The Inner Voice

The View that Never Changes

 

I finally see how they all see me.

Nice hair.  Nice build.  Nice suit.

                    

I see Alexandrian stature ready

to invade Babylon –

Savage confidence to wrestle

bull and bear.

 

I see Superiority.  Distance.

                                             Apathy.

 

I see a man much shorter

                                        than I expected.

Devil Swans

 

A little girls sits on a bench throwing chips to pretty birds.

She shares her lunch and hums little songs for them.

 

Their slender, alabaster throats

stretch to bugle in delight.

Their brilliant, arched wings

of brightest purity

expand and fold in graceful dance.

Their effortless white bodies are punctuated

by their soft black feet, hard black beaks, deep black eyes.

 

Deep black eyes blink and wink.

Deep black eyes ignite – coals flare red.

 

Bugles of joy sour to cries of greed.

Dancing wings harden to beating maces.

 

A six year old shrieks and clutches her pb&j

– running, tumbling.

She skids on the loose gravel

of the walking path winding around

the Dow corporate complex park pond.

Baggy Jeans

 

Long nights

Early mornings

Work class work class work class work class

Sobbing friends,

sucky food

 

Graduation looming larger

Countless debt hitting harder

Arguments with Mom

Arguments with God

 

Heavy bag

Heavy hands

Heavy feet

 

Wow, I dropped a dress size.

The rattle of desks close behind a succession of doors.

Paper ceases to wrestle.

I shuffle me feet up the millions of flights of stairs to my third floor dorm room.

My cramped hand turns the brass key, unlocking a dark, cool refuge.

 

                        blankets & cushions               

everywhere

                                     rubbing legs              

to rhythmic groans

                                                twin heads arching back in

                                                a great yawn of bodies

                                                            moving apart

                                                            and together

 

I softly close the door, and go down stairs to find

an empty corner to sit and read.

Taboo Tattoo

 

Kisses all around

Little hands wave goodbye

Back to life and school

 

                        Text Message:

            Hey ok so your in DEEP SHIT

            and need to call me later

            -----------------End-----------------

            6:59P              Thu            Jan 17

 

-What’s going on?

-Mom knows

-Oh, shit

 

My ribbon burns beneath my shirt

Denial at Nac Med Center Around 10ish on a Tuesday Night

 

Sure I can drive you to the ER.  You feeling okay?  Do you prefer Nac Memorial or Med Center?  I’ve heard good stuff about Nac Med Center.  Nice staff.  Easy parking.  All that jazz.  Of course I can come pick you up.

You can’t be sick

There’s not many people waiting.  I bet you’ll get in pretty fast.  Do you want some more water for the ibuprofen?  Here, prop your feet up on my knee.  Wow, just this slip?  The last time I was in an ER, I swear my sister had to fill out something like seven pages of questions.  At least we aren’t killing enough trees to print Great Expectations.

You can’t be sick.

Are you sure you don’t need a tissue.  Anyway, I’ve always preferred Delivery waiting rooms with all the smiling new grandparents and big brothers & big sisters.  The Delivery waiting room is always so much pretty and in a better color, too.  You know, soft greens, creams, or pinks.  Not sterile, industrial gray.  I feel sick just sitting here.

              You can’t be sick.

So, yeah, I know IU has an amazing program with amazing professors, but it’s so expensive and I doubt I’ll be offered any kind of financial help.  Do you want my jacket for your legs?  You’re shivering pretty hard.

            You can’t be sick.

And then she comes out in the ugliest copper moonboots I’ve ever seen, not that I’ve seen copper moonboots before.  I couldn’t stop laughing.  I thought she was joking, but no!  She seriously thought they were the coolest thing since hot red sling backs.  Oh, hun, put your feet flat on the floor and lean forward.  My mom says closing your eyes helps.  Just breathe for a minute and let the room stop spinning.  Evidently, Lindsay Lohan is going crazy for moonboots, or something.

You can't be sick.

Oh!  That’s you.  You’re going to be okay.  I promise.  Here’s your up-chuck bucket.  Do you need help putting your arms through your jacket?  Sure, I’ll take your purse for you.  Should I call your mom, now?  I’ll be right here when you’re done.  Don’t worry.  It’s all good.

            You’re not sick

From Me, To You, With Love

 

Carmine red & Sepia brown & Fern green

fly on gilded wings, escaping

quilted squares

 

Deep Red, Metallic Bronze, Emerald

slosh under black plastic lids,

shiver with each shake

of their bottles

 

All freeing restricted flutters and long levied wells

Little Feet

 

Sorry.  Nothing.

            But there’s this new

 

Sorry.  Nothing.

            But we could try

 

                                    Sorry. Nothing.

            But I know of a specialist

 

                                                Sorry.  Nothing.

            But there are many other

 

            Sorry.  Nothing.

            Have you ever considered

 

… and this is its hand.  Oh, wait, no.  This is her hand.  Congratulations,

     you’re having a girl

All That He Could Be

 

He stood and saluted – tall & proud

I clapped red glowing hands from amid waves of flying hats

His gold bar & engineering castle flashed on his collar

My face ached with smiles

He shook the colon’s hand, framed commission certificate held at his side

We took pictures

He flew away

 

I went to school

He built schools

 

                        An explosion

                                                   twisted metal

              axels-doors-dashboards-tires everywhere

   he fell and writhed in

sand and

   ash and

    grit and grime

                                                              a world and a half away

 

The tickling pinch bites deep.

Her arms are blurred with the colorful scares

of life long love and loss.

Her blue latex covered hands tattoo

my black and

           red and

green and

     yellow tears

  just under my heart.

 

my rose and ribbon forever unfading

my soldier forever gone

Existential Meltdown While Hunting for My Super-Fine Tip Art Pen for Writing Essay Exams

(of Doom)

 

What!  No!  Where’s my pen?  It’s not in my ponytail!  Why isn’t it in my ponytail?!

 

Duh, in my bag –

                        chapstick     mascara     lotion     corkscrew

                 keys                        book book book

       lighter          panda wallet         jumpdrive

bottom of bag

                        CRAP …hmmm

 

Desk holds the universe and all its papery parts 

                                                                            – not my pen!

 

Just the TV on my dresser  

      rising

    from the depths of dust bunnies

 

Nothing in the void of the couch (well, aside from a buck seventeen)

 

Under the bed!  Yeahyeahyeah!

            yellow strappy shirt            yoga pants

     random Mexican blanket      random Happy Graduation Lobster      

                                                (who fuck’s Darline?)

   three ring binder                     box full of DVD’s and Duck Tape

      junk                      more junk                     toe socks

                                                                       – humph…

 …where is that stupid pen?

 

HolyShitI’mlate!

     Most of the interior of the wall was dominated by a large, tall, round building made of rough stone and smooth wood.  The sides of the building were floor to ceiling windows look out from the mountain.  The Shepherd took Evi by the hand, and led her up the great stone front steps, worn flat by countless feet.  This wide foyer was warm, airy, and brightly lit from the windows.   Evi's jaw couldn't help but fall open as she looked round and round and round.
     "You'll have plenty of time to poke around and get lost, I promise.  If you do get lost, throw this stone on the floor and follow it.  It will always lead you here.  Okay?"  The Shepherd half smiled and just let Evi take in the painted carvings in the walls and banister up the great curling stair.  
     She kept stepping back and back again to try to see the pattern inlain into the floor.  When she felt suddenly alone, Evi looked up to see the Shepherd striding down a wide hallway.  She ran to catch up and held his hand as she tried to see as much of the hallway as they walked.

     Before Evi could even think, the Shepherd swooped her up in his arms, her head close to his heart, and started toward the tree line.  Only after they entered the calm dark of the woods did she snap out of her reverie.
     "Wait, where are we going now?  What did you mean you called me?  Oh, my head hurts."  The grumble in her stomach agreed with her head.
     The Shepherd tossed his head back and let out a belly laugh.  "Don't worry, habeebatee [pronounced hah/bee/bah/tee].  We are going to my Chalet, my cabin.  It's not far.  We will have breakfast, and then sit down and talk about anything you want.  Don't worry."
     As he spoke, the Shephered's beard swept passed Evi's face, tickling her forehead.  The white dog nudged her foot with his head.  Evi dangled her left arm as low as she could.  Budduuh leapt around the Shepherd, putting his nose in Evi's palm.  She scratched his muzzle and giggled as his licked her fingers.  The Shepherd's belly laugh shook the trees as his rehoisted Evi into a better grip.  Their muffled footsteps on the leafy forest carpet kept a steady rhyme beneath Evi's giggles.
     At length, she wiped her hand off on her leg and curled against the Shepherd, listening to his slow breathing as they walked.  Evi didn't even realize she had closed her eyes until the brightness of a clearing woke her.  Looking about them, she was struck by the monstrous mountains standing resolute to greet them.   A short distance to the left from the stone wall in front of them, the mountains veered to run back the way they came.  Several wide, smooth paths cut into the side of the mountains, coming from different directions, but all stretching almost to the summit of the center peek.  The paths met at a sheer white cliff face.
     "Ah, almost home.  Though, I think we will miss breakfast.  Have no fear.  Lunch will be promptly out, I'm sure."  The Shepherd crossed the small clearing between the tree line and the stone pillars marking the beginning of the closest path.
  Evi leaned her head as far back as it would trying to see all the way up the mountains.  They just kept going!  Did they ever really end?  "We aren't going all the way up there, are we?"
     "It's not as far as it looks.  I promise."  The Shepherd face beamed down at her.  Her momentarily renewed anxiety drained away, and she looked for Budduuh.  "He'll meet us at the Chalet.  We can't leave the sheep on the mountain side all day.  He went to herd them together and bring them home."
     Evi wasn't surprised that one more person had left, as she could help but think of Budduuh as a little old man, much like the Shepherd.  Afterall, didn't everyone leave?  She put her head back into the niche below the Shepherd's shoulder and sighed.

                    *                    *                    *                    *                    *                    *                    *                    *                    *

The blank cliff face became far more ornate as they approached.  The stone was carved and frescoed from base to capstones.  Evi followed scene to scene of great battles and the founding of massive cities.  The whole history of the wide world spread before her eyes.  The more of the towering walls she saw, the smaller Evi felt.  As they reached the main gate, converging with all the other paths, the Shepherd set Evi on her feet and waved a weathered hand over his head, shouting down one of the paths.
     "Hoh, you're taking your lovely time, aren't you?  Come on, get them moving, Budduuh!"
     Evi shielded her eyes with her hand against the glaring mid-morning sun.  She saw a great white head bobbing about, tongue lolling, tail swinging high.  As Budduuh bound up the path, small white fluffs danced around his gigantic feet.  A high bleating hovered, then grew louder.  The fluffs were sheep!  They were the size of house cats and wider than they were tall.  Evi squealed and ran toward the sheep.  The sheep bleated and ran away from Evi.  Budduuh barked and howled and ran around the sheep, trying to keep them together.  
     As the sheep scattered every which way, Evi shrank off the path, realizing what she had done.  The Shepherd stepped forward, shaking his head, and took a short curved staff from his belt.  He hemmed in the sheep as Budduuh brought them together.  The Shepherd periodically bent down and petted the closest sheep, whispering in a soft voice.  The flock shortly came to good order and started to graze on the rough grasses and shrubs determined to sprout on the side of the mountain path.  Budduuh flopped down in the middle of the flock and nosed at the sheep as they passed.  The Shepherd sat down next to Evi beside a large rock to one side of the path.
     "Exciteable, aren't they?"  He rubbed her head and smiled down at her.
     "I'm sorry.  I just wanted to pet them."  Evi looked up into his eyes, then quickly away.  "My mom's boyfriend killed my hampster, the only pet I've ever had."
     Gathering her up into a great hug, the Shepherd whispered, "As great as you pain feels, there are those who would gladly take a dead hampster, neglectful mother, and scary intruder.  You must find your strength, tame your pain, and use it to guard those who lack your strength."  The Shepherd suddenly looke up and laughed.  "Now look at this."
     Budduuh was lying on his back, feet pawing at the air, sheep bouncing over his stomach.  Evi couldn't help but laugh.  The Shepherd's soft chuckle deepened into a rumble that shook the very mountains.  "Come now, little dearest.  Your lunch awaits you."
     The Shepherd cradled one small sheep in his gnarled hands and sat next to Evi while Budduuh kept his watchful eye on the rest of the flock.  When the sheep had calmed to a content meandering and grazing on the scraggly turf beside the mountain path, Budduuh flopped down in the midst of them, poking his nose at them every now and then.  The Shepherd and Evi petted this little sheep in the Shepherds hand and joked about Budduuh and the flock jumbling on and around him.  The Shepherd finally got up, took Evi by the hand, and whistled to Budduuh.  At that, all three plus the miniature flock were off to the main gates, again, this time with Evi holding her one sheep instead of chasing after them all.
     The inside of the walls were not any less different from the outside than the woods surrounding her plastic castle and the empty lot by the storm canal.  While everything outside had been beautiful in a wide, natural sort of way, everything inside was carefully shaped to mimic the natural world, but in sculpted sense.  Everything had its place and its rhythm.  Everything was wood or smooth stone.  And everything reached over Evi’s head.  The main courtyard held several single floored buildings, many with open faces.  Everywhere Evi looked, tall broad people in prestine tunics and leggings went about daily life.  Tending animals, baking goods, trimming trees and hedges, and smithing all sorts of metal works.  Evi could help but stop and stare as the smiths wrought works as simple as horse shoes to works as delicate as oddly twisted wire and glass stands.
     "They'll become light fixtures when hung from the rafters.  Aren't they beautiful?"  The Shepherd handed the sheep to an animal attendant.
     Evi couldn't pull her eyes away from the soon to be chandelier.  "Does it go somewhere important?  It look like something from Hollywood."
     "Oh, no.  That's going to replace the broken one from the cellar.  I'm ready for to put something in my stomach.  Wouldn't you agree?"
     "Is that all you ever think about?  You seem very focused on lunch."  Evi giggled and elbowed the Shepherd in the side.
     "Well, it's been a very long morning."

     Evi shot straight up in bed.  Pushing off her headphones, she strained her ears to hear the nightmare's approach.  Nothing.  The ring of silence deafened her.  Then, there it was, again.  That dread pop and bang.  Ray's pimp-mobile was unmistakable.  He should be at work.  A mid-afternoon arrival was never good.  Evi didn't even want to think about why he was back early.  She slid off her bed, grabbed her bag, and shoved her book, second-hand c.d. player, and flashlight in the main pocket.  The pop-bang in the driveway made her disregard anything else she might have considered taking.  
     Poking her head outside of her door, Evi saw her mom's feet hanging off the recliner footrest.  For half a second, she thought about trying, again, to convince her mom to leave with her, but she knew her mom wouldn't listen, again.  Evi made a beeline for the kitchen door.  She grabbed a mostly empty box of crackers on her way out.  She threw a handful of crackers to the little dog living in the other half of the duplex to make sure it didn't yap its head off.  After she heard the front door slam shut and Ray start to yell, Evi rushed for the ally gate and then ran as hard as her twelve-year-old soccer player legs would pump, bag clutched to her gasping chest.  At the end of the ally, Evi angled for the empty lot and her hidey hole on the storm canal.  Every dog and its mangy cousin yapped and snapped at her along the way.  
     She wouldn't be here forever.  
     She wouldn't be here forever.  
     In a couple of years, she could get a job and get away.  People liked her.  She could get a job.  
     Finally letting out the breath she held in from fear and the ally garbage stink, Evi circled her little fort to work the cramp out of her side.  Well over a half mile from the danger zone, the yelling was gone.  She picked up her walking stick leaning against the opening of her refuge and hit the plastic shell several times to alert any unexpecting visitors that she was back.  The one time she forgot to "knock" left her with an eyeful from a couple of teenagers.  Evi just chucked it up to life experience and tried not to laugh too hard as the girls tried to get their bras back on.
Shaking out the forever damp smelling blanket from her mom's bathroom cabinet, Evi refolded her cushion, nap pallet, evil spirit shield, and cloak of invisibility into a think pad, placing it back in its rightful corner.  
     Flopping down with a sigh, she hauled her bag into her lap and pulled out her book and flashlight.  The batteries were starting to run low on her c.d. player and she wanted to conserve them as long as possible.  There was no telling when her mom would be getting more AA batteries.  Besides, the flashlight might need to confiscate those batteries and the flashlight was far more important.  
     Either way, Evi had escaped and would have a few hours of peace before facing a "puffy" mom and the nightmare behind the four stitches on her own lower lip.  She tongued those stitches as she opened to the end of chapter seven of her hero's adventure.  There was something about valiant warriors on big horses that made her feel safer.  The lovely lady was still safe at home and the hero still didn't know he would become a hero.  It was one of Evi's favorite parts of adventure stories.
     Well after the lady was kidnapped by the backstabbing friend of her family and the hero started to understand the fate of the world rested squarely on his shoulders and the aid of his ragtag band of buddies, Evi finally realized the dark in her refuge wasn't from the thick plastic alone, but from the lack of sun, as well.  She leaned her head back against the impenetrable wall of her faerie tale castle and tried to convince herself to go back to the duplex after every ten count.  After several dozen ten counts, Evi finally put her book in her bag and crawled out of her hideout, flashlight in mouth.  Bag onto her shoulder, she started looking for the road of the ally, swinging the flashlight's beam in wide arcs.  
     While the grass seemed taller than it should have, Evi thought it would at least make the pavement more obvious.  She didn't start to get nervous until her flashlight came upon a tree.  Then another tree.  Then a BIG tree.  Where did these trees come from?  There's no trees in southern New Mexico.  Evi tried not to freak out, telling herself she was just tired.  She decided to turn around, go back to the fort and try again.  Still some distance from her plastic cave, the wind picked up and started to smell like a hair dyer left on too long.  She jogged the last short distance, but dove into her refuge to escape the first few drops hitting her face.
     Oh, well.  This wasn't the first time she'd spent the night in her hidey hole, and certainly wouldn't be her last.  So much for school tomorrow.  

                    *                    *                    *                    *                    *                    *                    *                    *                    

     Evi woke up with a crick in her neck and no big hurry to get back to the duplex.  Her own adventure in the swollen storm canal sounded much more fasinating, not to mention safer.  After the last couple of broken crackers from the bottom of the box, she crawled out of her fort and stretched as high and wide as she could.   Rubbing the sleep out of her eyes, Evi grab her bag off the ground and turned toward the canal.
     Only to not find the canal, but a wall of trees.  She turned back to her plastic castle, rubbed her eyes again, and swung to face the ally, meeting another wall of trees.  Trees so tall, they pulled at the sky.  Trees so wide, they blured into one tree.  As Evi began to choke and shutter, a large, white, shaggy dog shouldered out of the treeline and shook his monstrous head.  Evi stumbled backward to the hideout with a yelp.  
     Close behind the dog came an equally large man.  At the sight of this man, the fear that tried to drown Evi evaporated.  His weathered face, with its round silver beard and bushy eyebrows, beamed, shining brighter than the morning sun.  His smile eased the knot in the back of Evi's neck.  The longer she looked into the man's brilliant green eyes, the higher she floated above the ground.  When the man finally spoke, the rest of the world faded, then melted away.
     "Well, hello.  This is where you turned up."  The honey of the man's voice washed over Evi's bruised heart, a salve to her soul.
     The storm surge of ever present grief finally broke through as the weight lifted from her shoulders, and Evi crumpled to the ground, sobbing and rubbing her stitched mouth.  "I have no idea where I am.  I don't know if I should freak out, or start dancing around.  Who are you?  Where is this?  How did I get here?  How do I get back?  No wait.  Can I go somwhere else?"
     "I'd say you've gone somewhere else."  The man smiled down at Evi as he crouched beside her.  "As to who I am, you may call me Shepherd, and this is Budduuh [pronounced boo/doo].  You have found yourself on the southern foothills to the mountains craddling Gnosis.  As to how you got here, I called to you.  You needed me, so I called to you.  And here you are."

k, so in trying to let go of a crush, i'm kind of a bitch and ignore him as much as possible.  i'm going for the whole out of sight, out of mind mentality.  however, a friend of a friend, who in turn is becoming a friend of mine, just discovered him and has been oggling everytime i see her.  so now, the whole concentrating NOT on him isn't working out so great.  if anything, this girl's oggling is making me jealous and she's actually pulling me into to "fondle the hottie" game.  grrrrr.

Flash, bang
There he glides
A Mountain
He radiates
Polished Marble covered in supple leather

the scarecrow does not follow
circling his foundation
two crows flutter
trying to bask in his glow

crash, thud
i am petrified
a pebble
caught in concrete

two crows cackle
Mountain Shines
pebble fades

Why them?
they're short and stubby
two crows would easily be smashed
As the Mountain Moved

Stone need stone to know it

but rocks don't roll uphill

two crows will always fly until crumpled in a landslip

If it ever comes

Flinging Life to the Wind

 

Mandy had the most beautiful profile a man could have.  If for nothing else, this ridiculous road trip was worth everything as long as Diana could stare at that profile.  What was it about that face?  There had to be something behind it that had compelled her to come with him.  After all, she had known Mandy for less than eighteen hours, thirteen of which had been driving in his truck.  Now, they were somewhere north of Santa Fe, according to Mandy.

Mandy.  What a fun name.  Armando DiFicce of somewhere obscure.  He had just sat down at here table in the library.  Uninvited.  Unlooked for.  His slight accent seemed real enough, and she loved how he threw in a few random Italian words.

Scusi.  Is someone sitting here?  No?  Bellisimo.

And everything took off from there.

Diana had never imagined that an escape from her parents’ typical “Don’t Squander Your Future” speech would lead her to an adventurous, artsy, Italian-sort of guy.  What was an Honors College Senator doing in a truck with a hot, aspiring Italian artist and on her way to a “Fling”?  What was a “Fling,” anyway?  A party?  But why was it in the desert?

Oh, well.  It might be fun.  You remember fun, right?  Diana giggled to herself.

 

Since they had driven most of the night and all day, she had been exhausted by the time they found the “Fling” grounds.  Mandy said a short nap would do her some good, and Diana didn’t protest.  The growing noise woke her.  Diana staggered from her tent.  A lot more “flinger” had shown up since Mandy finish setting up the tent.  At the bottom of the monstrous hill, which had been dubbed Hill Hotel, were thousands, hundreds of thousands, millions of people.  And Mandy was nowhere in sight.

Stricken with panic, Diana yelled his name over and over.  She wandered through half the camp sight before she understood it was smarter to wait for him by the tent.  But which tent was theirs?  The Hill Hotel had as many tents and RV’s as the “Fling” had party goers.  Everything started spinning.  Diana couldn’t breathe.

Why did she come?  Why did she listen to some art freak who was a total stranger?  Mandy told her she needed a break from all the pressure of being her genius self.  Now, she was lost, alone, and suffocating in her own lack of common sense.

Diana knew she had to calm down.  Had to breathe.  She could get through this.  She was a nice person.  She could get someone to drive her to the nearest civilization.  Or take her further into the Middle-Of-Nowhere Desert, rape, dismember, and kill her where her remains would never be found.

She was blowing the situation way out of proportion, but at the same time, she didn’t know what to do.  She sank to the ground and started to cry.

A sweet, hippy-looking, older couple might have tripped over her if the woman hadn’t seen her.

“Oh, hun, what’s wrong?”  The woman crouched down and put her hand on Diana’s shoulder.  “Life can’t be all that bad.  Is there anything we can do?”

“Unless you can miraculously fly me home, I don’t think so.”  Diana tried to choke back her sobs what something dawned on her.  “Do you have a cell phone?  Does it get a signal?”

“A weak one, but it works.”

Diana scrambled to her feet.  “Can I call someone?  That’s all I really need.”

“Well, who do you – ?”  The man was cut off by the woman handing Diana a phone.

“Call anyone you need to, hun,” the woman chuckled, her smile beaming.

“Thank you thank you thank you!”  Diana took the offered phone.  She clutched it for a moment and dug through her pockets, hoping the scrap of paper with Mandy number wasn’t in her backpack.  She felt a wave of relief wash over her when she found it on the third try.

She entered his number with great care and prayed that he had his phone with him and could get signal.  She listened, held her breath, and waited for it to start ringing.  Though it took a while, when the ringing started, Diana wanted to jump up and down in the air.

“’Ello?”  That beautiful, fading accent was the answer to her prayer.

“Mandy?!  Oh, my god!  You have no idea how happy I am to hear your voice.  When I woke up, I didn’t see you.  So, I started walking around camp to find you.  Then, I got lost.  And this really, really fantastic couple let me use their phone because my phone can’t –”

“Calm down, calm down.  Breathe, Bella.  Ok, do you know where you are?”

“No clue,” she heaved.

“What do some of the RV’s and big tents look like?”

“Well.”  She looked around for a while.  “There’s – four RV’s that look like Van Gogh painted them.”

“Si!  Stay there, I’ll come get you.”

A few minutes later, Mandy appeared, weaving through the tents.  He looked like a knight in shining armor coming the save the day.  “Tadah!  I found you.  All better.”

Aside from being so loud, the man was unremarkable.  He wasn't really tall, nor did he have much size, but he was enraged.  Somewhere someone was shouting something about calling security or the police or the national guard.

"Berty,"  Jessica exclaimed in shock.  "What are you doing here, babe?  I'm working on my article.  This isn't what you think."  She tried to pour all her charm and flattery into her words, but Berty wasn't buying it.

"The hell it isn't.  This is him, isn't it?"  Berty moved toward him.  As he tried to back away, Berty lunged forward and took him by the lapel of his jacket.  "Jessica doesn't shut up about you.  Well, you are no Casinova.  You can't just pick up women and drop them, pick them up and drop them at you every whim."

Berty shook him by the jacket as he yelled.  He had grabbed Berty's wrists in hope of forcing him off.  It just made Berty mad.

"I don't know what-"  For a moment, he saw stars, literally little spots of light, and reeled backward.  Only a nearby prop table kept him from landing on the floor.  Everyone was running back and forth like chickens with their heads cut off.  

In all the confusion, Berty had kept his eye on him.  Berty had followed him as he staggered back, and was coming for a second hit.  He managed to duck out the way, and deliver Berty an upper cut to the stomach.  Then a second as Berty gasped.  Then a third for emphasis.  He thought Berty had thrown in the towel for this little match, but the quick snap that connected the back of Berty's head with his face told him otherwise.

When he opened his eyes again, a worried assistant was fanning him with a clip board and holding out a cup of water.  His head was throbbing.  Roger was talking to a security guard, who, on second glance, turned out to be a police officer.  When Roger saw him come to, he left the police officer writing something on his little police officer note pad, and walked over with a gleeful look on his face.

"Sorry I couldn't find any beautiful natives.  I hope an under paid assistant will do."  He nodded his head in the direction of the now much relieved assistant.  "You always did know how to bring a little drama to a mondane evening.  How does your face feel?  Better than it looks I hope.  You're going to have a nasty black eye and a knot the size of Texas on your forehead."

"I bet I still look better than you," he mumbled.  It was his way of letting Roger know he really was going to live.  "I'm calling it a day, and going home."

"You don't want anymore ex-girlfriend's new boyfriends coming to kick your ass?  Though, I must say, you a had a few really good shots."  For a moment Roger sounded sincer enough to believe.  Then, the moment passed.  "I didn't see them very well, call the cops and all, but I've been told they were impressive.

After a long silence, Roger sighed and reliented.  "I think you really should go home.  Tell that darling of a housekeeper I said hello."

With that, Roger walked back to the police officer, who was now standing as impatiently as possible and tapping his foot.  He eased himself out of the chair, picked up his bag, and moved toward the door with great care.  He held his forehead to try to make it stop pounding, but it was being obstinant.  

*                          *                            *                         *                                *                                 *                               *                     *

"Evidently, they're dating.  Dating.  It's been what three weeks?  Then again, it makes sense they're dating.  They were dating while we were dating.  I can't believe she had the nerve to think she could site me in her stupid article.  I can't believe she didn't tell her crazy ape from the upper east side  that she was going to.  This is all so wrong.  What's so amazing about him, anyway?  That he gets irrate when he's jealous?"

He had been ranting for almost a half an hour.  When he paused to breath, Elizabeth interjected,  "Well, maybe Jessica doesn't want a man who would be sweet to her.  Maybe she's gets hot when she thinks she's a victum."

He slammed the table with his hand to cut her off.  "No.  She's not like that.  She's the one that has to be in control."

He laid his head down to try to make the throbbing go away.  Unfortunately, it wasn't just his head that was hurting.  He had finally be honest with himself.  She didn't want him for anything except as the next rung in the ladder.  Now that she found someone who would get her a little higher, she didn't need him.

"You don't know what it's like," he mumbled into his arm.

"I don't know what it's like," Elizabeth repeated with exasperation.  "Of course I don't know what it's like.  I've never been cheated on.  Never been dumped.  Never been ignored, overlooked, pushed away.  Of course not."  She snatched her jacket and bag from the couch and stormed toward the door.

"Elizabeth," he started, but nothing else came.  All he knew was that he had to keep her from walking away.  She was his only relief from the constant ache she had left behind.  He needed Elizabeth.  He needer her to be the constant she had been for him.  He needed her to be the object of his affection.  Now, he saw she had wanted to be all along.

He followed her, close on her heel as she walked out the door and started down the walkway, trying to think of how to recover this disaster.  No words would come to mind.  For the first time he could remember, he followed an impulse.  He reached out, grabbed her arm, pulled her back to himself, and kissed her.  He hadn't expected it to be returned, or even well received, but he found Elizabeth pulling him into the kiss, perhaps even farther than he had been expecting to go.

When they finally broke away from each other, the only words that surfaced were,  "Would you like to stay for a drink?"

Elizabeth let out her short, amused laugh. She patted him on the face and smirked.   "It's about time you asked," she teased, and walked back to his door, holding onto his hand.

Walking the rest of the way to the studio actually did help some. He had a little more time to plan out a strategy to avoid her.   Again, he thought about skipping the whole thing and going home to dinner, Tuily, and Elizabeth.  Instead, he grit his teeth and walked into the lobby of the studio.  The moment Roger saw him come onto the set, he threw his hands up in the air, sending papers sailing in all directions, and assistants diving after the papers.

"Oh, the fantastic Mr. Webb has finally arrived.  May we start now, your greatness?  Or would you rather have beautiful natives girls fan you with plumes and feed you skinned grapes, first?"  Roger was obviously in a mood.  With a swaying gate and flourishing hands, Roger marched to meet him by the door.  For some reason, when Roger had everything under control, he looked like every other person on the street with nothing remarkable.  Yet, when he was stressed or "put out," Roger became the stereotypical gay man.  Not even gay.  Beyond gay.  "Please, bestow me with your bag, oh, Magnificent One.  Can I get you something to drink?  Something to eat?  Something to fondle?"

Being used to this display of theatrics, he opened his bag and handed Roger the folder with the contracts for the photographer, the lighting crew, the models, and the properties managers.  He also pulled out the concept drawings he had finished tweaking the night before and started thumbing through them.  "I think we should start with this shot.  It will be the easiest to modify for several others."

"Absolutely.  As you wish," Roger oozed, taking the drawing and studying the lay out.  "Damion.  Damion.  Go find Madam Prop and Master Setting, and tell them to make this little dream world a reality, please.  Oh, and check on the models to make sure they're headed toward wardrobe and make-up."

A half frighten, half enamored assistant showed up out of nowhere to take the drawing from Roger and disappear again.  "Where do you find all these interns?"

"The White House, my dear.  Now, where could I have found you?  I have called you.  Called the office.  Called everyone in Creation that might know where you are.  I even called your apartment."  From the look on Roger's face, he knew that particular conversation must have been an interesting one.  "By the way, who's Elizabeth?  And what is she doing at your apartment at this time of day?  She has a lovely voice."

Trying to ignore him, he walked away from Roger.  Hoping to look absorbed in the products on the closest prop table and fascinated by the quick conglomeration of the growing set.  All hope was lost, however, when he realized Roger had followed him.  He could literally feel Roger breathing down his neck.  Nothing would be able to persuade Roger to drop this.  

Despite his best efforts to continue to ignore the very flamboyant set director, Roger was always there, hovering.  He rearranged the order of the concept drawings.  He interrupted the setting the shots and moved things around.  He even wandered off to speak with a production assistant.  Four shots had been completed by the time he finally gave in.

"She takes care of my apartment and my dog.  Yes, she is well spoken.  Yes, she is highly educated.  Yes, she is quite charming.  No, I'm not bringing her to the next event.  No, we are not dating.  Is there anything I missed."  He tried to give Roger his best "drop it" glare, but to no avail.

"Only why you are not bringing her to meet everyone, and why you are not dating.  If she is so fantastic...  I don't understand."  Roger got the stupid smile on his face again, and moved closer to him.  "Have I finally worn you down?"

Taking Roger by the chin, he looked him square in the eyes, and let out a resounding, "No."  At that, both men had a little laugh and the stress from the last minute ad shoot seemed to melt a little.

However, sometime during the fun and games, she appeared.  Flabergasted at the mere sight of her, he demanded security to be called for.  This was, after all, a closed set, and he didn't need anyone making a mess of all his hard work.  Though she tried to plead her case, evidently she was doing an interest piece on the young corporate world, and batted her eyelashes at everyone she could, he was insistant that she had to go.

The whole thing was becoming out of hand, when, completely out of nowhere, a man barged into the studio and started shouting.  All the little assistants ran for cover, the photographer began to pout and protest that his aura is being ruined, and a model started crying.

Her eyes beem with childhood inocence.
"Luk a' tha' laydy-bugg thas on ma' shurt.
Ya' know, laydy-buggs doan dig in tha' durt.
Wurms do tha'. Bobby sells wurms for three cents.
I lak cadapillas more. Thay all squishy.
Have ya' eva' wundered if buggs taist good?
They doan. Buggs for sur ain't not people food,"
she said as if judging steak and sushi.

My dear food critic is all grown up, now.

"Oh, Mr. Webb, Mr. Webb. Thank God, I found you," Mrs. Bradby exclaimed in a near panic as she ran toward him. "There's this - woman- looking for you. Evidently, from what she says, it's about life and death, or something."

Keeping his pace, which forced Mrs. Bradby to fall into step with him, he turned the corner to his office. "Let me guess. She has shortish, red, wavy hair and a face like a rabbit?"

"Oh, Mr. Webb, I don't know about a face like a rabbit," Mrs. Bradby giggled from behind her pruny hand, "but she has everyone mad as hatters, and several people ready to kill her." She grabbed his arm as he went to enter his office. The exasperated look on her weathered face told him she had been there for quite some time already, and must have been causing hell.

He patted Mrs. Bradby's hand and tried to smoother her nerves, though his were tightening by the minute.  "I'm not surprised," he cooed at her.  "Have someone tell her I'm not giving any comments, or taking any more meetings today because of the ad shoot."   He put his bag on his desk and rummaged through his draws.  After a moment of consideration, he turned to little Mrs. Bradby, again, before she could leave.  "By the way, don't tell her yourself. She'll rip your head off, suck your heart out through your neck, and spit venom on your soul."

Dear Mrs. Bradby's hand went to her throat.  "I know the press can be vicious, but I don't think she'd be all that bad," she gasped, as though the sweet matronly office assistant thought he meant this crazy columnist would actually devour her eternal being.

He shook his head and sighed.  He found the folders he was looking for and stuffed them unceremoniously into his bag.  He then dropped the bag back onto his desk, laid his hands next to it, and regarded Mrs. Bradby with a look of amusement mixed with understanding.   "She's not too much of a beast when she gets what she wants, when she wants it.  Since she won't be getting it now, she will definitely have some choice words for whoever gives her the news."

He picked up his bag again and made for the door.  Mrs. Bradby followed him in a recovering silence.  After locking his door behind them, he patted Mrs. Bradby on the shoulder one more time and walked down the hall to elevator.  

When he got to the main elevators leading to the lobby, and the large foyer, he opted to take one of the back elevators instead, hoping to avoid her if he could.  As the doors opened to the rear halls of the first floor, he peeked his head out, trying to see who was coming and going.  Deciding the coast was clear, he sped toward the side doors leading out to the street.  Once outside, and in a cab, he heaved a sigh of relief.  He had made it in and out of the building without detection.

He, then contemplated skipping the shoot altogether, and going home.  Elizabeth would have just gotten back from walking Tuily in the park and starting her "preliminary preparation" for dinner.  The apartment would smell great, the dog would be happy, and he would have pleasant conversation with a pleasant person.  At these rosy thoughts, he cell rang.  He knew it had to be Roger, checking to make sure he was on his way.  He didn't want to talk to Roger.  He didn't want to go to the shoot.  He didn't want her stalking his steps.

The cab stopped fast as a car pulled in front of them.  He slid forward and slammed his knee into the back of the passenger seat.  He instinctively clutched it, leaning back, his head against the window.  He needed to get out of the cab.  They were about eight blocks from the studio, but he decided walking would be better than sitting with a throbbing knee.