors. Whitey again called out "Switch."

Various configurations and permutations were demanded by Miss, Mrs., or Ms. America. When she was out of ideas, she said; "There are prizes for the first three." The men universally seemed to comply, but each wanted to finish last. Each knew that the queen wouldn't be able to tell that they did their best to prolong the ordeal. The girls liked this game and were trying to do the same thing.

The audience had broken down into groups, each with a favorite woman interested in exercising her specialty and the men's eyes diverted between local excitement and foreign affairs. Posie primarily preferred placing lips on protuberances, precluding proper pronunciations. Kale played penile prestidigitation in the practical proximity of Posie's patriotic pastime.

The curtain came down and "Jimmy" nuwangi came back out and announced; "Show's over. The girls will be waiting for visitors, as always." He laughed, prior to adding; "Group rates are available."

Posie touched him and purred; "I can keep going all day. Do you think you can appreciate my story again?"

Kale gave every appearance of being up to the task, but smiled and said; "All I can do is try."

### Chapter 14

Unsurprisingly, number one was a debatable, yet manageable issue.

"Dylan."

"Beatles."

"Dylan!"

"Beatles!"

"You can be so bourgeois, sometimes."

"If somebody else sang his songs, I would probably agree with you."

"Hendrix."

"Joplin."

Kale and Posie were having their first major spat and were absolutely infuriated with each other. Actually, this was not the first time that they had registered their preferences in contemporary pop music, but it was the first time that they noticed that their differences were irreconcilable. To complicate matters, at various times, each was on both sides of the issue. Either mood swings dictated the bottom line first choice or they merely idolized both, and in so doing, if limited to choosing one, some sense of fairness to the other resulted in them switching sides. It is also possible that the argument had nothing to do with music at all. They may have realized that after being together for some time that it was unbelievably preposterous that they had never had any argument worth mentioning, and in an effort to exhibit some kind of "normality" they fussed over music.

Number two was not without strong opinions.

"Stones."

"Doors."

"Dreamer."

"Commercial."

Numbers three, four, five, six and the rest opened a myriad of avenues.

"Donovan."

"Buffalo Springfield."

"Donovan!"

"Buffalo Springfield!"

"Patriotic space cowboy (cowgirl)."

"Brit lover."

"The Byrds."

"Van Morrison."

"Thffft."

"Thffft."

It's also possible that they subconsciously found this argumentative mode of behavior the most effective in fending off undesired advances, as no one else was very interested in getting involved in what they considered judgmental, irrelevant inanities.

They thought that it had all the significance in the world. Sometimes.

"Santana."

"Cream!"

"Grrrrrrrrrrrrrr."

"Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr."

"Grateful Dead."

"Velvet Underground."

"Fashionable decadence."

"Unemployed blue collar stoned."

"Jefferson Airplane."

"Moody Blues."

"Sly."

"Smokey."

"Laura Nyro."

"Joni Mitchell."

"Led Zeppelin."

"Blue Oyster Cult."

"The Who."

"Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young."

"Elvis."

A grimacing face responded; "Isn't he dead or something like that?"

On this day the argument became somewhat redundant at this point. They sat at opposite sides of the mattress and glowered, before breaking into laughter and starting all over again from the opposite position. It was eminently fair to do so. After circling around a second time, one said; "David Bowie."

The other quickly responded with; "Hot tramp, love you so," and they proceeded to get off (the subject?)

It was fortunate that their contemplations were held in the 1960's, as if it were in later years saying; "Patti Smith" would have ended the foreplay. A rule would then have to be instituted. No one would be allowed to say "Patti Smith" until both parties were ready for wordless communication. Of course no one could stop them from thinking "Patti Smith."

After drowsing, Posie got up and went to the open window. She saw that the noise which had roused her was being generated by "Mellow Yellow's" attack of the orchid garden. The tall, thin gardener held a long handled lopper and was muttering something about "barbs" as he flailed away at the pink flowers. The mysterious tall and thin man knew no appointments or schedules and arrived when not expected, insisting on payment only in cash.

Hi and Bee Collinaire found the arrangement, or lack thereof, suitable as Mellow worked hard when there and came often enough to keep the grounds attractive. No one knew his real name and no one felt secure in asking him anything other than matters related to his work. They were not sure if his dark skin was his heritage or merely the result of long hours in the sun. As another practical matter, it was difficult to get outside help in Washington Township (AKA Long Valley), as the upper income community housed no gardeners. Consequently they had to be imported from elsewhere if they were willing to come at all. Ones who did deign to come often made disparaging remarks about the valley's beauty, which homeowner's dismissed as obvious jealousy, though some annoying observations penetrated. To his credit, Mellow rarely spoke.

But, today he did, if only to himself, and Posie did not at all like it and more importantly she did not like what he was doing to the orchids. It was as if one used a chainsaw to cut a writing pad, or at least that was how it appeared to her from her elevated viewpoint. She woke Kale and got an agreeing second opinion.

Kale called from the window; "Hey, lighten up on that."

Mellow glanced upward no more than a fraction of a second, said; "You ain't my boss," and went back to his butchery.

Posie said to Kale; "Let's go get Dad," and scurried ahead of him into the library where Dad sat reading Hemingway's "The Old Man and the Sea." She was surprised at the selection, but had matters of more urgency than literary commentary.

When he looked up, Posie said; "Mellow is ruining the orchids. You've got to stop him."

Hi removed his reading glasses and placed the book on the floor. He offhandedly said; "I didn't even know he was here."

Posie and Kale silently avoided redundancy.

Hi rose and said; "Well, let's go take a look."

He led the duo out the back door and saw Mellow thrashing away at the trembling flower bed. He called out; "Good afternoon, Mellow."

Mellow stood and seemed nervously disconcerted as he choked out; "Guh-good af-t-ternoon, Mr. Collinaire," dropping his loppers.

Hi said; "If you don't mind, we have some locust trees that desperately need pruning."

Mellow said; "Would you like me to finish the orchids first?"

Hi said; "Oh, no, no, no. I'm satisfied the way they are. Bring the loppers and let me show you the locusts."

Hi confidently walked fifty feet with Mellow right behind and the kids ambling way back. Posie and Kale eyed each other inquisitively. Hi showed the gardener the trees and Mellow said; "You want I should shape them up?"

Hi said; "No, just remove the dead branches."

Mellow said; "Where should I put them?"

Hi said; "Haul them out of here."

Mellow said; "Okay," and commenced lopping.

Hi started to walk away, stopped and said; "Oh, Mellow. If you finish that and need more to do, come see me. There are some other things that I want done other than the orchids."

Mellow said; "Yes, sir," which was the first time Hi heard him use the phrase.

Hi said; "Good man," and left with two startled children in tow. He could see that they were somewhat puzzled and said; "Being argumentative or accusatory brings more arguments and accusations. If you treat people with respect they usually respond in kind."

Posie and Kale were impressed as they could easily see that the orchid damage was curtailed and that no ill feelings were kindled.

Kale said; "I still have a lot to learn."

Hi grabbed the back of Kale's neck firmly, but playfully and added; "And many years in which to do it."

Hi returned to his reading, while Kale and Posie meandered outside.

Posie said; "Did you see the bulge in Mellow's pants?"

"No. That's so vulgar. You say things about my attraction to Marian. At least she's not a dirty gardener."

"You're such a slow learner."

"I wouldn't have said that if Mellow could hear us."

"I have the utmost respect and I'm getting hot as hell."

"You are extremely vulgar ....... and I love it."

### Chapter 15

Kale said; "Try a passage from my book?" Posie nodded approval.

big, black Tasheeka draped her meaty legs over kale's shoulders and said; "Tell me what you like, piggy." Kale hated to break from his meal, but since he had received an instruction, he was compelled to answer, saying; "I like 'em big, bushy and black with lots of experience." They gave each other wicked looks and Kale again put his face in his happy hirsute comfort zone.

The door opened and neither cared. Marian closed it behind her, chuckled and said; "The party started without me?" Her long black hair was pulled back and tied in a bun at the top, creating a savage appearance. The white bikini top and tight cut-off jeans made her other attributes the center of attention. Tasheeka rolled her eyes making no response. Kale looked up, smacking his head on the bottom of the desk. He crawled out backwards and saw the long white legs in front of him and thought that they looked familiar. He gazed at her face and he knew.

He said; "The party will continue to expand. You don't mind, do you, Tasheeka?"

"no. ................... Not as long as you do me first."

Posie led him by the hair to her bare feet as Tasheeka re-positioned herself. the four watched each other, exchanging friendly grins. Tasheeka settled her meaty torso in Kale's armchair and hung one leg over the arm. He greedily put his face back where it belonged, while Marian and posie watched the show from behind, fondling him.

After Tasheeka spasmed, she got up and said; "Salt and pepper, honey."

Marian smiled, sat in the chair and allowed Kale his culinary privilege while Tasheeka laid on the carpet floor, utilizing a hand for massage, with her eyes looking up at the activity. posie kneaded Marian's breasts.

Kale couldn't hold back any longer and as he nourished Tasheeka, he pressed harder against Marian, opening wide. Tasheeka succeeded in keeping his interest.

Marian watched both Tasheeka and Kale doing their jobs efficiently and passionately and went over the top distractedly moaning "Oh, merde". Kale kissed her feet and Tasheeka stood up and said; "Kiss mine."

He gladly did and the three women put their hands on the desk with their backs to him and leaned forward. Kale needed no command to know what to do, switching back and forth, so no one would feel left out. Tasheeka pulled Kale to his feet and the ladies paid attention to him, one in front, one in back. and the other licking his face. Desperate to be relieved, Kale called out; "I need someone to sit on my face."

Tasheeka obliged him and Marian produced an explosion. Kale stayed in his position and paid homage to all OF his lover's feet and middle regions thanking them profusely.

As Marian left she said; "I told you I need a regular."

Kale replied; 'You've got it, any time you so desire."

Tasheeka used a high pitched tone to say; "How about me?"

Kale smiled at her and replied; "All you want, whenever you want. How about later at your apartment?"

"You want to be my slave."

"I'd love it."

"I'll be there, honey lover."

Posie said; "i want to watch," and heard no objections.

Tasheeka left and went home So did kale and posie. Everyone needed a siesta before tonight's fiesta.

Posie pulled Kale's hair, leading him to the delightful garden. She said; "Paint like Devena and Avril."

### Chapter 16

Posie lifted a floor board, retrieving Kale's handwritten notebook. She said; "I'm going to read to you from your book."

Kale reached for it and Posie pulled it away. He said; "I'm not entirely comfortable with this."

"You've read to me from mine. Turnabout is fair play, isn't it?"

Kale sighed and said; "Yeah."

"Good man. I hope I find a really nasty one." She inserted one finger into the center, opened it and read.

At Liberty Lane, posie was deciding if she wanted to wear a dress or not, as she sat on the sofa comfortably letting kale do his thing. She considered it exciting to drive and arrive wearing very informal attire. This evening she would be meeting three men she didn't know. They were associates of Benito's who knew her only as "his slave," and he would not be present. She decided that a simple dress was in order, started breathing heavily and faked. kale could tell, but posie reached down with her left hand and said; "Let me take care of you, baby." They reversed positions and kale was soon pleased. posie got up and said; "Got to go, now."

"What are you up to tonight?"

"Three strangers." She slipped a simple red and white summer dress over her head, took her bag and left.

Arriving at the "Thunderbird Motel", she saw three guys standing in front of open door number 111 and parked in front of them. She got out of the car and looked straight at the three now quiet gentlemen. They really resembled each other in that they were all middle-aged business types, wearing suits and displaying deep wrinkles around the mouth, from a lifetime of forced smiles and laughs. One said; "posie?"

She growled; "Yeah."

"Slave posie?"

"Double yeah." She scooted past them and went into the bathroom, saying; "One minute." She pulled the dress over her head, went into her pocketbook, retrieved some toys and put them in their most useful places. She exited to find the door shut, blinds open and three guys sitting on chairs very red. She slithered and danced over to one with her eyes on the prize. She did that a short time and then engaged the other two, not wanting them to feel ignored. She proceeded to spend the next hour pleasantly, to periodic calls of encouragement and questions about her degree of enjoyment, finally being rewarded with a six pack. She thought; "The sacred meets the profane."

When the men left, one took her dress with him, saying; "Benito told me that you really love being natural." The trio smiled and left. She wasn't entirely satisfied with the brief, perfunctory performance and looked at herself in the bathroom mirror, thinking of all the possibilities, knowing that the three were having the same thoughts, but were probably incapable of putting them into action. She went out the door, but felt that cool night breeze under the artificial lights and decided to drive, letting the room door shut behind her.

She turned the key, but the damn thing only replied with "Ummgh," then silence. She tried a few times and got the same response with a slightly shorter version of "Ummgh" each attempt. She thought; "What am I gonna do now?" and sat there a few minutes. After experiencing a few giggles from couples coming and going from other rooms, she decided to walk to the office and get a "jump." She walked slowly and confidently, imagining herself under surveillance and entered the quiet office to see a young black man standing behind the desk. He smiled when he saw her get pantingly excited at the new possible flavor of the evening. Pure merriment on both parts. She cleared her throat, swallowed and told him her predicament.

He told her that he was getting off duty soon and that his friend was coming by to give him a ride home and that they could jump her battery.

She thanked him and showed her appreciation. In a few minutes a red four door souped-up Dodge parked in front of the office. The occupants were Sonny, Dorette and Corrine, who all entered the office. When she heard the door, POSie looked up as Sonny said; "Beautiful, Russ. I guess you're not quite ready to leave." He turned back toward the door and posie said; "Please stay. I need lots of company tonight."

Sonny stopped and smiled. Dorette said; "You into big chocolate?"

posie smiled and Dorette removed her shoes, saying; "Show me, slave." The group had just stopped at a fast food place and posie enjoyed countless flavor nuances from their package. She thought; "The sacred and the profane are the same thing."

Russ saw his replacement park near the office and said; "Number 111 is paid for all night. Let's all go over there." posie stood up and two men took her by the hand, slowly out the door and the five mosied over there, in view of a number of curious eyes. When they entered, Sonny said; "You girls have some fun first. Russ and I are going to jump her car. Sonny and Russ watched through the window as they took care of posie's problem.

They re-entered, Sonny resuming his front door predilection. POSie kept getting orders from each of the four and happily did her best to do what was demanded of her, as it was their package she was enjoying. She wished kale was at the window leering.

After everyone was tired, Sonny, Russ, Dorette and Corrine left. Russ grabbed his drumstick and said; "Whenever you want any more, you know where I am." posie played solitaire on the floor. After ten minutes, she went to the car and drove home, very, very anxious to see kale.

He was wearing a robe and was famished, waiting in the kitchen. She coyly said; "Don't tell me you're hungry. You're not even properly dressed for dinner." As he got out of the proper attire, she heated up some eggs and bacon. When ready, she pulled him upstairs as he sniffed at the aromatic meal. She sat in a plushy chair while he slowly savored the full plate, listening to her recent adventures.

Posie closed Kale's book and said; "Oooh, what a wicked baby. Would you like to see me with other men and women?"

"Only in my head."

"Best sex organ ever created. Feed your head, baby." Posie leaned back and sat comfortably. He proceeded to use his crown for that which it was made. Much later church bells rang, the gong swaying without a breeze.

### Chapter 17

In her room, Posie felt extremely comfortable, though lackluster and jaded, surrounded by the furry tapestries on the wall and Kale on the floor. She whined; "Tell me something I don't already know."

Kale was challenged. His former attempts at avant-garde art were now commonplace. The easy and inevitable duplication, well highlighted by Warhol posed a problem for the self-styled perennial outsider. In this age everything quickly becomes inside. What to do? What to do? Further out? Further in? Stasis?

He decided to attempt a resurrection, going back to the very beginning, when color was added to the black and white depictions. He said; "Blue."

Posie was unsure of the inference. A light, pastel blue was cheery though conventional and unrefined, while a deep blue was depression, hiding underground, at the edge, or contemplative. She said; "Shade?"

Kale said; "Sky, on a cloudless, summer day."

"So romantic."

"How about red?"

"Fire, blood, passion, anger, destruction. A very dangerous color.

"Fire is actually red mixed with yellow. Blood can be red when fresh, but blue when not. This is debatable, but I think anger is actually white heat and destruction blackness in the sense of no color whatsoever. Red is a passion, undeterred by a fall into pastel at one extreme and the combining with blue, producing purple at the other."

"Is there something wrong with purple?"

"Not if you can stand extreme passion."

Posie smiled and said; "Yellow throws me. At one level it is the radiance of the sun and at the other it is the color of bile, cowardice or piss." She giggled at her rude choice of words.

"You are not considering the wisdom of the ancients. Alchemy, the attempt at converting base metal to GOLD. The radiance of the sun is illumination for the few, but blinding, drying or terrifying to the many. Bile, piss and cowardice repel. Think GOLD."

Posie said; "Green?"

"Difficult color for me. I see new growth, living seeds, temporary existence, naiveté, exuberance and folly."

"Like us?"

Kale laughed as he had not previously had that thought, but considered it apropos. He said; "I think so." He rocked her back on the bed and joined her, thinking; "There is plenty of time to get into the derivative colors. Now is for naïve folly." Posie agreed, but did so without the burden of reflection.

The family formal dinner was an event which received mixed reviews from the children, ranging all the way from the "astoundingly tuned" of Arthur and Amber to the "unrealized promise" of Kale and Posie, with Otis and Tory rather non-committal, if they were paying any attention at all. At this weeks' affair Hi asked the children to discuss painters' who had piqued their interest.

Arthur strongly enunciated; "Caravaggio was as clear as a photograph and added exquisite texture."

Hi responded; "That's very true, Arthur. However, it does not take subject matter into account. Are you suggesting that he was the best?"

Arthur riotously blinked his eyes at the question he found surprising and offered; "Of course not."

Bee asked; "Do you have a favorite?"

Posie rudely answered for him, saying; "The closest thing to a 'favorite' Arthur has would best be described as that which afforded the highest profit, spelled P-R-O-F-I-T. His sense of feeling is well superseded by his elevated level of characterization skills."

Hi scolded her, saying; "That is quite enough, Posie. I believe an apology is in order."

As Posie shuffled in her chair, evincing more than a slight hint of a grimace, Arthur beat her to the verbal discipline. Dripping with sarcasm, he said; "Please do, my beautiful sister. I'm devastated by your cruel classification. I might say characterization." He forced a closed mouth grin in her direction.

Hi said; "Apology apparently accepted. I am happy with neither of you. Arthur, you would do well to develop more intimate contact and Posie, your outlook might change if you saw more people, that is to say 'spread yourself around.'"

Arthur took the commentary with a blasé mindset, thinking; "Yet another opinion. When I meet someone suitable, that will be done. In the meantime I see no reason to suffer idiocy."

Posie took the words to heart, fearfully thinking that the suggestion was another pointed remark about her exclusivity with Kale. Much more significantly, it came from an authority figure. While this unnerved her, she was also shocked at the possible interpretation of suggested promiscuity.

Kale inferred the invective to be something more than mere, inadvertent innuendo and wondered if his "real father" would have dispensed the same thought. He visualized his fantasy of Marian and Posie's fantasy of Mellow and pondered if they should be realities. He pictured Hi with other women and Bee with other men, deciding that it was beneficial to dismiss the thought. For the first time he strongly considered Posie and himself rebels. He rubbed his leg against hers, happy that she didn't move and melancholy that she would not look in his direction.

The other children became reasonably certain of full knowledge of the Posie-Kale affair. Otis and Tory fretted of their own situation. Amber was encouraged.

Bee broke the bizarre, byzantine break by bidding broadened badinage. She said; "Amber, who is one of your favorite painters?"

Amber's mind was focused on classical realism, in her case making an unconscious, personal value judgment, and coming up with female nudity. She said; "Without a shadow of a doubt; Titian. I especially like the Danae and the Shower of Gold Series." She turned to Posie, who suddenly had to re-adjust her shoes. "Venus of Urbino titillates." Her eyebrows reached new heights as she again looked toward Posie, who was now busy inspecting her fingernails.

Arthur was compelled to say; "Showers of gold have always had their place, but ample women have gone the way of the triceratops. Twiggy is now."

Hi observed his beefsteak while he calmly and slowly said; "Arthur, your evaluations will immediately cease. Comprende?"

Arthur's first thought was erroneously something to do with censorship. His second was that Dad, in speaking Spanish, however limited, was violating his own rule. But he merely said; "Yes," with a puzzled look on his face.

Bee called on Otis, who matter-of-factly stated that he liked Warhol's "Campbell's Soup Cans."

With no following commentary the process was repeated with Tory, who grinned seductively in responding; "Thiebaud's 'Three Machines.'"

Kale mentioned Tanguy's "Reply to Red."

Bee said; "And you, Posie?"

Posie could not answer. Her mind was still occupied with thoughts of worry, which seemed to be coming from all directions.

After a few pregnant seconds Bee repeated; "Posie?"

Posie only thought of her view of her current situation and said; "I really do not know the names, but whoever put Kafka in oil would be my choice today."

Arthur couldn't control himself ant longer and said; "Try Edward Hopper, for one."

Hi was beside himself, raising his voice to say; "Arthur, you will leave this table at once."

Arthur stood and loudly replied; "You spoke in Spanish. If you can break the rules, so can I."

Hi, too, got on his hind legs and said; "I will not be disobeyed. You will exit now."

Arthur's response was not heard as everyone started talking at once. Kale and Posie smiled at each other, grateful for the upheaval. They thought anything which diverted attention from them was good news.

Only audible to Kale, Posie said; "I've changed my mind. I think I prefer 'The Persistence of Memory' by Dali."

Kale squeezed her thigh and whispered; "Surrealism is the only way."

Posie nodded and demurely grinned for a fraction of a second.

### Chapter 18

The customary scalding summer was mild that year, with mid-day temperatures below 88 degrees. Frequent small showers further tempered the hot air and enabled the growing of many colorful flowering plants never previously seen; seemingly infinite varieties of reds, purples, yellows, oranges and whites. Not being trimmed, they grew straight up to four feet, blowing gently in the warm breezes.

At 11 AM, a 1962, four door, deep purple Thunderbird convertible

with its top open, rolled slowly down quiet Washington Road, passing the open lots and old houses in varying states of disrepair, none severe. The undisturbed and brilliant morning sun felt as if it was going to break the season's trend and heat up the ground significantly,

as the waves rained down, clearly visible above the asphalt. The few small white cumulous clouds held up by the uniform light blue sky, didn't dare threaten anything, perhaps fearful that some overheated conscription gung ho maniac in camouflage costume would shoot them down.

The open convertible made a right onto Connecting Drive blocked from a view of the river by the tall multi-colored plants at the edges. Not blocking its path was the absence of gates and instructional signs, but the rolling purple wagon didn't seem to require any advice and it parked headfirst in a small alcove at the end of the road in quiet solitude.

The engine reluctantly grumbled to a halt, doors opened and closed and the two teenagers hit the firm ground. She seemed tiny with long straight black hair, parted in the middle, down to her puffy butt, held somewhat in place by a flowing blue bandana with white curving Art Nouveau designs for decoration. He was 8 or 9 inches taller, had shoulder length light brown hair parted a bit to the left side over his eye, with bangs very susceptible to any wind, as nothing held it in place.

He said; "Hit you yet?"

She drowsily smiled and whispered; "Yeah," her eyes half open or closed, depending on point of view.

He smiled back, saying; "Me, too." His left hand took her right as they walked toward the river, hearing its churning rush in the stillness. He held a plastic tape player in his right hand and her left supported a wicker picnic basket topped by a folded yellow blanket. When he looked in her eyes, the small wire rimmed spectacles reflected back a kaleidoscope of wild brush flower colors, which he might be have been seeing differently through his own round wire rimmed rose colored ones. He attempted to sing, butchering "that grow so incredibly high."

She looked at him, displaying a small furrow in her brow, shook her head slightly, but made a small laugh, saying nothing. He again saw that his career would have to entail something other than singing. They triumphantly got to a high spot in the irregular surface, pausing a few minutes to enjoy the view of the river and the lightly treed valley. The gentle downhill trip proved much easier, the black fringe on her blushing red bellbottoms sweeping the brown dirt clean, as her black and white flip-flops protected her bare feet from any large stones.

They quickly came upon a yellow Ping-Pong sized Styrofoam ball and he picked it up. One side was embossed with two words; "Prevent" and "Wildfires", which surrounded Smokey the Bear's serious face and wide eyed stare. The other side contained a triangle which said; "US Department of the Interior" on top, had trees and a much smaller triangular teepee in the middle and "Bureau of Indian Affairs-Forestry" at the bottom. He liked it and put it in one of the pockets of his blue, short sleeved "work" shirt.

Her white peasant blouse rippled in the breeze encountered as they approached the water, as did his button up lavender bells, a pleasant feeling as the day's heat was becoming hard to bear in the motionlessness.

They had been side by side, hand in hand through the wide path, but as they turned south along the river, the path became narrow and they hesitated, quickly deciding to maintain their comfortable positions and walk through the tall grass and flowers.

After a few hundred feet, for some reason, all four of their eyes riveted on a six year old, twenty-five foot cottonwood growing at the very edge of the water. They both admired it and then looked at each other. Each knew that there was something important about it, but didn't say anything, as their current state of mind made most words silly and unimportant. They stopped and he remembered their first meeting.

They walked another mile to where she knew a very wide and private section, where she stopped in a wooded glade and spread her yellow blanket, he for the first time seeing the luscious edibles now uncovered. They both sat and she spread cheese on some of the crackers, handing them to him, as she kicked off her flip-flops.

He said; "I'm going to get a Masters in Architecture and a PhD in Roofing. I'll be able to keep my 2-S deferment longer."

Posie laughed, touched his arm, pointed at the crackers and cheese and said; "Eat."

Kale simultaneously pushed a button on his tape player and they heard Oliver sing "Jean."

After lunch, they were still feeling extremely well and were bursting with colorful ideas and jokes.

Kale said; "Let's go to Sal's and goof on the petit bourgeois remains."

"Sounds good, babe."

As they drove across town the unfettered sun baked their exposed skin, which they enjoyed as it made them feel as if they had just woken up, fresh and ready to go. But, it also reflected in waves across anything metal or shiny, making their view akin to viewing a gigantic photograph which had been improperly developed, the pleats in the print producing pure and polished, severely Isosceles triangular trajectories of illusory space masking what was behind it. They found that representative of most everything they knew in a poetic-artistic sense. Driving was not easy, but they found that hilarious.

They parked in front and saw Sal dispensing money to another man, who seemed to be holding his hand out longer than necessary. Sal was saying something and held his hands at his sides, as if he considered the transaction done, yet was compelled to further clarify. He looked toward Kale and Posie and shot his eyes to the sky. He said; "Gotta go; customers," and walked away from the sweating dissatisfied man in a plain white (now grayish) T-shirt. He put his arm on Kale's shoulder and led them into the store, loudly saying; "And how are my best customers?"

T-shirt said; "Sal."

Sal responded; "We'll talk soon," and waved goodbye. Inside the store he exhaled heavily.

Kale said; "Business as usual, I suppose. The nickel and dimers always win in the long run."

Sal shook his head and said; "This was no nickel and dimer. He wanted an extra twenty bucks, just because I had him carry two more items than originally envisioned. Cripes."

In their current state of mind Kale and Posie found the whole thing amusing beyond comment, but performed mock nodding agreement and didn't look at each other for fear of cracking up.

Kale said; "So, my good friend, what kind of scintillating objects of expiry have you unearthed since our last visit?"

Sal looked at him cross-eyed, any response marred by his continued consternation over the twenty bucks. He said; "What?"

Posie intervened, saying; "Got anything sexy and dead?"

Sal found the words contradictory, except in the revolting sense of necrophilia he had once heard of in a joke he considered nauseating. He stared at Posie in an evaluative manner. He considered a rebuke of the young girl, but simultaneously considered that he might be rebuking her twenty bucks. In his practical interest he said; "Let me direct you to the tapestries. One has to do with the apocalypse and that might interest you."

Sal got in front and led the couple through the store, while they made "funny" contorted faces and hand signals, childishly pointing at the burgeoning bald spot. Their altered powers of perception saw it as an uneven abyss amidst wild, natural growth; the beginning of the comical end. Yet, Sal was just another businessman, on a centuries long list of billions who have gone prior and billions more yet to come. They wondered if they should feel guilty in laughing at his mannerisms and physical warts. That lasted less than a second and they disdainfully decided; "Hell, no."

They passed through an area containing 1950's furnishings and bric-a-brac, some called antiques of the future. The plastic laminated, faux blonde "wood" kitchen table replete with four matching chairs, caught their attention because the undulating surface reflected light, oddly as nature did. The craters were regularly in the dark and the miniscule molehills shone like the hopelessly acned face of the moon. Couches were not made for a comfortable nap and were comprised of a seemingly flimsy, possibly wooden frame with three independent, rectangular, single-colored cushions serving as the seat and three relatives forming the backrest. Wall hangings tended to the cutesy, the pictures having subject matter like wide-eyed animals and bumpkin children displaying uncontained excitement at sitting in their little red wagons. Perched above a console television with gigantic nobs and rabbit ears which imitated a console television with gigantic nobs and rabbit ears capable of showing moving pictures was an ambiguously colored picture of Jesus, looking down kindly and serenely lovingly at something the artist may have left out of the picture, personally autographed by Reverend Ike. It is said that one of Frank Sinatra's houses, in Palm Springs was furnished in this general manner. One wonders if the price was right because the items fell off the truck. Posie mildly freaked when she thought she saw Jesus eyes follow her, as she abandoned him, in her journey to other parts of the store, finally attributing it to a delusion caused by something she had ingested. However, she was one hundred percent accurate in her perception, as Jesus' eyes were made of an irregularly surfaced plastic, designed to cause that effect, all the rage a short time prior and the focal point of many suburban cocktail parties.

Sal kept walking, but Kale and Posie were intrigued by an area filled with Turkish Revival (rather unusual parlance as it never had an Initiation and subsequent death in America) Victorian furniture, burnished gold colors and tassels everywhere. They leaped onto the oversized monsters and watched the dust rise like apparitions evocative of dust devils.

"Whoooo;" she said before commencing a sneezing fit and becoming tongue tied.

"Whoooo yourself;" Kale added, apparently immune to the reviving old filth, tickled by her discomfort.

She found a handkerchief in her light blue summer dress and honked, somewhat spraying his self-assured face. He acted as if there were no exchange of bodily fluids and closed his eyes in contented abandonment.

Posie squinted and worked on her leaking nose until the dust had settled. She then rubbed her hand on the old couch, coming up with a supply of old grime, and proceeded to massage it into Kale's mouth and nose. After an initial flinch, he laughed when he realized what she had done. In the voice of Laurel, he said; "That was eminently fair, Ollie," and widely smiled, attempting to look as ludicrous as was possible, which was akin to gilding the lily, as his face was already host to drying nasal spray and finger streaks of Turkish residue.

Posie said; "Wipe your face before Sal sees you."

"I'd rather make him jealous."

She reached forward and wiped him with her handkerchief.

He said; "I liked that aroma, damn it."

"Then, here, keep the handkerchief. You can't walk around looking like that."

Kale shrugged and said; "If you say so, Madame Bourgeois."

She cuffed his head, and he protected himself by raising his hands and ducking. He said; "Just teasing, just teasing."

She noticed that her cuff had gotten some more grime on his face, but she decided to let him keep it. Her eyes were drawn to a stack of rolled-up Persian rugs lying on the floor. She went to them and rolled one open, elatedly saying; "Kale, look at this; The Attainment (of the Holy Grail!)"

While Kale, too, was enthused, his instinct was still to joke, and in a detached way he said; "Must have been done some time ago."

She stared at his ridiculous face, dropped the rug, and said; "I assume you consider this old news."

He nodded; "Yes."

"Pray tell, where has it been hidden?"

Kale made a pained expression, like a calculus professor asked to explain multiplication tables, and said; "It's not hidden. It's in the flesh. ....... Well, I mean it could be hidden, depending on what one is wearing. ........ That is not to say that clothes are hiding places, though they could be, depending upon climate ........."

"Oh, shut up. I got the idea. But, I think you're ignoring the mental aspect."

"Hell. That's even more difficult to explain than the physical. It's like. .... You know. ...... Simultaneous sacrifice and self-interest. ...... like when ....... ."

They heard Sal's voice say; "Like when you look stupid with dirt all over your face and don't know it."

Kale instinctively wiped his face with his hands while Posie found the absurdity of the situation and made the slightest of smiles. She silently watched.

Sal entered the picture and said; "What in hell have you been doing?"

Kale had no answer he wanted to share with Sal and finally said; "Looking at rugs? ........ Don't you ever clean these damn things?"

Sal said; "Yeah, yeah. I know I really should. But, you know, you get busy and there are a lot of more important things to do. ...... Tell you what; I'll take thirty percent off. Which ones do you like?"

Kale asked for time to peruse the merchandise and Sal left them to their leisure, after putting in a parting; "Keep your nose clean."

Following an inspection that left both of them covered with gray dust they called back Sal and Kale said; "You said thirty percent off. How about forty percent if we take three?"

Sal thought; "Damn nickel and dimers," but smiled and said; "Thirty-five is the best I can do. I'll be losing money below that."

Kale said; "I thought you said that you get a whole house full of stuff for a hundred bucks. You've got these dirt bags marked for a hundred dollars and up, EACH."

Sal agitatedly said; "It takes time for me to go there, load them, drive back and unload them again. Time is money. I have to make a living, too. And I suppose you expect free delivery."

Kale said; "Well, yeah. But, I'll have to help you carry them."

Sal said; "At this price you should have to do it yourself."

Kale said; "Some of them are thread bare. When walked on they will soon have holes."

Sal said; "So hang them on the walls. The only ones walking there will be your cock-a-roaches."

Posie assertively intervened; "All right, all right, all right. Both of you, just cut it. Thirty-five off, delivered."

Kale opened his mouth to speak and Posie got his lower lip between her thumb and forefinger, saying; "Just shut up."

Kale said; "I don't have any cock-a-roaches, as he puts it."

Posie waved her hand dismissively and said; "It's irrelevant."

Kale said; "The hell it's irrelevant. It's not only a health hazard, it's insulting."

Posie exhaled noticeably and sat on the dirt bags.

Kale angrily looked at Sal, who was forty pounds heavier and fairly strong as a result of carrying around furniture for years. Sal thought he was on the verge of losing the sale of something hard to move, so he put his arm on Kale's shoulder and said; "Sorry, I didn't mean to say cock-a-roaches. The word just came. Let's say flies. Everybody's got them, right?"

Posie interjected; "You know the phrase; 'I would like to have been a fly on the wall when blah, blah, blah happened.'"

Kale said; "All right, all right. They're going on the walls, just like in the center hall."

Posie looked to Sal and said; "We want The Attainment (of the Holy Grail."

Sal wondered if some new nonsense were taking place and stared blankly. Posie pointed to it and Sal said; "The one with the three holies?"

Posie said; "Yes."

Kale said; "The Apocalypse," and pointed to it.

Sal said; "The big orange and black thing with the panels?"

Kale said; "Yes, and Lady Godiva."

Sal was on a roll and ventured; "The big orange and black thing with the ...... you know?" running out of steam before he could finish.

Kale looked at Sal and grinned, saying; "Yeah, with the you know." He winked and Sal nodded, feeling in full understanding of the you know.

The merchandise was delivered to Kale's room and the pair pondered placement of the present purchases.

Kale got a starting idea, saying; "I always sleep on my left side and I'd most like to be viewing Lady Godiva. So she has to go on that wall," pointing to one peeling wall host to a painting.

Posie simultaneously grinned and grimaced at his rationale, then said; "There are other options. You can turn the bed in another direction or put your head where you formerly had your feet."

"Do you see something wrong with Lady Godiva being on that wall?"

"No. I'm just saying that there are other options. Your reasoning for its placement lacks logic."

Kale looked at the floor and tried to think of the easiest way to reply. He said; "I could also put it on the ceiling and quickly learn to sleep on my back. I think the point is that we have to start somewhere and that's as suitable a place as any."

"Fine. But, then don't suggest that there is some sort of logic to it."

"There is and there isn't."

"Do you have any idea of what you just said?"

Kale laughed and made no response.

Posie said; "You just want it both ways. Why can't you merely say; 'That's the way I like it?'"

Kale put his arms around Posie's waist and pulled her to him. He said; "By now, don't you know that I like it two ways, three ways, eight ways, probably more?" She giggled as he led her to the mattress and it was some time before minds again considered the logic or illogic of the proper positioning points.

After one thousand rainbows quivered they installed the worn rugs on the vertical barriers, moving the lithographs to the floor leaning against them. The empty spaces at the edges were filled with aluminum foil, a la "The Factory," and they played with the imperfect reflections they created.

Late that afternoon Kale and Posie shot out of his room thinking that a cataclysmic storm of retribution was over their heads, suspecting that they shouldn't have made light of the Apocalypse. They were relieved to find that in actuality the thunder they heard was merely four, muffler free, foreign-looking, mini-sports cars calling attention to themselves by overstating their case, as they roared up the driveway gravel.

Kale and Posie recognized the Aston Martin, Alfa Romeo and Fiats.

Posie said; "Oh, wonderful. I hope we get to see more art films."

With tongue in cheek, Kale responded; "What, precisely do you mean? Neo-realism, racy-B or authorial expressivity?"

Posie said; "Don't you dare get like Arthur. ...... Racy-B."

Hi and Bee listened to the noise storm from the safety of the porch, smiling in anticipation of the surprises possible watching performance artists. The kids waited at windows.

Engines dead, Ruben got out and assisted Katharine in doing the same. Her world weary posture would have been accepted and appreciated had she not affected an over-the-top performance incapable of impressing Charles Ludlum. Margarita, Jonathan, Luc and Sandrine met the impresario and diva at the front car and as a loosely-together-group they slowly approached the porch. Ruben seemed to be fanning Katharine's totally masked face in an effort to keep it from running or it might have been the physical demonstration of a chastisement or dismissal. Luc and Sandrine seemed mildly amused at something, while Margarita and Jonathan visually surveyed their surroundings.

They climbed the steps, and afforded the comfort of the porch shade relaxed and exchanged greetings with Hi and Bee. The kids came out, Kale and Posie last, as she still thought that Katharine might be the Wicked Witch of the West. Each of the childless egomaniacs proffered their love of children, tepidly cuddling and saying things to teenagers that a ten year old would have found condescending. Still, with the exception of Posie, the kids silently forgave the faux pas, realizing that they were in the presence of typically selfish artists; worse ones no longer young and still struggling to be recognized and rewarded for their competence. Actually Luc and Sandrine enjoyed the creative, travelling life and didn't obsess over acceptance, in the vein of the new rock bands emerging and saying that they just wanted to play their music. But, they also knew that everyone viewed them as ones desperate for commercial success, and if confronted with such a charge, refrained from arguing the pointless point.

The theatrical group showed more interest in the wine bottles left on tables in the center hall to the detriment of the roast beef, corn and other delicacies positioned nearby and to the jealousy of the kids who found no unwatched opportunity to abscond with a bottle and were stuck with the roast beef and corn.

After forty-five minutes a thoroughly sloshed Ruben sort of stood in front of the screen and announced that he would be showing a film they intended to market as a B-movie exciting to teenage boys and various other perverts. He heard a modicum of nervous laughter, including his own. Posie said; "Oooh," hearing "B-movie" and an intimation of a "Racy-B." She saw Katharine smiling and looking her way, adjusted her dress to mid-calf level and stared at Ruben. Ruben said that he welcomed their thoughts after the showing. He waved and Jonathan rolled the film. The runny-colored opening was an aerial view of a city, descending (the view, not the city) to apartment house roof level, and then blaring the title in the screen-sized, blood red colored, dripping words; "Misunderstood Kid." Only later would the viewers see that this was sarcasm.

"You know I don't care. I do not fucking care. I really do not fucking care. I really do not fucking give the least bit of a fuck! Get it? Simple? Inglais? Quebecois?"

"Don't use the F-word word around your mother," came the reply with a tone only a hint beyond calm. Mom stood at the porcelain sink head down and upped her rub rate on the poor worn-out pot and had forgotten the context, if any, of the conversation which prompted the outburst.

Too hastily, excited by the possibility that he might be able to wangle motherly permission to tell Dad to fuck himself 28 year old Francis Applewhite brightly asked in a very questioning voice; "Then it's okay if I talk like that to Dad?"

Mom actually had to think about that one a while, before seeming as if a train had run into her head, simultaneously saying an elevated; "No. ...... No! ...... Of course not."

He shrugged and said; "Worth a shot." He didn't really care much either way. He didn't really want to tell his father to fuck himself for his own benefit. He wanted to do it for his. Like saying; "Go fuck yourself. Why don't you ever give Mom a good kick in the ass?" thinking that the extra word would connote maturity and wisdom to the 53 year old gentleman, who seemed to think that his son was a bit of a nut after Frank announced that he was a Sorcerer with magical powers. Presumptuous Dad wildly concluded that this was the result of Frank's regular use of pot and acid from age 13 and paid no attention to the hard evidence demonstrated by his son's ability to turn wine into water, accomplished by consuming a bottle's contents, then, so not to be caught, refilling the bottle with the liquid his magical bodily process produced. The hardest part of the magic was remembering which bottle was water and which was wine.

Frank thought; "I wonder what he would reply if I really said that. I'm curious. He couldn't attack me for saying fuck or fucking. He'd deal with the concept. At least that's what I figure. Ah, he'd likely start with the religious shit, like "Turn the other cheek," and all that nice stuff. To hell with the whole idea. Fifty-three years of bad luck seems to suggest to this man that his number is overdue in coming up and the next step is likely the jackpot. I won't bother trying to explain the simple rules of chance are not any more on his side now, than they have been for the last fifty-three years because he'd claim not to understand and we'd get bogged down in some stupid math discussion neither of us want."

"Hey, mom. Want to see a trick?"

"No. ........." She grudgingly added; "Well, all right. But only if you promise to clean up afterwards."

Frank walked out of the basement level apartment saying; "Watch through the window. I'm going to make Mr. Pryor come out and futz with his gladiolas." He stood at the open door for five seconds and right next door Mr. Pryor showed up with a watering can in hand and went to his garden.

Frank went back in and shut the door behind him, excited and laughing. He said; "See. See that!"

Mom wasn't looking, but suspected the likelihood that the result wasn't a miracle. She said; "Sure he came out. He's a lonely old fart."

"You're not supposed to say that word anymore."

"What am I supposed to say? Senior citizen? He's never looked like a citizen to me. I do magic too. When I say 'Immigration' he runs back inside"

"You don't understand. There's magic in words. If the old fart says or hears senior citizen often enough he will be happy."

"Who gives a shit if the old fart is happy or not?"

Frank momentarily considered asking if it was okay to use the S-word, but through his well-honed deductive powers came to the conclusion that he would run into the same rigmarole as he did with F. Besides, he couldn't think of the point in telling his father to go shit himself. He laughed to himself visualizing the sight, but didn't think its usage conveyed the degree of disgust that the F-word did. He said; "Got a point. Listen; things are pretty flat here. Reminds me that I'm supposed to go see the love of my life."

"Suit yourself. That slut's probably got all the magic she can handle already."

Uninterested in carrying on another stupid, useless conversation on a well-covered subject, Frank slowly walked to his dented 1959 cream Chevy, enjoying the moment for its lack of the ever present barrage of lonely, boring people. He often wished that he could turn off his magical powers and sometimes succeeded. The overcast mid-day ceiling enhanced the Augusta, Maine April continuation of another long, bleak winter.

He drove through the packed ice streets, the well-travelled avenues looking more like the residue from an auto repair shop than snow. He was fortunate to find a space in front of the slut's three-story apartment building. As he backed in his wheels slid on the slimy dark stuff, easily leaving the Chevy in place, but at an odd angle. "Fuck it," he thought as he viewed the front end slightly aimed at and in the road. "Maybe it will be easier to get out this time."

Before he could knock Layla, the name she gave herself to replace Clementine, opened the door of her first floor front apartment. Frank was excited to see that she had changed clothes and was now wearing her thermal blue long johns with runners and matching top over her older white set. She blurted out; "I'm glad you're here. I'm all out." She scratched her armpit and unemotionally stepped out of her new wardrobe. She said; "You ready?"

Frank made an ugly face without trying and said; "Oh, shit. You went through the ounce in a fucking week?" He walked inside to see who else might be privy to the conversation.

She held the door half open and coaxed sweetly; "Oh, come on. Be an angel." She brushed back the long brown hair hanging in his face.

Frank shut the door and said; "Are your sisters here?"

"No."

"Well, let me get this out quickly before the magic kicks in and they show up. If this keeps happening I'll bury it. I swear to God I'll bury it in the fucking woods. What the hell was it this time?"

"Same old. You can get more."

"Yeah, with a week's salary! Do you have any idea what an ounce costs today?"

"I don't know and I don't care." She yawned and cupped her hands under her breasts, helping to differentiate them from her stomach.

Frank stared at the cracked ceiling. He finally said; "Okay, that's it. My father told me that there are jobs for sorcerers in Louisiana. (His father said this hoping he would leave.) I saw a guy who is employed as one on TV. I'm leaving now." He stormed out the door. (Actually the guy he saw on TV was a saucier, but Frank misheard or heard what he wanted.)

"THE END" overtook the screen, which then went appropriately blank.

Arthur couldn't contain himself and blurted; "I suppose one could call that absurdist misery intended as comedy for buzzards, or preferably for those who wish to be amused with what buzzards find funny, insofar as it reveals what they are. Very anti and very pro 60's."

Ruben remained seated, perhaps not having a choice in the matter and replied; "For those of you who are repelled at the thought of laughing at misery, I say grow up. ...... Actually we have a second set following which should be almost uplifting if one can hold their stomach contents down. Intended joke. It's experimental in the way many things are in 1967. One might say 'wow' or one might say 'trite.' Perhaps the point is to say something. Thank you, Arthur." He nodded and Jonathan rolled the next one. The black and white opening of a waterfall gradually added color until it appeared as if the colors were overly deep, seemingly painted on. In small blue letters the title; "Arrays," unobtrusively came and went.

Raymond Renfrew and his Irish setter, Catalina embarked on their usual morning walk. Catalina was hot as it was a cloudless summer morning, probably seventy degrees at sunrise, climbing steadily over the past hour. They visited a sizable park bordering the Raritan River and both got cooled off in the shallows. After walking they sat under a weeping willow and took in the view; wood land and fields in full bloom and a twenty foot waterfall in the noisy river.

Hunger suggested they return home, so they re-traced their steps. To their surprise and chagrin someone had placed a boulder in the middle of the only road home; a boulder that would qualify as a mountain in the land of the wee people. They walked right up to it and saw that it went straight up, making it impossible to climb without the benefit of special equipment, not in their possession. Ray and Catalina looked in both directions and the stupid rock extended as far as the eye could see.

Catalina looked up at Ray's face. She was nervous and hungry, had no ideas of her own, and expected him to do something to resolve the situation. He sat on another rock, held Catalina's leash in his left hand, while his right supported his chin; Rodin in heat. As Catalina nervously panted he thought.

In a space of time that seemed much too long to panting Catalina, he realized that he had five options; he could go over it, through it, blow it up, go around it or wait for whoever put it there to remove it.

He brightly re-remembered that he did not have the equipment to go over it and besides, even if he could Catalina was stuck. Going through it seemed accomplishable only by a ghost and he didn't bring his or Catalina's. To blow it up he would have to use his last stick of dynamite and he couldn't be sure that he would not injure someone on the other side, himself or Catalina. They could die of dehydration or malnourishment waiting for the inconsiderate perpetrator to return. So they decided to go around it, through trees whose canopies offered some shade and flickering light. Catalina led, starting to the left. They arduously stumbled along the thick undergrowth, prompting Raymond to tell Catalina; "This has to end somewhere. Nothing goes on forever. Maybe we'll catch the bastard who put it here." In solid black and white, "THE END" came suddenly.

Arthur said; "As you had previously mentioned ......."

Hi cut off Arthur mid or early sentence, saying; "Thank you, Arthur. Why don't we give some others an opportunity to register an opinion before you offer your defining characterization? Posie, what did you think?"

Posie was still a bit freaked over Katharine's unwanted attention and didn't want to be the center of it, or anyone else's except Kale. She really didn't pay any attention to the short film and had no opinion of it. She dismissively said; "I don't know. It was all right, but I wouldn't go the least bit out of my way to see it."

Kale correctly read her mindset and decided to interject, in the hope it would save Posie from an unwanted follow up. He said; "Very much like some Brit film I saw. I don't recall the name as it didn't intrude on my all-time favorite list. In this one any early-in-the-game long haired, 'rebellious' actor maniacally drove a sports car through suburban streets, only to discover that they were all dead ends. Why he didn't know that at the outset was unexplained. It went on for more than an hour. To the credit of 'Arrays,' it was mercifully short."

Hi said; "I don't see the two films as having precisely the same point."

Kale interrupted to say; "It's a bit banal to say that something is not precisely the same as something else. Of course there are differences. That seems obvious and not worthy of mention. I was speaking of the essence."

Hi patiently waited for Kale to finish and pointedly responded; "What one takes from something is subjective. It's obvious to me that different people will take different meanings from the two films. Don't you think?"

Kale said; "If they're morons."

Hi said; "So anyone who does not share your informed point of view is a moron?"

Kale was tempted to clearly say; "Yes," but remained silent in deference to what he saw as the unpopular opinion."

Considering he had might have effectively corrected Kale, and certain that he had done so on the all-important surface, he said; "In 'Arrays' success is arduous, but possible. In your un-named film there is defeat."

Kale said; "That depends on whether or not the sports car driver smashes up and dies or if he is merely in a momentary state of stasis. I don't remember how it ended."

Hi sarcastically said; "That's convenient. Tory, would you like to chime in?"

Tory appeared to be waiting for more information and seemed to prefer waiting. She gritted her teeth and did some kind of lip maneuver which said; "I don't know." She looked toward Otis, who rescued her by saying; "Extremely short and not much of a story. Boulders just don't pop out from nowhere."

Ruben questioningly said; "No?"

Otis said a convincing; "No. We don't even have a machine that can move something that size."

Ruben had trouble phrasing his response and came up with; "You're either being extremely literal or making a failed attempt at humor."

Otis said; "I realize that I was addressing technicalities where technicalities are a secondary or tertiary consideration. But, wouldn't it be more entertaining to tell a longer story of what the boulder, the path and the thick undergrowth actually stand for? Perhaps, even show what they find?"

Katharine answered in an impatient tone, saying; "They find life," her tiny shoulder shrug, suggesting a sentence continuation of; "Of course," and perhaps; "Imbecile."

Ruben calmly said; "When you say 'Wouldn't it be more entertaining, etc. etc.' you've answered your own question and informed me of your dislike. Our attempt to present a story with which one could substitute their own experiences with boulders of different constitutions obviously failed to engage you." With a bland tone which contained a suggestion of sarcasm, he added; "I am literally distraught at your negative viewpoint." Luc and Sandrine rudely laughed out loud, then put their hands over their mouths to facilitate a speedy stifle.

Having had to wait for his turn, ostensibly giving him time to think prior to speaking, Arthur said; "It's the skeleton of a timeless story. In terms of commercial potential I believe it will seem trite, as you put it, to an informed crowd. Its best hope is that it becomes a "cult" favorite to those less so. On another level, I think that boulder does need improvement. That it is made of paper mache is painfully obvious."

Ruben said; "Didn't you consider the possibility that the boulder was purposely made to look flimsy, thereby suggesting more hope for success than Sisyphus."

Arthur remained silent and stared indifferently.

Arthur engaged Ruben as the group was leaving. With all the cheery good-byes being affected or effected, the din precluded surveillance when he put his arm around the older man and said; "I can get you two explosive books. They're today. They're extremely sexy, with scenes not yet seen or accepted in the mainstream. They cannot be accused of obscenity (a consideration in archaic 1967) as they are written in such a way that the audience knows exactly what is going on, but the author can legitimately say; 'That's not what I said.'"

"You've seen them?"

"Yes." (He lied.)

"You're forgetting that we work in film. Actions are right there."

"I assume that you have heard of jump-cutting?"

"Let me take a look."

### Chapter 19

Kale sat at the upright piano and played discordant sounds which seemed to combine "Chopsticks" with garish and doctrinaire disorder. The sound was possibly a precursor to Rap, devoid of a black "artiste" garbling literal, hackneyed vulgarities to a numbed-by-pharma, adolescent, white audience, fully convinced they are "rebelling" against Mommy and Daddy, by clapping near their seats and feeling "Ghetto," an improvement over nothing but living in the "friendly" suburbs.

Marian stood over his shoulder and periodically tried to direct his hands to the right places. Kale complied; however when not the beneficiary of guidance reverted to his natural penchant for nihilism, resulting in a weird meeting of learned sophistication and pedestrian absurdity, sans overlap. An evaluative listener might have concluded that they were hearing a series of compositions, as in an overture, rather than one arrangement.

After some time elapsed, Marian said; "You're not taking this seriously," with an air of displeasure.

Kale stopped playing and answered; "Why should I?"

"Because I'd like you to."

"It's supposed to be fun, isn't it?"

"Not necessarily. Professionals and would-be-professionals work to attain excellence." She walked to a plushy, pink, Pillar-and-Scroll wing chair and took a sitting position.

"I have no intention of doing this professionally. It takes the fun out of it."

"Can't you imagine doing something professionally which you also enjoy?"

"Not this."

Marian caressed his cheek and said; "So young."

The short phrase made Kale feel as if she called him naïve and no young man wishes to be seen that way. He had not yet acquired the sophistication to know that this was precisely what many women found attractive.

Broodingly, he gazed at the window and saw Posie holding a rake, with Mellow Yellow draped over her shoulder, apparently instructing her in its usage. Kale decided to curtail piano lessons and went outside to investigate.

Marian considered his silent departure unfulfilling and rude. She angrily put her fingers to the keyboard and played her own style of "Chopsticks." The abbreviated version afforded her the leisure to view what was going on outside. She smiled and thought; "So young."

Kale briskly walked toward the snugly entangled couple, who were vigorously engaged and took no detectable notice of him. He thought of a number of possible entrees, but dismissed each as being just plain stupid. He stopped and watched the couple sweat as they used all their energy to plunge the rake into the flower bed, preparing it for pending planting.

Kale was aroused at the sight of Posie in joyous delirium stroking the hard dirt with the rake in her small hands; her hands guided by Mellows' on hers. Their bodies were intertwined and together appeared like a moon in its first quarter, however, nominally and softly rocking to and fro, suggestive of a minimalist painting with no hard edge and most significantly; movement.

His convoluted attempt at description and characterization made him wonder what Arthur would say. Thought made the answer simple. This was a dance and attempts to use material objects as a metaphor were doomed to second rate at best. This was the beginning of a tango. ...... Holding a rake? ...... Best, ask Arthur someday. Now, just enjoy the sway.

He delighted in the performance until the unheard tango music was replaced with a boogie. He made his presence known saying; "May I cut in?"

Mellow eyed him coldly like the lion king viewing an upstart, sneered and continued his boogie. Posie assessed the situation, broke away and went to Kale. They embraced and then the boogie music resumed with one different dancer.

Mellow betrayed his name and said; "Careful, little man. You don't know what you're dealing with." He threateningly brandished his garden clippers.

Kale experienced an adrenaline rush, a sense of fear and a sense of obligation. He continued to dance as he eyed Mellow, waiting for the next move.

Posie sensed Kale's focus shifting away from her, didn't like it, but also didn't consider it Kale's fault. She stopped dancing, turned to Mellow and said; "Don't make him take out his knife. It will put yours to shame."

Mellow glowered, but then walked slowly away.

Posie called out; "And don't you dare bother those orchids."

Kale and Posie resumed their dance with new intensity. She said; "He really knows how to handle a rake."

Kale forcefully responded; "You accuse me of vulgarity? At least Marian is clean. You're with a dirty gardener. Tasteless and common vulgarity.

"And you love it."

They kept dancing-raking until the bed was swollen and soft, then planted the varying seeds.

Kale said; "That slob is always drunk."

"Isn't that the definition of artist?"

"How about stoned?"

"Better artist."

"How about fucked on acid?"

"Best artist."

Kale took Posie's left hand in his.

She said; "I want to die on the saddle of experience with a brush and eyes drenched in radiance."

"Atomic."

Meaningless words ceased and their brush painted swirling suns as imperfectly as Vincent Van. "Songs of Innocence" was left for the analysts.

### Chapter 20

The original Amber Hopschild, now Amber Collinaire, woke in her canopied Queen Anne bed and her first view was of the tear in its center. She thought that it was strange that she had never previously noticed it, but after some minimal mental machination, attributed it to the fact that she always slept on her belly and last night she had wound up on her back. She made a cerebral note to try replacing it, fully aware that stores did not carry the item and dismayed at the possibility of having to visit a Christian place of worship; dark, creepy and living as much as a tomb or an American museum.

She recalled being taken by her parents to a Catholic mausoleum for the purpose of confession and seeing the place dominated by poorly painted sculptures of the Stations of the Cross existing in dreadful stasis in window sized niches on the dark walls. She had thought; "These freaks really get off on suffering," and decided that she would remain uncleansed of their concept of sin. She ran between the darkly stained, thick and heavy walnut pews, which imitated Empire design, and miserably failed to properly evoke the style, not only because of their over-simplicity, but also due to the maker's predilection for using five times more walnut than required, perhaps a clergy relative charging by the pound. She luckily burst through the massive open door into a temporarily blinding sunlight only because it was opened by a well-dressed man who had just made a withdrawal from the poor box. Her parents showed mercy and never brought her back.

Amber resolved that if it was necessary to go to a church, she would handle it the same way the priests did. She went to the refrigerator and not being a wine aficionado, retrieved two tall cans of Pabst Blue Ribbon. She sat on the edge of her bed and sipped them, casting occasional glances at her tear. She found that the more she drank the more natural it appeared. When through she no longer gave a damn about it, thinking that it added a beautiful "patina" which nothing can duplicate.

She gazed out the window and saw Mellow's tall, dark, thin body in tight, well-worn blue jeans, squatting over a pile of yesterday's trimmings and decided to get somewhat dressed. She removed the underwear she had slept in and viewed her body in the mirror over her toilette vanity cabinet.

She opted for a side view, first noticing her somewhat swollen stomach, seemingly sovereign and supreme over the flaxen Netherlands. She put her hand to it and took a deep breath, again "discovering" that breathing deeply was a worthwhile maneuver in areas other than aerobics. Content with the results of sucking it in her focus went to her ample breasts and she liked the view of the twin peaks, sagging the least bit and capped by pert nipples. She pinched them to accentuate the positive.

She glared at her short, meaty legs and cursed the god who must have thought he was making a munchkin, when a gazelle was the order of the day. She stood on her toes and decided that high heels were an adequate antidote. She could not stop her eyes from going to the hated and embarrassing scar on her left upper thigh. Two inches long, red and rutted like a week old surgical incision, there it drew attention to itself, the last "gift" from her dead parents. She retrieved makeup from the cabinet and covered it. She cursorily brushed her long, honey blond hair, leaving it with the spirit of the "just got out of bed" look and then shook her head so wildly she heard one note played by a xylophone reverberate and reverberate in her ears.

On an empty stomach the two beers had made a provocative impression and Amber wanted to provoke Mellow Yellow NOW. She would have loved to have gone out au natural, but did not want Wellborn and Patricia (Hi and Bee) to bear witness to bawdy behavior, nor bear the subsequent recriminatory brunt of it. She considered the clothing subterfuge retarded, excepting the makeup and high heels as down home in Lexington, Kentucky girls her age (fifteen) were often already married for three years, and had covered the canvas with lots of paint and texture, but necessary in the "civilized" East.

Still, her native instincts compelled her to err on the side of recklessness. She put on a flimsy yellow top, almost held up by thin shoulder straps, cut off blue jeans and heels and stormed out of the room. The gale slowed down to a sprinkle when she got to the stairs, but she forged ahead to the kitchen for more Pabst Blue Ribbon fortification.

As she entered she saw the backs of Posie and Kale scampering their way out the other door. Their hands were entwined, too preoccupied with themselves to take any notice of Amber on their way to the living room. Amber didn't feel slighted, in fact thought that she was not seen (She was right.) and was turned on by their open display of mutual fascination. She forgot about Mellow Yellow and drank two more cans of Pabst Blue Ribbon while contemplating the dualities of life, her only care not to cut her lips on the cold metal. She shook her head fiercely and heard the Hunchback of Notre Dame blast the chimes demanding sanctuary.

She also lost her balance and couldn't understand how that stupid wall moved right in her path. Undeterred, she staggered toward the living room.

Posie and Kale were commencing their own tempestuous riot on the red-cushioned, rococo revival, reproduction divan.

Hi and Bee sat naked in their locked bedroom adjacent to the living room. The original ornate Chippendale frame retained the four posts, but the canopy frame and covering disappeared long before anyone's memory was capable of recalling. With the cover up to their waists, they leaned back on pillows and quietly read books held in their laps, leaving exposed only a bit of the serpentine, shell-carved headboard. The only sound in the room that of pages turning enabled them to "blindly" estimate the nearby goings-on through resonance alone.

Hi marked his place in "The Catcher in the Rye," and said; "Kale and Posie are at it again."

Bee's eyes grinned as they shot to the ceiling. Her left hand found their place in Jung's "Mysterium Coniunctionis," and she said; "Ain't it great when you think you're doing something forbidden." She smiled wistfully as the book filled her hand.

"You bet your sweet little rye patch." He used three fingers to keep his spot.

"You think the kids do this?"

"Hell, yeah, and for some time I'm sure."

Bee said; "They're so fucking hot for it at that age."

Hi slowly ran his fingers over his nose and lips. He said; "And at our age?"

"Oh, yeah, yeah. Sorry, baby." She kissed his head. "It's just so cute when it's new."

"You wanna circle back to the beginning?"

"No, not at all."

"Well, then, my great, spacious, aromatic pussy. Let's kick it up another notch. Always keeps it fucking exciting."

She slid down and said; "To infinity, honey lover."

They lost all track of the kids.

Amber's head was somewhere between the bold, warm, woozy, Pabst (not German GW of "Pandora's Box," or perhaps one should say Louise Brooks fame) buzz, summer's accumulating torridness, her legs, a desire to express her preference for both sides of the coin in one liaison and a goal of proving to herself and the world that she was good enough to have sex with anyone. She lowered her shoulder to the closed living room door and pushed it open resulting in an off-balanced lurch into the room. Her totter made her titters pop out of the yellow, low-cut and flimsy top. She laughed as she pulled it over her head, threw it toward the couch and began moving her shoulders as if she was trying to remove a kink from her bare back. Kale caught it and seeing Amber's consistent, cockeyed, attempted contact, with thunderous distaste he said; "Oh, shit," and threw it back at her. He looked at the carpeted floor and thinking that he was admiring her legs she continued on. In her state of overly-confident mind she didn't hear; "Oh, shit" as meaning; "I wish you'd go away;" she took it to mean; "Wow," a problem with departures from the King's English, if the listener can't or won't understand inflection.

She forced her ass between them and as she wiggled her way into comfort, Kale, with eyes still aimed down stood up and said; "Would you please get the fuck out of here. This is a private party."

Amber was discouraged, thinking that Kale might be looking at her hated scar. But, she didn't think she was through, as Posie remained silently in her seat. She saw this as an opportunity to make a split in the couple. She wanted to do both of them, but since one was being a mean prick, she could settle for half with a kicker. She put her hand between Posie's legs and chuckled; "Some people are just uptight."

Posie screamed; "Nobody wants you. Leave us the fuck alone." She, too, stood and looked down as she shook her head from side to side. In a monotone she added; "Pathetic loser."

Amber was doubly insulted as not only was she rejected and yelled at, they were staring at and were repulsed by her scar. In actuality Kale and Posie were repulsed by the totality of Amber and didn't reject her because of her scar or her aggressiveness. Despite this being Amber's third unwanted and pitiful attempt to shove her ass in the middle of Kale and Posie's private moments, they rejected her only because they were merely into each other and fantasy and didn't feel obliged to advertise their clandestine understandings.

However, in the moment Amber hated everyone. She hated her biological parents for leaving her and leaving her with a scar. She hated her step-parents for allowing the carryings-on in which she could not participate. She hated her step-siblings for rejecting her. She ran from the room as she pulled the flimsy top over her deranged head. Her beer induced clumsiness caused her to stumble and fall into an end table. Her embarrassment deepened as Kale and Posie stared at her without any expression.

Amber left and slammed the door behind her. She went to her room, put her face in the pillow and cried. When she got up she had a moment of clarity and simplicity. She now wanted only one thing; revenge. She thought of her real parents. They had already paid the ultimate price and were therefore invulnerable. The best she could do was to go and piss on their graves, and they probably wouldn't know or care and it wouldn't make the least bit of difference. She thought; "I hope you burn in hell for eternity," and then vowed never to again think of them.

Real revenge was reserved for the living. Kale and Posie were screwing as was Otis and Tory, while Hi and Bee looked the other way. (Ostensibly too difficult a task for most.) She saw that she could cause trouble for all of them if she got the authority, an overly zealous social worker, on their case. She knew that legally foster children were not allowed to live in the same house and have sex. Hi and Bee, if not complicit, were at the very least negligent in allowing it. Arthur was another matter. Since he didn't do anything but evaluate everything, he was immune to any possible charges; UNLESS SHE LIED.

Amber dressed appropriately and drove the family car toward the Social Service Department where she would register her "concern" with Mildred Martinet. As she slowly navigated the unobstructed roads she thought that she couldn't be certain, and it didn't matter as It didn't have any effect on her intended modus operandi, but she suspected that it would be a secretly gleeful "duty" for the lower to middle income, under-sexed government employee to take down the high fallutin' Collinaires.

Amber carefully parked between two yellow lines in the office lot and retained her clarity, plan, simplicity and goal as she slowly and purposefully climbed the stairs to the fifth floor, avoiding the push- button elevator.

As Mildred, Amber and four police officers approached the Collinaire front door, an uncomfortably strong northern wind blew in bulbous, black, thundering clouds and the season's first deluge began. The menacing cacophony fulfilled its most dire promise as celestial waterfalls pummeled Long Valley. All ran the last few steps to avoid the drenching, soppy pellets, except Amber who dawdled and felt cleansed and avenged in an unholy way, like a black mass.

Bee answered the second knock, immediately recognized Mildred and invited the entourage in, saying; "Come on in. Get out of this downpour." She looked skyward and added; "Surprised me."

The group entered the center hall and Hi came out of the library, carrying the copy of "Sons and Lovers" he was reading. Pleasantries were exchanged; then Hi ventured; "What brings you out on this miserable day. Is someone under arrest?" He and Bee chuckled, un-joined by the other stern faces. The response or lack thereof sobered the jovial couple. They eyed each other with questioning, raised eyebrows.

One officer, older than the others and apparently the spokesman for the group said; "Mind if we have a look around?"

Hi replied; "Yes, I do mind. Will you tell me what this is all about?"

Mildred said; "We have reason to believe that there is flagrant sexual activity among the children."

Hi said; "And I suppose you expect to catch them in the act."

The officer said; "Where are they now?"

Hi said; "I don't know. They might be around here someplace."

Mildred said; "No supervision." She extracted a form from her oversized bag and wrote on it.

Bee said; "They're teenagers for god's sake! Who on earth knows where their teenagers are at all times?"

Mildred said; "Good parents have their ways of maintaining some semblance of control."

Hi countered with; "So, you're saying we're not good parents. I resent that. And further, if we're not good parents why do you keep sending children here? Sounds like an admission of negligence."

Mildred had to step back and regroup, but came up with; "Such indignance coming from a man standing there holding a dirty book. Come on now."

Hi almost laughed despite the troublesome situation. He dryly said; "I'm surprised you know anything of this book. It contains no pictures. It hasn't been considered obscene for thirty years. Times are changing."

Mildred said; "For the worse."

The lead officer stepped in to say; "Okay, everybody. This banter could go on forever and frankly I have no interest. The bottom line is that we'd like to take a look around." As Hi faintly shook his head "No," the officer added; "We can come back with a warrant if necessary."

Hi scratched his head, looked at the floor and said; "Let's get it over with. I don't know what you expect to find."

The search got off to a speedy start as the officers went right to Kale and Posie's books. The placement of the originals was revealed to Mildred by Amber. Their existence and placement was known by all the children of the house thanks to loquacious Arthur who had secretly written them over, with some editing he considered minor. He had hidden his impaired copies in a safe deposit box only known to him.

The head officer perused the books and said; "Very possibly obscene." He took a plastic bag from his pants pocket. He said; "This is evidence," as he gingerly inserted them with two fingers, before handing them to another officer, both with facial expressions as if they were downwind from an open septic tank.

Kale and Posie screamed; "Illegal search and seizure! Private! Private property!" They looked to Hi and Kale asked; "Is this legal? Is this all right with you?"

Hi sadly shrugged and answered; "Maybe and no."

Kale and Posie tried to break out, running in tandem into the torrent, only to be caught by the officers as they fumbled in the mud. They were handcuffed and each sat on one of the few chairs in the center hall with a police attendant.

Kale looked to Posie and fervently said; "It'll be all right. I know it." He knew he was lying to her for the first time, but thought it was what she wanted to hear.

Posie looked into his eyes and started to cry. She shook her head quickly up and down as if to say; "I know." She then stared at the floor.

The other officers then searched the entire house in an effort to find the books of Otis and Tory to no avail, as they were not writers. The couple stood quietly, ten feet apart and tried not to look at each other.

The commotion ended, Kale and Posie were escorted to separate police cars, the rain which pelted their faces masking the tears.

Mildred informed Hi and Bee that the young couple would be split up. "Each will be sent to a different part of the country, and neither they nor you will be made aware of the locations. And your fitness as step-parents will be investigated."

Hi and Bee silently glowered. Hi was sure of the source of the problem. He scrutinized Amber, who was obviously nervous, and said; "You will regret this day. I pity you."

Amber opened her mouth to speak, but no words came.

Hi then turned to Mildred and said; "MS. Martinet. Please consider this formal notice that we no longer want Amber Hopschild, this deformed and marked chubette, in our home. I hope other arrangements can be made expeditiously."

Amber screamed; "I'm sorry," but received no response.

Mildred speechlessly looked from Hi to Bee, appearing baffled.

Hi said; "Means quickly, stupid." He put his arm around Bee's shoulders and led her away. He stopped for a second, turned back and dryly said to Mildred; "I trust you will let yourself out without causing more damage." They continued to the living room and shut the door behind them.

Later that evening Arthur removed his versions of Kale and Posie's books from his safe deposit box and took them to the pre-arranged meeting he had with Ruben in Manhattan.

As they dined at a downtown restaurant, courtesy of Ruben, Arthur surveyed the potted plants lining the few windows in the brick-walled facility. He was doing a last minute review of his plan. He had considered saying that he was the author, which was minimally true, but feared that saying that would contradict things he had already said. He also feared being directly responsible if the books were ever found to be without redeeming social value. In a blasé manner, which he didn't realize sounded ridiculous to the older gentleman he said; "Height of Manhattan chic these days?"

Ruben wiped the ketchup residue left by the last hamburger bite from his face and said; "Referring to the restaurant?"

"Yes, of course. The boho dance in solids and semis." He fed his curdled mouth shrimp scampi.

"This place is frequented by artists, so it's more like the height of cheap." He laughed just a tad derisively.

Arthur had no quick follow up as he had extremely limited experience in being corrected and couldn't tolerate being mocked.

Ruben said; "So, show me what you got."

Arthur handed him the books, saying; "Sexy. Today. Cutting edge. Out there. Authored anonymously. I'm the agent."

Ruben said he found them interesting, but it will take him a lot of work to convert them to film. Arthur advised him that the conversion was his job. Ruben said some parts are a bit rough and might not be usable, to which Arthur countered that he was referring to the best parts, and that if Ruben didn't get good reviews he was assured notoriety which is substantially as good, often financially better.

Veiled "artistically" centered haggling led to a deal. Ruben got the books and Arthur went home with a check he would attempt to clear first thing in the morning. He knew he would be sleepless and helpless that night.

### Chapter 21

Kale asked Posie if he could read to her from his book. Receiving a positive nod from his lover, he said; "If we get taken to court for pornography the publicity will ensure a best seller. All the "good' people will have to investigate resulting in the inevitable dilettantism of competent bohemians."

She said; "No Exit," shrugged and made a trivial laugh. Kale read.

kale and posie drove to Tasheeka's apartment. they parked in front of it and when the doors opened posie led a nude kale inside, pulling him by a leash as he crawled on all fours. Tasheeka brought her 5'6", 170 pound frame to the apartment door and wachedthe scene, smiling in approval.

Kale looked up as tasheeka shut the door behind her and got very comfortable on the couch. She said; "Turn that television off, get over her and pay proper respects, slave."

Kale thought, "Perfect" and did as instructed. He crawled to her with his eyes on her long Afro. his lips lovingly replaced his eyes. Posie put one hand on the back of his head and the other between his legs. Tasheeka smiled evilly as she said; "From now on you will only do what I tell you and you will call me Mistress Tash. Your name is CL. understand, cl."

CL looked up to say; "Yes, Mistress Tash," and she slapped his face, saying; "Who gave you permission to stop."

CL said; "Sorry, Mistress Tash," and went as low as possible.

She got up and turned her back, saying; "Good boy. Now, the moon is full." Posie assumed the same position.

CL was very aroused as he tried to explore all the lunar possibilities.

Tasheeka felt it and pushed back against him. He slurped and she said; "You are a disgusting pig."

He kept on and she pulled away, turned around and again slapped his face, saying; "Well, aren't you?"

CL said; "Yes, yes. I'm the most disgusting pig there is."

Posie pointed to her posterior, and cl positioned his patois producing projectile in the partitioned prominence. when she decided that she had enough, posie rudely pushed kale onto the floor. She left after demanding, though without need, and receiving extended lip service on her pileous, pubescent, parted mound and the Red Sea again closed and flowed. She said; "Tasheeka, do everything to him. He loves it all. Make him beg."

Tasheeka slowly walked to the chair as CL instinctively crawled behind her like a dog. She sat widely and said; "Main course."

CL said; "Thank you," gorged and sniffed the aromatic jungle, his arms wrapped around her.

Mistress Tash rested her legs on his shoulders and watched him, thinking about all the fun she could have with her white slave. CL was immersed in the moment, thinking about how much he loved what he was doing. A half hour passed with Mistress Tash wiggling around. CL was sloppy and dripping with sweet juices.

The door again opened and CL was too hot to care, but Mistress Tash jumped up, her body pushing him back. he fell on the floor. When he looked up he saw Tasheeka hurriedly putting on her dress and shoes in the presence of four police officers. Kale was frustrated at being disturbed during his favorite meal, waved his hand and loudly said; "Is this against the law now?"

The lead cop flatly said; "should be, but Not yet. Put on some clothes. You're under arrest for writing subversive obscenity."

Tasheeka, now fully dressed, nervously said; "i only let this white trash do this because i needed a good laugh. May i relax?" and the lead cop nodded "Yes."

Now, not only frustrated, Kale was dumbfounded by the charge and upset that Mistress Tash chose to leave him in his demise. He felt abandoned to the wolves.

The lead cop again said; "Get on some clothes now, or we'll take you out of here naked. Move!"

The arresting crew turned kale over to two other cops, who led him to his new home. They took off his handcuffs and rudely pushed him in the cell, one saying; "You're gonna be here a long time," as the empty sound of metal on metal rang in his ears. The eight by eight room was decorated with a silver metal sink, silver metal toilet, a padded bench hanging from the wall on chains and a gray blanket. One small barred window sat above the furry bench offering a view of the dark Hudson River. In frustration Kale tried to rip out his amenities, but only succeeded in exhausting himself. He sat on the bench wondering but not caring if he was being watched. He put his head in his hands and stared at the concrete floor, wishing that at least he had gotten the license plate number of the truck that had demolished him.

Kale heard a voice. "Hey, honey lover. I hear you're going to be my prisoner a long time." He looked up and saw 200 pound negridoma in a gray prison guard uniform with a red stripe running down both legs. She carried a maroon sweatshirt and matching pants both emblazoned with orange letters stating "PROPERTY OF US FEDERAL PRISON SYSTEM". She purred; "Ebonada works the day shift. We're gonna be giving you everything you need to eat and drink. You're going to be in church regularly." She moved her big beautiful black body against the bars and showed him her well-oiled long afro. She said; "This job doesn't pay much, but it has great fringe benefits." Her house of worship shone with glory.

Kale's countenance elevated when he saw his dream. He got in a better position for a close up viewing and savored the offering. Negridoma's eyes smiled as she looked down, watching him. She looked both ways down the hall, took one of the keys from her chain of many, opened the cell door and closed it behind her. She slipped a silver chain around his neck with a gray medallion imprinted with #312312312" in black letters. She held his new duds in front of her and ordered; "Strip for me, slut." Kale's excitement went through the roof and when his clothes were off he looked like a bleached mahogany coat rack with a spindle for decoration. He smiled and danced playfully, rotating his hips. he had a passion for performance art.

Negridoma sauntered to the bench and sat on the left side of the cushion. He ogled the curvy pillars with pedestrian footings and was compelled to pay proper homage. She put his new clothes on the floor saying; "That's to cushion your knees. You'll be using them a lot." He went into a trance, got in his church position and began his adoration at ground level. She lit a long thick light purple candle and put it in the center of the seat. She got extremely comfortable leaned back and said; "Take and eat of this, for this is my body. Take and drink of this, for this is my blood." She laughed.

Kale eyed the cracked moon and the gentle folds above it, which led to the higher paradise that he couldn't' stop desiring. He rubbed his face all over the aromatic, furry, wild nature he so loved, feeling the soft, warm, black flesh surrounding him. She rested her legs on his shoulders. He glanced upward and saw a silent impassive face staring at him. He closed his eyes and continued on; following his natural instincts, hoping his sacrificial offering was worthy.

He murmured; "I hope you and Ebonada bring in many parishioners." He didn't wait for a reply as he was so hungry, he quickly put his face back into the nappy, pulpy, French West Indian caviar and swallowed a strong stream of golden wine that ran all over him. Feeling high he passionately kissed, licked and sucked her hairy prize, his left arm tucked under her upper thigh, his hand rubbing the crack in the globes. "It's 1972 and anything goes," he thought, as he slowly touched himself using his right.

In a few glorious minutes he heard a sound, looked behind and saw Ebonada standing at the cell door. She was still in her civilian uniform; a red tank top and a light black leather mini-skirt at the upper end of her deep chocolate thighs. She smiled and put her right hand between her legs. Kale grinned and showed her his tongue. Negridoma pulled him by the hair, jamming his face hard back into the bushy dark swamp.

Ebonada used her key to enter, locking the door behind her. She said; "Piece with honor." The girls laughed and Ebonada took a seat at the right. She, too, lit a candle, this time a tall flat red one and placed it next to the other, between the two sisters. She crossed her legs, watched and waited her turn. Negridoma's body spasmed and she groaned; "Dominus verbiscum. Dominance for this cum."

Ebonada chuckled; "Et cum spirit te tuo."

Kale imagined that he looked skyward and saw a heavy, painted, leaded glass window above him. It reminded him of the thick, stained glass casements he saw in church as a kid. However, rather than depicting some martyred saint suffering, blocking all light, this portal was comprised of random shapes and forms, containing all colors of the rainbow and despite its making a half-hearted attempt to be opaque, he could see the light streaming through it. The trio was blanketed in a golden glow. They all felt it and smiled.

Kale crawled to Ebonada's feet. Careful not to miss anything, he slowly worked his way up to the triangle at the apex, continuing his nourishment and adoration. In his entire life he never, until now, expected to wind up in the house of God. The furry texture pressing against his nose caused him to sneeze. The laughing girls encouraged him and after joyous labor he was rewarded. His thirst was satisfied with a sudden strong quenching. A contented, black, warm and fuzzy feeling came all over him.

### Chapter 22

The two-seater Beechcraft Bonanza sputtered over the south Pacific. High in the sky "Icarus" developed a wing difficulty (aviation jargon for "about to fall off") and all signals were going wild like a dancing Dali depiction of clocks on steroid cocktails. It started its dive, but Kale's knowledge of wheels enabled him to level it off enough to avoid a nose plunge. Kale shook his head and said; "I knew we should have taken 'phoenix.'"

Posie was petrified by the oncoming blue water and screamed; "Do something."

Kale calmly said; "I'll bring it in." He was virtually on the brink of turning his pants brown, but wanted to show "confidence."

"Bring it in! Into what? The abyss?"

"Don't worry. There are many tiny islands in this area. We're bound to hit one."

"Excellent choice of words."

Kale pointed ahead, saying; "Look. There's one. If I can just get this thing over the palms at the edges and drop it in the middle ........ ."

The wheels came down and clipped the tops of a few trees. It slowed down the plane just enough to avoid a "hard" landing. It rolled out of control to a thatched hut with purple painted, plywood walls, contact with which provided the final stop. Kale exhaled mightily and Posie put her arms around his neck and said; "Holy fucking shit."

With New York lockjaw inflection, Kale said; "Had it all the time, babe," kissed her and put his hands on her breasts.

Two native men and two native women, bronze of skin and beautifully naked, ran from the structure, the man in the lead saying; "Holy fucking shit." In actuality he really didn't say "holy fucking shit." He said; "Glori copule merde," but for the sake of the mono-lingual reader the words have been translated.

Still inside the plane, Posie said; "I think he's mad."

"I've got a few bucks with me. I'll get it straightened out."

They exited the plane and feeling the urgent need to "do what Romans do in Rome," took off their clothes. Kale offered his hand and it was left in the air. Attempting to establish some sort of dialog, he said; "I'm Kale and she's Posie." The natives heard "cock" and "pussy," and took the meaning to be either banal nonsense or that their visitors were claiming to be the gods of eros, a not un-typical reaction to religious assertions anywhere.

The angry native man didn't seem impressed and vigorously pointed at the hole in his house, saying; "I don't give three wet farts. Who will fix my home?"

While Kale and Posie did not understand his words, they found his meaning as clear as the cloudless blue sky or the gleaming native eyes seemingly very curious about white bodies. In an effort to please Kale stood respectfully at attention and Posie put her left hand on her hip and bent her right knee. Though the others' faces softened and even may have shown the hint of smiles, the spokesperson, who probably was the owner of the cabin, still appeared vexed. Kale went to his pants, retrieved his wallet and offered the man all of his singles.

The man not only wasn't impressed, He seemed incredulous. So Kale offered him the rest of his green stuff. The man took it and for the moment Kale thought he had reached a fair deal. But, the man threw it on the ground and started to rant; "What fu' this ras klaat do? Fix it."

Not being skilled in construction, Kale and Posie knew they were in deep shit with this fellow, but also saw the admiring glances of the non-hutowners.

Posie thought she detected an opportunity to show her good will and put her left hand on the other man's cock and smiled, saying; "how big and beautiful." The homeowner was distracted from his pursuits and walked to posie, who then grabbed his cock with her right hand. He looked at her as if to say; "and," and she dropped to her knees and commenced sucking the two dark cocks, one at a time, but making periodic changes of focus.

Kale's excitement went through the roof, as did his impetuous, intenesly inflexible, IRONIC INVOLVEMENT. He eyed the two women, centering on the evidence of their being 'bush' ladies. he fondled himself as he went to them and hot as hell, he dropped down and started to kiss their feet. the ladies giggled as he slowly worked his way up, switching back and forth, detecting slightly different tastes and perfumes that begged further investigation. after a few seconds at the mount of each, without sermon they quietly leaned against the base of a palm tree, kale following them on his knees. they settled, half standing and smiled at each other when they weren't watching him make passionate lip and tongue love.

He and posie watched each other, increasing their excitement. each tried to outdo the other and each knew how much the other lived for these moments.faces soon covered with island juice, the duo was startled to hear a booming male voice say; "what is going on here?" the voice softened when he added; "Well, I khow what's going on here. you know what i mean."

the tall woman standing next to him said; "don't hinder it, baby. i like what i see." she walked to kale, leaned on the palm tree, spread her legs and offered him her cunt. kale spoke this language well and greedily kissed and sucked it. her accompanying male mate went to posie, erect cock in hand, put it near her face and said; "suck it, white pig." Posie did her best to swallow the entirety and slowly worked her lips and tongue up and down, in an effort to prolong the action, just as she knew kale liked it. Kale and posie's eyes strayed from their fixations to see between forty and fifty bronze and nude villagers watching the show, which turned on their exhibitionist side to the max. the woman above kale said; "slow, slow," but he licked and kissed so passionately that she soon let flow her juices. posie's expertise was rewarded with a mouthful to swallow.

they maintained their kneeling positions and eyed the group as if to say; "next."

as intrested parties advanced the man and woman who had just fed the lovers held up their hands signalling for them to stop. groans permeated the hot air and in frustration one man called out; "you think you can do anything you want just because you're the king and queen."

the king said; "right," and waved his cock at the malcontent. the queen bent slightly over, showed him her ass and parted the globes. They took kale and posie by their hands and brought them to their royal hut.

the foursome entered and the king shut the door behind him. he and the queen sat on nymph chairs, put their hands on each other's crotches and instructed kale and posie to perform on the throw rus resting on the dirt floor. the lovers started to fuck with kale holding one of posie's legs in the air. the king said; "no, no, no, no, no. do it the white way. sixty-nine."

When Kale and posie looked at him questioningly about the white comment, the queen showed her international sophistication and said; "i think that's the right number. maybe it's thirteen, nineteen, thirty-eight or eighty-eight. But, whatever. simultaneously suck each other."

kale and posie shrugged as if to parrot back the queen's "whatever" and did their favorite thing with posie on top, her head bobbing and smiling at the watchers while kale saw little other than his favorite view. In a few minutes the king showed a sign of life and nodded to the queen, who nodded back. He said; "okay, you two. get over here and suck us again."

kale and posie crawled to them. posie took the waiting cock in her left hand and proceeded to kiss it ten times. she said;"i just love 'em big, bronze and bold." Kale kissed the queen's cunt and breathed deeply, inhaling the intoxicating aroma and wiping the moisture all over his face. He breathlessly and passionately said; "me too." he kissed some more, then looked at the queen's face and added; "well, I'm not so sure of the bold part. ........ i mean i don't mind if you're bold. ........ i mean i like it if you are bold, but not in the same sense that posie meant it when saying it to the king. ....... i should say the way i think she meant it. ....................

the queen interrupted him, saying; "i can see what your mouth and lips are good for." she put her hands on the back of his head and put it back between her legs, saying; "just eat it."

kale was compelled to utter; "A beautiful, dark version of a georgia o'keefe petunia," was elated to be back where he belonged. he could see that politics was not to be a career choice as his oration skills were good only when speaking to a furry mound not registered to vote. he did his thing and enjoyed alternating his viewpoint. At times he liked to see the closeup of the pileous, bronze pussy in his face. sometimes he was turned on by watching posie suck the cock she held in her mouth and hands. other times he enjoyed seeing the queen looking down at him. he even got something from watching the king's face as he watched posie. he wasn't yet sure if everyone was doing the same thing. he was pretty sure of posie, but would only find out about the others later.

After the sovereigns spasmed, the couple remained on their knees waiting for more, but instead they got an interrogation. the king looked a bit sheepish as he said; "please forgive me, but the people would consider me remiss if i did not do this. due diligence, blah, blah, blah." he paused and then said; "ready?"

kale and posie looked to their tasty genitals and said; "Yeah."

the king said; "no, no. at least not yet. let's get this out of the way. are you people conquistadores?"

Kale raised his voice to say an astounded; "NO."

"Good, good. i didn't think so. mercenary?"

posie said; "we're only here for fun."

"Spy?"

kale said; "in the house of love."

"what?"

"just joking. it's a song. ....... an emphatic no."

"missionary?"

kale and posie laughed in unison. posie playfully pronounced; "occasionally."

the king said; "i think i know your joke. you must take the king more seriously. do you know how difficult it is to be born in the right place?"

Posie said; "actually, i do. sorry, your majesty. no, we are not missionaries." she put her hand on his cock and said; "can i suck it again? i'll go real slow and do a lot of gentle kissing. please."

kale kissed the queen's knees, AND THEN licked the entirety of her kneecap. he whispered; "let me make love to it. I'd like to do it slowly so that it takes hours."

The king and queen nodded approval. The king said; "thank god they're not missionaries."

the queen closed her eyes and purred; "we've had enough of those fanatics,' then squirmed to position her distended clit in the center of kale's open mouth, tickling his tongue.

Feeling very relaxed, the king decided to tell kale and posie about their new existence as the young, energetic suckers sat at their feet fondling each other's crotches. He said; "this is an old, closely knit society. over the years we have been colonized by the dutch, spanish, french, africans, germans, english, americans and probably some other marauders oral history has forgotten. they come here for the bauxite and the geniuses soon discover that it costs too much to take it out of here and sell at a profit. as a result our language is a mixture of our native tongue and portions of all of them. i am fluent in english and am speaking to you in that overly wordy idiom. you have no doubt already noticed that others do not have that ability."

Kale looked to the queen and stroked her leg, saying; "mind if i kiss your big hairy while i get my history lesson?"

she appeared obliging and reached down touching kale's flag pole.

the king said; "wait a while," and despite posie's staring at his half-ready organ, and saying; "Let me suck it some more," continued his story. "in a few minutes, you hungry little slut. it is obvious that you both have a penchant for the oral arts. i like that. it is 'the great white way,' as people of color do not do that."

the queen gave him a questioning glance, but said nothing.

The king cleared his throat and continued; "in between their oratories on religion we've learned this from our colonizers. perhaps as a result of seeing that everything they stood for was anathema to us it is possible that we rejected their proclivities. it might be suggested that the tabu; the forbidden adds that extra kick. It's also possible that a man putting his mouth where another man ............ ."

the queen cut him off and said; "you're getting off track and very speculative."

The king said; "disregard that. sometimes i get off on these vague theories that are impossible to prove and irrelevant."

Posie interrupted him by saying; "Get off all over me," and grabbed his cock.

the king didn't stop her from kissing it, which kale took as a cue to serve his queen. The king continued; "i'm coming to the point. you two have no skills to contribute to our society, yet you have no way of leaving it. correct me if i'm wrong, but you do not know how to build, fish or cook."

Kale almost registered a slight disagreement about the fish part, but decided it was uncouth and that he'd rather keep gorging while the gorging was good.

That man whose hut you damaged will have to work for weeks, perhaps months to fix it. So, if you are to live here, the only thing you can do for us is to perfom oral sex on demand."

their fantasy realized, kale and posie made humming sounds that were obviously yeses.

the king apparently got other, more compelling thoughts in his mind, so the queen picked up with; "You will entertain on a regular schedule and at special events; for individuals and groups. your act will be called the 'summer cannibals,' in consideration of your love of eating and sucking. Kale and posie were so excited at their future prospects that they increased their tempo and were rewarded with tangy native nectars.

as the king let go, posie said; "give it to me," and gargled before swallowing. upon completion the king said; "I must correct you. you said give. on this island that is not a concept in which we put any credence."

kale and posie looked curiously as they licked their lips.

The queen said; "here, give and take have the same meaning. so, we say tive or gake. both are acceptable; merely a matter of preference. of course some have borrowed from the frenck, dutch, germans, spanish and african and use other words, but with the same meaning."

Kale and posie continued to appe.r as if they didn't understand, so the queen continued; "Say tou invite someone into your home and they take your food cutting knife. They have simultaneously given up their good name and will never be invited back. they are inseperable."

kale and posie liked the idea and eyed their audience's bronze genitals. Kale said;"gake," and posie said; "tive."

the king said; "not now. time to re-meet the others."

they wer escorted, naked and nasty, down a dirt path toward a larger thatched hut, in the view of forty to fifty natives. this increased their exhibitionistic elation and they wiggled their pelvises and lasciviously licked their lips, eyes lowered to bronze cocks and cunts. they would learn that this structure was the central meeting and performance facility.

Posie admonished half of the crowd, saying; "Didn't your mother teach you that it's not polite to point?" she jerked kale's cock.

Kale addressed the others more subtly, saying; "whoopee pies have been all over my family since birth." he inserted two fingers into posie and they awkwardly continuedtheir journey.

one male member of the audien cecalled out; "cocksucker." encouraged by the king's lack of rebuke a chubby, extremely dark woman added; "cuntlapper" to the participatory event. cries of "eat it raw," "blowjob artist," "muff diver," "Dicklips," and "pussyface" ensued as the couple sashayed and thought of all the wonderful treats to come. they didn't understand the calls spoken in the mulatto "native" tongue, but had they that ability they would have been even more turned on by the inference that they were doing something dirty.

they entered the communal hut and waited as the king and queen informed their subjects of the available entertainment. Impatient, they lay on the floor and licked at the others goodies.

the group walked in. the men leaned against a pole, put their hands behind their heads and posie hungrily and instinctively did what she was made for. The women laid on the floor, spread their legs and kale kissed and eagerly licked their dark fur pies.

late in the evening after all the islanders had had their fill, kale and posie slept on a rug with their heads between the other's legs; a perfect surrealistic pillow. they were at a loss for words as each thought that this was too good to be true.

they came to live in the large hut, performing for groups large and small, with regular one on ones with their lover. the heat afforded them all the clothing they needed; none. they had shelter. and they were never without food.

kale and posie were advised that they would be putting on a special performance, commemorating the twentieth anniversary of when the last invader left. all islanders were expected to be in attendance and the king said; "come up with something different for the gala event," and left them to plan their actions.

kale said; "what can we do that they haven't already seen?"

posie replied; "i haven't the slightest idea," leaned over and sucked at his cock.

kale forgot the special mission and watched posie lick, swallow, kiss and make love to his turgid member and fantasized that she was his slave and that she very willingly wanted to be that. the fantasy worked so well that he came to a conclusion long before he wanted to.

he got on his knees before her and said; "I want to be your slave. use me any way you want."

she giggled.

he said; "come on. tie me up and use me."

Posie got intothe fantasy and tied his arms behind him and secured his legs while he remained kneeling. she sat on a wicker chair and said; "Crawl to me, piggy."

with some difficulty kale did what he was told. When he neared her, she put her left foot on his face and said; "lick it."

kale licked every square inch of her foot three times before she withdrew it, and said; "you like that slave?"

kale was on fire and he moaned out; "oh, yes. let me please have some more."

she said; "i've got two feet, pig."

kaleput his head to the ground and began kissing and licking her right foot, his cock at full attention.

she pulled him up by his hair and said; "Did i give you permission?"

He replied; "you said you have two feet."

she spit in his begging face and said; "you will only do exactly as i say, stupid slave. and from now on you will call me mistress. understand?'

"yes, mistress. please may i suck on it?"

"beg some more. that wasn't convincing. tell me how much you like the taste of my dirty feet."

"i love the taste of your feet. it's like an eastern european delicasy. please may i have more? i get so hot being under your complete control."

"You may suck some more, dog."

she kept her foot on the floor and kale had trouble keeping his balance as he struggled for more of the taste he craved.

posie was amused and turned on by the absolute power he gave her. she watched him.

she said; "now, slowly work your way up. switch from one leg to the other and don't miss anything."

when he was at upper thigh level, eyes on the prize, she said; "not yet, slave. you haven't earned it."

she rubbed her feet against his cock, picked up her arms and said; "lick my pits. clean the sweat off."

Kale complied and as posie moved around he got tastes of her tits and upper body. she stood up, turned her back to him and leaned forward, resting her hands on the chair. She commanded; "Slave, lick and suck the entirety of my ass and then do the same to my asshole."

kale was elated to be allowed a pleasure enjoyed by the few. she said; "You like that?"

He broke contact for a brief moment to say; "i love it mistress,"

then put his tongue as deep into the hole as it could reach.

Posie said; "stop, that tickles," and kale was proud to be obedient. she saw the queen standing in the door and said; "i bet you'd love to suck on my cunt; wouldn't you, slave?"

"yes, mistress, more than anything."

"okay, tou can have the honor."

Kale eagerly put his face in the glorious gash."

Posie pulled away as she stood up and said; "But first you'll have to drink all my piss."

kaledidn't understand why she said 'have to' as he wanted to and opened his mouth widely. posie spit in his mouth and he swallowed it. she and the queen smiled at each other as she produced a strong stream. she stopped to allow him to swallow it, then did it again, again and again. some ran all over him and he loved the aroma that covered his face and body

she sat and showed himher glory. he leaned forward and kissed it. She said; "do only what your mistress commands."he leaned back and begged to suck it.she untied his hands and said; "play with yourselfwhile you eat it, piggy."

kale moaned; "thank you mistress, thank you mistress," and jerked and sucked. he was so excited that he started lapping and kissing like he was dehydrated.

she looked toward the observant queen and said; "i'd like to see you do this for all the island women."

he said; "thank you, mistress. i'd love to." he could sense that she was near her climax and slowed down to dawdling, loving, tongue kisses, savoring all her tangy, sweet juices, while decreasing his stroke rate.

the queen quietly walked to them, sat on the floor and fondled kale's hot cock. he welcomed the substitute and turned to smile at the stroking queen, who commanded; "paY atteNtion to what you're doing, slave."

it could not go on forever (at least not thistime) and as he felt his time coming near furiously kissed and sucked his holy grail. she leaned hard against his face and spasmed, while he deposited his cum on the queen's left hand. posie sat calmly, while he rested his head on her furry pillow. she said; "i know the special act we can do at the special gala event." the queen licked her hand.

Kale said; "i'd love to be a slave to all the women."

the queen stood smiling and said; "i see you've trained him right. i've been holding it a while now, so it should taste very good."

kale recalled his instruction to only do what his mistress permitted, so he looked to posie and said; "May i, please mistress?"

she nodded "yes" and he opened wide and was rewarded with royal champagne. he drank to the point of intoxication. the queen emptied herself and with posie's permission, spent the newt hour instructing kale on the finer arts of worshipping black royalty. he drank everything that her body could produce and was only dissappointed that there was a limit to the reservoir. he kissed and sucked every part of her dark body, culminating in a long, slow adoration of her doubly saturated, dark bush.

When she was through with him, she pushed him away with the bottom of her left foot, which he did his best to suck and taste before falling on his back.

By then posie was ready for another go and the queen watched the proper homage he paid to both of them. posie called him a "suck dog," and the queen countered with "white pig." as kale worshipped their bodies, both women looked forward to seeing him service the entire female island contingent. so did he. it was his wildest dream.

the trio smiled and waved, as if to a recording camera and lip-synched; NOuvelle "Cuisine."

### Chapter 23

Surprising everyone the film-making-acting troupe roared down the Collinaire driveway. Without any malice aforethought they parked haphazardly blocking in the family vehicles. After the fact, Ruben seemed to notice what was done, but gleefully didn't care, as he was super excited. The rest of the band was also exuberant; even Katharine's face cracked.

They hurried to the porch and Ruben did a loud rat-a-tat on the front door and was greeted by a curious Hi. Social pleasantries were ignored as Ruben barged into the center hall, followed by the rest.

He announced; "I don't want to hear a thing. This is it. We got the one we wanted. I will not accept any arguments. Get everyone here to see this. You can thank me later." Hi grinned at his often overly theatrical friend, but rounded up the family and soon everyone was sitting in the now dark center hall.

In blood-dripping and tongue-shaped letters "VAMPIRES WITHIN" came on the screen and it began. It was a warm summer night and the first time her parent's left fourteen year old Ellen alone overnight. She turned in near eleven o'clock, and now, half an hour later, was entering a deep sleep, in her second floor bedroom. The windows were left a few inches open because of the heat. She was startled awake by a screeching sound. When she sat up she was horrified to see a large bat circling her bed. If this wasn't bad enough the bat then flew under her bed and a huge figure popped out in its place. Ellen screamed. She saw a male figure standing still at the bedside smiling at her. The room was dark excepting the soundless television she used in place of a nightlight. But, even in this poor light she could clearly see the grinning figure profusely salivating out of bright red lips, which stood out from his powder white face. Two fangs protruded from the drooling mouth. He was dressed entirely in black, with nine inch shoulder pads and a cape reaching his knees.

She bolted from the side of the bed opposite him and tried to run for the door, only to see it blocked by a similarly dressed male figure. Behind him were two females in black mini-dresses and fishnet stockings. Their six inch high heels made them slightly taller than the male. Their breasts were marginally covered by bright red tank tops. Their long straight black hair reached their mini-dresses. A blasé, stoned-out look covered their pale white faces, which was decorated with hot red lipstick and heavy duty mascara.

Having no exit, Ellen stopped and looked back at the male near her bed. She cried; "Please don't hurt me. Please. Please." The man laughed and said; "The last thing I want to do is hurt you. I'd just like you to feel good and suck all over you."

The curtain immediately came down. The two actors and three actresses looked at each other and burst out laughing.

Actor #2: "I told you you'd never get away with that one in a high school play."

Actor #1: "It was worth a try. Whatever comes next is probably going to be more interesting than the play."

Ellen: "Are you going to suck all over me?"

Actor #1, jokingly: "Maybe later. Right now, just watch this excitement."

The lights in the auditorium went on and the audience reaction was mixed. They were already thirty minutes into the play, and some, especially the parents were half asleep. They kind of woke up to ask; "Is it over?" or "What happened?" These were unanswered questions for the moment. Some of the audience kids were standing up, giving high fives and other hand signals only the kids understood. Other kids appeared startled or mildly amused, and most tried to evoke a bubble headed cool.

The Vice Principal (known as "The Axe") entered the curtain drawn stage area, and loudly said; "You were warned and you promised no nonsense."

Actor #1, unsuccessfully trying to look serious: "What nonsense? You must mean the idiot who dropped the curtain at the wrong time."

The Axe: "Don't get funny. That was me. How dare you say; 'Suck all over you?'"

Actor #1: "I have it on good authority that vampires like to suck."

His four compatriots turned their heads away and faked stifling a laugh.

The Axe, hands shaking; "SUCK ALL OVER YOUR BODY?"

Actor #1: "No thanks. I'm not into guys."

The Axe, shaking all over; "That's the last smartass answer you will give me. Consider yourself suspended as of right now."

Actor #1: "Okay, okay. I'll give you the serious answer you want. When I was writing this play my research on vampires indicated that some like to go for the throat, some like to go for the feet, and some like to go for various spots in between. In an effort to be non-discriminatory ............................."

The Axe cut him off, saying; "That's enough. And as for the rest of you; we intend to determine your parts in this obscenity." He turned as if it were a military drill, and exited.

The group was unable to contain their amusement. They looked at each other, began hugging and kissing as they jumped up and down.

Actor #1: "There's no way they can prove obscenity on this one. My father will have them in court and we'll be back in school in a matter of days. We'll probably get a written apology."

Ellen to Actor #1: "I guess I discriminate. Do you know which part of my body I most like having sucked?"

Actor #1 grinned and murmured; "I think so. We're very compatible."

Actress #1: "I think that's my favorite part too. It should be great for a blood craving vampire."

Actress #2: "Are we ladies all the same?"

Actor #2: "The night of the vampires is just beginning."

The vampires met at a local cemetery, which housed graves of some people born in the 1600's. They had simple markings, often a two foot slender stone, curved at the top. They were in a treeless area, about 200 feet from an old church, which looked more ominous than hopeful in the half moon darkness. Adelaida, Sofia and Svetlana were dressed as they truly were; trampy with a dominant flavor. They had stiletto heeled shoes, though also wore ankle chains, suggestive of submission. Their mini-skirts were complemented by see through blouses, revealing nipples at attention. Their straight, black, middle back hair was parted in the center and left to fly with the night breeze. Their makeup was extravagant, with a milk white powder base under black mascara applied in unusual places for design and extremely heavy around the eyes, suggesting one who has not slept, having been up on speed for three days. Their expressions were clear, blank and confident. They stood with parted legs which would have revealed pubic hair to a five year old or a dwarf.

Morbius' (sometimes called Morbid, and he doesn't care) and Opiathium's (sometimes called Opie, but he doesn't like it) most significant features were the bulges in their tight black pants; at least they and the three vampiras thought so. Their upper bodies were covered with dark blue, button down shirts, opened widely enough to get an occasional glance at gold nipple rings extending from half inch hosts. Their complexions appeared as if a very white pancake makeup was employed or that they had spent their lives under a rock. They had hot red lips, eye mascara and long dark hair, though much messier than A, S and S. They had the ability to cover up in long black cloaks, but preferred to display their best assets, often using a hand to scratch a supposed itch. If the itch ever subsided all they had to do was look at A, S and S.

Adelaida: "Where is tonight's play room?"

Morbius: "Room 204 of the women's dormitory. We've met a few chicks who live there and claim a high level of curiosity. We will find out if they are talkers or players. One might say writers or actors."

The five disappeared and five bats jumped out of the darkness, their extremely long, leathery wings flapping, which sounded like a million crunching locusts trapped in a UFO in the otherwise still night. Morbius led the others through an open window and they regained their "human" appearance.

The four young women in the room approximated twenty years of age and therefore should have had a head start on the baby vampires and vampiras. They were laying in their beds, some sound asleep, some dozing, occasionally glancing at the television, the only light in the room, playing some contemporary popular sit-com, comprised of sex jokes gleaned from their junior high school years, of a seemingly limitless variety, inclusive of straight, bi and gay foibles. The canned laughter became loudest when the characters were compelled to psychologically explain their "deviant" urges to deaf ears.

The four young women had recently returned from a beer party at a nearby frat house. They were actually smashed on vodka, preferring the quicker hit, and carried their own designer flasks. They also didn't like the constant bathroom trips necessitated by beer piss, partially because they had not yet met any guys into that. Tonight's "party" had been a particular disappointment as the guys seemed more intent on impressing each other with how macho and stupid they could be, rather than risking the adventure of a wet, furry cave. The women recalled having once been amused at this kind of behavior, but couldn't remember when.

The five flying demons congregated near the open window, causing some consternation among the drunken hotties. But, they were still sufficiently buzzed to allow their frustrated, horny curiosity to override.

Hottie #1, still lying in bed, casually smiling with her eyes, wearing a lacy, black bra and G-string styled underpants, from which ample, black pubic hair protruded: "That's great. Do you have a second act?"

Morbius: "Second, third, fourth, fifth, whatever."

Hottie #1: "I don't want to miss anything. Start at act one."

Morbius undid the button and zipper of his pants, introducing the stand-in, a sizable companion. He really didn't know his pal's exact dimensions as he hated math and stupid, prizeless competition. He held his friend in his right hand, wiggling him a bit. He cocked his head to the left, with an eager, questioning look in his eyes.

Hotties #2, 3 and 4 were also at attention, sitting up in their beds, instinctively giving a hand to their own friends. Hottie #1 lay on her back, arched her pelvic area and pulled down her G-string over bare feet. When she lifted her left leg to complete the maneuver Morbius got a bird's eye view of a pink-brown clit, barely visible through thick black hair at least two inches to the east, west and south and probably five up north. Opiathium, Adelaida, Sofia and Svetlana all had the same idea, but deferred to Morbius' head start, and just stood there watching.

Hottie #1: "You're getting a special taste today. I haven't showered since yesterday and I think I just got my period."

Morbius had exhausted his interest in making silly sophomoric comments and proceeded to Hottie #1's bed, removed his clothes, got on his knees, kissed her on each pretty foot and gently pulled her by the ankles to the edge of the bed. As the Amazon Forest got closer to his face, he could smell that undisturbed, fragrant wetness he so loved. His tongue started to explore the furry trees closest to the edge, as the goddamned, heavy curtain came crashing down. Lights over the audience went on to their maximum strength making eyes blink. A communal sound of an annoyed "Ooooh" was heard. Some people stood up and yelled at the closed curtain. "What the fuck?" "Come on asshole," "Don't stop it now, shithead," and "I want to see him eat it raw," among other undecipherable phrases were heard. These commentaries were only outdone when the daydreaming male contingent of the audience, belatedly expressed their feelings.

On stage, Prevost McMillan, head of the Yale University Theatre Department was in an absolute tizzy. He walked around the stage, presumably to perform his own inspection of the relevant evidence, lingering on the most vital area of engagement, looking for signs of blood. He wondered if he needed a sample. McMillan smiled and calmly said; "You promised no contact."

Morbius finally picked up his head, revealing a chin of blood and some other substance dripping down, and some remaining there in a lump. He said; "I'm sorry, really. This turned into improvisational theatre. You know a vampire has no resistance to blood."

McMillan said; "I sympathize. I've known a few convulsive moments myself. But, the cops are coming and what are we going to tell them?"

Morbius shrugged, put on his pants, and calmly said; "That there is nothing obscene about wanting to eat a big, bloody, hairy pussy, of course."

McMillan countered with; "I think they'll disagree."

Morbius smiled and said; "Ah, but you may have ignored the key words; 'wanting to.' As far as I know there are no laws governing mental activity like 'wanting to.' We'll all agree that we were not sure of seeing any actual contact." He smiled at everyone while glancing around the stage, and used his right middle finger to wipe the evidence from his chin, swallowing it like an experienced druggie. He stuck out his tongue as far as it would go, searching for tell-tale leftovers.

Someone raised the curtain and the screaming audience was now able to see more interesting theatre. As three puzzled police officers walked on stage, they were greeted by nine silent, bewildered looking actors and an impressed theatre director.

Cop #1, apparently the brains of the group, asked the bright question; "What's going on here?"

Morbius said; "I don't know. You tell me. I didn't even know that there were any cops in this play. Spiffy costume, though."

Intrepid Cop #1 was not to be easily deterred and said; "Don't give me a hard time. We got a call saying there is obscenity in progress."

Morbius said; "My goodness gracious. I don't think I've seen any, but if you tell me what it looks like perhaps I could help you find it."

A young female in the audience yelled out; "I paid ten dollars to be entertained and you cops are bombing out the show."

A young male in the audience followed with; "Get the fuck out of here."

The next few minutes followed a similar plot line and led to nothing tangible. The puzzled cops left when the "obscenity" screaming audience started to throw things.

Morbius took in the unscripted scene; five vampires in very sexual outfits; four females in various states of undress; a grinning theatre director; and an audience gone crazy. Audience men showed the censors their collective IQ's with both hands. Some audience women did an impromptu strip, yelling out things like; "Pardon me for forgetting my FDS" and other overt references to advertising slogans. "THE END" flashed on the screen and an audible groan was heard from Bee, Otis, Tory, Hi, Kale, Arthur, Posie and Amber. (Note order.) The monitor went dark and the entire Collinaire family looked to the film-makers and said; "Oh," wishing for more, then broke into a standing ovation led by Hi.

This was American theatre at its best. There was no commentary, not even from the brilliant and discerning king of characterization; Arthur.

### Chapter 24

Posie and Kale glumly wandered the second floor hallway seeing nothing they hadn't previously seen thousands of times. They showed monotony when they looked at each other with raised highbrows.

Kale poorly sang;

I read the news today, oh boy.

Four thousand holes in Blackburn, Lancashire.

And though the holes were rather small,

They had to count them all.

Now they know how many holes it takes to fill the Albert Hall.

I'd love to turn you on.

Posie said; "Sounds very familiar."

Kale responded; "As if you didn't know. Beatles, 'A Day in the Life' from 'Sgt. Pepper.'"

Posie forced a grin.

The "Le Corbusier" painting in front of them was emblematic of the problem. They had seen it for as long as they could remember and both wished the coastal hamlet's "fishermen," who were idly lying on deck in the sun with no fish in the boat, would either come to shore and eat, actually attempt fishing or fall into the muddy water and drown.

Kale said; "I didn't know that Le Corbusier painted."

Posie replied; "I guess that because he was such an architectural wonder, he decided to broaden his horizons."

Kale said; "Regarding this masterpiece, the popular stance would be to say that the fishermen had to catch something before they ate. This would be heard by nitwits as elitist, but frankly; "Didn't they have savings accounts? At least in fish deposited into something referred to as a freezer. Or was this the miraculous time when everybody got tapped out on the same day? I know, I know. This may be a poetically oriented painting. Probably is. Intentional or un."

Posie replied; "I can't understand why Le Corbusier couldn't have rendered his poetic vision closer to a reality readily at his disposal. The fishermen are obviously in a union. So he should have made that clear with union signs on the boat or at the very least, on their sleeves. They appear as if they are on a rest break, and they don't care if they get any fish as they feel that their employer, Reginald Vandermere, has too many already."

"Good, good name. Reggie? God damn, Reggie. Why isn't his name on the boats? And don't tell me any crap about union rules."

Posie said; "His name is on the ass side. It's out of the picture."

"It's out of the question."

"What was the question?"

Kale said; "I don't recall. Are you certain there was a question?"

"There's always a question. It keeps the incompetent thinkers busy."

"But, isn't there one huge, significant question?"

Posie said; "Oh, you mean like the answer to the universe and stuff like that? The answer is forty-two."

Evoking jeopardy, he asked; "What was Jackie Robinson's number?"

"I don't know."

In exasperation Kale said; "Forty-two! And by the way, on as significant a piece of information as the universal answer, I'd like to know your source."

"Mellow Yellow told me that he read it in some science fiction magazine."

Kale didn't like hearing that Posie spent time with Vulgar Mellow and he gave her a dirty look, at which time she decided to finish her sentence saying; "While he had his hand up my dress." She laughed and ran down the hallway with Kale in pursuit.

He caught her and he held her. Both faces were enjoying their best laugh of the day. Kale suddenly seemed serious and said; "That really wasn't true, was it?"

"The ultimate answer?"

"No, that he had his hand up your dress."

"I'm not telling."

"Did you like it?"

"What do you think?"

Kale said; "I think you did."

"Don't get yourself all excited. I'm really not in the mood."

"Posie, why don't we do something really daring?"

She muttered; "I just said ......."

He cut her off saying; "I know, I know. I meant why don't we go up into the attic. We've never been there and my instincts always told me that that is where the ghosts and demons reside."

"I don't want to meet any ghosts. It could be my mother, father or both and then I'd be stuck with them."

Kale didn't know if the comment was serious. Neither did Posie. He said; "Well, okay. If you're afraid ....... ." His voice drifted off.

"I'm not afraid. I'm just ...... . I don't have the right word. Maybe horrified. ........ No, that's not it."

"More likely petrified."

"Kale Hallinger; I will show you how petrified I am." She quickly moved to the creaking, single file, curving stairway. She climbed the wooden structure with Kale right behind. She turned the oval handle and said; "I think it's locked."

"Give it a little push."

She leaned her shoulder into it and the door opened. As she stepped in, Kale put his hand between her legs and yelled; "THE GHOST!"

Posie jumped back right into him. She saw him laughing and realized there was no ghost, or at least if there was a ghost Kale didn't spot it. Kales hand was now wedged at the elbow and Posie said; "If you ever do that again; ever; I am going to pick up the nearest sharp object and use it to cut your heart out. Do you understand? I'm not kidding."

Kale sheepishly nodded agreement, but secretly thought that he probably could get away with it at least one more time if his timing was impeccable.

They stepped into the open space, which was curiously covered by wide pine flooring. "Strange," he said as they slowly walked and produced creaks with each step. "This type of flooring was out of style for at least thirty-five years before they built this house."

"Another interesting tid-bit from the architectural maven. Who really cares, Kale?"

"I'm afraid only me and you."

Posie wasn't in momentary accord and shrugged.

With an excited voice, he said; "Look at that!" and pointed to a wall.

Posie humored him, jumped up and down, and said; "A wall! A fucking wall! Holy shit!"

"Look how it was made. You can see the huge old beams used in 'balloon framing.' That was only done in the earliest houses. The original virgin wood."

"Dirty old things don't look 'virgin' to me. Looks like they saw their share of filth."

"In 200 years one would hope so. The point is that, like the wide pine floors, the actual construction method utilized also suggests that this house was not a 'Second Empire Victorian,' but an early Federal Colonial."

"I always considered it a 'Third,' at best 'Empire,' as the style was popular in France long before it was here and curtailed much earlier. America came to the party much more than fashionably late and stayed after everyone else left."

Kale continued his enthusiasm, saying; "Don't you understand? We're in a refurbished American original. When built, it had to have been quite grand, as virtually none had three stories back then."

"Lulu can hardly contain herself, Clouk, Cheri." She lasciviously tongue kissed his lips and licked his cheek. She said; "And we don't only have three stories. We have four. The tower!" She looked at the winding iron stairs, which were bolted at the floor and ceiling, giving the impression that it was floating perilously in space. She ran to the determined erection and climbed, with Kale anxiously behind her.

He saw no need to use his hands as his face was only inches away from the desired mount. He breathed deeply, inhaling the wild of the past and present. Posie went to the west-facing window and Kale the east. They were higher than the treetops and together they saw the entirety of Long Valley.

### Chapter 25

I wake up in a start, stretched out on the couch with my face buried in the plushy, fringed pillow. I must have been exhausted. I see that the computer screen has gone black and I am worried that I may have lost all my work. I jump up and hit the space bar. I am relieved and sigh happily. I save the file three times and leave it on the screen.

I hear Posie's voice call out; "Kale, you've got to get moving." I look behind me and see her enter the room with her hands on her hips, the same petulant, predacious pose she patented perpetuities prior. I take in the view and offer a smile as I rise from the computer.

"Come, come now," she says. "The snow has ended and the plows are clearing the roads. The kids will be here for Christmas dinner soon. They're bringing the grand-kids. Put on something presentable."

I briefly rest my forehead on hers. I look into the eyes I have joyfully known all my life and kiss her cheek. I walk to our upstairs bedroom to change.

I return and approach her. She is sitting at the computer. She senses my presence and reaches back with her left hand. I take it in my right and gently squeeze as I stand alongside her.

"I've been reading this while you were changing," Posie demurs. I kneel next to the chair. "This wasn't at all what happened. On the very day we met ........................"

The End
