tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-67098660991705721952024-03-12T18:18:44.555-07:00Dial 'L' for LoungeSuzanne Langlois's Neo Noir Novella
introducing Mr. Lounge.theVicomtesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17483928332590454826noreply@blogger.comBlogger16125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6709866099170572195.post-26935963999346586502012-05-09T09:21:00.000-07:002012-06-04T10:28:48.918-07:00Chapter One -- Sanctuary --<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Didot; font-size: 12px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span><b>A</b></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Didot; font-size: 12px;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 12px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">wrong turn, a few blocks back, landed me in an unfamiliar neighborhood. There wasn't a soul around, and the traffic, which not five minutes before had been bumper to bumper, had vanished completely.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Boarded up pawn and package stores, an abandoned bodega, all with three stories of vacant apartments above, lined both sides of the block. On the corner was an empty eatery. A faded 'closed' sign hung askew <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>inside the front door. A giant neon pot in mid pour in the window, it's neon smashed, advertised ' Otto's Home of the <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Bottomless Cup'. The charred remains of burned out taxi waited at the curb and a tireless bicycle with it's padlock and chain still attached lay in the gutter. The street sign, if there had ever been one, was missing. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>The weather changed with the scenery. Perfect, bright blue and cloudless turned to grey flannel, just before a tornado, oppressive. The air smelled electric.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>" ... Go back the way you came" I told myself. " picking up my pace to near speed walk.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>The first bolt of vertical lighting crackled... hairs on the back of my neck buzzed. Thunder followed in seconds. The sky opened dumping horizontal rain. Rivulets ran in my eyes as I felt my way along the locked storefronts, fingers reading Braille, the brick, ... the glass, the brick again. A door ajar !</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>A vestibule to escape the deluge !</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Inside smelled old ... derelict ... stale cigars, wet newspapers, urine. A bank of vandalized mail boxes, an overturned ash canister were the only items I could make out in the near pitch black. The entrance was <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>cramped maybe six feet square just big enough for the postman. Outside the rain came down in sheets. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I fumbled for my cigarettes. The box was damp but the smokes were dry -- the matches useless. "Damn !" I said to no one. "Wouldn't you know it." </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>A flame appeared in the darkness inches from my face, a lighter revealed another refugee seeking <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>sanctuary from the storm. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>"Can I bum one, mine are beat ... some rain huh ?" said the stranger in a trench coat who had been standing in the shadows.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times;">"Dial 'L' for Lounge" Chapter 1</span></td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>theVicomtesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17483928332590454826noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6709866099170572195.post-21336949915622897142012-05-02T12:21:00.000-07:002012-06-04T10:28:33.214-07:00Chapter Two --The Appointment--<span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Didot; font-size: 12px;"> </span><b style="font-family: Didot; font-size: 12px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">W</span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">e stood in the dark chain-sucking menthol cigarettes, waiting for the monsoon to stop. </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Neither of us spoke. The tattoo of the raindrops on the tin canopy outside was deafening. Eventually the fumes in that six by six pigeonhole were so dense you didn't need to light up ... you could just inhale. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>After what seemed like hours the stranger broke the spell. " Name's Ric but everybody calls me Mr. Lounge. Glad you could make it." He said. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Ric pulled a full size retro telephone from his trench coat pocket. The end of the unconnected coil cord, <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>dangled free. "I'll give Harleigh a call" Ric said, dialing a single number on the enormous rotary phone. <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>"I'll see what's keeping him." <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Now I had no idea what Ric meant by ' glad you could make it', or who Harleigh was ... but considering that I had wandered into a town straight out of the Twilight Zone, Armageddon raged outside and I could hear a dialtone on the unplugged phone -- I just went with it. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>"Yeh, no problem ... I'm Trig, Trig Mixter" I said, stabbing my hand in his general direction. Ric's hand was ice cold -- his grip was like a vice. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>The rain stopped as though a faucet had been turned off. Thunder rumbled far away. Harleigh </span>appeared in the doorway and the sun came out. "No taxis in this part of town." Harleigh said. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Mr. Lounge stuffed the five pound phone back into his trench coat. "Gentlemen" he said, holding the interior door of the vestibule open for Harleigh and me. "After you".</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://pinterest.com/mrlounge/pulp-fiction-dial-l-for-lounge-blog-novella/" target="_blank">"Dial 'L' for Lounge" Chapter 2</a></td></tr>
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<br /></div>theVicomtesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17483928332590454826noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6709866099170572195.post-35796984842924160442012-04-25T18:56:00.000-07:002012-06-04T10:28:03.553-07:00Chapter Three --The Lady or the Tiger--<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 12px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="font-family: Didot; font-size: small; white-space: pre;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">T</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 12px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">he interior door closed behind us, heavy and resolute as lock down in a maximum security prison. </span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Inside the lobby was an enhanced darkness ... suffocating, like moving between laundry lines hung with musty wool blankets. The tile floor was slick with something that a was glad I couldn't see. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Harleigh flicked his bic. The lighter sputtered anemically -- on the third try the flame hissed to life lighting up the immediate area between Harleigh and me at chest level. I got a whiff of 'Old Spice', my father's brother Ralph came to mind. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Harleigh was of average height, a good looking kid, twenty something, His hair, was cut 'high and tight' former military, maybe. The rock hard arm, which held the lighter, belonged to a power lifter. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>"Trig right?" he said, switching the bic to his left hand. We shook. Harleigh's hand, like Ric's was cold and his grip; bone crushing. Three shakes, manly, but not too familiar. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>"Yup, Trig Mixter." I said. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span> Ric's lighter shot a six inch flame into the darkness on the far side of the room. "Zippo!" he explained, "Lights first time, every time." Dialing down his hand held flame thrower Ric held the blue light over his<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>head illuminating the far end of the lobby. Thread bare sofas lined both walls, separated by footed urns containing dead parlor palms. "This place must of been real nice back in the day", I said. Soggy oriental carpet squished underfoot as we headed toward Ric and the Zippo. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>On the back wall were two carbon-copy doors, the fancy kind with raised panels. Each identical door had panic hardware and an unlit exit sign above it. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>"The lady or the tiger, gentlemen?" Said Ric. His fedora hid his eyes but his smile was slightly unsettling. "Which door will it be?" </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span> "The right one." Harleigh said confidently. I was sure he was unaware of the reference." What do you think Trig ? " </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>"The lady" I said, "definately the lady". </span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://pinterest.com/mrlounge/pulp-fiction-dial-l-for-lounge-blog-novella/" target="_blank">"Dial 'L' for Lounge" Chapter 3</a></td></tr>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span></div>theVicomtesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17483928332590454826noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6709866099170572195.post-33273302300626242212012-04-25T11:18:00.000-07:002013-01-29T08:13:27.636-08:00Chapter Four -- Three Blind Men and a Lantern --<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Didot; font-size: 12px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Didot; font-size: 12px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;">H</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 12px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">arleigh's lighter was nearly out of fuel -- the flame was shrinking fast. He moved with purpose toward the door which he had chosen and leaned hard onto the panic bar. We waited for the alarm. None came.</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>The exit door opened into a pitch black even darker than the lobby, it seeped across the threshold and over my shoes. Ric, his Zippo extended arm's length in front of him, was the lead man. He stepped into the void beyond the exit door. Light flooded the landing -- things scurried into the shadows. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span> We entered the narrow stairway. I followed close behind Ric, one hand on his shoulder. The wooden railing had rotted away so I slid the left hand along the greasy particle board wall. Harleigh two steps behind me held his sputtering disposable above our heads; three elongated shadow men in a Balinese puppet show tumbling down an invisible hill.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"> <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>"Are you sure this is the right place?" said Harleigh, abandoning the spent Bic. It clattered down the steps in front of us. Seconds later Ric stepped on it cracking the plastic case open like the carapace of an overlarge bug. The smell of lighter fluid followed. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>"This <i>is</i> the place, of that I'm absolutely sure." Ric said. "I was here before... it was a long time ago ... </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>the lights worked then." </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"> <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I started counting, fourteen steps interrupted by landings, five minutes into our descent. The only sound in addition to six erratic footfalls was the regular drip of water into puddles beyond the corona of Ric's lighter. The wholesome yellow glow of the Zippo was our dog star on a voyage to God knows where; Mr. Lounge our navigator through the Cimmerian night. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Eventually the stairs ended. It was then we first heard the sax, sweet, low and far away ... <a href="http://vibedeck.com/riccunningham-mr-lounge/97637" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ffd966;">Harlem Nocturne</span></a>. The siren notes drew us on through the claustrophobic corridor like Calypso herself was blowing them. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>"Man that cat can wail!" said Harleigh in ersatz hip speak. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"> <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>"Word." I said, from a place decades in the future. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"> <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span> Ric flipped off the Zippo. The three of us stood transfixed, sensory deprived in the subterranean hallway. High, clear, ascending arpeggios, reverberated down the hall, ricocheted, and washed back over us. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Then the sax plumbed the low notes near the bend before the bell, lingered long on a radioactive low B which rolled up from the concrete beneath my feet fusing my 'Gold Toes' to my 'wing tips.' </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"> <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>In front of us a door opened. Surreal sapphire light spilled out into the dark ... with it came the tinkling of ice on glass -- followed by the faintest scent of juniper. </span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><a href="http://www.blogger.com/goog_2026226042"><img border="0" height="230" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgs_N76rh6qW2i6TO8MK-26Y7zkmq8tfQKLBjdXWf94zY6i7fpUpZyDxG9TiBjxHbz_cXdkziZeiCzHrLciv9lYo6VtcRkzHW4QFCvNK-_JlUeCofuND4Miifw_AP6F5iiGqG_HCn0fbTA/s400/Chapter4.jpeg" width="400" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://pinterest.com/mrlounge/pulp-fiction-dial-l-for-lounge-blog-novella/" target="_blank">"Dial 'L' for Lounge" Chapter 4</a></td></tr>
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theVicomtesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17483928332590454826noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6709866099170572195.post-57382778023577891982012-04-18T14:53:00.000-07:002012-06-04T10:27:28.964-07:00Chapter Five --Hello, I'm Randy--<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Didot; font-size: 12px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>"</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Didot; font-size: 12px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">H</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Didot; font-size: 12px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">ello stranger." Said the coat check girl, handing Ric a ticket to redeem his fedora on the way out. </span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>"Meet Sharon, boys" Ric carefully laid out three silver dollars on the counter." Sharon smiled, put the coins in the pocket of her apron and directed us to the podium, where she consulted the reservation book. Holmes, Harleigh .....Mixter, Trig .... and of course Mr. Lounge. She ticked off our names and hit the bell to summon the Maitresse D'. Double doors upholstered in turquoise leatherette, trimmed in stainless with porthole windows opened simultaneously. </span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>She was spray painted into a glacier blue satin sarong. The drapery of her dress teased out every curve; </span>each pleat terminating at the good bits. Audacious twin peaks presided over cleavage deep as the Mariannis Trench. A plastic name tag over her heart read; </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Hello, I'm Randy </span></b></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>"Short for Miranda" she said aware of our keen interest in her identification. She smelled like lavender and warm sugar cookies. "Right this way boys, your tables' waiting." Her voice was deep, grade A maple syrup a 'Lyric Contralto' with a vocal range somewhere between F below middle C and my wedding vegetables. </span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Randy turned; gun - turret - tank. Her hips swayed like an engraved invitation all the way to a table </span>reserved for three directly under the sax players chin. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><a href="http://www.blogger.com/goog_2026226037"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP9p7c0-unbPWy341BfcE4wfN89TNw71t7soYXsNRZ8zl2XPQDNw8PPOOzhlfTLkbmIEl0b-fv59kvP8F1qdLq5HRulP-0ypmWjdbtoKWZBMZhMMqXwS07bE6raYMAbq7E9sQMrY-fq7A/s400/Chapter5.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times;"><a href="http://pinterest.com/mrlounge/pulp-fiction-dial-l-for-lounge-blog-novella/" target="_blank">"Dial 'L' for Lounge" Chapter 5</a></span></td></tr>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"> </span></span></span></div>theVicomtesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17483928332590454826noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6709866099170572195.post-86178863063538258672012-04-11T02:12:00.000-07:002012-06-04T10:27:14.133-07:00Chapter Six --Ginger, Cinnamon and Cloves--<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Didot; font-size: 12px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="font-size: small; white-space: pre;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">H</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">ad I not been so absorbed in the bountiful stern of the S.S. Randy I might have noticed that Mr. Lounge was nowhere to be seen. The man and his Zippo, who had led us safely through miles of dank subterranean corridors to the hippest gin joint I had ever seen, simply vanished. Harleigh must have had the very same thought. "I'm thinking he stopped off at the 'gents'", he offered as we took our seats.</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Randy snapped her fingers -- a tray appeared. Our waitress, Ginger a tall cool redhead, also tightly wrapped in sapphire satin, dealt three triple-ply coasters with the skill of a Monte Carlo croupier. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>The paper goods were top shelf. Napkins, coasters, box matches -- all custom. Turquoise with silver embossed letters read 'The Modern Lounge', I palmed the matches and slid them into my pocket. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Ginger, our smokin' hot redhead, took a fast survey of the room, gave me a conspiratorial wink and replaced them. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>"The usual." she said, more statement than question. She didn't wait for our order. The bartender was already putting the spears through our lime wedges. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>My eyes followed gorgeous Ginger as she clicked away to fetch our drinks on sapphire satin spike heels. Of the half dozen spectacularly beautiful cocktail waitresses working the lounge, all satin, pointy toes, pearls and girdles, Ginger was the pick of the litter.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>"Sapphire, tonic, extra lime" said Ginger leaning close to my ear ... she smelled like hot apple pie. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>"Perfect" I said, staring directly at her perky, lightly freckled knockers standing proud of their satin drapery. Ginger stretched over me to serve Harleigh's and Mr. Lounge's cocktails(also Sapphire and Tonic with extra lime) giving me plenty of time to drink in her spice -- cinnamon with a top note of clove. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"> As she turned to go she mouthed the words "Call Me." I heard them viscerally, mostly in my gentleman's area.</span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://pinterest.com/mrlounge/pulp-fiction-dial-l-for-lounge-blog-novella/" target="_blank">"Dial 'L' for Lounge" Chapter 6</a></td></tr>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span></div>theVicomtesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17483928332590454826noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6709866099170572195.post-8370232399788512892012-04-04T15:40:00.000-07:002012-06-04T10:26:49.542-07:00Chapter Seven -- Serge Trouserin --<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Didot; font-size: 12px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="font-size: small; white-space: pre;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">T</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Didot; font-size: 12px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">he Master of Ceremonies tapped the microphone. The PA squealed. Some invisible sound tech wrestled the feedback and found the proper level. <i>"Test Test Test"</i>. </span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>The MC was an imposing man, six four or five, dressed in expensive evening clothes -- a midnight blue cut <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>away tuxedo, Turkish style velvet slip-ons and a white rosebud in his lapel . His hair, which shone blue in the spotlight, was pomaded straight back. He had a lavish mustache, waxed into wide handlebars ending in impossible curlycues. He wore a fez. Tucked under the big man's arm was a small brindle dog with keen orange eyes. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>The house lights and the hubbub trailed off ... all but the high end laughter and the chucka, chucka, chucka, of stainless shakers filled with gin and ice drifted away. </span></span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"> <i>"Welcome to the Modern Lounge all you lords and ladies ... all you cats and kittens."</i> chanted the MC.<i> "Serge Trouserin's the name ... gin and jazz's the game."</i><b> </b></span></span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"> His voice was slow and dark as diesel as he caressed the mic and whispered intimately to the standing room only crowd. </span></span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"> <i>"You've been waiting patiently for the main event, the headliner ... the piece de resistance. </i></span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><i>Your patience, lords and ladies is about to be richly rewarded ... 'cause Mr. Lounge is in the house."</i> </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>The crowd roared it's approval. Serge waited for the din to subside then continued, </span></span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"> <i>"Mr. L. has brought us some 'new talent' ( air quotes ) recently 'recruited' ( air quotes ) "from topside."</i> </span></span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"> The audience responded with the back bencher's cheer of "here, here, here" and a generous round of applause. </span></span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"> <i>"Mr Lounge, as always, is going to seduce us with his sultry sax ... tonight on stand up bass, that would be the 'doghouse' to all you hep cats ... Lords and ladies ... put your hands together for Mr. Trig Mixter. On the drums,"</i> Serge Trouserin continued,<i> "the one, the only Mr. Harleigh Holmes". </i></span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Serge Trouserin snapped his fingers two and four, his velvet turned up toe tapped four on the floor. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"> <i>"Without further ado and nothin' in your pockets ... I give you The Modern Lounge's favorite band ..... </i></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><i>Mr. L and the 'Retro Rockets'."</i></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://pinterest.com/mrlounge/pulp-fiction-dial-l-for-lounge-blog-novella/" target="_blank">Dial 'L' for Lounge Chapter 7 Serge Trouserin</a></td></tr>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div>theVicomtesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17483928332590454826noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6709866099170572195.post-18788760872899092192012-03-28T19:25:00.000-07:002013-01-29T08:54:31.647-08:00Chapter Eight --No Ax, No Charts ... No Clue--<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Didot; font-size: 12px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="font-size: small; white-space: pre;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">N</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Didot; font-size: 12px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">o Ax! No charts! Ric had neglected to mention we were the blue plate special on this evening's entertainment menu. </span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Harleigh and I, the twins -- Slack-jawed and Dumbfounded, froze while the crowd whistled and stomped. </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Mr. Lounge, who had been waiting just behind the 'teaser' curtains wetting his reed, stepped into the spotlight. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Gone were the trench coat and fedora, replaced by a short sleeved Guayabera ( Cuban wedding shirt ) and white linen pants. The felt trilby he parked with Sharon at the coat check had been replaced with a straw pork pie hat with a bright blue band. A vintage Selmer alto saxophone, </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">silver </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">with a gold bell, rested in a stand nearby. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>The jewel box stage at the Modern Lounge was barely big enough for three musicians and their instruments. </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">There was tall, thin Ric and his saxophone, a primo three piece kit of vintage 'Sonor drums' for Harleigh and a fine old German gamba style doghouse ( in walnut ) for me. Out in front was an upholstered podium with the double R which I assumed stood for 'Retro Rockets'. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>The rowdy crowd at Modern Lounge wasn't having any no. Harleigh was game ... after all he<i> is</i> a drummer. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I could only hope that Mr. L was going to call a set of standards ( war horses we could fake without charts ). </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Or ... that the crowd was already drunk enough and all they really wanted to do was dance. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Squeezing the giant wedge of key lime, followed by a quick twizzle, I tossed back my perfect double 'Sapphire and Tonic'. The Gin was smooth ... even smoother than I remembered. The cocktail was strong but not 'burnt'. The tonic, handmade small batch, lots of fizz, one of those up market designer brands that cost nearly as much per ounce as the booze. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Ginger materialized at my elbow and replaced my drink. What a great waitress, I thought. Later I'd like to throw her a really big tip. I downed that one too and jumped the footlights.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I'm pretty sure I remember what I was wearing when I left my flat this morning ... and it wasn't white linen pants ... must be the gin. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Ric called his first tune....<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ea9999;"> <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ea9999;"><a href="http://vibedeck.com/riccunningham-mr-lounge/131104" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ea9999;">"Sapphire & Tonic (with Extra Lime)"</span> </a></span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"> in </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">A</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"> minor.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"> </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://pinterest.com/mrlounge/pulp-fiction-dial-l-for-lounge-blog-novella/" target="_blank">Dial 'L' for Lounge Chapter 8 No Ax</a></td></tr>
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theVicomtesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17483928332590454826noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6709866099170572195.post-58946282870003427822012-03-21T10:00:00.000-07:002012-06-04T10:26:08.038-07:00Chapter Nine -- The Dog with the Clementine Eyes --<br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small; font: normal normal normal 24px/normal Didot; letter-spacing: 0px;"><b><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span></b></span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">W</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">e found the groove straight away. My borrowed bass nearly played itself, and those hep cats and kittens lapped us up like a saucer of warm milk. Add to that the bottomless Sapphire and Tonics -- Ginger would pucker up and blow me a little angel kiss as she dropped off each round ... I was higher than a kite. </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>When we broke after the first set, Ric went off to find Randy the hostess with the incomparable derriere. Harleigh had his eye on Sharon the coat check girl and I went back to the table to wait for pretty Ginger. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">We clicked, just like that, and the night was just beginning. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Ginger was nowhere to be seen. But the brindle pup with the orange eyes was sitting on my chair. </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">There was a drink with a straw in front of him. Serge Trouserin was propped up in Harleigh's seat, his eyes were closed and his hands were folded across his chest. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>" You can leave -- but you can't take anything with you. " said the brindle dog sipping on his cocktail. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>" Ginger want's to go with you ... but that's the tricky bit ... not impossible ... but difficult. " </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>How does he do that? I thought to myself. The dog is a dummy and Trouserin was the best darn ventriloquist I'd ever seen. The dog turned to me and enunciated clearly "My named is Choire, I'm not a dummy ... I'll just pretend you didn't think that ... actually it's Trouserin who's the stiff. I'm the headliner in this dog and pony show." </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Choire cocked his head and stared straight through me with his giant orange eyes. He turned back to his drink and took a long slow sip draining the glass. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"> " You need to leave immediately following the last set, after that ... you're here ... and this, my friend is the gig that never ends. And, make sure that you take nothing from this side with you." </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>At that moment Ginger arrived with two drinks, one for the dog and one more for me. </span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://pinterest.com/mrlounge/pulp-fiction-dial-l-for-lounge-blog-novella/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" target="_blank"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5iPIPPMD7v4JxK2J2vm8ZbndrrISnklCdpHenjRgd4VxEro4MEyum2XcqW3sQa4z5BnOHR7utxmqKyoZjTxTW-Gki6z_vwvVST8jw2KFzEURHGDgAQBWua4a1w3nmZLsuC3Un44rzgBg/s400/Dial+'L'+Chapter+9+Dog.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dial 'L' for Lounge Chapter 9 The Dog w/ the Clementine Eyes</td></tr>
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<br /></div>theVicomtesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17483928332590454826noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6709866099170572195.post-31450938713207770172012-03-14T13:42:00.000-07:002012-06-04T10:24:17.569-07:00Chapter Ten -- Miles at the Modern --<span class="Apple-tab-span"></span><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="font-family: Didot; font-size: 12px; white-space: pre;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Didot; font-size: 12px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">I</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Didot; font-size: 12px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">t was the first time all day that I was knocked off center. I checked my mobile .... No service.</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>The trip down from the street -- about a million stairs in the dark to the Modern Lounge had been odd, but exhilarating ... Ric's confidence infectious. Everything about the Lounge was happening, the drinks, the crowd ( who were actually there for the music ) and gorgeous Ginger ... I was already trying her on for size </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">in my head. The orange eyed, gin swilling pooch made it all come off the rails. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Trouserin and the talking dog were on the stage again. </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">As Serge delivered his slick poetized patter the brindle pup's orange eyed gaze burned a hole in my forehead. I studied his fuzzy muzzle for a tell ... not a whisker moved. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Harleigh returned from a brief assignation in the coatroom with a smudge of tangerine lipstick on his chin. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>" I think I'm in love. " he said, sliding into the chair next to mine. He was flushed, sweaty and his shirt wrinkled. " Sharon is smokin' hot, and she's nuts about me. ... Trig, this kinda thing doesn't happen to me." </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">I smiled and nodded, there was no need to kill his buzz just yet ... I had suspicions but I wanted a second opinion.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Flawlessly, the brindle pup threw his voice, animating his mustachioed, fez wearing puppet.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"> " Lords and Ladies ... cats and kittens " chanted Trouserin, " We have royalty in the house tonight and he's graciously agreed to favour us with a tune or two. " The dog smiled at me showing all his teeth and winked. Although Trouserin's lips were moving I knew that it was Choire who spoke. " Lords and Ladies ... The Modern <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Lounge is pleased as punch to present ... I give you the one the only ... Mr. Miles Davis ". </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>" Damn! " I said grabbing for Harleigh's arm. " Dude! ... Miles is dead. " Harleigh was already up and out of his chair headed back to the coatroom for a few more stolen moments with his new paramour. He called to me over his shoulder, " Dude! ... So are we. "</span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0bKWlK7m1cOKAOFmQoETvy8Pp-4Q7lcHE1ohyphenhyphenEXxr12-_B4EyhWr3x60CduTGrxsVgUhHPBYuVNWs8dFqwDdbPW4ScdowsYWGHiQCkRRsXBABJzLRbtApr7REfMyL3WV8h19Br1Y0ntY/s1600/Miles+at+the+Modern.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0bKWlK7m1cOKAOFmQoETvy8Pp-4Q7lcHE1ohyphenhyphenEXxr12-_B4EyhWr3x60CduTGrxsVgUhHPBYuVNWs8dFqwDdbPW4ScdowsYWGHiQCkRRsXBABJzLRbtApr7REfMyL3WV8h19Br1Y0ntY/s400/Miles+at+the+Modern.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dial "L" for Lounge Chapter 10 Miles at the Modern</td></tr>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div>theVicomtesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17483928332590454826noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6709866099170572195.post-90278189217191766032012-03-07T17:32:00.000-08:002012-06-04T10:23:32.166-07:00Chapter Eleven -- Backside Story --<br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="font-size: small; white-space: pre;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">I</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">f in fact I really was dead, then I had missed the dying bit ... which, I thought, was not altogether a bad bargain. My only regret was I hadn't gotten around to doing much in my very short life. Had I know that I was going to check out this soon I would have burned the candle at both ends with more enthusiasm.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>My first impulse was to examine my hands. I have no idea why ... I just turned them over looking for some sort of proof of life ... or not. My finger tips were getting cold. </span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>" Sorry kid " said Ric, pulling his chair in close to mine, " I thought you knew ... you showed up right on time. Actually the bus, was running a little early ... you never knew what hit you. And Harleigh ... well suicides often run late. They can't make up their minds ... it's a big step." </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>" I don't feel dead " I said knowing full well that I had no idea what dead felt like. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Ric pulled the Zippo lighter out of his pocket. He polished it with a cocktail napkin and put it in front of me. " This lighter saved my life " he said. " I'd like to tell you it was war related, dodging bullets on the front line, bravely leading my battalion ... but, in fact, it was about a dame. " </span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>On cue Randy arrived with a fresh Sapphire and Tonic for Ric. The way she squeezed his lime and slowly swizzled his gin bordered on pornographic. As she sacheted away, her glorious posterior told the tale.</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>"Say no more" I said to Ric, " Who could blame you."</span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAwdwdqgx0LPei4nSmIaJPCvfM-VRI8lCDidF42Rn__7a5ltmFUMUTvlvVuLX4LlJfqTl1Gj4_d__W5BMiV9Tnu9Tt1davZLGLAkAOHn2H_WM-7uWrLywfa9YcTW3qgWTXxpD-NBlrRXo/s1600/Lighter+Chapter+11.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAwdwdqgx0LPei4nSmIaJPCvfM-VRI8lCDidF42Rn__7a5ltmFUMUTvlvVuLX4LlJfqTl1Gj4_d__W5BMiV9Tnu9Tt1davZLGLAkAOHn2H_WM-7uWrLywfa9YcTW3qgWTXxpD-NBlrRXo/s400/Lighter+Chapter+11.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Didot;">Dial 'L' for Lounge Chapter 11 "Backside Story"</span></td></tr>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span></div>theVicomtesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17483928332590454826noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6709866099170572195.post-2681388756885261152012-02-29T07:45:00.000-08:002012-06-04T10:23:12.460-07:00Chapter Twelve -- Now's The Time --<br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>" </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">Y</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">ou said it saved your life ..." I said sticking my finger through the bullet hole in the well worn lighter. </span></span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px Didot; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>No flint, no fluid, there was no way that Zippo should have worked. Ric had a pull on his drink, then spoke slowly as if choosing his words carefully. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>" First you should know I'm not dead ... not yet ... and neither are you, technically ... there's a few loose ends.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>After the last set, if you're still here, well ... then that's it my friend, that's all she wrote." </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Ric stood abruptly to shake hands with Charlie Parker who was about to be introduced by Serge Trouserin.<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Choire the talking dog was draped over his arm, his rear paws dangled and his tail twitched.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>" See it's not half bad down here at the Modern Lounge," said Ric sitting down next to me again, </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>" The best of everything and all the greats. Not what you were expecting, am I right? " I didn't answer. </span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>"I'm assuming you aren't ready." said Ric. He didn't wait for my "Damn straight I'd like another sixty years and then die peacefully in my sleep -- if it's all the same to you.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>" Your Ginger ... she's been here past closing time, so the books would generally be shut on her, but the dog likes her. There are a few up line managers we never see and of course the Guy upstairs, but down here the Dog's in charge. He thinks she got a raw deal ... Don't ask. Anyway, she lit up like a candle when she saw you and she wants to go with you." </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Bird winked at me from the stage and started to blow 'Now's the Time' on his alto sax. </span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dial 'L' for Lounge Chapter12 'Now's the Time'</td></tr>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span></div>theVicomtesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17483928332590454826noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6709866099170572195.post-1129320915967958322012-02-22T13:04:00.000-08:002012-06-04T10:20:28.845-07:00Chapter Thirteen -- Not One Detail --<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Didot; font-size: 12px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Didot; font-size: 12px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">G</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Didot; font-size: 12px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">inger was waiting for me by the coat room. She had changed from her Modern Lounge uniform, the ice blue satin, skin tight sarong, into what she had been wearing when she died ... a wet floral sun dress accessorized with matching wrist and ankle ligatures. Her feet were bare. </span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"> <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Like a pair of proper bridesmaids, Ric's girl (and his attempted murderess), Randy, and Sharon the coat check girl, main squeeze of the recently deceased drummer Harleigh Holmes were busy arranging Ginger's damp clothes and hair. There was discussion of removing the butcher's twine from around her neck. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>The dog insisted that not one thing ... not one detail could be altered from the way Ginger had arrived.</span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>" Nothing added, nothing subtracted that's the way it always been. Plausible deniability and not a shred of evidence that there is and 'after ' " Choire said, studying Ginger for any possible trace of the Lounge. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>" Did she come with that earring? " the dog inquired. Ginger confirmed that she had only been wearing one when she died ... the other had been torn out in the struggle.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>My feelings of tenderness for lovely Ginger were replaced with blind rage for the son of a bitch who had done this to her. Dead was one thing ... this was altogether a different matter. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>" There'll be none of that Mixter " Choire said, never bothering to look at me. " the guy who did this is doing life without the possibility of parole and when he finally arrives I'll assign him 'back of the house' where he'll wash dishes without gloves in bleach water for eternity. " </span></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><h3>
Dial 'L' for Lounge Chapter13 'Not One Detail'</h3>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div>theVicomtesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17483928332590454826noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6709866099170572195.post-71771116892374986332012-02-15T03:25:00.000-08:002012-06-04T10:20:09.742-07:00Chapter Fourteen -- Last Call --<br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">T</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">he big round clock above the bar, a spectacular example of the golden age of advertising art, was a mosaic made of blue and silver mirror. Letters arrayed around the face between concentric rings of white neon, read, </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"> "At the Modern Lounge ... It's Always Sapphire Time." </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>It was ten minutes until midnight. The bartender raised his hands above his head and tapped his imaginary <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>wrist watch. The waitresses cycled through their sections announcing "last call for alcohol."</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Charlie Parker finished up with 'Ornithology'. A double gin and tonic waited at his private table. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Standing alone in the cold blue spotlight, Mr. Lounge began to play a one two punch called '<a href="http://vibedeck.com/riccunningham-mr-lounge/" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f9cb9c;">Powerhouse</span></a>'. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>He spun a hologram of notes designed to make your nose bleed. Three minutes in, he pulled up on the throttle, teeing up Harleigh Holmes for a death defying seven minute drum solo. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Choire, the talking dog jumped up on to a bar stool and began to run down 'The rules for a safe return to the land of the living'. He was very specific.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>" You need to leave before midnight... that gives you about four minutes ... Take nothing, leave nothing ... you must leave exactly the way you arrived ... Are you both clear on that. " We nodded. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>" Now take hold of Ginger's hand. This is critical ... don't, under any circumstances, look back at her until you arrive safely upstairs. Don't speak to her or anyone you may see on the way out ... and leave the building immediately." </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Ginger bent over Choire and gave the brindle pup a sloppy kiss. She scratched him behind the ears and said "Catch you later kiddo." </span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>The Dog read the the question that hung in a bubble over my head. "You'll know you've made it ... the sun will be shining. Take her home ... love her... treat her right .... have kids ... get old. This will all fade away in no time." Ginger slipped her icy hand into mine and moved behind me. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Sharon the coat check girl refunded two silver dollars ... they flipped through the air and landed in Ric's outstretched hand. Randy held the exit doors open allowing the Stygian black to pour in. It was even darker than I remembered. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Ric and I shook. Both our hands were cold this time. " Are you going to stay for good? " I asked Ric. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>" I have a special arrangement with the management " Ric answered, " I pretty much come and go as I'm needed ... Something like a tour guide." Your going to need this " he said pressing the Zippo into my hand. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I looked at Choire for the referee's call. </span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px Didot; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>" How the hell did you think you were going to find your way out ? " the dog said rolling his orange eyes </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>" Leave the Zippo with the desk clerk upstairs. "</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>As Harleigh Holmes launched into his final assault on the cymbals I stepped into the dark hallway with my lovely, dead, Ginger in tow.</span></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><h3>
Dial 'L' for Lounge Chapter14 'Last Call'</h3>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div>theVicomtesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17483928332590454826noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6709866099170572195.post-7178228564511191052012-02-09T13:28:00.000-08:002013-01-29T08:56:48.672-08:00Chapter Fifteen -- Resurrection Hotel --<br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small; font: normal normal normal 24px/normal Didot; letter-spacing: 0px;"><b><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span></b></span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">T</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">he Zippo blazed filling the corridor with a halo of comforting light. I held the lighter at eye level to avoid catching a glimpse of Ginger's shadow on the walls. The Dog hadn't mentioned reflections or shadows ... I just wanted to be on the safe side. Behind us in the distance Ric serenaded our escape with a reprise of <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f4cccc;"><a href="http://vibedeck.com/riccunningham-mr-lounge/97637">"<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f4cccc;">Harlem Nocture</span>"</a></span>. I'll never hear that elegant old war horse in just the same way, I thought as we hit the first </span><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="font-size: small; white-space: pre;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">flight of stairs. </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I ran as fast as I dared. Ginger's bare feet slapped in the puddles behind me as we began our hasty retreat from the underworld. As we reached the top of the stairs I felt my Ginger's fingers growing warmer. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>The dripping stopped. The tile dried and the corridor seemed less dank. A pale green glow of an exit sign in the distance promised resurrection. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>The door was flush without a handle. I deduced that was because no one ever left. But Ric he comes and goes there must be be a way ... I felt along the trim and at the threshold. Behind me Ginger began to sob softly.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">I knocked. The door opened. Light poured in. It was not the sapphire light of the Modern Lounge but it also wasn't sunlight either ... we weren't out of the woods yet . The dog's words ..." no looking back no talking to Ginger or anyone you may meet along the way." </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>The light was from a thousand golden A-lamps, Edison's first, and to my eyes, the finest light bulb ever made. Warmth, life ... gratitude washed over me. Ginger's hand was hot and sweaty. We stood in the same lobby Ric, Harleigh and I had passed through on our way to the underworld. The rotting carpets, and couches were new again the formerly dead parlour palms were brilliant green. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I snapped the Zippo shut and walked toward the reception to leave it with the desk clerk. Who, as it turned out was none other than Harleigh Holmes . He put his finger to his lips reminding me not to speak. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I surrendered the blessed life saving Zippo. Harleigh winked and pointed to the vestibule, floor to ceiling sparkling glass, where I shared a cigarette with Mr. Lounge five minutes or a million years ago. Beyond the glass partitions ... sun lit up the bluest sky. </span></span></div>
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theVicomtesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17483928332590454826noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6709866099170572195.post-42296465026761466692012-02-01T03:22:00.000-08:002012-06-04T10:18:48.175-07:00Chapter Sixteen -- " See You Around Kiddo ... " --<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Didot; font-size: 12px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="font-size: small; white-space: pre;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">W</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Didot; font-size: 12px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">e had only to cross that last threshold into the perfect light of our first day. </span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Ginger squeezed my hand ... we both stepped back into the land of the living. The fresh air and sunlight landed like the first hit of a very pure drug. " When the dog told you we'd know ... this is what he meant. " said Ginger. She came around in front of me and folded into my arms ... we stood still listening to the sounds of pigeons and distant traffic.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Ginger stood on her tiptoes and gave me a kiss that put my entire future clearly in focus. The butchers twine was gone from around her throat, as were the ligature marks on her wrists and ankles. Her sun dress and hair were dry ... her feet were still bare.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>" Take me home and take me to bed." she whispered. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>The streets which had been deserted and decaying on my way to the Modern were familiar again ... the urban mix of ethnicities, the languages, foods and the United Nations of pedestrians were from my old neighborhood. My building was less than four blocks down and the bus that had my name on it passed without incident. Today, as it turned out, <i>was not </i>a good day to die. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>On the corner stood the coffee shop where I had eaten countless 'Lumberjack' breakfasts and 2:00 AM, after the gig, cheeseburgers. Waiting patiently by the front door for his master sat a brindle pup with remarkable orange eyes. Ginger stooped to scratch him and he stood on his hind legs to lick her face. " Isn't he adorable? " <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>said Ginger, as though she had never laid on eyes him. I was sure I had seen him somewhere but I could not recall the circumstances.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>" I'm famished. " said Ginger dragging me into Otto's Home of the Bottomless Cup. All the tables were full but there were two seats open at the end of the counter. A man in a trench coat moved his coffee mug down so we could sit together. " Thank you sir. " said Ginger, jumping up onto the stool. I put out my hand to <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>acknowledge the kindness. " Ric's the name. " he said. His shake was firm but his hand was on the cool side. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Ginger ordered the menu ... the whole menu. " I feel like I haven't eaten in years." she said, chowing down her third blueberry pancake, washing it down with yet another diet coke. " You'll need a second job to keep her fed " said Ric. Otto came by and refilled my coffee cup and Randy the waitress brought the check. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>" While my girlfriend cleans out the kitchen, I thought I'd step outside for a smoke. " I said.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>" Mind if I join you? " said Ric. We stood outside the front door down wind of the brindle pup. Ric unwrapped a brand new pack of Marlboros, he tapped the pack and offered me the first soldier. He went for his pocket to light us up ... " You know I lent it out and said leave it for me at the front desk of my hotel. " he said. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I could see my Ginger from the doorway she was pouring syrup on a fresh short stack. She was so beautiful ... mad sun-bleached hair, freckles, tanned legs and barefeet ... why, I thought would she have left home this morning without shoes ? </span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">“ I might have some matches. " I said reaching into my trousers. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>From my pocket I pulled a box of matches ... the custom sort they have at really fancy places. On the sapphire foil box, in raised letters it said, <b> Compliments of the Modern Lounge.</b></span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">The instant I read the words, I knew. " Take nothing with you ! " the Dog had said it a hundred times. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>The last thing I saw .... </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Ginger getting smaller as she and Ric, Randy, Serge and Choire receded into the darkness at the end of the counter. The last thing I heard was my Ginger crying out ...</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>" See you around kiddooooo .... "</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div>theVicomtesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17483928332590454826noreply@blogger.com0