REBECCA'S MUSTY FUDGE

Part  2 - "Spreading Rebecca"

Rebecca and Raymond are now ‘an Item’, having fallen in musty lust with each other’s feet.  But their world is about to expand exponentially .

There’s the phone. Let’s listen in :

Hello, Raymond.

My Footness…

Oh, Ray….

Queen of Sole…

Ray-Ray, please, you’re embarrassing me.

It’s all true. But you called me, so what may I do for you? Hmmmm?

Not this time, Fella. This time the treat’s on me.

You want to break our delicious routine?

Not at all, Raymond, honey…I’m just looking to expand the menu.

You’re bored with my butter?

Never, Lover. But it’s time Mama did some fixing, too.

Oooo…I think I like the sound of that. So what are you fixing to Fix?

I told you it’s a treat. Care to guess? ….something sweet?

Okay. I’ll say - Sponge cake in the pedi-creases, strawberry slices perched on each nail, and topped with an eruption from whipped cream mountain, ejaculated straight from the aerosol can.

Angel Food…?

No…Angel Foot.

Ramón, I swear I never met a man could make me swoon like you do…mmmmm….mmm!

Was I warm?

HOT! But not….

Marshmallow toe bunnies, graham cracker crumbles and chocolate sauce?!

Eeeeeeee!!! S’MORES!!!! and….Sooooo, HOT!

I give up.

FUDGE!

Fudge?

HOT FUDGE! …with brownie dough spacers! I’ve been working on it all weekend. I’ve perfected it! I have it! An adorable, pour able consistency….And Mister Lucky Boy, I am going to drench your tootsies in this decadent sauce and devour each and every goddamn chocolate piggie until you beg me to stop!

A Creamy Fudgy….mmmm.

Like a giant sundae, Yes!…to ice cream! Yes! To whipped cream, yes!…. to strawberries, yes! to bananas, oh! We’ll sprinkle your nuts! I’ll be you’re pudgy, fudgy, slutty, piggie! (grunt, grunt…)

Oh! You do a good pig…

I do an EXCELLENT pig, you wait and see me grovel.

Ohhhhhh…..

Ray-ray? Am I sensing a fudge stick growing….with a cherry on the top?

I…uh….I think I agree. We need to expand. Move beyond the feet….

(Gasp) Beyond feet!!??

Indeed.

How beyond?

Ice Cream sandwich…beyond.

Full body? …Raymond?…are you suggesting…?

It IS common practice, you know?

Not where I come from…

We all have our tales…But won’t you allow us a new chapter? Hmm? You’re the best chance I ever had…the first one to understand.

I…I am touched to hear you say that Raymond. Truly touched…

Rebecca it is our calling. The food, the juices, the sauces, the spice….the boldness, the delicacy, the richness….we could live happily on petite fours forever, no doubt! But a pity we never experienced the Grand Buffet!

My Lord, Raymond, you’re pushing me somewhere I could never go before, and yet, you draw me in…you whet my appetite…my lips tremble and drip in anticipation. No one has ever made me salivate so…Raymond?! Next Friday?…after we ‘share the butter’…?

Yes?

Pack a bag and stay over...

Really?

Yes. For two nights, please. Saturday we’ll compare notes, go out shopping…and prepare items…

And Sunday?

Yes, Raymond…my dear, hot, Raymond….come Sunday...all DAY, Sunday...WE Shall Be ‘The Champagne Bruncheon’!

­

RUFUS, THERE'S A RUCKUS

Rufus!

Yes, Madam?

Rufus, there’s a ruckus…

Another ruckus, Madam?

I fear someone is being bludgeoned…or worse!

Madam, we’ve been down this road before…

Not like this, Rufus, I can assure you. In fact, I’m shocked you can’t hear the screams in the Lobby!

The Waverleys again…?

Whom else?

I am afraid the Police won’t be too quick to respond this time around…given ‘our history’…

You suggest that I sit quietly by, sip some tea, and listen to the victim in the throws of her demise.

Mr. Waverley addressed those concerns on each prior occasion, as was verified by Mrs. Waverley, who hardly looked the worse for wear, I might add.

I believe they had been drinking! How else would you explain such laughter and frivolity…oh!”

What is it?!

She’s pleading for her life, Man! You can’t hear that?! ‘Oh, please! Please, please, please!!!!’ Where’s the compassion? What’s the world coming to? You can’t hear that?

No Madam, the walls are quite soundproof.

If that’s the case, Rufus, then how the hell can I, a wearer of, not one, but TWO, hearing aids, mind you…not to mention my tinnitus!…How can I possibly hear so very clearly all that is transpiring. I can feel the thuds…the very blows!…vibrating through the floor. He’s pummeling her with a heavy object, and she’s screaming bloody murder, while no one…absolutely NO ONE, is listening to me! Her blood will be on your collective hands when this is done.

But Madam, Mr. Waverley has put us both on notice…should it happen again, there will be repercussions, which I take as, I could lose my job.

Over my dead body!

I’m afraid that won’t help, Madam.

What if it’s not Mr. Waverley? Did you consider that?! It IS broad daylight…! Why would he be home? It could be a stranger…an intruder!

I doubt that. I do keep my eyes peeled for strangers. Actually, Mr. Waverley passed through the lobby not an hour ago. He was in quite a cheerful mood, and in a bit of a hurry.

I’d be willing to bet he had a plan in mind, and was on his way to carry out the foul act!

He was whistling...but…perhaps if you turned on your TV…

Rufus, I know you to be a good man, but I cannot drown out the screams of a dying woman. Besides, I tend to depend on the Closed-Captions, so the sound is irrelevant…except for the sound next door, of which I am miraculously capable of hearing!

If I may be so brazen as to suggest that you may be experiencing some issues with your hearing aids, or perhaps a ringing in the ears of some sort.

RUFUS! I am no old fool, and will not be treated as such!

No offense intended, Madam. I was simply trying to be conciliatory. Would you prefer to have your walls inspected? They really are quite soundproof, I assure you.

thud, thud, thud, thud, thud, thud……

You can’t hear that?!

Perhaps they are hanging paintings…

Oh, that’s ripe, Rufus! Why do you defend the….WAIT ! Oh dear! Good for you darling! Strike back!

Excuse me, Madam?

It seems she has turned the tables! Where she found the strength I’ll never know!

How so, Madam?

She suddenly seems  to have the upper-hand! He’s begun to beg for mercy!

Madam, perhaps…

That-a-girl! Throttle him! Give him the old ‘what-for’! OH! YES! Take that! How does that feel? Suffer you bloody bastard!

Madam, really…I think perhaps your imagination…

Rufus, there is nothing imaginary going on. It’s all too real, I assure you. Wait…

Madam, I must tend to other business.

More important than MY business, Rufus? Really? I shall remember that come Christmas…

It’s not that, Madam, and I do appreciate the $20 each and every year…most generous.

Shhhhh!!!!

Something happening?

Seems they’ve come to some agreement.

How so?

They are settling their differences.

Can you be more explicit, Madam?

He…she…they are both shouting in agreement!

Agreement?

Yes. Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! …and so on.

Excellent. So the problem seems to have resolved itself?

I suppose. 

YES!!!!

I...um...I do prefer that couples get along well. I mean them no ill will, whatsoever. But Edgar and I never raised our voices…

Sorry to hear that, Madam, perhaps if you had…

Had What, Rufus?

Had Celebrated more….if you’ll pardon me…

I see. Well, we chose to celebrate silently, Rufus. We were private people…Civil.

Pity the world has forgotten how that’s done.

They are actually laughing, Rufus. I do hope this was not some sick joke at my expense.

I doubt that, Madam.

Still…I think I’ll ‘keep an ear out’ should it turn nasty again.



Odds are it will, Madam.



You see, Rufus? Vigilance. I am gratified that you’ve finally come around to my way of thinking.



Yes. I have indeed, Madam, I have indeed.



Feeling rather light-headed…now that it’s all quiet, I think I’ll lie down for a bit...perhaps a nap.


Sweet dreams, Madam.



Thank you, Rufus. You're a good man.

    (click)

­

­

HAVE YOU MET TAYLOR?

Over lunch, food cart on the plaza court, Eddie leans in, the way he does, and you know something unseemly is creeping in his mind. He smacks his food loudly, often with drips or bits dangling from his lips, resulting in stains on his shirt or lap. Dirt. He’s about to spread some shit about someone. Eddie is not to be trusted. I learned the lesson the hard way, yet he denies it to this day. So, no more ‘personal’ facts offered, because if you do, you know it comes back, to You. It was a cruel trait and from a foul soul with whom I’d probably never communicate except we’ve been co-joined by executive order, and seem to be quite productive, given their quarterly reports.

So…(smack, smack)…Have you met Taylor?

Taylor?

That tall, angular, fellow…

Bow Tie! Yes! The witty asshole. Junior exec…Harvard?…Yale?

That’s the one. He’s on the fast track, alright. A magician, too! So fucking smug and cheery, he farts flowers, I’ll bet.

Or playing cards…

White Doves!

Yes-ss-s…white doves!  (walllaaahhh!) - gesturing jazz hands to the sky.

He IS a smartass alright. Quite the showman….but you gotta wonder ‘why?’ Why the chirpy show if he’s so brilliant?

We await the lift in the lobby. Our conversation suspended for the time being, due to echoes and you never know.... It finally arrives. We enter and have the car to ourselves.

Gotta wonder, is all I’m saying. Damn strange..

.

They say he’s smart alright…brilliant maybe…but if that’s the case, what’s with all the buffoonery?…the razzmatazz?

Don’t have clue. Wonder if he’s screwing the boss’s son.

No! Duncan?!?….no. Cut it out. That’s disgusting. Duncan is barely fourteen…

Nooo. Not Duncan. Stacy, the eight year old.

Stop! Now you’re overstepping your bounds. First you assume he’s gay, and then a pedophile. Not founded, cruel, and certainly, Not funny. Don’t start…

Okay, okay.You are right and I am sorry. I was out-of-line…not a humorous topic. But still…boyish charm…

Cut the crap, Eddie. This is not a rumor you want to be spreading, especially harmful to both parties…to all parties.

I heard he entertained at the kid’s birthday party. But you’re saying there were no ‘private’ parties going on…??

That’s the point. So, stop. Nobody’s business, so don’t make up shit.

Ok, but you see what I mean…?

Oh…Yes. Well, it’s just that all that cute & clever ‘chappy’ crap never washed with me, too…but draw the line...

At this point the elevator door opened as we arrived at our floor and naturally who would meet us? That’s right, Taylor himself. But Taylor didn’t look his usual self. He looked to be in shock. His expression blank, his eyes rimmed red and wet, even his bowtie drooped, when it’s always drawn tight. It was readily apparent that he’d hoped the car would be empty, but there we stood in our awkward triangulation. He was holding back...

Taylor? You alright?

“Nah,” was his reply, just a syllable left dangling, and so out-of-character.

“You headed down?” He stared for a sec, but rather than respond, he simply pointed up.  I thought I witnessed a quiver, a rattle in his bones.

“Got to get back to the desk, excuse me.” My ride partner blurted, rushing past, out to the floor, and gone.

“Taylor, old man, are…are you alright?”

“…best I can.” He muttered. 

The doors now grown impatient for being held too long, started to buckle forward and back as if to say, “Make up your mind, Jack.”

“C’mon I’ll ride you up. You headed to see the Old Man?”

“No. Thanks. We just talked. Just need a break…some air...”

“I…”

“Please. Hyperventilating…just…a need to breathe…”

I stepped out as he entered. I had barely turned, as the doors, behind schedule, and trying to make up, whisked shut. Before, they did, I caught a glimpse of him pounding the button panel, then gone.

A half hour later, Rosemarie Walsh rushed from her window office into the pool room, unable to get the words out, but panic filled her eyes and she pointed outside. We responded en masse, peering down from above, aghast at the figure below.

You fucker….

No one understood my meaning, but immediately Eddie sensed my seething, very quickly fleeing, but I caught him in the john, cowering, and beat the shit out of him before leaving. For good.

BEST TO MR MICHAELS

Mallory?

Miss Tagget?

Are you busy at the moment?

Always, Ma’m. Is there something you need me to do?…I…Mr. Michaels’ schedule is quite full, and he’s off to Moscow in the morning, so…

I understand. Is there anyone that might fill-in for a half-hour or so?

Now?! No!…that is, I doubt that. I’m juggling schedules for the next six days…appointments, flights, meetings…not always reliable…I couldn’t possibly bring anyone up to speed without losing precious time… It would take the rest of the day just to explain his itinerary…not to mention his personal preferences…medications, allergies. Sorry, Miss Tagget, but I’ve six more hours ahead of me on this.

Oh! That’s late! Very well…

 But tomorrow AM, while he’s in air, I could find the time, if you don’t mind me checking my texts for updates…?

Fine. That’s understandable and admirable. If you’d like we could do it late…11?

That’s kind but I may sleep over on the sofa…be back on the phones by 7.

Ahh. Yes. Well…we can pick up that subject in the morning. Let’s say 8 in that case.

Okay. Eight.

Don’t work too late.

G’night.

The next morning, April Tagget was a tad tardy because she required an extra shot of espresso just to get started…what with her apnea…and late night brandy. (Like it’s so pleasant to have to dismiss people for ‘natural causes’ just because you have that talent). Case in point; Mallory Jenks.

Good morning Ms. Tagget.

Oh! Mallory?! How did you get in…? How did you open up my office?

Mr. Michael entrusts me with the ‘masters’ while he’s gone. I thought I’d not hold up your day. The coffee is ready if you’d like…

Well, yes. But no rush, and I’ll get it. Let me settle in. How long have you been here?

Mr. Michael signed off at 4:45 our time…

This morning?! Oh. You are tireless, my Dear.

Taking advantage of the quiet to get things done. We do our jobs.

Excellent transition point…

Sorry?

I am also here to do my job, Miss Jenks, and in this case, the job concerns you.

I am sorry but I do not have time for this. Mr. Michaels is en route …what are you talking about?…you have no idea what this means.

Is that right? Feeling Rushed? Shall I get to the point?

Please.

Is this your buttock, Ms. Jenks? 

No.

Not your Tattoo?

Noo..

Well that is consistent with your Entry Questionnaire. “Any identifying marks, scars, or tattoos…?” and you answered - None.

Nothing has changed.

That’s the mystery.

What “Mystery”?

Take a look…..freeze….the tattoo.

(….quiet…)

Miss Jenks…?

That’s not my ass.

You understand where this goes next…?

Not in your lifetime sister. I’d die first.

Come on, Miss Jenks, it’s the 21^st Century and I don’t have a drawer full of rubber gloves. You’ll go to the company clinic…you know the one, down on 3 ?  Maybe get your pills there…? I do. They will perform a visual and physical review and update. Never know with moles, melanomas…Nothing internal, or intrusive…I personally assure you…but  BP, height , weight, eyes…not your annual physical. Just a Tune Up Special.

Are you shitting me? This is akin to corporate rape.

You can’t be serious Mallory. This is YOUR ass on HIS desk with YOUR MOUTH…See, right there, when you ‘flipped” … YOUR TATTOO. Are you both so stupid as to leave the monitors on all night. For chrissakes…corporate rape?  Oh, look, there's the sofa...You fucked the corporation, Sister.

I hope this interview is being recorded. This is facist…

Facist my ass…your ass…and I forgot to turn on the monitors.  Stupid ME. I can do so if you like, but understand I am giving you a break. You better be damn sure of your performance. One take. Then trial. Otherwise, I will need to see the tattoo. If it’s ‘you’ it’s cool, but if it’s some outside slice, we might have a problem with security and Mr Michaels' frame of mind.

He wouldn’t.

So are you saying it wasn't someone else?…and this is not your tattoo? If it is, all information will be held in extreme confidence…and what a lovely Script to boot.  CHARLOTTE . Is there a ‘message’ there?

Yeah, Kiss my Mother. What the hell does that mean “extreme confidence”? There is no such thing, is there? In this day and time?  It’s none of your fucking business. I’m fucking sitting here looking at my own ass fucking my boss with fucking Fascist Franny… Do you even know who you are compromising here?

You know that many F-words alone… within the context of a brief business-oriented conversation….one conversation, 8 - 12 minutes on average….that alone could…

On the night she died.

Oh.

The date is on the other side.

I did not see that.

You won’t. It hurt.

I see.

As for him?

As for him…

Right now I’m all he’s got.

Don’t fall for that…

He’s landing.

Leaving you in the air?

Would you like to leave it there, April?

... your phone. Excellent coffee. Nice chat....Best to Mr Michaels.

Stem Of Retribution

And how is it I know you?

From the Internet.

What's your name?

My internet name? Like how you'd know me?

You use a "handle", do ya?

There's some crazies out there. Find out about you, where you live, picture of your house your car...your cat..where you shop…eat lunch…You understand.

I do. But, how do YOU know me?

Oh, YOU are quite active...and if I may say, quite obvious.

Perhaps to those in my circle, but you are not in my circles that I know of. What's your name?

They call me Blue & Yellow Dragon.

I suspect you gave yourself that moniker.

Well, yes. B - L - U - & - Y - E - L - O DRAGN

Sorry do not recognize it.

B&Y DRGN

Maybe...that has a ring to it...

Do you know The King of Retribution?

No, and the more you say, the more convinced I am you got the wrong guy. What is it you want from me?

Ask you a few questions? Get to see each other...talk.

You can do that on the net...

Where's the human empathy in that?

Who said anything about human empathy? Why would I be required to show a stranger any empathy? How do I know your intent?

My point exactly. How are we to know? Anyone can punch a keyboard. The fonts are basic...emotions displayed by crude emoticons...you can't be taken seriously as a reality, until you ARE a reality. Not some shitty cartoon face. Sit across a table, eat and talk...see what the other thinks...laughs about...has a passion for...what he thinks of women...sports...literature. The squint…the smile.

Man, you are really getting personal here.

That IS my point. but don't expect you won't get the same from me. I am prepared to speak freely.

That's mighty generous, but I have no interest.

I accept that.. Why should you? I believe you may have visited the King's link. His homepage, maybe his blog? You must have signed off on the privacy policy.

I doubt that.

Oh, no, you MUST have. It's the only way I could be here.

I don't understand.

Do you READ the policies?

Does anyone?

Yes many do....and should!

Meaning?

Meaning... 
   'I agreed to allow you to share my personal information with your friends." - Right there in black and white.

Must not have seen it. I know I would not sign it if I had. I don't know this KING fellow to begin with.

Oh you probably do. He goes by a thousand names, and sites. He's big.

That makes him big? having sites and identities? What's he do? What's he selling?

A myriad of things, including Mystery.

I don't get it. 

Just a being in the ether, but not just one...the many.

Just being? How's that give him any power to be 'Big"?

Are you kidding? Are you plugged in? He shapes opinions, he stirs the pot, he unsettles the grand estate.

What grand estate?

The Establishment.

So he's a radical.

I would think we all are radicalized by one another...don't you?...I mean  in terms of differing fears, different mindsets...?

Oh come on. Commonality builds communities. Even on the net.

There are communities. Easy and safe. Chat about drinks & restaurants, kids, & dogs pics. If I see another self-involved selfie I think I'll hurl. But between the walls of those communities - the spaces between the blocks? There are packs, or people, that patrol, like wolves, they roam....they prowl...pick off the strays and miscreants.

Tell you what. You claim to know me? Let's TAKE a selfie...the two of us together . That will give you an identity in my world, and you can show this "King" that we met, even though we are not friends, we could be, and I’m alright.

You realize that once that is posted, we are Friends, if only in the digital world, and you cannot deny you know me?

Not sure I want that. Why do I get the sense that you don't want to be photographed. That you desire to be anonymous. to have no footprint in the digital world. Is that what this is? You one of those wolves? You culling me from the herd? I'm one of those strays? Why me?

You do not have a family. Is that correct?

I suspect you know it is. Why does that matter?

The King is a compassionate man. He respects family. He protects children when he can.      

I see.

You are starting to see. Aren't you?

I don't understand...

You do.

I do not. 

Your sites. The King is viewing them...opening up the windows...your life is flashing before his eyes while we speak, and he does not like what he is seeing.

How do you know this?

He is speaking to me...

You’re mad.

The ear-pierce?

I didn't notice.

Few do. It's impressive. An implant. This little wart behind the ear. See?  A bug...like a tic under the skin.

What do you mean? He's hacking me? Now?!

Oh, by now, he says he owns you.

But why?! Tell me why!

The sites. The children. we know what you are.

But what I do is....

We don't care to think of what you do, sir. The King is furious with you. He says you are repugnant. I'm afraid I've never heard him this angry. If I were you, I'd be very concerned for your being. Oh! That was loud!

What?

His rage. He says you should be afraid.

Shit.

Deep shit.

How do I get out? How do I make him happy? ...just to go away?

Too late.

What do you mean?

You've been erased. There will be no trace.

There must be a way. Just let me go away. Trace my activity if you must...what you know....but it will never happen again. Just let me go.

You have nowhere to go. They all know. Your mother begs to say it's not so. The King just sent her a picture of the Stafford boy...he seems to be your favorite defilement.

NO! OH GOD, NO!

Your Mother is weeping...apparently "Your stepfather did this to you."

How...? No. My god.

What are your plans?

Let me run.

You won't run far.

How's that?

In your pocket...how much cash?

I just ATM'ed two bills.

Then that is your sum. And, your last ATM run.

My money!

Gone.

My car?

Just left the garage. Check your phone.

Dead! What the fuck is going on?!

You've been found out and cast out. Find your way. You are finally free of the dreaded grid.

Wait. Wait. Couldn't I be in the pack? You know, like you?

No, sorry, much too late. we know what you do.

What I DID…once! Not anymore. I swear.

Oh, we know...we all know better than that, don't we?...and we'll certainly know if you do it again.

If you've taken me off the grid, then How would you know?

Because as we shake hands, and I say goodbye...come on, try...

OW.

You are implanted too.

Ohhhhhhh....plleeeaasseee!!

Yes. Now you may Hear Him roar inside your head. The Dread. He will haunt you when he wants to. You are his. That is his power. And do not try to dislodge it, less you accept the consequence. You really should have read ' the policy'.

Consequence?

You really should have read The Policy.

Please god, I'm so sorry.... Auurgh...stop, please stop. What is the consequence?

The crystal stem. Dislodge that and it will paralyze you within seconds. You will be aware but unable...

No! God, no! I beg you man...yes, yes...anything!

He mocks you. He knows 'They' begged for your mercy, too. Did they not? Don't make him more irate. He will haunt you with their cries, their whimpers. They will speak whenever he chooses. You will sweat through many a night…find yourself screaming in a car, a conference or in an intimate moment…but never again with a child. Never a child…he is merciless, he goes wild, and you will suffer.

I can't take this. Is there no end?

Just the one.

No.

Yes. And he will know. He will have the last word...or their screams may drown out yours. That decision will be his. At the end.

Nooo...

Yes. Paragraph 3: 
"In all cases, we are free to  administer as we see fit..."

Now do as he tells you and,'Go'. I have other chores. You are His, and He is yours. My 'Friend', nevermore.