collab

Saturday, July 6, 2019

AAChoo Voo, Private Eye Episode Three










Aachoo Voo, Private Eye 


Episode Three



     I was sitting in my office filing my nails when there came a soft knock on the door. My office was on the first floor of my apartment building, situated between a cafe/sandwich shop/dirty ole man hang out called Clapsaddles and The Sit and Spin Automated Laundry Mat and Lost Sock Depository  and somewhat adjacent to the Alaskan Relief Charity foundation thing. (What kind of relief Alaska needed, I wasn't quite up to par on yet) (more blubber, perhaps?) but I dropped the occasional quarter in the donations bucket shaped like an igloo out in front of their door. There was rarely anyone ever in the office as far as I could tell.  (They were probably up in Alaska, delivering the quarters, no doubt.) But I believed in the sowing and reaping principle myself, and only hoped that should the occasion ever arise, that Alaska would be there for me.


Getting to my office was like running through a maze, everything was at all angles, the elevator rarely worked, washing machines flooded the hallways on a regular basis, little old ladies got mugged bi-weekly for their dimes as they sat waiting for the dryers to stop and hoping their flannel undies didn't catch on fire.The wastrels that frequented Clapsaddles roamed around at all hours trying to catch some girl wandering in the maze looking for a way out. (And let's face it, it was usually me.)  All that whistling and pinching and groping got annoying after a while and I'd let out a good scream and the little old ladies would run out of the S&S and beat the hell outta them with their dime filled purses.


 I kept complaining to Harold, the manager/cook/under the counter bartender/pt time therapist/owner of the dump but he just grinned and wiped his hands on an apron that had seen it's share of battlefields and did nothing. (Imagine my face when I was eventually told that he gave free buttered toast to anyone that could make me scream the loudest.) They said he actually kept a graph.


The one small window my office boasted faced a lovely alleyway with a breath taking view of trash cans and cats of every size and description. In fact, that's where I had found, excuse me, rescued, my own crazy feline pet, Wiener. I had noticed a commotion one day while sitting at my desk doodling and moseyed over and discovered that a veritable gang of hoodlum-like kitty cats was mauling the stuffing out of this one skinny orange character and screaming like a pack of seagulls after a meal with gills. He was lying there holding on for dear life to this long, red frankfurter, fur was flying, people were throwing pails of water down out of windows trying to shush the racket, trash cans were overturned, whistles were blowing, winos were halting in the middle of their hangovers to watch. I swear, if they could have, those cats would have been wearing black leather jackets and carrying switchblades. They were that mean.


 "Shoo!" I yelled at the mob, waving my arms and kicking at them with my high heels. "Stop it, you pack of rat eaters! Leave him alone!" And I swooped down and picked up the poor little guy and ran back to my office with him, wiener and all. And you know the rest of the story. (Don't you?) I named him Wiener. Duh!

But I digress, as usual..............
                                              


I was supposed to be working on my filing cabinet that day but I just couldn't get into alphabetizing and opening drawers and stuff. It seemed like too much work. So I had pulled out a nail file instead and began working on my long sharp nails. I was going for the scratch-your-eyes-out look. The knock came again. "Yes?" I said, perturbed at the interruption. "Come in." And in walked the strangest little man I had ever seen. He was barely three feet six if he was that, he had shaggy dark hair, big ears and enormous blue eyes. He was wearing short pants and a heavy coat and his huge feet were shod with the most bizarre furry sandals. At least, I thought they were sandals. I couldn't stop staring. I sat there in amazement, nail file suspended in the air, my mouth open. The little man was holding a brown bowler hat in his hands and his bottom lip trembled with emotion. He looked at the floor and waited for me to get over my astonishment. (He seemed to be familiar with the reaction.)

"Hello. What may I do for you, Mr....Mr......" and I stopped. "Arehte," he said softly, "Mr. Bilbo Arehte." "Mr. Arehte!" I smiled, "What an unusual name! What kind of name is that?" "It's Elvish, ma'am." he answered and he looked up and his big blue eyes were brimming over with tears. "Elvis?" I asked, puzzled. "No, ma'am, Elvish." he replied."Oh!" I said, "Of course. Elvish. R.r..right........" And I put down the nail file, clasped my hands together and sat up straighter in the swivel chair. "Please. Have a seat, Mr. Arehte." I offered, pointing to the tall, velvet chair to the left of my desk. "And then you can tell me how I may be of service." For some ten long minutes or so, I watched as the little man attempted to get up into the chair and seat himself. It was quite comical, at times alarming, and finally, he gave it one more shot and jumped up and turned himself around and gave me a look that said, "A small triumph! And it is mine!" and then looked down at his feet in humility. I was strangely touched and ducked my head and pretended that I hadn't seen a thing.




"What seems to be the problem and why do you have need of a private investigator?" I asked as seriously as I could. "Because the police won't help." he said matter-of-factly. "I've begged them and all they do is laugh at me and refer me to Children's Services!" Then he huffed. "Madam, I am muchly aged ! I have been robbed and I mean to have my possession returned to me!" I tried not to widen my eyes but they did anyway and I cleared my throat and leaned forward in what I hoped was a compassionate pose. "And what was the item that was stolen from you, Mr. Arehte?"


He looked at the floor again and then at the ceiling and then again at the floor before finally meeting my eyes. Then he kind of whispered and I had to listen very closely to hear what he said. "It's an original unpublished J.R.R. Tolkien manuscript." And when I didn't respond, "It was his first book, written when he was a mere child in West Midlands. Way before The Book of Lost Tales. Long before Lord of the Rings! It's titled "Saruman and the Coal Truck! And it's priceless!" And when I still didn't respond, he shouted in his high pitched little voice, "Don't you know who Tolkien is?!"


 And I had to be honest. I said, "Sorry, I've never heard of him. Is he a big band leader?" And he gave me a disgusted look and then fidgeted on the chair for a moment and then apologized and said in a controlled manner, "I'm sorry, ma'am, I  keep forgetting that humans cannot see into the future." And I said, "What?!" And he jumped down from the chair and put his pudgy hands on the desk and looked me straight in the cleavage. "Are you going to help me or not?" and I kind of looked around helplessly for a moment, totally taken aback and stuttered, "Sure. I'll do my best. I mean, it's only a book, right?" And he gave a small groan and said, "Right! And the Taj is only a Mahal!!"


So I ran next door to Clapsaddle's and bought him some milk and a cookie and tried to calm him down as best I could. I was sure that I was interacting with one sick puppy in desperate need of medical attention.  (Of the shrinky kind.) But I was fascinated. He ate the cookie very politely and drank the milk slowly and deliberately like he was trying to decide how much to tell me. When he had finished, he looked at me from where he had seated himself on a box of paint thinner that I had neglected to take home. The milk mustache was distracting but he wasn't aware of it and began giving me details concerning the case so quickly that I had trouble keeping up and jotting them down in my notebook.


 My shorthand was not very short but I was using my own personal scribble that no one but myself could decipher (and sometimes even I had to run upstairs and ask the parrot to interpret the squiggles.) He waited patiently for me to finish writing and then asked again in a much softer voice, "So, Miss Voo, can you help me or not?" "I think I can, " I answered, "You've given me a lot of information, which is always helpful. When did you say the theft occurred?" "Day before yesterday at my hotel." he said as he got to his feet.

 "I'm positive that it was Saruman's grandson, Sauron. He followed me from New Zealand when I booked passage on the ocean liner. I never saw him on board but I caught a glimpse of him as I checked into the hotel. My neighbors had seen a strange man in black, with long wild hair and reddish eyes lurking about my garden back home and I knew then that they had somehow discovered my whereabouts. The Sarumans, that is."

 "You see, they own all the coal mines in England. They are very wealthy, very despicably evil people. John Ronald had found them out and wrote about them in his book. Reuel, ( I called him Reuel,) and I were very close as children. His family lived near mine, all the boys and men in the village worked at the coal mines, you see, and eventually we began to notice that many of them would go to work and never come back. Reuel and I would sneak away and watch the coal trucks going to and fro, with all those strange letters on them, and wondered why our friends' fathers were vanishing like that. Well, Reuel found out why!"


"Why?" I asked breathlessly, hooked line and sinker now.  The little man paced back and forth, holding his hands behind him and told a story that was half fairy tale, half science fiction and half.....oh, wait, you can't have three halves, can you? Okay, let's make that a third fairy tale, a third science fiction and a third, uh...a third, um...... Oh, rats! Whatever it was, it made my heart pound and I almost half believed it. Apparently, the Saruman empire was huge and their lavish but gloomy estate was laid out in the isolated countryside,  yet not a great distance from the boys' humble lodgings in the village.


 My client's description of the gigantic black castle with it's high towers and loud and fearsome furnaces was quite terrifying, even if it were fairy-tale-ish. (Actually, I found him a better story teller than The Shadow Knows play actor on the radio drama.) I found myself wishing I had some popcorn. "One day I heard the sad news that my friend and his family was moving away." Mr. Arehte continued. "His father had passed away in South Africa and my old dad and granddad had kind of taken him under their wings, so to speak and we were all quite fond of him. He had such an imagination, he did! I was very distraught to hear the news.


 The night before the family left, Reuel came knocking on my window at midnight and when I opened it, he appeared very agitated and frightened. He produced a brown paper wrapped bundle out from under his coat, tied with string, (the bundle, that is,) and handed it to me and told me to hide it where no one could ever find it. He said that the Sarumans could never know about it and must never find out what he had discovered about their evil empire. Then he shook my hand and said to me, "Don't ever grow old, Bilbo." and fled into the night." 


"Uh- huh." I said, enthralled and motioned for him to go on with my nail file. Unfortunately in the doing,  I poked myself in the eyebrow with it and then caught it in my hair. I tried to extract it gracefully and he tried to pretend he didn't notice but we both failed miserably in our attempts. Embarrassed, I dropped a pencil on the floor and dropped down behind my desk and fought valiantly to get the nail file out of my hair without making too much noise. Victorious at last, I popped back up holding nail file and pencil, plopped back down in my chair and clasped my hands under my chin and murmured, "Do go on, Mr Arehte."


Moments later, I glanced at the window, caught my reflection and to my horror, saw that my usually neat and wavy hair now resembled a movie werewolf's in mid transformation!  I grabbed a comb out of the desk drawer and went to work frantically on my coiffure. Mr. Arehte had been busying himself inspecting the paint thinner box and my paperback detective novel collection, all the while hiding a tiny smile as best he could. Finally he turned and continued. "The package contained a manuscript. The one I now ask you to retrieve for me. It contains a complete expose on the goings on in West Midlands and thereabouts. A complete history of our village and the townspeople. It's written in novel form but believe me, miss, it's really more of a biography about my family and our friends."


"I had no idea that Reuel was writing it in his spare time or that we had inspired him so. It's a wonderful book and one that probably gave birth to all his other books and stories but one that, up until now...... was probably never meant to be published. At least, I've never thought that J.R.R. would want it published. I don't know. Maybe he's forgotten that it even exists. Maybe it was meant to be a gift to me and nothing more. At any rate, I think the time has come to act. That's why I came to this city seeking a publisher and a journalist who could help me expose this corrupt family and all their heinous deeds. There is a young lady, an old family friend, who works at one of your largest newspapers here and she's promised to help me. I was bringing the book to her to read. That's what....." And he stopped and let the tears fall down his face, washing away his little white milk mustache and looking so forlorn that I wanted to put my arms around him and hug him but I was afraid I'd break him.


"I will help you, Mr. Arehte." I assured him, wondering if that were true. "I promise!" "Thank you for your kindness." he whispered and wiped his face with a small white handkerchief. "After losing my parents last year in the mountains, I've been at a loss as to what path my life should take. Now, I've just recently learned that my cousins and nephews back in the village have gone to work for the Saruman Mining Company and several of them have gone missing....I must do something! I know what is happening to them and I have to stop it! I must!" "There, there." I comforted him in my most soothing voice as he stopped and stood before my desk in the late afternoon light.


 "Tell me, what happened to your parents? Was it a mountain climbing accident?" He was silent for a long time and then turned thoughtfully to look out of the small window while standing on his tippy toes. "No. It was dragons." he said barely above a whisper. I shook my head twice. I could have sworn he'd said....dragons but that was ridiculous. "Did you say....?" I gulped but he combed at his mustache and gave me a sweet and curious smile. Then he handed me a sheaf of notes and papers out of his pockets and said, "This should help you find the fiendish Sauron and get my manuscript back. And this is for your trouble."


 And he withdrew a beautiful shiny object out of a small velvet bag and laid it on my desk. It was exquisite. A long silver chain with a pendant shaped like a vine and flower. In the center of the flower sparkled a jewel more brilliant than a diamond. I had never seen anything so beautiful. I took the object in my hand and electricity ran through me and light and joy and visions of riding through the forest on horseback with my long hair blowing in the breeze. The moon was full and shining and I was laughing at a man who rode a silver horse running in front of me. There was a stream and a bird and a........


"What did you say?" I asked pulling myself out of the fantasy. I suddenly felt very lightheaded. More so than usual. The little man was standing in the open doorway about to depart, turning to look at me, smiling that curious smile. "I said, thank you, Miss Voo, for accepting this quest. I knew I had chosen wisely and I know you'll find my precious treasure and return it to me. You know where to reach me." And he put the little bowler hat on his head and said softly just before the door closed, "Namaarie..... Amvanya heri nartyĆ«." And he was gone.



TO BE CONTINUED in episode four...........

                  
           Mr Arehte   










         

Rodger "Arehte" Ashton-Smith
                                from Myspace and New Zealand
                         (Tolkien fanatic like myself)




 (my apologies to my beloved J.R.R.Tolkien................................smile)

************************************************************

btw: Arehte is pronounced Ar-uh-tay which means.......uh......um.....something.
 psst!!!! Rodger??? What does it mean???
*********************************************** Points for those who find the reference and/or references to another of my online stories in this episode!!!! 



Special thanks for the use of specific names:

CLAPSADDLE, Harold, Tolkien, Bilbo
and

Weiner

(you know who you are!!)

Tenna' ento lye omenta

(until next we meet in Elvish)


The Quest by David Arkenstone

AAchoo Voo, Private Eye Episode Two

























Aachoo Voo, Private Eye
Episode Two
                                                                                             


                                                                         



     Lance was cool. He didn't bat an eye. (Well, actually, he did but he always did that for effect.) "I'll be back," he said softly, "you know, you really are hard on a guy. This is the third pair of pants I've lost at your place." And I blushed, remembering the jelly incident and the slamming the door on his pants leg incident and the....well, that was enough remembering for now. Like I said, me and laundry just didn't get along. Maybe it was all that innate rebellion stemming from childhood and the fact that gathering up dirty clothes to wash had been a hated chore.


Most of the time I just gathered them up and threw them in the furnace but there came that day when my dad was late for work and couldn't find a thing to wear and  the jig was up. I was grounded for a month and my mom made me learn to sew and make all my own clothes for the rest of the school year. It was not a pretty story. Most of the time, I went around looking like the scarecrow from the Wizard of Oz.



Which was an embarrassment, especially to my mother, because she was born into high society and despised the lower classes, which included her in-laws. We were in a class by ourselves, of course, but still, that particular punishment backfired on her and she tried to keep me out of the public eye as much as possible. My Dad thought it was a terrible thing for her to do because he adored me, and kept slipping me money to "Go buy yourself something pretty." But I just saved up to buy myself something I would really need in the future. It was my junior year and I sneaked out to the Ayers' Used but Lovely Resale shop and bought myself a prom dress that didn't have discernible stitches and upside down zippers and told my mother that I had made it with my own little fingers.  But I digress........(It was an interesting year.)




The parrot snickered at me as the side door closed and I snickered back and turned on the radio to drown him out. I noticed the water in the fish tank was mysteriously low and the fish were kinda gasping for air and had drawn little frownie faces in the algae. I refilled the thing and threw in some fish food and erased their artwork and went to get the mail. I was looking for a check from Big david, the mobster who spelled his name with a little d. I had done some work for his sister and he'd promised to mail me some moo-la. I didn't much like his kind but his sister Prudence was nice enough. The case concerned her cheating husband, Ricky and the fact that he had gone on vacation with her worst best friend after cleaning out the bank account. I found the two louses on the beach in Mexico.



I had actually found them on my second day there but didn't report back to Prudence until eleven days had passed. I needed a vacation and the lovebirds needed to get all that pent up passion out of their systems before Big david shot 'em. I thought that was the least I could do. Neither one of them had two brain cells to rub together. He was short and she was tall. He was an accountant and she was no account. They were perfect for one another.

The check was not in the mail.


I picked up the newspaper and noticed a handsome face on the front page. It looked vaguely familiar. Very familiar, actually. Said the face had been found murdered the night before by a night watchman on his rounds at Marshall's Hardware and Hat Emporium. That was where I bought all my furniture refinishing products and the occasional hat. No wonder the face looked familiar. It belonged to Si, the shellacking specialist. A smooth talker, if there ever was one. A fairly nice guy but there was something about his shifty eyes that gave me the shivers.



 He flirted with you from the time you walked in the door until you bought twenty five cans of Shellac and then insisted upon delivering your purchase to your place of residence. All the time trying to impress you with his extensive knowledge of wood and how to care for it. He looked like a would-be movie star but there was just something.......you couldn't put your finger on it, no matter how hard he tried to get you to put your finger on it.....you just couldn't. Like I said, he had shifty eyes. They darted. They looked you up and down. Undressed you and dressed you again in satin.



I shuddered, remembering the last time I'd seen him. That would have been last Saturday. I needed to strip my neighbor's old chest that he had been bugging me about and I was all out of sandpaper and stripper and had run in to the store that afternoon hoping someone other than Si would be behind the counter. No such luck. "Well, hello there, you good looking, thirst quenching, pretty polished piece of fine furniture!" he said exuberantly as I stepped inside. "How may I be of service?" And I blanched. At least I think I did. I'm not really sure what blanch means but it sounds appropriate. "Just need a few items, thank you." I said as unfriendly-like as I could manage but it didn't put him off. He was on me like ugly on a baboon's bottom. Came out from behind that counter, took my arm, and led me back to where we usually ended up, the Tung Oil aisle.






"Listen, Miss Voo, I need help and you're the only one that can help me!" he whispered urgently, as he looked around to see if anyone was near. I didn't think much about it at the time because he always said that to me but thinking back now, it was pretty obvious that he'd actually meant it.  I just hadn't been in the mood to help him. Now he was dead. The paper said he had been found in a pool of paint thinner. He wasn't wearing any socks. He had been clutching a folder full of receipts and a corkscrew. I felt bad. Not bad bad but pretty bad. I wondered who had killed him and why.



 I  also wondered if I'd been the only girl he'd sold Shellac to and flirted with so relentlessly. I wondered if he'd just flirted with the wrong girl this time. On the other hand, he'd probably been married, guys like him always are, no matter what they say or how hard they try to hide their missing wedding band tan lines with furniture polish. You could always tell. It had been the wife, I was sure of it. Too bad. He was a doll dizzy creep but he sure knew his wood grains.



I shook my head and put the paper down and went to change out of the pink bathrobe. I had twelve of them hanging in the closet. Pretty soon, I'd need to replenish my supply. I hoped they still carried my size and style at the bathrobe shop. I had bought up their entire stock last time I was there. I told them I was buying them for gifts. (It was none of their business.)

I threw the soiled pink robe into the trash and stood there naked, looking for something jazzy to put on. I had a movie date with Andy at four. He was sweet. I liked him and he liked me. We had been out twice and neither time had I set him on fire or tripped him with my long legs or turned his clothes into rags. I was the epitome of grace with him and it felt wonderful. Yes, I was looking forward to this afternoon's matinee and the smell of popcorn and aftershave.






I forgot the day's headline about Si, the Shellac salesman and his untimely demise, and giggled happily as I put on my hose. Then the phone rang. And I heard the bird in the kitchen say, "Pick up the phone. What am I, your slave?" Stupid bird. "Answer it yourself!" I shot back and fell in a tangle of hose and garter belt and a box of bath powder and an open bottle of turpentine that came down from the counter at the same time that I did. Well, at least I didn't have on socks when I got into the shower this time.



                                                                            

                                                                                 






TO BE CONTINUED......in episode three




STARRING in our cast of characters.................

                                friends from Myspace and other sites
                                      and personal friends and family members

david, Si, Lance Strait, Voo, Andy, the fish and the un named parrot



david   "qzert" from myspace                                 

                                                                   and

        Richard Bellamy as 
Big david the mobster



                                                                                            
 Si (the poet no one could impress)
from Myspace...................    
                        
                      And Craig Stevens as Si the Shellac salesman










Andy of myspace land 

The Last Digital Bastion    
 Ray Milland as young Andy




special note of thanks to the following for use of their names:

********Ayers and Marshall*********

(Rusty and Linda)

and Prudence

AAchoo Voo, Private Eye Episode One


AACHOO VOO, PRIVATE EYE EPISODE ONE

Think Dead Men Don't Wear  Plaid and the 1940s and you'll get it.................enjoy!!




              


Aachoo Voo, Private Eye
Episode 1


      It was starting out to be one of those days. You know the kind. The kind where you get in the shower with your socks on and don’t even realize it until you notice the soaking wet footprints all over the newly cleaned living room carpet. The cat gave me one of those “you-know-I-hate-water looks and dove under the bed to play with the dust bunnies. The dog, however, eyed me adoringly and slopped up the Evening in Paris scented tracks with gusto and a couple of bubbles oozed out between his teeth but he seemed happy enough.

I shrugged and took off my wet socks and threw them in the trash. I wasn’t big on doing laundry. I’d rather buy new stuff than tote baskets down to the Sit and Spin and watch little old ladies get mugged as their machines cycled down. I wasn’t thrifty but I was practical. That’s what everybody said about me. Except my Mom.

I was stirring up some pancake batter and frying some swine when I heard a knock on the door. Not the front door. The side door where only men that were up to no good knocked. We’ve all got one of those, don’t we?(Doors, I mean.) Come in! I yelled as I poured the sweet batter into the hot, sizzling skillet and removed the bacon almost at the same time from the other pan. I had skills. Everybody said so.

The door swung open and there stood Lance, twirling a white coffee cup on his pinkie finger and looking like he’d just had a rough night with Marilyn Monroe. He lived upstairs but he was hardly ever there. I didn’t know what he did for a living but I was a witness that the boy knew how to live. I had to admit it, he was a pretty thing, tall and dark, with a swagger in his walk and a come-hither look in his eyes that made me weak in the bread basket. Oh, he was a little rough, maybe, a little splintered, but I wanted to throw him down on top of the cabinet and give him a good shellacking. (Oh, did I mention I’m into furniture refinishing as a hobby?)

                                         

    

I…I..was running low and I thought I’d stop by for a fill up.” he smiled that crooked little smile of his and I dropped a pancake somewhere in the vicinity of my big toe. It was hot, it burned like hell, but I didn’t mind.Sure, I murmured, help yourself.” and pointed towards the percolator. As he poured the steaming black, hot coffee into his cup, I turned, hiding my face as I silently screamed in pain and took the pancake off my bare foot and threw it to the dog. He gulped it gratefully and then gave me a look between “Oh, thank you! and What the hell!?” The phone rang. It was in the living room. Lance said, You gonna get that, Sugar?” And I stood there, undecided and let it ring twelve more times. It was probably my mother. She always called at that time of morning. And every hour after that. She had no life. And consequently, neither did I.

Lance walked into the living room, carrying his cup and looked intensely at the phone like he could tell who had been calling just by looking at it. “One of your big cases, no doubt.” he shrugged and sat down on my tweed sofa. I stood in the doorway of the kitchen and said, No doubt. Have a seat and I’ll join you in a minute.” I ran to the kitchen sink and splashed cold water on my flushed face, combed back my tousled hair and slathered bacon grease all over my neck. (I knew what guys liked.)

I straightened my pink bathrobe and put on some Pink Frappe lipstick that I kept a tube of in the corner drawer. “Aachoo?” Lance called out and the parrot that my mom had gifted me with said, “Bless you!” even though he knew it irritated me to no end. He was big and gray and a slob. His cage was always a mess and he ate me out of house and home. Be quiet.” I shushed him as I entered the living room and turned my back to the bird. He squawked and threw a peanut at me but i ignored him and smiled hesitantly at my guest.



“What can I do for you, Lance?” I wondered out loud, not realizing that I was merely wondering out loud and hadn’t really said anything. “I guess you’re wondering why I stopped by so early…..” he said somberly, even though it was already 10:30 but then people like us didn’t believe in early birds and getting worms and that kind of thing. We were Afternooners. Night owls. Midnight riders. Children of the night. Gumshoes. Well, I was a gumshoe. I had no idea how he made his living. There were rumors. There was talk.

 The big blowzy bleached blonde down the hall who didn’t like anybody liked him and was always pulling me aside and asking if I’d seen him.“Have you seen Lancy?” she’d ask in her coy and disturbing manner. “I haven’t seen him around in days and I have something I need to give him.” And she’d bat those four inch eyelashes and I’d get a little ill in my tummy. I always told her that I thought he had run off to get married. (I had a mean streak no mother could ever spank outta me.)



“Yes, I was wondering about that. ” I said softly and brushed back my wavy dark hair as his eyes met mine over the white coffee cup. “Would you like some more?” I offered, meaning coffee, but the look he gave me said he was there for a whole lot more of a whole lot more. “I sure would, Sugar!” he grinned and handed me the cup. “I’ll take all you got this morning! I’ve had a very long and adventurous night and I’m running on fumes.” For some reason, that kinda upset me and I hoped he wouldn’t go into detail but he seemed in a talkative mood.

He followed me into the small yellow kitchen and as I refilled his cup, he stood behind me so closely I could feel his day old stubble on the back of my head. Man, you smell good enough to eat!” he exclaimed and breathed deeply of my essence. I was glad I had put on the bacon perfume. It was an old trick and it worked every time. I cleared my throat and turned to him quickly, spilling the hot black coffee all down the front of my bathrobe but I pretended not to notice. He took the empty cup from my hand, set it down and began to dab at the spill with a dish rag, never taking his brown eyes off mine. “You don’t burn easy, do you?” he breathed noisily and I breathed back just as noisily, “No, I reckon not. I’m a girl that keeps her cool.” 

“Oh, Aachoo!” he murmured seductively, raking his hand through my hair and from the corner of the kitchen, the bird merrily called out, “Bless you!” “Shut up!” we both shouted at the same time and went back to whatever we were doing. I pulled away then and he kind of groaned a little cause my bathrobe button had caught on his zipper and ripped it out of his pants. It was one of those things that frequently happened to me. I didn’t know why.

                                       It just did.


©By Voo
Nov 9, 08
                               



                                              
Lance (Tony Curtis)

my friend Professor Lance Strait as Lance>>
            


me (Voo) as Aachoo Voo.........(of course)
 
and Cleo Moore as The Blonde down the hall............

Continued in Episode Two
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                                                                              Woof!      




 
Old Radio Show 
Sam Shovel

Thursday, July 4, 2019

IN YOUR POCKET



In Your Pocket



On the thirty-first of Always
On the wrong side of the track
I gave my heart to eyes of darkness
But they didn't give it back.

In the deepest part of midnight
'Twixt the rising and the death
I inhaled the hope of sweetness
And exhaled a bitter breath.

Tantalized, I fell through barbed wire
There erected 'round your soul
Handed you my greatest treasures
Watched them change into fool's gold.

Am I lost now that you've found me?
Am I falling without wings?
You gave me stages that are useless
Now I have no voice to sing.

What an alchemist you are!
What a devil straight from hell!
My heart is dust now in your pocket
As you smile and wish me well.

On the thirty-first of Always
Could that I, that day erase
Forget the eyes that looked out, taunting
From that smiling angel's face.

Fools are children without foresight
Looking for the things they lack
Giving hearts to eyes of darkness
That never, ever give them back.


©by Voo
July 25, 09
 5:19 p.m.

WHAT IS IT?

WHAT IS IT?



















What is It?



If love is not love

Then what is it?
How can it exist
If it's not real?

If love is not there

How can you feel it?
And what is a love
That you can't feel?

What is wanting

If you don't want it?
And needing something
That you don't need?

Why is the thing you don't need

So all powerful?
And how does it grow
If you don't plant the seed?

How does the heart decide who it loves?

Does the mind then, not play a part?
All of the thoughts in the brain can't conceive
Of the emotions that live in the heart.

The heart is an entity all of it's own

No one can control it by will
Your mind can demand and command it
But the heart hears and goes it's way, still.

I do not want to love you

I had made no plans, you see
I didn't count on you entwining yourself
Till you became a part of me.

I didn't want to want you 

I didn't need the pain
I had hurt so much from love's cruel touch
And I didn't want to hurt again.

I really tried to run away

When that feeling did approach
I resisted everything I saw in you
That my lonely heart needed the most.

But the heart became my master

And my mind just sighed and left
For it knew that soon my heart would break
And that I'd find myself, bereft.

And so I am and so it did

And love's wounds have cut me deep
As my heart reached out to hold onto
Something it could never keep.

You tell me love cannot be real 

In this place and space and time
Because your own heart does not feel
The love I feel with mine.

And though that might be true for you

That doesn't make it so
Not thinking, I reached my hands to love
And with the same hands, must let it go.

If this love is not love

Then what is it?
How can it exist
If it's not real?

If my love for you

Is not something that's true
Then tell me, what is this heartbreak
I feel?

You can't tell me my mind has imagined

When my mind warned me not to partake
My mind only has one thing in common
With the heart and that's both of them break.

But only love can break a heart

That thing that God gave man
And only He knows the secret to how
Love can heal that heart again.










©by Voo
July 4, 20019
12:27 a.m.
Independence Day



Only Love



Only Love


Only Love