SOMBREREO SONATA

Ether Publishing Competition - 

"8 Stories in 8 Days"

Subject: 'Hats' 

(500 words <)

“What’s with the sombrero?”

“It’s a momento.”

“A momento?”

“Yes. Si. …de Mexico.”

“I see. And you plan to wear this onboard?”

“I’ll remove it if I must. I’m not looking to be rude or intrude on anyone’s personal space, if that’s what you’re alluding to.”

“I do not ‘allude’. I asked a direct question.”

“I assume you foresee a pending problemo with mi sombrero?”

“You are assuming I allude, when in fact I asked you a direct question.”

“What’s with the sombrero? is a direct question? Sounds like  vaguery to me.”

“I understand. Allow me to restructure my query - ‘What are your intentions, as you are donning a large sombrero in our airport?’  At the very least, you must admit I did ask if you were planning on wearing it onboard, did I not?”

“You did, and the last thing I want to do is get hung up in the semantics of this conversation. I have a plane to catch.”

“That may depend on the sombrero.”

“What?!”

“Your chapeau…”

“Okay, okay…got that. Clever. But how does this Hat affect me catching my flight?”

“May I see your tickets?”

“Yes, of course, but I have just the one. I am traveling alone.”

“Ah! You see, this is where we disagree. I believe, your sombrero and you will require seating for two.”

“WHAT?!”

“Dos. Perhaps tres…the airline will determine that.”

“That’s preposterous! It’s a goddam hat for chrissakes! Why are you crossing yourself? …oh, yes, sorry…I apologize for offending you…for being so insensitive…so crude. Perdóneme.”

“It’s okay, we hear worse. It’s just something my mother instilled in me…the crossing…very religious. Superstitious…”

“Oh I understand. My mother? Spilled salt…over the shoulder. No shoes on the bed…bad luck.”

“Also, very unsanitary. But you’ll still need two seats.”

“How can that be? I’ll put in the overhead!…or under the seat!”

“Are you being serious with me, or simply deluding yourself? Do you see the size of this hat? Look, take it off. Go ahead, get out from under it. Set it down and step back. Now, look at that. Do you really see this hat fitting under a seat, or in the overhead rack?”

“Well…”

“How tall are you, senor ? Six feet?

“Close. A tad under six…”

“Hold the hat against you. That’s right. What do you see?”

“I can see you…”

“Yes, and I see your eyes, but not much else. I would say that was five feet, at least, would you not?”

“I suppose.”

“You would fill your row with the hat alone.”

“I get it. This is a shakedown. You expect a bribe!”

“Ah! Sorry, senor, one step too far…”

“Meaning?”

“Your hat can go.”

“Great. How much?”

“Whatever you paid for your ticket…”

“Four hundred dollars?! For a hat! Are you serious?!”

“Your hat can go and take your seat, but you will stay and meet our police.”

“No! I can’t! I have to get back…”

“And when you do, may your sombrero be there to greet you.”

Light Post Dog

He found himself at the intersection. The voice, robotic, spoke: 

"Red:No Crossing:STOP:Pedestrian:Red."

...over and over.

Then he heard what he'd not heard before. Not here. In the midst of the metropolis he found a sliver of silence…free of decibels, distraction, distortion, devices, damnations and denials. 

He knew exactly what went wrong…the eyes… how it happened…what was left. But, Today? No one crosses this street but you.  How you got here doesn’t count.

"  WALK:GREEN:NOW:

PEDESTRIAN..."

Please proceed. Your responsibility. It's important you understand those words. Your. Responsibility. Get your ass moving or get it rolled-over halfway.

What...?

Listen. Stay tuned. You can't stop and ponder. Go! Walk the blind man's walk. Step off and keep walking until you’re over. Then keep going after that. This is your space and their shit to deal with, when you decide to take it. 

Who are you?

I am your public servant. 

Why so harsh?

In fact, I am one of the more civil servants.

That's awful. You're just some dick, yanking my chain...

That's not my style. I'm as straight as they come. I'm a fucking street post for chrissakes. 

Fucking with a blind guy...

You pushed the button...

How do I know I can trust you?

If I could walk you, I would, but I'm anchored to my job. I've been thinking about the private sector...very few opportunities await.

You expect me to believe...

Yes. I do. I am part of the System, that You are going to have to learn to trust.

Designed by who? Blind guys?

Engineers, transit, and, yes, I'm sure the blind were involved. 

You know it's a lot harder than closing your eyes and pretending...a lot harder.

I can imagine...

No, you can't.

I'm a post. I have a viewer, a transponder, and an "audiator" ...

What?

Voice box...

You have 'a viewer', I do not.

I hold the fucking camera, like 400 others...we just hold...your shit. They listen and watch in some central bunker...

You're fucking with me.

You're right. I wouldn't go out there if I were you. The light changed while I was busy talking TO YOU!

Asshole.

I suppose. It can be damn cruel out here.

Are you real?

I am to me. Okay go now.

I hear cars. I feel the rumble. The swish...you're fucking with me. I am not without senses...

That's where you got me. I only have sensors. Which do you think are more attuned?

Fucker.

Man, yesterday, wrapped his cane around me…so enraged. He was sorry he did. Gave him no satisfaction whatsoever...plus the damage to his cane. I'm not proud.

What's your real name?

Earl. You?

Mike.

Pleased to meet you, Earl. C'mon, this is me at your elbow. 

Hey!

It's green, I'll walk with you.

I don't need...

Oh, I know, I just enjoy our talk. Now let's go before we miss our light a third time. Do you mind?

No, I don't mind.

You should get a dog.

I think I just got one.

NIGEL'S NIGHT SKY

He'd bring me out here when I was a kid. He introduced me to it. Nigel knew the night sky. And from where we lay we could see Orion , the belt....the dippers...the north star 

"...and that one is Venus ...another planet!...another world!" I about shit my pants when i heard that. Imagine...

It excited him that there were realms so different, and we wondered if anyone was looking back at us in their night sky, a tiny twinkling light in a canopy full of them.

You know the trouble with you Nigel...?

Yes. Any conversation that opens with that question is trouble with me.

I've heard worse, give me a chance...and I'm only trying to help.

What's that term? Trite. That's right "Trite"! So far you've strung two cliches together so would you like to go for a string of pearls or the sow's ass? 

Sorry...what?

You can't make a string of pearls from a pig's ass...or some such...

...Silk purse from a Pig's ear.

Makes no difference. That's the very point. Nothing makes sense, and that includes taking advise from a ...

If you say 'a pig's ass' I will punch you hard in the face.

Don't break my nose again. Won't fit the same. The doc said...

You are a bug-gar, you are...that was forty year ago. You deserved it then, and now maybe again...?!

I was enjoyin' our night, but You bring me crashing back to earth, you know that? You're worse than gravity, you are.

The job has fallen to me. No one else will deal with you. They're all either tired, committed, or dead.  You wore everyone out. You won. Your family is done. 

Fuck all.

You said that once too many times to the wrong people. The ones that mattered.

...ya' say. Where are they? They are the wrong ones...

You can't prove anything to them now, Nigel. They've seen it. They've seen enough....heard enough. It's a shame.

So what are you doing out here? Why you putting up with me?

Because I know that behind that sick-fuck persona lies a mean, spiteful loser...

Great...

And behind that spiteful loser is someone in a shitload of pain. 

So why stick it out? You don't realize by now I' m still very capable of inflicting grief to my rescuers?

I just remember who you are. But, I am not your fucking rescuer.

You're not, eh? Then what the hell you doing out here chatting me up? Telling me what's wrong with me...

You know those swimmers that swim channels and oceans and such?

Yeah.

Those people are out there swimming on their own. Stroke, stroke, stroke....hundreds of fucking strokes...fighting for breath, fighting cold and cramps, jellyfish and sharks...who knows what they endure...

What's the point?

Each of them has a boat.

What?

There's a boat just floatin' along, in case something goes wrong. But they can't pull out the swimmer until that point, so they shout, they encourage, they tell them what they're doing right...doing wrong. But basically they're just floating along side, observing from a safe vantage.

And?

That's me. I'm not involved with your swim, I just pulled alongside to see how you were sinking.

Slowly.

I see that.

So? You just going to float there?

What would you have me do? No rescues...your call. We moved beyond that.

Club me with your oar. Put me under.

Not on your life.

End it!...this pain you see so clearly, end it for me.

Can't swing the oar, I can only hold it out. You grab it if you wish, otherwise you go. Choice is yours Nig'.

Some help.

You wanted none.

Maybe I should just go...

Don't know...I'm...

That's when I saw it. His body lifted and floated just off the dewy grass, the dampness soaked into his coat...his pants, he lifted, wafted, and waved as he floated on invisible gentle swells, lingered awhile, as if caught in the wake of life, but then he lifted again, free of weight, free of fright, he drifted high into that starry night, and grew to be another light in a sea of stars, as seen from Venus.

groping in the dark

ERESORONICLIT

ER - otic

ESO - teric

I - RONIC

                               LIT 

REBECCA'S SHOPPING LUST...LIST

(Part 3 "Spreading Rebecca")

An e-mail full of mischief and anticipation, from Rebecca:

Hey, Baby. Thinking some serious, sensuous thoughts about our weekend. I hope you share them, my Prince of Pedi-Love.

Okay must stop fantasying and get my feet back on the ground, but you know you curl my toes, Ray-Babe. Oink-Oink.

Starting the shopping list…can’t focus on much else…people at work think I’m sick. (NO! Nobody knows…lol) I drift off in thought (YES! …about you!) …. and people ask if I’m daydreaming or ill. I confess only to being ill but tell them somehow “I’ll work through it”. (As for ‘the real sickness’ we’ll keep that between our toes : )  - A few questions as it relates to 'Fun' and the menu, so please work with me here.

Should we engage in play a bit beforehand? I’m just wondering if, after our feasting that we might…well…you know…be a bit bloated?

So, I’m thinking we hit the ground running and dive into S – E – X ,

A – S – A – P…lean and mean. (You know - the ‘rough stuff’? Freaky boy!)

If you’re with me on that note (…and I doubt I’ll hear any complaints) then, afterward, when our libidos are satiated and our appetites titillated, we begin the buffet. I’m wondering, will we be ravenous, or casual nibblers? (Can’t wait to find out. If I know me, I’ll want to eat you alive. Grrrr….but, I digress…again! )

I thought we might start with an aperitif. Would you like a nice dry sherry? You know, to whet the tongue? Dab it here…pour it there…lap it up? (I suddenly find myself wiggling my toes for some reason…).

Goat cheese..a nice chevre…a fig jam perhaps?

What wine? You pick. Pinot maybe?

Are you okay if we don’t go too spicey?…at least for the first time?…I want this buffet to be an all-day affair, and sometimes ‘my tummy’…(well, you know…). We can always spice it up as we go. Maybe We’ll have our own little test and taste kitchen! Won’t that be fun!? …think of the samplers! 

But this first time, let’s go mild and mellow and just enhance the taste of our bodies, what say? (I can read your mind, Mr. Tootsie - you know I can…) I still can't believe we're doing this!
Do you think smoked salmon would work? I just wonder about a fishy after-smell (Don’t want that!)…capers? (Come to think of it, a Caper just might get lost in odd places if you know what I mean…)

Or we could go ‘margharita’ – heirloom, basil, buffalo moz…?

FRUIT! Let’s get whatever is fresh. Melons and berries could fit nicely into the creases…( no banana jokes, mister!…but still something to think about! )…smeared juice all over the torso…yum.

For some bizarre reason I keep thinking of poached eggs! We could do a hollandaise sauce. (Or we could let you make ‘your own’…;) )

I do like the runniness of it all, though…  I visualize the yellow yoke trickling down your chest….I could see myself licking that up. Yummy dreamy...

Pate? Prosciutto? Oysters?

How much champagne?! It’s better to overbuy! Don’t want to come up short! (You have no problem there, my Pedi-bear)

Chinese dumplings? Slippery…smooth…mmmmm.

Cream spinach? 

QUICHE!

CUSTARD!

OOOO....SORBET! Yes, definitely, sorbet.

I am getting so hungry. Hungry and horny for you, honey toes. Who knows where this goes?! (I've been thinking about your canned spaghetti idea...but another time, perhaps. Perfect for a quickie! ;)   

Okay , gotta go before I either orgasm or order-out (...or both). 

I will See You Friday night! Bring extra butter if you have the nuts. It’s going to be a long (lovely) weekend!

Licking lips in anticipation.

Your Ravenous, 

      Mistress Slut-Toe  ;)

        

        

STORMY SEASON IN MIAMI

“…I went home that night wondering if the pain I felt all this time had not been self inflicted and always simmered just under my skin since... The sin working its way into my bones and organs…heart and mind like cancer melting away my core. My belief. There was only the one wrong answer there could be no other...I fucked up…"

“Jezus-H-christ, Man, where did you fly in from?”

“What?…uh…New Zealand.”

“Who you talking to?”

“...Bartender.”

“He went around to the other side of the bar 10 minutes ago. They’re down to the closing shift. He’s the only one on duty back there. And Judy…that’s Judy. Hey doll!”

“I thought we were chattin’…he and I…”

“Maybe you were, and maybe he got busy closin’ up…which would be his job.”

“Guess I just spilled my guts on the guy…like some blithering asshole …”

“He’s heard it before, so don’t sweat it."

"Not from me. I don't usually..."

 "New Zealand!? ...Friggin’ long flight!”

“The flight…right…that was rough...and some bad news before boarding…”

“You hittin’ bottom?”

“How did you know?”

“It’s bound to happen. In the air that long, with time zones , exhaustion, jet lag, cramped, poor circulation, foul bacterial air, germs and diseases...viruses they’re still namin’ daily. No wonder you’re beat to shit.”

“Zombies in a can…there’s that, I suppose...but...”

“You suppose?!  You got another answer?"

“What? Wait. Who are you, and why am I talking to you?”

“I’m Marcel. I am a driver. Town car service – Riche Riche – take my card. You might need me someday.”

“Doubt that...Not on duty tonight?”

“Notice I am enjoying my third double single malt…”

“Done for the day?”

“Done.”

“How will you get home?”

“The shuttle.”

“The shuttle?”

“Yes. I live at a hotel less than a mile from here. Close to the action.”

“You live full time in an airport hotel, and you drive?”

“Yes, but not just one hotel. Many. Sometimes in other cities. Go work someplace new…I mean, what the hell, you know? Same company, same connections…I just tell ‘em I need a change, and I go. They know me...what I'm like. Besides, I get requests...good for business.”

“You know these other cities well enough, do you?”

“Most, yes. You learn. What I don’t know is on GPS, and the net, all on my ipad. It doesn’t take long. By the time I've flown to Boston, let’s say…I could maneuver the city…and that’s no natural layout…know the hotels, restaurants, clubs and procurers...not unlike DC…”

“Just for kicks…”

“No, not exactly. If I worked a big film festival, or the like, I could pick up enough in a week, to keep me going for quite a spell. You know?

“Just from driving? Really?”

“Driving is the ‘Basic Service’. There’s ‘point A’ and we’re going to ‘point B’…Basic. But then there’s also the "at-your-service, all hours, all week" service, which comes complete with an extensive carte blanche menu.”

“Menu…for…?”

“...solely at the discretion of the Guest…or Guests.”   

“Which could all be very personal, I’d imagine.”

“Personal for them, Lucrative for me, but only if I maintain my Integrity. So therefore, I do.”

“But you could sell it. For the right sum…there always is…what would you sell? How much would it be worth?”

“Uh-uh. Too close. We just met while you were talking to no one, in a dark corner... in the back of a bar getting empty quick. Under these circumstances, We don’t talk business. No details, no round numbers, no initials, no hints, no kinks. None of that shit. I do NOT discuss my clientele.”

“Hypothetically if something occurred in your vehicle that might cause a high profile individual…or a high-value individual, let’s say…if they did something unseemly, so fucking earth-shattering that you had to tell someone, and they were willing to pay you…what?…let’s say, if you witnessed a murder right there in the back of your limo…some drunken encounter, angry women, drugs, slugs…bang – pow!”

“We have a camera system. Security. Mini’s in the ‘cabin’. When the ride is over, they are erased with the swipe of a payment card at the conclusion of the night’s Agenda. If we don’t get paid, it’s locked in the system. See how that works?”

“And they know this? Everyone is aware? …are they?”

“They should be. I'm not their lawyer. I didn’t write the contract. I didn’t sign the contract. I won’t be defending them in court. I drive the fucking car. That’s it.”

“And other stuff…What about that? Do you supply these carte blanche services while on camera? Would you willingly incriminate yourself…”

“Hold ON! Who said anything INCRIMINATING was transpiring? Do you think I’d allow myself to expose the wrong doing in others as well as myself, under such scrutiny…!!!!!”

“You have had three double scotches, haven’t you?”

“I admitted it freely, but I make perfect sense, so don’t cast doubts…”

“So, let’s say the perfect storm rages through the back of your limo…and YOU got it all on disc…cops get involved, you get questioned hard, but they finally release you after waking up your now-pissed-off-boss in the middle of the night…”

“He owes me…”

“Ok, so he owes you. Let’s say, he even posts your bail.  Hypothetically. But word spreads fast, and by the time you are walking out of the jailhouse at the crack of dawn, a woman in a black suit approaches you and says she’ll give you…what?…Twenty Five Million?…in cash, at Lunch that afternoon. Just bring the disc…”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Too High?…too Low?”

“It would have to be Dinner…a really nice dinner… and your aim is a little high. But reachable in a PERFECT storm, I suppose. Nothing I ever want to be that close to. In my own fucking car no less!  What the hell are we talking about?!”

“Could be something there, is all I’m sayin’.”

“Easy to say from outside the vehicle...at a safe distance... 

And, hey, weren’t you the guy hitting rock bottom a half hour ago?  (…Okay, Bill! We’ll wrap it up!  …you have a good one!  Got ya' covered! You too, Judy! Love you! ) 

…c’mon Bud, we’re out of here.”

“I got no place to go.”

“We got a shuttle, and the Weatherman says it’s a Stormy Season in Miami...keep talkin'.”

THE DOWN AND DIRTY DOSEY DOE

I have an elegant dress to wear. It’s a deep slate. I’m wearing silver…Bracelet, chain…dangling earrings – you know, ‘vertical framing’…so, hair up, or down?

Up. Sexy. You know I hate these things…

Oh, stop. You said the magic word. I’ll make it worth your while. Just keep that in mind for later.

In that case, let’s hope it doesn’t drag on.

If it does we’ll dosey on out…

We’ll what?

‘Dosey’…Dosey Doe?….you know? Square dancing? What?! What are you laughing at? It’s not THAT funny!

You have so many facets. Who the hell ARE you?!

You never square danced? It’s fun!

Ha! Fun?!

They never made you square dance? In school, even? Never?

Not the school I went to. ‘Dosey doe’ was  more like ‘down and dirty’ . Square dancing might get you less of a beat-down than ballet, but a beat-down , bet your ass.

No culture?

Inner city culture. Rough around the edges maybe, but , yeah, still ‘a Culture’. Square dancing is ‘country culture’. Never work.

I don’t know. Things can be beautiful when they cross over.

You sure can be. Care to cross over here?  Like that? …right now?

NO! I can’t! I’ve got a lot of getting ready to do.

Sounds like shopping.

I’ve got everything. Not sure of the earrings…

I’m sure they’ll be fine. So, there, that’s settled. Come on…

Hair!?  Nails? Hello? Going to Mila’s at 2.

So no playing afterwards?

You know the answer to that.

Don’t mess the hair.

…don’t mess the hair.

No dosey doe…

Oh, I’ll show you the old dosey doe a little later, partner.

Eeeee –hah, Partner. Two o’clock, huh? What time is it now?

Noooo. No down and dirty.

You’re thinking about it.

You know I am. And you are not?

So there’s time.

Not in my mind. I’ve got things to get done. Find something sexy for underneath…

Nothing sexier than nothing at all.

Oh yes there is.

Prove it.

I will…later.

Damn. I can’t convince you?

Oh, I’m convinced, but I’m also pre-occupied. This is a big night. People will be looking.

Yes, they will. And they won’t be disappointed. Unlike me…right now.

You poor deprived baby.

You challenging me?!

Oh, I will be, so get some rest. See you in a few.

No! Auugghh. Don’t leave!   …damn.

It turned out to be a grand celebration, after all. She had received her award very graciously. It was no surprise that she won, and there was a sincere and warm embracing from the collective group, a standing ovation, bringing tears to her eyes. She trembled a bit as she spoke…all the more endearing. He wiped a tear from his eye, as well, and sat bursting with pride, in awe at what she had achieved and the respect she received.

Given the out pouring, she was in great demand for photos and interviews afterward, so the evening did, indeed, drag on a bit. But he wasn’t going to deny her the moment. They had forever. Yet as he watched he grew more impatient and she noticed. As she passed, she whispered, “You’re lusting.”

And he responded, “Guilty. Oh, so guilty…”

Soon.

Not soon enough.

Then came dinner with the Producer, Director, Writer and Agents. There was much adrenaline at the table as ‘the next project’ was highly anticipated in lively chatter, most of which did not involve him.  Under the table, she rubbed the inside of his thigh working her way dangerously close to the prize, then slipping away. The tease. Let her play. It was her career. Her Life. What do we live for if not for some recognition…some respect…some affection? And even some sexual tension? Let her bask and share in it. She found joy in the sharing. Let her.

It grew late. They grabbed a cab home with the writer, who dropped them and picked up the tab. A Nice woman. He sensed an attraction between them, or was that just the drinking? They all had had their share. He wondered briefly, if she would like to share the rest of the evening. But then the cab left them at the curb and drove off.

I think she’s hot for you.

I was thinking that about you.

Let’s call her back.

Let’s not.

Let’s not.

Did you find what you were looking for?

What? Tonight? I would guess so! Unforgettable! Thank you.

Good. I’m so very proud. Really. But I was referring to earlier…

Earlier?

Yes. The “Something Underneath”…

Ohhhh! Yes. That. One track mind…

You put me on that track, Madam.

I did?

Yes you did. And that WAS you groping me at dinner, was it not?

I don’t know what you are talking about. I’m betting it was Kenneth. He likes you

I’ll bet you’re right. He has such gentle hands. Probing. But , then, We had an agreement...You and I…

So we did.

So we do.

So let’s do.

Deal. And “Oh My!” will you look at those! You were right. Those are nasty and so worth getting down to nothing, because what’s under those is like nothing else.

I don’t know who writes your material mister, but I am strangely, stupidly, attracted…

Me too.

So what say we shut up?

Let’s say we put up.

Let’s.

I'm down.

And I'm dirty.

Prove it.