1366 lines
66 KiB
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1366 lines
66 KiB
Plaintext
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FICTION-ONLINE
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An Internet Literary Magazine
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Volume 5, Number 6
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November-December, 1998
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EDITOR'S NOTE:
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FICTION-ONLINE is a literary magazine publishing
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electronically through e-mail and the Internet on a bimonthly basis.
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The contents include short stories, play scripts or excerpts, excerpts of
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novels or serialized novels, and poems. Some contributors to the
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magazine are members of the Northwest Fiction Group of
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Washington, DC, a group affiliated with Washington Independent
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Writers. However, the magazine is an independent entity and solicits
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and publishes material from the public.
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To subscribe or unsubscribe or for more information, please e-
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mail a brief request to
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ngwazi@clark.net
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To submit manuscripts for consideration, please e-mail to the
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same address, with the ms in ASCII format, if possible included as part
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of the message itself, rather than as an attachment.
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Back issues of the magazine may be obtained by e-mail from
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the editor or by downloading from the website
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http://www.etext.org/Zines/ASCII/Fiction_Online
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The FICTION-ONLINE home page, including the latest issue,
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courtesy of the Writer's Center, Bethesda, Maryland, may be accessed
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at the following URL:
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http://www.writer.org/folmag/topfollm.htm
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COPYRIGHT NOTICE: The copyright for each piece of
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material published is retained by its author. Each subscriber is licensed
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to possess one electronic copy and to make one hard copy for personal
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reading use only. All other rights, including rights to copy or publish
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in whole or in part in any form or medium, to give readings or to stage
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performances or filmings or video recording, or for any other use not
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explicitly licensed, are reserved.
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William Ramsay, Editor
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=================================================
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CONTENTS
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Editor's Note
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Contributors
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"Argive Odes"
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E. James Scott
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"Getting Started," a short story
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Alan Vanneman
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"Monster Carrot," an excerpt (chapter 11) from
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the novel "Ay, Chucho!"
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William Ramsay
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"Gentleman," part 2 of the play, "Julie"
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Otho Eskin
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=================================================
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CONTRIBUTORS
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OTHO ESKIN, former diplomat and consultant on international affairs,
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has published short stories and has had numerous plays read and
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produced in Washington, notably "Act of God." His play "Duet" has
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been produced at the Elizabethan Theater at the Folder Library in
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Washington.. His play, "Season in Hell," recently had sixteen
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performances at the SCENA Theatre in Washington.
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WILLIAM RAMSAY is a physicist and consultant on Third World
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energy problems. He is also a writer and the coordinator of the
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Northwest Fiction Group. His play, "Topsy-Turvy," recently received a
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reading at the N Street Playhouse in Washington.
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E. JAMES SCOTT is an airline pilot and plays the viola da gamba and
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is learning the shawm. He lives in La Jolla, California and Puerto
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Vallarta, Mexico, where he practices his hobby of photographing and
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charting the migrations of cetaceans. He is currently studying Greek
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tragedy.
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ALAN VANNEMAN is a writer living in Washington. He has
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published short stories in numerous journals, most recently "3 AM
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Zurich Time" in issue No. 14 of "Gulf Stream Magazine.". He is a
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professional editor, currently working in educational research.
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==================================================
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ARGIVE ODES
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by E. James Scott
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Agamemnon
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Agamemnon, Agamemnon,
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Valiant destroyer of Ilium.
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Death-dealing warrior,
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Paramount leader of Greece.
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The gods have brought you safely home.
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Agamemnon, Agamemnon,
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Your captive princess screams in fear.
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Ancient wrongs lie in wait.
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Crimson paths lead to your hearth.
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The air is filled with treachery.
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Fateful Days
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The air of Argos smells of blood,
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Words are sweet but voices hard.
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The sacred Python flicks his tongue,
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The night is thick with fear.
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O fateful days!
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==================================================
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GETTING STARTED
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by Alan Vanneman
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After graduation I lived with my folks. My dad's a contractor, and he
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got me this job with a friend of his. The guy was kind of a jerk, but
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it was OK. We were working on this housing development, and he was
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teaching me about electricity. I was hanging out with Louis, mostly.
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He lived in this little house that was practically out in the mountains,
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with his mother. There was this waterfall near his house where you
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could crawl back under the rock and behind the water and just watch it
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fall. We used to go there and smoke grass. It was pretty cool.
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I did that for about six months. Louis had this girlfriend whose family
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gave her five thousand dollars when she graduated from high school.
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Louis said he was going to invest it for her, I guess in a new car for
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him, although he hadn't gotten it yet. He had this old beat-up Honda
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Civic. Anyway, this girl's brothers came around to Louis' house with an
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ax, and they chopped up all four tires on his Honda, so he couldn't
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leave. My dad had like five or six mounted tires in our garage. I don't
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know where he got them. Anyway, I put four of them in the back of
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dad's truck and went over to Louis'. We changed all four tires and
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Louis followed me home in his Honda. I left dad's pickup in the
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driveway and then Louis drove me into Culpeper. After that I bought
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his car for $500 in cash. When I gave him the money Louis said "OK,
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if anybody asks you, you don't know where I went." Well, I didn't, but
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I could guess that he took the bus into Washington. Then about a week
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later the police came looking for me. They said Louis was going to be
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indicted for felonious conversion. They said they were going to charge
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me with being an accessory, but they didn't. I didn't know that he was
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going to be indicted when I bought his car, and I didn't know where
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he'd gone. My dad was pretty mad, about the tires, I guess. He didn't
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like Louis very much. Also, the cops were giving me a hard time. This
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old guy I worked with asked me if I wanted a job in Washington and I
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said sure, because it was like get out of town.
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I knew some guys in Alexandria who had a house, and they let me sleep
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on their sofa for $25 a month. This job was on Capitol Hill, right near
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the Capitol, polishing railings. That was all it was. They have all
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these brass railings around the buildings, and this guy and I would
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polish them. I got $7 an hour, which was OK, but it wasn't the greatest
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work. I'd watch all these girls go by, going to some air-conditioned
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office, while I was sweating my butt off. At nine o'clock in the
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morning it would be ninety degrees. Then the guy fired me. We didn't
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get along. Also I didn't always show up on time. After that I didn't
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work for awhile. It was pretty unstable where I was staying. We were up
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a lot at night so I slept most of the day.
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I was cool with it until my cash ran out. The guys I was living with
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started to give me a hard time, like this one guy didn't want me to
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watch TV because I didn't help pay for the electricity. Also they had
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these porno tapes that I couldn't look at
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because they weren't mine. This guy was a real pain. Then this other
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guy told me about this job I could get with the law firm he worked for.
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He worked in the copying department, which was all these printers and
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stuff. It paid like $8.50 an hour because it was from noon to eight,
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and there was a lot of overtime. Also it was air-conditioned, even
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though it was like in the basement of this big building. So now I work
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at Culbertson and Manning. Jerome is the shift manager. He practically
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lives there, like he comes in around ten and leaves at midnight. He's an
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older guy, about 30, a recovering alcoholic. He will always tell you
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that-"I'm a recovering alcoholic." It's a big thing with him. Jerome
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had to keep busy. He works like 80 hours a week, a lot of it overtime
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but some he doesn't even get paid for. "It's better than sitting at home,
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looking at Regis and Cathie Lee," he says. Well, I guess.
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I hang out with Jerome a lot now. A lot of times when we get off shift
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we drive around in this Ford Explorer he has, which is pretty cool.
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He's got a 454 engine and these monster tires. Usually there are four
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or five of us, like the white guys. The black guys all think Jerome is
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a jerk, because he doesn't do drugs. They think we're all crackers.
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Anyway, it's Jerome's shift, and it's mostly white guys. We can't go to
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bars because of the alcohol. Usually we buy pizza and ride around.
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Jerome pays for everything because he likes having us with him. I don't
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think we're really screwing him. Jerome is kind of a maniac when he
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drives. He saw this cop video about this 15-year-old girl who was
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arrested for doing 110, so he always wants to do that. We go out on US 1
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sometimes and he says he gets it up to 120. Well, I don't know. The
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car shimmies so much it's hard to tell. When the windows start rolling
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down by themselves, he slows down a little. You have to wear a seat
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belt because of the way he bounces you around. Once he went around
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a curve and the Ranger really swayed, and this guy in the back says
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"this motherfucker's top heavy," and Jerome says, "this truck ain't top
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heavy, there ain't nothing that will tip this motherfucker over," and
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he goes around this next curve really tight and we flip right over,
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wham! down this embankment and wham! right back on the tires again. So
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all this shit from the floor is all over us and I say "are we having fun
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yet?" That was pretty cool. After I went to work at C&M, I started
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seeing this girl, Rosalie. She was going to be an actress. Well, that
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was what she said. She hadn't acted in much. She used to be in these
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"Night of Mystery" parties, where these actors would go to a party and
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act out a mystery for the people at the party. She would tell me about
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all these rich married guys hitting on her. She wasn't really that
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pretty. If you saw her, you wouldn't think she was an actress. She
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lived in this house on Capitol Hill with these two gay guys, who were
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actors, Ralph and Bruno. Bruno was this little German guy.
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I was there once when he was all upset because this play he was in was
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reviewed in the paper and the reviewer said he looked like a rodent. I
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guess that would be limiting.
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Rosalie was the first girl I had sex with. Later I found out it wasn't
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as good as it should have been. I didn't like her that much, really.
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She was kind of fat. I guess she liked me more than I liked her. She
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kept wanting me to move in with her. She slept on this futon in the
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basement. I couldn't see that. I don't think I was very good in bed, or
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on the futon. I'd go off pretty quickly. She'd say "that was great,"
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but I don't think it was. After we did it a few times I didn't want to
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do it any more. Rosalie would talk about stuff, like should she get a
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ring for her navel. Well, do it. Who cares? But she never did. Finally,
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we had a fight about it and we broke up.
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Jerome was glad when we broke up. "Girls will fuck you up" he says. I
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don't think Jerome's gay, but he's like against women. "Women are
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fucking trouble." "A man without a plan is not a man." He likes to say
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that. "A man without a plan is not a man." "What's your plan, man?" I
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tell him "to keep this joint lit." He doesn't like that. He doesn't
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like dope. "Zero tolerance, motherfucker." He's always telling us he'll
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fire us if he catches us smoking pot. He thinks I smoke it all the time,
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but how can I, when I'm at work 10 hours a day and out driving with him
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until 4 in the morning? I tell him I'm going to buy a Jeep Wrangler,
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that's my plan. They are cool. I like those rollbars they have, and
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those big tires.
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Jerome thinks it's important for a young man to buy an expensive car.
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That's what he calls me, young man. "A young man like you needs a
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real car, not that piece of shit you're driving." He tells me I need to
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work for a year at C&M and make a 50 percent down payment and the
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bank will give me a loan. He says he'll help me. He wants me to get
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one with monster tires like his, which would be a couple of thousand
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extra. But I don't want one of those really redneck trucks that cost
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like $40,000. Jerome says he can get me as much overtime as I want.
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Well,thanks, but I don't want that much. I have over $3,000 in the bank
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already. I do work Sunday overtime when we have it, because it's
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double time. But I need to do more than work at C&M and party with
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Jerome. After I broke up with Rosalie I started going to bars. First I
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have to get served, and then I try picking up a girl. Getting served is
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pretty cool. Usually I can get a beer but that's it. I still look
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pretty young. I only need to shave like once a week. When we were in bed
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together Rosalie would call me babyface. Thanks a lot. What I like to
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drink is tequila, except I really don't. If I have three I'm under the
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table. I'm not much of a drinker. A lot of times I'll get served, and
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if there are no girls there I'll leave. Getting served is what counts.
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There are a lot of clubs around C&M that I can go to after work, like
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on a Friday or Saturday, if I'm working. Jerome gets pissed off if I go.
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Sometimes he'll take us all out to dinner at a nice restaurant so we
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won't leave him alone. But usually if it's Friday or Saturday I'll take
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off. Usually I take the Metro because my car really is a sort of a piece
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of shit. The tires aren't all the same size, and they're really bald, so
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I can't get it through inspection. Also the transmission is shot. I
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don't want to put a lot of money into it because I figure I'll get my
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Wrangler in less than a year. I don't make it with girls much. I'm
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pretty shy. Also being a copy guy isn't so cool. Once I was talking
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with this girl and she seemed to like me a lot.
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Then it turned out she thought I was a copier repair
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guy, like I went around to offices and fixed them. When she found out
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I just made copies she kind of deflated. I try to go to bars like around
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nine or ten. After girls have had a few drinks they don't ask you as
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much about what you do. Once I was in this bar which is up the street
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from C&M on Connecticut called Timberlakes and I met this girl who
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was pretty gorgeous. She was older than me. They usually are. If I'm
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around Georgetown or GW it's like "you don't go to college?" I don't
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need that. I started talking to this girl and I was telling her about
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going to the Bayou, which is this club near the river, to hear this
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band Smashmouth, because this guy I know from C&M is in the band. She
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started telling me that she was a songwriter, and I was like, this is
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really cool, maybe she has a song that Smashmouth could do, so I'm
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asking her about who she likes and stuff like that. Then she told me
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that she tore up all the songs she wrote and I'm like why do that?
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Finally I left, and I thought, she doesn't really write songs. She made
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that up to impress me. To impress me! I was already impressed. She
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was gorgeous. Everything about her was great, her hair, her clothes,
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her make-up. If you saw her on the street you'd think, well, if I had a
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girl like that, everything would be cool. Since I broke up with Rosalie,
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I have slept with a few girls, like one-night stands. Girls are funny.
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They think my accent is cute. I have sort of a southern accent. This one
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girl told me I have a body like a Greek God. I don't. I play in this
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zombie soccer league, which is like for guys who work second shift. Our
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games are like at nine or ten. I like to play, but I'm no Greek God. We
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don't always play because guys don't show up a lot. Jerome works out
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for an hour each morning before he comes to work. He's always talking
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about upper-body strength because his hero is Arnold Schwarzenegger.
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He's seen "Terminator II" about a hundred times. Also he has this tape
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with "Bad to the Bone" on it. That's his favorite song. He doesn't know
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anything about music. Of course he hates hip-hop. He thinks the Spice
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Girls are hip-hop. I bought one of their tapes which I put on when he's
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not looking, because he hates them so much. They're not really a group.
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I like going to girls' apartments. I feel like I'm a spy. They always
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have nice places. They have these magazines like Cosmopolitan and Elle
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about how to be gorgeous and drive men insane with desire. The best
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time I've had with a girl she wasn't really a girl, I mean she was a
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woman. She was a lot older than me, like 30. I met her in this bar at
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Union Station. I was just having a beer. Her name was Linda. She was
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a school teacher from Colorado. I guess she thought I was funny,
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because she laughed at everything I said. We had a beer and she said
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"Why don't you show me Washington?" She was laughing when she
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said it. Anyway, we went on the Metro, which she hadn't done before.
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We went over the Potomac, which she thought was neat, and then we
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went to the airport. They have this new building which I've been to a
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couple of times that has some pretty nice bars, where you can watch
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the river and the planes taking off. Also I usually get served there. We
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were talking the whole time. She knew a lot about music. When she
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was young she had gone to all these concerts, like the Grateful Dead
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like 15 years ago and the first three Lollapalooza tours. Also she'd
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spent a lot of time in San Francisco. She used to go to this club where
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the Red Hot Chili Peppers played before they became famous. She had
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this coupon for a restaurant on Capitol Hill so we went back there.
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After that we went back to her hotel room.
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She was beautiful. She had a beautiful stomach and beautiful thighs and
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a beautiful crotch, just the way you want a girl's crotch to be, with
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really thick pubic hair in this little triangle. But she was really
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flat-chested. In fact, she wore like falsies, I think, like her bra was
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sort of plastic. But that was OK, because the rest of her was so
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beautiful. I felt really peaceful when I was with Linda, not the way I
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was with Rosalie at all. I was always tense with her. I read this
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article once by a woman about how to give oral sex, like "the man in
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the little boat," or "the little man in the little boat." I can't
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remember. Anyway, that's the clitoris. So I thought I'd try it. I
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started licking her crotch along the line of her vagina, and I could
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see it open up. She started moaning and I kept licking and her vagina
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opened up more and more, and I could see her clitoris. It was like it
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was a science experiment, because it happened just like the woman said
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in the article. I started licking her clitoris, really softly. I
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remember in the article the woman said that whatever you do you should
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keep on doing it, like everything should be very rhythmical. So I kept
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on licking and then she had an orgasm.
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She just drew her legs and her hips back. Later I told her I loved her
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because she was bushy. I meant her crotch hair. I guess I must have
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blushed when I told her that because she laughed for about ten
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minutes. She was really beautiful. After that we made love like six
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times, almost all night. In the morning she told me she had to leave. I
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wanted to come out to Colorado to see her, but she kept saying no. I
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wouldn't take the hint so finally she told me she was engaged. Thanks a
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lot! She was wearing this little gold ring that was set with emeralds.
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How was I supposed to know? I was like disappointed but not mad. I
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felt so great from having made love six times but now I wasn't going to
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see her again. I just didn't want her to go. After I had sex with Linda
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I guess I thought I had women figured out, like I was cool, but it
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didn't work out that way. The next time I was with a woman was this
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woman I met in this Irish bar on Connecticut Avenue called the Four
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Provinces. They have like Irish folk music and people dancing. It's
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pretty cool. Anyway, I met this girl and we started talking. After
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about an hour she says to me "let's go someplace quiet" and I said OK. I
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was kind of drunk because I had had a couple of tequila shooters and a
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beer or two. We went to this other bar to have a glass of wine. I'm
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almost surprised they served me because I must have looked like this
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little drunk kid. Sometimes people don't hassle you, which is nice.
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Anyway, we were talking, and all of a sudden she leans across the table
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and then all of a sudden we're frenching. I was about to explode but
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then she started sucking on my lip, like she pulled it inside her mouth.
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That was so weird! But of course I didn't care, because I'm already to
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get laid. So we finished our wine and went back to her place and
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started making out. She was pretty sexy but she kept sucking on my lip
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until it was like bleeding. I don't know what the fuck was wrong with
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her. Finally I couldn't take it. We got into an argument and I was
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really pissed off because she was so weird. Also, I was really drunk.
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That pissed me off too. I knew I was going to be drunk for a long time,
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that I'd have to sleep it off, but I couldn't exactly sleep with her.
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Finally I just went in the bathroom and locked the door and went to
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sleep in the bathtub.
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Then like five hours later I hear her beating on the door. She was
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really making a racket. She says "I want you out of my bathroom!" Well,
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I figured it was her bathroom, so I'd have to go, but I was really
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pissed. I was still drunk but I was hung over too. When I went outside
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I couldn't tell what time it was. It was all gray out, kind of misty
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and really humid. She lived way up on Connecticut Avenue. I started
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walking toward downtown and then I stopped at this bus stop. I
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waited for like half an hour but no bus came, so I started walking
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again. Then it started raining, and by the time I got to the next bus
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stop I was soaked. I sat down in this little shelter and I fell asleep.
|
|
Finally a bus came and I got on it. I felt like I was a bum. I got off
|
|
in Georgetown and walked across Key Bridge to Rosslyn and caught the
|
|
Metro back to my place. That was like the pits.
|
|
Since that happened I haven't gone to bars as much. I don't spend that
|
|
much, but I'm trying to save more money. Girls are always asking me
|
|
why I don't go to college, but I've had enough of school. Being a shift
|
|
manager like Jerome wouldn't be so bad. Anyway, I don't have to
|
|
decide right away. Also, I figure that once I get my Wrangler I'll be
|
|
more organized. Like, if I meet this girl and she eats my lips off, I
|
|
won't have to walk home.
|
|
========================================================================
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|
MONSTER CARROT
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|
|
by William Ramsay
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|
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(Note: the is chapter 11 of the novel, "Ay, Chucho!"
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"BOOM!" Paco smiled, his mustache raising its brisk little hairs
|
|
along his fat upper lip.
|
|
"Oh, come on, Paco," I said. He had been explaining the plan for a
|
|
prison break: the idea evidently stemmed from Mr. Marcus or one of
|
|
his gang of spooks. "And keep your voice down," I said. One of
|
|
Pierre's many friends had saved a place for us in line at Copelia, so we
|
|
had only had to wait a half hour to get in. We were jammed into a
|
|
corner, working on mango and pistachio sundaes. I spooned up a big
|
|
gob of butterscotch and chocolate syrup over a disappointingly small
|
|
mound of ice cream and tried to make the sweetness soothe my mind
|
|
as well as my tongue. "Boom." Hell, it was like talking to a little kid.
|
|
Outside, in the park, we passed teenage boys with their arms about
|
|
each other, horsing around, laughing. I felt a pang for my high school
|
|
days, and I thought about Eddy, just beginning his life. "Paco, you
|
|
can't blast a hole in the wall of La Cabana and drag my father out.
|
|
This is a major jail we're talking about, not some sheriff's hoosegow in
|
|
Dodge City."
|
|
"Mr. Marcus says you can get out of any jail if you go about it the
|
|
right way."
|
|
"Like Alcatraz."
|
|
"La Cabana isn't any Alcatraz."
|
|
I had to admit that there had been escapes. "Yes, but still..."
|
|
"Yes, but what?"
|
|
"Maybe you can by bribing the commandant or some of the guards.
|
|
Or smuggling in a weapon or something to Pillo. But not by blowing
|
|
the place up!"
|
|
"Oh Chucho!" He made a face.
|
|
"'Felipe,'" I said.
|
|
"Felipe. We won't be blowing our way out, it will be a diversion.
|
|
Dominguez or one of his friends will help me. Meantime, you're to get
|
|
your father and Pillo out through the visitor's entrance. A couple of
|
|
well-timed bangs -- wow! -- and no one will be watching you." He
|
|
giggled. "They'll be too busy shitting in their pants, wondering
|
|
whether the _yanquis_ are finally bombing Havana."
|
|
I couldn't help smiling. "I guess the _yanquis_ would be, at that"
|
|
-- both Paco and I were American citizens now.
|
|
He clapped me vigorously on the back, making me stumble. "That
|
|
sounds more like you, Chucho -- I mean Felipe." I saw him glance
|
|
over his shoulder. It was getting to be dusk, but following his glance,
|
|
across the street I could see a fellow I'd seen before, with brooding
|
|
eyes and a long narrow bald spot, peering down at the tall piles of
|
|
paper cones at a chitlin vendor's stand.
|
|
"Paco, that guy..." I said, whispering.
|
|
He shook his head and hurried his pace. I jogged to catch up with
|
|
him. "Is it G-2?" "G-2" was the name everybody called the espionage
|
|
section of MININT, the Cuban version of the KGB.
|
|
He shook his head no. "One of ours."
|
|
"You know him?"
|
|
"No, but you can tell by his clothes." The fellow had on a drab
|
|
brown sport shirt and trousers. "The MININT guys wear bright stuff
|
|
they buy in the dollar stores."`
|
|
Paco himself was elegantly turned out in an electric blue
|
|
_guayabera_ and canary-yellow slacks. I wondered what he
|
|
considered "bright." A tall girl in faded jeans looked at him and pursed
|
|
her lips in a speculative way -- Paco had that effect on some women.
|
|
Lots of luck, girls.
|
|
I supposed I'd rather be followed by "our" side than by Fidel's
|
|
bunch -- but I suddenly recalled the unpleasantness with Mr. Gomez'
|
|
motorist friend in Miami. It was like getting used to living in a
|
|
problem dream, there seemed to be no waking up. Whichever way I
|
|
turned, first my debts, then the Association, and now this wild trip to
|
|
Cuba posing as somebody else. A small part of me liked all the
|
|
intrigue -- but most of me was scared shitless and would have been
|
|
happier home in bed.
|
|
On our way back to the hotel, Paco kept going on and on about
|
|
the explosives scheme. He sounded like an assistant film director
|
|
planning stunts and special effects shots -- and maybe in a way that's
|
|
what he was. O.K., I thought, it might work, maybe he and a friend
|
|
or two could create enough of a distraction to make an escape
|
|
possible. But an escape for the benefit of my father, who didn't even
|
|
want to get out of jail, and with me playing the key role? Me, who
|
|
wasn't cut out for this kind of thing at all?
|
|
What a mess. Was this worse than the trouble I was in in Miami?
|
|
I didn't know if I totally believed what I told Amelia about "The Men,"
|
|
that they'd rather frame me than kill me, but at least that was a
|
|
possibility. And if I went to a U.S. jail, at least I'd be alive -- at
|
|
least as long as they sent me to some white-collar facility where I
|
|
wouldn't be raped till my behind gave out or a knife got stuck in my gut.
|
|
But the alternative? Suppose Castro caught me being involved in a
|
|
prison break. With Paco one of the masterminds behind this plot, that
|
|
seemed more than possible. Even if I didn't get shot (or blown up)
|
|
during the attempt, I could see myself getting tortured by one of the
|
|
sadists in G-2 and then being stood up in front of the _paredon_.
|
|
Not for me, I decided. I'd hold out for a safer, more rational way
|
|
of getting the job done. Let Paco play with fire. What I should do
|
|
was play _along_. So I nodded absently as he went over the plans for
|
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bribing guards, setting plastic charges in the prison laundry and in the
|
|
guard cell next to the visitor's room. Over the next days, he went out
|
|
"scouting around," returning all giggly from Cayo Hueso with more
|
|
plans, involving the kitchen instead of the laundry, or a different guard
|
|
to be paid off. I would listen and show enthusiasm, meanwhile I'd be
|
|
thinking of ways to put a spoke in his wheel and scotch the whole
|
|
misbegotten plot.
|
|
Given Paco's mental equipment, it shouldn't be too hard to see that
|
|
things got screwed up. As an electrical engineer, I figured that I could
|
|
either jam the mechanism in the new-style electronic detonators -- or
|
|
maybe better, set them off prematurely, thus scuttling the whole
|
|
operation before it became too serious. A nice explosion on the beach
|
|
road would do the job -- but it would be quieter and safer if the small
|
|
charges inside the detonators could be set off without disturbing the
|
|
main explosive. Instead of a "boom," you'd have a few puffs and pops
|
|
-- and Paco and his friends would find themselves fresh out of ways to
|
|
startle the La Cabana guards.
|
|
One day, I had made use of my V.I.P. status to pick up for free
|
|
some cashew nuts at the shop down the street from the Havana Libre
|
|
to nibble with my rum and coke. I had to evade a group of teenagers
|
|
who were hanging around outside the store, trying to buy dollar goods
|
|
for pesos at the black market rate. Then I walked back to the Hilton
|
|
and got myself a seat on a lounge chair by the giant star-shaped pool.
|
|
As I watched, a reddish head of hair suddenly rose out of the water on
|
|
the other side of the pool. A large but definitely feminine mop of hair,
|
|
dripping water. I stared, it looked like a statue in a fountain. Then
|
|
the head disappeared in a splashing fountain of white water, and a
|
|
welter of long arms and legs churned through the pool coming toward
|
|
me. I became certain of who it was as she turned her face aside to
|
|
breathe. A kind of paralysis hit me. Her hair and then her eyebrows
|
|
appeared, she brushed the water away from her eyes and stared, then
|
|
smiled. "Felipe!" she whispered, gasping, then she coughed.
|
|
"Comrade!" she said more loudly, in the soprano voice that had always
|
|
seemed too high-pitched for her size. I could see again the dark
|
|
blue waters of Lake Coatepeque under the cloudy afternoon skies of El
|
|
Salvador. "Pepita?" I said stupidly, as if there were any question about
|
|
her identity.
|
|
She pulled herself up smartly onto the edge of the pool, her
|
|
Rubenesque thighs flattening out into fleshy ripples on the tiles. She
|
|
laughed merrily. "You seem so surprised. Didn't you get a cable from
|
|
the Committee?"
|
|
"Committee? What committee?"
|
|
"'The Democratic Physicians' Committee for Freedom and Progress
|
|
in the Americas.' We're holding a meeting here." She brushed away a
|
|
straggling strand of red hair from her face and frowned. "You don't
|
|
seem, well..." The frown turned into a pout.
|
|
I tried to get control of my face -- I had an irrational longing for
|
|
a mirror to check it out. I reached up, patted her lightly on the face and
|
|
blurted out what I hoped were some reassuring words. The pout
|
|
smoothed out into a reluctant smile, and her entire magnificent body in
|
|
its gray swimsuit slowly eased up from the water like some great
|
|
smooth sea lion out of a tide pool.
|
|
I didn't know how I was going to handle this new turn in my life in
|
|
Havana -- the life of Felipe-Jesus -- but as I peered at the faint outline
|
|
of her nipples under the fabric of her suit, I had the frivolous thought
|
|
that the condemned criminal could still hope for a fine last meal. And,
|
|
if experience was any teacher, a good swift bruising into the bargain.
|
|
"Hola, Chucho!" Paco's voice was throaty, his darkly tanned body
|
|
glistened with oil, and his gold bracelet jangled as he slapped me on the
|
|
back.
|
|
I looked at Pepita's surprised face as she heard my real name.
|
|
Getting up, I frantically waved at a bald man, a stranger sitting across
|
|
the pool, the sun gleaming on his bald pate, "Hi, Chucho," I yelled, "I
|
|
didn't see you." I saw the man's face begin to change, but I was
|
|
concentrating on Pepita who also stared across the pool, while I
|
|
punched Paco in the belly and whispered shush to him. My fingers felt
|
|
oily where they had touched his lotioned body.
|
|
Pepita looked back at me. Paco said, "Oh, yeah, Felipe." He
|
|
stared at Pepita. "Friend of yours?"
|
|
I introduced them. He took her wet hand and held it, saying to
|
|
her, "'Doctor'?"
|
|
"Are you Cuban, Mr. Santos?" she said.
|
|
"Uh yes. I mean no, well, that is..."
|
|
"Paco lives in the States now," I said.
|
|
"Oh," she said in a disapproving tone. Her face turned sour.
|
|
The bald man on the other side of the pool was getting up and seemed
|
|
to be heading in our direction.
|
|
"Come on," I said to Pepita, who was toweling off, "let me buy
|
|
you a drink -- see you, Paco." We went off toward the terrace bar. I
|
|
tried to take Pepita's arm, but I'd forgotten the Prussian side of her
|
|
personality. She frowned, shook off my hand, and gave me a steely
|
|
smile. But after a couple of daiquiris, we found ourselves back in my
|
|
room, and her psychological armor plate turned out to be still only skin
|
|
deep.
|
|
And that hairless skin -- sometimes I think that it's all about skin.
|
|
The surface of life. You know, everybody puts down the surface of
|
|
things. Amelia: "Chucho, all you think about is basketball (I was short
|
|
but fast on the court) or playing the piano, or girls." As if there were
|
|
better things. Don't knock surfaces, I always say.
|
|
Lying there, scrunching myself up in the massive, chlorine-scented
|
|
arms of Pepita, I felt contented. (Except for a new pain in my shoulder
|
|
-- I hadn't been able to duck all of her "love pats.") It was like lying
|
|
on a float out beyond the breakers off Palm Beach, watching the
|
|
slow-motion life ashore, young tanned skinny couples, little sand-
|
|
speckled two-year-olds digging awkwardly, shovels flashing red and
|
|
blue in the sun. Behind me the restrained furor of the open ocean. I
|
|
preferred not to look behind me -- who need all the struggle? Maybe
|
|
people like Amelia -- not me.
|
|
"The struggle," whispered Pepita in my ear.
|
|
"What?"
|
|
She raised herself up, one breast still under the sheet, the other
|
|
open, golden tanned, giving her a deliciously lopsided look. "The
|
|
Struggle!"
|
|
This time I caught the capital letter. "What?" I said articulately.
|
|
"I hope you're finishing up your project here soon. The Struggle at
|
|
home needs all its best fighters. Critical times."
|
|
"Oh?" I said articulately. I felt as if I were losing my ability to
|
|
converse. "You're never at a loss for words Chucho," Amelia always
|
|
said to me. But the tenor of my life was beginning to leave me
|
|
speechless: I like variety, surprises, the same as the next man, but there
|
|
is a limit.
|
|
"No," she said as I grasped one of her broad nipples and began to
|
|
press on it, trying to knead her nerve endings into a non-revolutionary
|
|
mood. She pulled gently away, dragging her nipple with her. "No, I'd
|
|
rather talk, Felipe. I want you to understand the situation of the
|
|
comrades at home."
|
|
"Quiet!" I said.
|
|
"What?" she said.
|
|
Me: The Life Force, Pepita.
|
|
Her: What?
|
|
Me (remembering and adapting some of Pierre's little speeches on
|
|
anarchism): The Revolution heightens the healthy, vibrant feeling
|
|
between male and female comrades. (I raised a finger and waggled it.)
|
|
It leads to the glorification of the Life Force and the infusing of the
|
|
wisdom of the flesh into the drive to create a New Man. (I frowned,
|
|
then I improvised.) Engels. (I trusted nobody but my father was crazy
|
|
enough to actually _read_ Engels.)
|
|
Her: Oh, Felipe. (She sighed and let her fingers droop gently over
|
|
my cozily bulging genitals.)
|
|
Me: The Revolution is Sex.
|
|
Her: And of course babies, new comrades.
|
|
Oh, God. "In time," I said, "in time. When the situation is optimal
|
|
for the emergence of such new comrades."
|
|
"Of course there's my work," she said. She frowned. "But
|
|
Comrade Felicia Suarez had her baby and was back in her forward
|
|
observation post the next day, nursing her infant."
|
|
I kissed her hard on the lips. She sighed. "A true heroine of
|
|
communism."
|
|
"Felipe?"
|
|
"Yes?"
|
|
"Don't think of me as a communist always, think of me right now
|
|
as a woman, a person of the feminine gender."
|
|
"I'll try, Pepita -- Comrade -- I'll try."
|
|
"Good!" she said, and gave me a solid punch on my breastbone and
|
|
a quick back-handed slap on my chin. She sighed deeply. "I guess,"
|
|
she said, "I really need a little break from the Struggle."
|
|
#
|
|
Meanwhile, Marcus or whichever spook or mafioso was in charge
|
|
of this operation had sent around some character named Llemo Duran,
|
|
a driver of a Turistaxi, a former bartender at a downtown cafe, and the
|
|
part-owner of an export-import business in the bad old days. Duran
|
|
claimed to have some contacts in the Prisons section of MININT --
|
|
you had to guess that he had made the contacts the easy way, from the
|
|
inside. He and Paco became thick as thieves, and I felt increasingly left
|
|
in the background. In one way was fine and in another was kind of
|
|
worrying. God knew what screw-ups Paco and his pal could get into.
|
|
I was also unhappy that now there was one more person in Havana
|
|
who knew my real identity.
|
|
Fortunately, Paco had asked me to design the wiring circuit for the
|
|
detonators, so I was able to kind of keep track of their various changes
|
|
of plans and schedules, which guards were going to be on duty when,
|
|
and what dates were holidays when the staff might be at reduced
|
|
strength.
|
|
One night I had a call from the lobby. It was Pierre. A friend in
|
|
the police had notified him that most of the heat was off, and he'd
|
|
come into town on an errand. I went down and we had a drink in the
|
|
bar off the lobby. He was wearing a gray wig now, and dark glasses.
|
|
He pulled two barstools together to set his butt down on.
|
|
"Surviving in the land of the big bad Castro?" he said. He was still
|
|
drinking rum -- just two. But his face looked less puffy, he seemed
|
|
fitter. I wondered what he was up to. But I didn't ask, I didn't think I
|
|
wanted to know.
|
|
"Surviving? Barely," I said.
|
|
He nodded his head several times, gravely. "Despite everything,
|
|
Felipe, I think you _are_ a survivor."
|
|
I wanted badly to believe him. Fifteen minutes later, as he left,
|
|
first adjusting his wig in the mirror over the bar, I wondered whether
|
|
I'd be seeing him again -- before either he or I ended up in a Cuban
|
|
jail.
|
|
Meanwhile, Pepita had become busy with her meetings -- they
|
|
elected her chairperson of some committee on anti-social pathological
|
|
personalities. One day I was in the lobby of the Presidente saying
|
|
good-bye to Pepita after we had had lunch together. She was excited,
|
|
she had had a long interview with Fidel that morning, and they had
|
|
gotten along very well. "He told me he had heard of my work!" she
|
|
had told me. Just then I spotted Mama getting out of an elevator in
|
|
the hallway off the lobby. I quickly took Pepita by the arm and led her
|
|
out the front door while my mother was entering the lobby -- maybe I
|
|
could have handled a meeting, I thought, but women are so smart
|
|
about each other that it would be better not to risk it. I looked back
|
|
and saw _mamacita_ glance at us as I led Pepita out into the foyer. I
|
|
gave her a peck on the cheek, gave her a sharp good-bye slap on the
|
|
fanny, and hurried back into the chrome and fluorescent lobby. Mama
|
|
had thrown herself into a gigantic leather chair, in her print dress she
|
|
looked like a flowery toy doll left in a chair by a thoughtless child. She
|
|
raised an eyebrow at me and said, "It's a good thing Amelia isn't here, I
|
|
suppose." But before I had to come up with an answer, her dark
|
|
brown eyes lit up, and she said, "Men are all the same." "Well, I
|
|
don't know."
|
|
"I do, look at Paco, I've seen him eyeing that girl you were with
|
|
just now."
|
|
"Hell, Mama..."
|
|
"It doesn't matter, I'll straighten him out when I get a minute.
|
|
What matters is that I've _done_ it."
|
|
"Done what?"
|
|
"I'm going to see _Him_."
|
|
"Fidel."
|
|
"Everybody calls him the Comandante here. Or the Horse. The
|
|
big Red stud, I suppose!" She giggled.
|
|
"Lots of luck."
|
|
"You don't have any faith in your mother, shame on you. I'm good
|
|
at doing things like this."
|
|
Actually I was never quite sure what my mother could do. She had
|
|
never stayed home and made cookies, she didn't go out and practice
|
|
some important profession, she just _was_. But boy, was she! Like a
|
|
force of nature that the average person couldn't cope with. Maybe it
|
|
would work with Fidel -- trouble was, maybe he was a force of nature
|
|
all to himself. "I have faith, Mother. I have a lot more faith in you
|
|
than I do in Uncle Paco." "Oh, Paco. It's true, whatever he does
|
|
turns into a disaster." She smiled. "But he is cute, just like a
|
|
bright-eyed little boy -- though I don't like to tell him so. Swells his
|
|
empty little head."
|
|
"Keep an eye on him, will you _mamacita_?"
|
|
"I always do, but right now I'm depending on my son to do that."
|
|
She smiled mischievously. "When he isn't too busy chasing the local
|
|
girls. Looks like you have yourself an Amazon this time."
|
|
"She's just a friend -- or rather a friend of 'Felipe's.'"
|
|
"All this mumbo-jumbo. You and Paco, playing at being secret agents
|
|
or something. I have a feeling Fidel will listen to reason. I know
|
|
Mirta's family."
|
|
"He doesn't hang around with his ex-wife much anymore."
|
|
"Oh, I know, but that isn't the point. Castro's got the big head, he
|
|
comes from plain country folks and it shows, but he knows how to be a
|
|
gentleman, he was educated by the Jesuits -- which is more than I can
|
|
say for you, Chuchito."
|
|
Jesuit education or no, I felt that I was about to burst with hidden
|
|
knowledge. "Mama."
|
|
"What?"
|
|
"I'm afraid Paco is going to get out of control."
|
|
She patted my hand. "Leave everything to me, let Paco have his
|
|
fun."
|
|
I didn't dare tell her about the explosives.
|
|
#
|
|
In the event, she did at least a little better with Fidel than I. But
|
|
you wouldn't know it from the expression on her face as we ate dinner
|
|
together two nights later.
|
|
"Your 'Horse' said he'd look into it."
|
|
"That sounds good."
|
|
"I told him how loyal Federico was to him, 'loyal in the true sense
|
|
of the word,' I said. I was pretty smooth, I thought. And he seemed
|
|
to take that in, he raised his head, fingered that nasty, scruffy beard of
|
|
his, and nodded. 'You can't have that many comrades left who really
|
|
represent the old ideals,' I said, 'men who really think about the little
|
|
people.' 'Yes. yes,"' he said, 'you are absolutely correct, Senora
|
|
Revueltos. It is a constant struggle to build a socialist consciousness.'
|
|
I started to tell him I wasn't a socialist, but a believing catholic. He
|
|
broke in and explained to me, rather wetly -- he sprays little clouds of
|
|
spit when he gets excited -- that the ideals of the Revolution were the
|
|
ideals of Christ, of the best elements in the Church, and so on and so
|
|
on. A convergence of disparate ideals, and so on. He does like to
|
|
talk, I must say."
|
|
She went on describing their conversation. It sounded as if she had
|
|
insisted on doing a lot of the talking -- not the easiest thing to do with
|
|
the Comandante. "He treated me with respect," she said.
|
|
But when I asked her whether she had gotten any idea of precisely
|
|
what Fidel was going to do about my father, she smiled with her lips
|
|
clenched and shrugged. "We'll see."
|
|
"Well," I said, "at least you've tried."
|
|
"'Tried'! That isn't enough, just to try. Chucho, you always give
|
|
up too easily."
|
|
I thought about my present situation, masquerading in Cuba, a
|
|
fugitive from the I.R.S. and the Cuban mafia in the U.S., and wondered
|
|
whether she was right. "Nice guy" Revueltos strikes out again and
|
|
again and again -- you wouldn't see Errol Flynn doing that. Cutlass in
|
|
hand, back to the wall or the yardarm or whatever, first he would give
|
|
you one of his sparkling smiles, but then the white even teeth would
|
|
take on frightening sneer, and you'd know that you weren't going to
|
|
get the better of _him_.
|
|
The trouble is, it would be easy enough to figure out how to bull
|
|
your way out of things if you're following a movie script. But in real
|
|
life -- lots of luck!
|
|
My mother had that faraway look on her face. "So you're going to
|
|
wait?" I said.
|
|
She shrugged. "Patience is a virtue." She grimaced as if at an odd
|
|
smell. "But virtue can be overdone, can't it?
|
|
She was right -- It sure as hell can be. On the other hand, the way
|
|
it turned out, I wish my mother had exercised a little patience instead
|
|
of just talking about it!
|
|
#
|
|
Pepita was out of Havana the next weekend, and Valeska and I
|
|
went out on the town Saturday night and ended up at a _jai_-_alai_
|
|
player's hangout near the old country club -- now the School of Art.
|
|
We saw Arnoldo, who was having a spirited conversation with some of
|
|
his fellow players. Then he saw us and looked as if he'd like to get his
|
|
_cesta_ out and fling a _pelota_ or two at me. I suggested to Valeska
|
|
that we leave. She pooh-poohed the idea, saying that if Arnoldo was
|
|
going to be a bore about it, he was always free to take off and leave us
|
|
alone. As it was, Arnoldo decided instead to make up to a redhead
|
|
sitting across the way. When that didn't get a rise from Valeska, he
|
|
slumped down in his seat, head in hands, and ordered another bottle of
|
|
rum.
|
|
I saw a waiter with a big mustache bring the rum to Arnoldo's table
|
|
and then head our way. His walk was familiar. Then, as Valeska left
|
|
me to go talk to a friend, the waiter came over. It was Mr. Marcus, his
|
|
brown hair parted in the middle and slicked down with oil.
|
|
Him: Act natural.
|
|
Me: Oh, God.
|
|
Him: Dr. Sanchez-Schulz is in Havana.
|
|
Me: Now you tell me.
|
|
Him: Just verifying the information. Also, your mother has been
|
|
observed near one of Castro's locations.
|
|
Me: Can you actually give me some help, Mr. Marcus, instead of
|
|
just telling me things I already know?
|
|
Him: It's not easy.
|
|
Me: I know it's not easy.
|
|
A customer called for him and he waved back at him, saying "un
|
|
momento" as if he were talking about a souvenir. He leaned over and
|
|
whispered to me:
|
|
Him: If this all goes smoothly, I should be in line for chief of
|
|
station in Mexico City.
|
|
Me: Congratulations.
|
|
Him: Don't get distracted from the mission.
|
|
Me: I wouldn't jeopardize Mexico City for a minute. Him: I
|
|
appreciate that. Remember you have to get, not one, but two people
|
|
out.
|
|
He pursed his lips, turned, and left to attend to the customer. We
|
|
left the club soon after that but still didn't get back to my room at the
|
|
Presidente until 2 A.M. When I woke up Sunday morning, Valeska
|
|
was still asleep on the other side of the bed, her hair like a floppy nest
|
|
of some exotic bird, one gently sloping breast looking at me blindly
|
|
with its purplish-dark nipple. Her nostrils quivered, her breath rippled
|
|
the frayed edge of the pillow slip. She stirred slightly, and I grew
|
|
conscious of a knocking on the door. "_Un_ _momento_," I said,
|
|
sounding to myself almost like Mr. Marcus. I noted that it was almost
|
|
nine as I pulled on my robe, yanking the sash tight.
|
|
The lily-scented perfume that Valeska had been wearing seemed to
|
|
grow stronger as I stood up. I opened the door a crack, just on the
|
|
chain. It was Pepita.
|
|
"_Salud_, _companero_!" she said.
|
|
"Oh, hey.
|
|
"How are you, Felipe?"
|
|
"Hi, yes, wait just a minute, will you?"
|
|
"Too early?"
|
|
"Yeah, maybe a little later."
|
|
"I'll just be a moment." She pouted. "It's important." She pushed
|
|
at the door.
|
|
"Well..."
|
|
"Please, Felipe."
|
|
"Just give me a minute." Heart pounding, I shut the door and took
|
|
a deep breath. Then I shook Valeska awake. While she was rousing
|
|
herself, I told Pepita through the door I'd just be another minute.
|
|
"Are you kidding?" said Valeska, when I asked her to hide in the
|
|
closet.
|
|
"Just for a minute, I'll get rid of her, I promise."
|
|
"Who is she?"
|
|
"It's business," I said, "just business," gathering up her clothes
|
|
and prodding her into the closet.
|
|
"What a bore!" said Valeska. "I'm tired -- and I've got to pee!" I
|
|
shut the closet door. Then I pulled up the bedcovers, combed my hair,
|
|
and opened the door.
|
|
Pepita strode in like Princess Di on an inspection tour, moving her
|
|
lips, subjecting the room to an assessment -- mostly negative. She was
|
|
dressed in a stylish but no-nonsense blouse and slacks outfit.
|
|
"It _is_ a little early, Pepita, maybe we could meet for breakfast in
|
|
about an hour."
|
|
She leaned over and kissed me casually on the cheek, then stuck
|
|
her tongue in my ear and swished it around. The shivers went down
|
|
my legs to my feet -- but I didn't feel like the shivering bit just that
|
|
moment. She smiled at me and whispered: "It's important, darling, or I
|
|
wouldn't have come. It concerns the Revolution."
|
|
"Which Revolution?" I said, before I realized that I was out of
|
|
character -- all revolutions, in Cuba, China, El Salvador were part of
|
|
one grand world struggle of the proletariat, etc. She stared at me. I
|
|
put on an expression that I hoped was comic.
|
|
"You and your jokes, Felipe. This is serious. I got back late last
|
|
night, the meetings today were canceled because Comrade Rubios was
|
|
sick...." I lost some words of what she was saying as I heard
|
|
something scrape in the closet. Pepita's eyes widened slightly.
|
|
"Too bad about your meetings," I said quickly.
|
|
She waved impatiently. "No, no, it's not that. It's a possible plot
|
|
against the Revolution."
|
|
"Plot? What plot?"
|
|
"Listen." She had lowered her voice. "You know the corner of
|
|
the Terrace Bar downstairs, next to the piano and the exit to the pool?
|
|
I went down to look for you last night when you weren't in your room.
|
|
I sat down and I heard your good-looking friend Paco Santos' voice.
|
|
He was talking to that loathsome-looking fellow Duran. They were
|
|
sitting on the level below me, and they couldn't see me. I started to
|
|
call over the edge of the wooden railing to them, when I heard what
|
|
they were talking about. I heard the word 'plastic.'"
|
|
My stomach felt light. "'Plastic'?"
|
|
"Yes, yes, explosives, that's what they meant, you know. I heard
|
|
that Duran say something about 'prison.' I lowered my head and got
|
|
closer. When I peeked over, Paco was looking around and I ducked
|
|
before he looked my way."
|
|
A rumbling in the closet. She didn't seem to notice.
|
|
"What kind of _gusano_ gangsters are you hanging around with,
|
|
Felipe? Those men are planning to break into La Cabana."
|
|
I held back a gulp. "La Cabana?"
|
|
"Yes, La Cabana."
|
|
"Well. Well."
|
|
"Is that all you can say, 'Well, well'?"
|
|
"Did they say why?"
|
|
"I'm not sure, something about getting out somebody named Pio or
|
|
something." Something that sounded like a shoe fell in the closet.
|
|
"What was that?"
|
|
I froze my face, ignoring the closet. "Oh, I don't know, Pepita, it
|
|
all sounds crazy. Probably just wild talk. Paco seems O.K."
|
|
"I don't know, I don't trust these pretty boys. Anyway, I had to
|
|
come to you first, Felipe." She sat down on the bed, which zinged
|
|
with her weight. "I thought you might be able to help the Cuban
|
|
police. What do you really know about Paco? Is he C.I.A., do you
|
|
suppose, or..." A moan came from the closet. "My God, what was
|
|
that?"
|
|
"What was what?" -- I stuttered on the second "what."
|
|
Another moan. The closet door eased open. A maroon-dyed frizzy
|
|
head of hair appeared and then Valeska's dark eyes.
|
|
"Sorry. I've just got to pee."
|
|
Pepita's mouth was wide open, she looked like a startled fish. I
|
|
shut my eyes.
|
|
Valeska appeared, covering her lower parts with a shirt of mine.
|
|
The tips of her breasts jiggled as she tiptoed toward the bathroom.
|
|
"Sorry, I'm being boring," she said, looking with a mixture of shame
|
|
and naughtiness at Pepita. Pepita's thin lips set into a hard line and
|
|
she drew herself up, looking like a Viking princess surveying the land of
|
|
the dwarfs.
|
|
"Go on ahead with your business," said Valeska.
|
|
"Felipe!" said Pepita.
|
|
"I really, really have to go -- bad," said Valeska, making a shaking
|
|
motion with her heart-shaped buttocks as she went into the bathroom
|
|
and slammed the door. We could hear the splashing rush of her urine.
|
|
I wished that time travel had been perfected.
|
|
Pepita shook her head as if clearing her thoughts and stood up.
|
|
"Time for me to go too."
|
|
"Wait, Pepita. Wait, comrade."
|
|
Her face twisted. "I wish this didn't shake my confidence in your
|
|
political sincerity, _companero_ Felipe -- but it does."
|
|
The jerk of the faulty toilet lever was followed by the loud but
|
|
feeble flood of water in the toilet.
|
|
Valeska, partly draped in a towel with a ragged edge opened the
|
|
bathroom door. Pepita stared at her, and then me. "Who is this tart?"
|
|
Valeska laughed and turned to me. "What a joke this is."
|
|
"Yes, a joke. What taste, Felipe!" said Pepita.
|
|
Valeska drew in a sharp breath. "Big pasty-faced bitch!"
|
|
Pepita sneered and shook her head. "'The New Socialist Man!'" she
|
|
said. She went to the door, swung it open, strode across the threshold
|
|
as if she were a Viking bride, and slammed the door with a Wagnerian
|
|
bang.
|
|
Valeska plopped herself down on the bed. "What's eating the big
|
|
_vieja_? God, she looks like a monster carrot."
|
|
"Christ, Valeska!"
|
|
"And what's all this stuff about your friend Paco, anyway?"
|
|
"Just shut up about that."
|
|
She took a comb in hand and looked into the mirror. "I could use
|
|
a new hair drier."
|
|
"Tomorrow," I said.
|
|
"American -- or Japanese."
|
|
"I'll buy you one of each." That would take care of _her_. But it
|
|
might be harder to take care of Pepita, her jealousy, and her concern
|
|
with the Plot Against the Revolution.
|
|
========================================================================
|
|
|
|
GENTLEMAN
|
|
|
|
(Part 2 of "Julie," a play based on "Miss Julie" by August Strindberg, a
|
|
new version)
|
|
by Otho Eskin
|
|
|
|
CHARACTERS:
|
|
|
|
MISS JULIE White, early thirties, the only daughter of
|
|
a "patrician" family in the deep south
|
|
|
|
RANSOM African-American, late twenties. The family chauffeur.
|
|
|
|
CORA African-American, early twenties. The family cook.
|
|
|
|
PLACE:
|
|
|
|
The kitchen of a large, once-elegant home somewhere in the Deep
|
|
South. One door leads to the kitchen garden. Another door leads to
|
|
Cora's bedroom.
|
|
|
|
TIME:
|
|
|
|
Sometime during the 1930's. It is Saturday night Midsummer's
|
|
Night (June 23). At Rise the sky, seen through the doors, is still light.
|
|
As the play progresses the sky will darken, then lighten again with
|
|
morning.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
SCENE 1 (continued)
|
|
|
|
|
|
JULIE
|
|
Good evening, Cora. Do you have something cool to drink? I swear
|
|
I'm about perished from the heat.
|
|
|
|
CORA
|
|
I got some lemonade, Miss Julie.
|
|
|
|
JULIE
|
|
I'd be much obliged if I could have a glass.
|
|
(CORA signs to JULIE that
|
|
RANSOM is in the room.)
|
|
|
|
JULIE
|
|
Why, Ransom! Wherever did you go? I wanted to hear you play some
|
|
more. I just love your music.
|
|
|
|
RANSOM
|
|
I had to talk to Cora here.
|
|
|
|
JULIE
|
|
And leave me all alone? Shame on you!
|
|
|
|
(CORA takes a pitcher of
|
|
lemonade from the refrigerator,
|
|
pours a glass and gives it to
|
|
JULIE. JULIE takes a deep
|
|
drink.)
|
|
|
|
JULIE
|
|
That about saved my life. I declare, it's hot tonight.
|
|
|
|
CORA
|
|
Yes, ma'am.
|
|
|
|
(JULIE holds the cold glass to
|
|
her face.)
|
|
|
|
JULIE
|
|
I don't see how you can abide to stay here in the kitchen when it's so
|
|
hot. You should go out in the garden where it's a little cooler
|
|
|
|
CORA
|
|
I got work to do.
|
|
|
|
JULIE
|
|
Is it ready yet, Cora?
|
|
|
|
(RANSOM starts to go toward
|
|
the stove to look. JULIE flips
|
|
her handkerchief coquettishly at
|
|
him.)
|
|
|
|
JULIE
|
|
Now you go away! You mustn't look at what we're doing.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
RANSOM
|
|
Is that some cunjerin' you two doin'? Somethin' for Midsummer's
|
|
Night? Somethin' to tell the future by?
|
|
|
|
JULIE
|
|
I don't think I could bear to see the future. It would be too terrible.
|
|
|
|
CORA puts the material she has
|
|
been cooking into a mason jar,
|
|
puts on the top and gives it to
|
|
JULIE. JULIE puts it on the
|
|
table. The dance music grows
|
|
louder.)
|
|
|
|
JULIE
|
|
(To RANSOM)
|
|
Let's go back to the dance, Ransom.
|
|
|
|
RANSOM
|
|
Begin' your pardon, Miss Julie, but I promised to dance with Cora.
|
|
|
|
JULIE
|
|
(To CORA)
|
|
You'll lend Ransom to me, won't you?
|
|
|
|
CORA
|
|
It's nothin' to do with me, Miss Julie.
|
|
|
|
RANSOM
|
|
I don' think it's too smart for us to be dancin'. You know how people
|
|
are ready to jump to conclusions.
|
|
|
|
JULIE
|
|
(Angry)
|
|
What are you saying?
|
|
|
|
RANSOM
|
|
Ma'am, it just ain't seemly for you to be dancin' with with black
|
|
folks.
|
|
|
|
JULIE
|
|
That's ridiculous. I'm doing you an honor. Besides, I'm mistress of this
|
|
house and I can do what I like. And I can dance with anyone I want.
|
|
|
|
RANSOM
|
|
If those are your orders, Miss Julie...
|
|
|
|
(JULIE drops her handkerchief
|
|
on the table.)
|
|
|
|
JULIE
|
|
Don't take it as an order. Tonight on this special night we're all
|
|
equal just people who want to have a good time.
|
|
|
|
RANSOM
|
|
I don' think yore daddy would see it that way.
|
|
|
|
JULIE
|
|
Father won't be back till morning. You and your friends can play all
|
|
night if you want. Play me something on your trumpet.
|
|
|
|
RANSOM
|
|
It ain't right, playin' here in the house. You know how the Judge feel
|
|
'bout what he call jungle music.
|
|
|
|
JULIE
|
|
He's not here so it doesn't matter what he thinks, does it? Play
|
|
something. Something sweet for me.
|
|
|
|
(Reluctantly, RANSOM picks up
|
|
the trumpet and begins to play: a
|
|
slow, blues piece. After a
|
|
moment, he stops.)
|
|
|
|
JULIE
|
|
(Continued)
|
|
Why'd you stop, Ransom? That was beautiful.
|
|
|
|
RANSOM
|
|
It don' feel right playin' in the Judge's house.
|
|
|
|
JULIE
|
|
It's so hot in here! Don't you feel it, Ransom? Why don't you take off
|
|
your jacket?
|
|
|
|
RANSOM
|
|
I'm jus' fine, Miss Julie.
|
|
|
|
JULIE
|
|
Go on! Take it off.
|
|
|
|
RANSOM
|
|
Begin your pardon ma'am, I'd rather keep my jacket on.
|
|
|
|
JULIE
|
|
I'm burning up. You must be too. Make yourself comfortable. This is
|
|
a holiday. You're not on duty tonight.
|
|
|
|
RANSOM
|
|
No, Miss Julie
|
|
|
|
JULIE
|
|
Why, I do believe you're shy! You're embarrassed to change your
|
|
jacket in front of me. Is that it? I declare, chivalry isn't dead yet. Don't
|
|
worry, I won't look.
|
|
|
|
(JULIE turns her back.)
|
|
|
|
JULIE
|
|
Now go ahead and take off your jacket.
|
|
|
|
RANSOM
|
|
If you say so, Miss.
|
|
|
|
(RANSOM goes to the corner
|
|
and strips off the chauffeur-
|
|
uniform jacket.)
|
|
|
|
JULIE
|
|
Tell me, Cora, are you and Ransom engaged?
|
|
|
|
CORA
|
|
I guess so.
|
|
|
|
JULIE
|
|
Is that what you people call it? Engaged?
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
CORA
|
|
(With barely suppressed irritation)
|
|
Yes, Miss, that's what we call it. You were 'gaged yoreself, I do
|
|
believe.
|
|
|
|
JULIE
|
|
That was different.
|
|
|
|
CORA
|
|
Yes, Miss. It din' work out.
|
|
|
|
(JULIE turns away, angry. SHE
|
|
watches RANSOM putting on a
|
|
clean shirt.)
|
|
|
|
JULIE
|
|
My, don't you cut a mighty fine figure, Ransom! Very much the
|
|
gentleman. You didn't buy that shirt around here, I believe.
|
|
|
|
RANSOM
|
|
No, Miss. In Chicago.
|
|
|
|
JULIE
|
|
What were you doing way up North?
|
|
|
|
RANSOM
|
|
I worked in a jazz club in Chicago for a year. Played horn. Took a
|
|
fancy to nice shirts an' clothes. I like to look sharp.
|
|
|
|
JULIE
|
|
I declare, you are surely the best-looking man in the county.
|
|
|
|
RANSOM
|
|
You be flatterin' me, Miss.
|
|
|
|
JULIE
|
|
I'm not flattering you.
|
|
|
|
RANSOM
|
|
I know better'n to think you'd pay me notice.
|
|
|
|
JULIE
|
|
A man who dresses well and who talks well, too. You sound to me like
|
|
a man who reads books. Do you read books?
|
|
|
|
(CORA glances uneasily from
|
|
RANSOM to JULIE and back.
|
|
RANSOM is uncomfortable.)
|
|
|
|
JULIE
|
|
(Continued)
|
|
Well? I asked you a question. Do you read books?
|
|
|
|
RANSOM
|
|
Sometimes, Miss.
|
|
|
|
JULIE
|
|
I'd say you read more than sometimes. I think you read a lot.
|
|
|
|
RANSOM
|
|
Whatever you say, Miss.
|
|
|
|
(CORA looks disgustedly at
|
|
them both.)
|
|
|
|
RANSOM
|
|
Cora, you all wore out. Why don' you go to your room an' rest a
|
|
while?
|
|
|
|
CORA
|
|
I be plumb give out, that a fact.
|
|
|
|
JULIE
|
|
It's too hot to be working at the stove. Go and rest. This is a holiday.
|
|
|
|
CORA
|
|
I do think I'll lie down for a few minutes. Just a few minutes.
|
|
|
|
(CORA goes into her bedroom.)
|
|
|
|
JULIE
|
|
I know people around these parts don't approve of colored folks
|
|
reading anything except the Good Book. Believe it puts ideas in their
|
|
heads. What do you think, Ransom?
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RANSOM
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I think they got a good point.
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JULIE
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Personally, I believe that's all stuff and nonsense. It's important that
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people like you read. You're from around these parts, aren't you?
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RANSOM
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My daddy was a sharecropper on you daddy's estate. We were
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neighbors growin' up.
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JULIE
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I don't remember you.
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RANSOM
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I remember seein' you. Many times.
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JULIE
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You saw me?
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RANSOM
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One time, in 'ticular, I remember...
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JULIE
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Go on! Tell me!
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RANSOM
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I can't.
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JULIE
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Please tell me. This is Midsummer's Night. It's a very special night.
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There are no secrets tonight.
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(THEY look at one another for a
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long time.)
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JULIE
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Why don't you sit down?
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RANSOM
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I wouldn' take that liberty, Miss.
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JULIE
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What if I order you to sit down?
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RANSOM
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I'll do what you tell me.
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JULIE
|
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I'd like something to drink.
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RANSOM
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Another lemonade?
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JULIE
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Something stronger, if you please.
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RANSOM
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I 'spect we got beer in the icebox, Miss.
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JULIE
|
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A beer will do just fine, Ransom. I have simple tastes.
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|
(RANSOM takes a bottle of beer
|
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from the refrigerator, finds a
|
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glass, pours the beer into the
|
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glass and presents it to JULIE
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|
with a flourish, like a waiter in a
|
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fancy restaurant.)
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RANSOM
|
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Your beer, Madam.
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JULIE
|
|
Thank you. Won't you have one yourself?
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RANSOM
|
|
That wouldn' be proper.
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JULIE
|
|
Please. Remember, this is midsummer's Night. There are no rules.
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RANSOM
|
|
Is that an order?
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JULIE
|
|
I'd have thought it was just good manners to keep a lady company.
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RANSOM
|
|
If that's what you want.
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(RANSOM gets two more
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bottles of beer, opens them and
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they drink. JULIE holds out her
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hand to him.)
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JULIE
|
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Now, as you're so much a gentleman, I want you to kiss my hand.
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(RANSOM is clearly
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uncomfortable and hesitates.)
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[TO BE CONTINUED]
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===================================================
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===================================================
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