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First Grade

First Grade
A short story by Diana Weeks

First grade, it was all my neighbor and best friend, Ruth Junior, talked about the summer of 1941. Her mother, Ruth Senior, was telling my mother “Betty, I can barely wait for school to start…Joseph is on my last nerve.” Ruthy’s brother Joe is ten. We’re six, me barely.

My mom …never shy…spoke up. “Joan” that’s me…”says he’s been killing the girls’ horned toads”. .

We were collecting horned toads because they were mascots for Texas Christian University, our cow town’s higher education school…It was my Uncle Pinky’s idea…to collect horned toads.
He wanted them to dissect for a science project…they ran out of frogs.

My red haired Uncle “Pinky” lived with us…Pink marches with the TCU band. …Grandpa pays his room rent. His clarinet playing… got him a college scholarship.

Ruth sighs. “Joseph denies being a horn toad murderer…he claims it was an accident.”

Mom coughed. “The stolen red brick from the pile at the new house down the street…accidentally… fell squarely on the frog in the center of the girls back yard path… to your house…where our innocent girls… would… for sure find it”

Ruth sobered. “Well, I’ll have to tell his father…but the toads life was going to be taken by science….the toads weren’t going to escape and join the circus.” Mom gave a thumbs down sign…that means she doesn’t except the excuse. Both women laugh…Ruth Sr. adds “I don’t think Joseph was mad at the frog…he was mad at Ruthy for eating the last cookie yesterday.

Ruthy stood just behind me… huddled against the yellow flower covered paper on the hall wall… where we hold our breath and listened to grown ups talk. No crime is discussed in our presence.

Their next topic concerned where to have the doctor vaccinate us, a necessity to start school. Ruth Sr. did not want a big round scar on her daughter’s upper arm…where people can see it…like Joseph’s small pox scar had turned out.

We have appointments with the same doctor this afternoon. School starts next Monday, but we had to wait for payday to get the three dollar shot. I don’t care where I’m vaccinated just so the needle doesn’t hurt. They say it won’t… but it always does.

When our mom’s started talking about recipes…we quietly back away to cut out paper dolls in Ruth’s room.

Ruth has her own room. I’m back in my parent’s room since Uncle Pink arrived. Ha, he says I’m disrespectful for calling him “Pink” instead of Pinky.

Joe comes to the door of Ruthy’s room with his hand behind his back. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry.” Then he hands her a candy box and runs outside. Ruthy opens the box and screams…and drops the box and a green snake peeks out.

I picked it up. “Shhhh, it’s just a grass snake.” I dropped it out a window.

Ruthy made a fist. “We’ve got to get Joe back….We’ll tell him the snake escaped to Mom and Dads’ room… we’re for- bidden to enter!

Good idea I agree. “That will make him sweat. And that’s always fun.”

THE END
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

War Time

War Time

A short story by Diana Weeks

I was supposed to be listening to “Terry and the Pirates” on the radio with Buddy… my black mailer brother… but I was leaning towards the radio to give a “glance over the shoulder” reassurance look…I was listening to my mother and her close friend Gertrude talk…about the war with the Japs and the Not-zees”.

I’m not allowed to ease-drop…but that only makes it more fun…more a game that can be won or lost… Mother did not allow any talk about the war at our dinner table “War… is not… a fit subject… for children. We were always sent from the room… when an adult came into a room I was in… with another adult. I had to walk out or wait 10 seconds and get kicked out.

Mother might slowly say “Children, go play monopoly” to us and in a slight whisper she’d tell her companion…adult conversation is forbidden…for children

No argument about the unfairness…we live here too…Children are children and adults are adults…as adults they are given “free will”…do they give us children any “free will”…No “free will’s not for youth…kids need to be sheltered.. reality needs the wisdom you gain by living any way you want to…but not kids…they don’t know anything.

Me and my best friend Patricia. Pat is the niece of my mom’s best friend, Gertrude, whose two boys aged ten and six were on the floor close to the radio exiled like us…But they didn’t care to listen to women talk when Terry and his Pirates…straight from the funnies…were adventuring. Personally, I was “Brenda Starr”

I heard Gert thanking Mother and Daddy…he in absentee…for saying she and the boys could come stay at our house because of the housing shortage. Our house is a frame two bedroom, painted white with green trim. The war started just as we moved in. We did have the highest see – saw in the world.

I went to get a drink in the kitchen… to use the phone to call Pat and tell her the forbidden secret…that Gertrude was still in love with Uncle Al who was coming to visit us in a few months…he’s a civilian engineer with T B scars on his lungs.

Well she wasn’t even surprised as she had secretly read a letter Al had sent Gertrude. ..yesterday. But she didn’t know my mother and dad were going to let she and her boy move in with us.…at least til Al gets here…or…What if Gert’s Navy husband’s boat sinks?

Pat had taught me how to steam open letters. When we weren’t together …we were spies …trying to figure out what reality is…I have to practice and learn so when…? I do grow up…”I’ll free will… all over every body.

THE END
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Phoney Bride

The Phoney Bride
a short story by Diana Weeks

I met Marian at a rich friend's pool party . Her stunning presence and innocent girlish laugh, made me wish I was straight.
My older favorite aunt wanted so much for me to marry before she died. She knew I had always lived with male room mates. But in her heart she didn't want to “in able a sinner”..she believed the right Woman could “turn me”.

Auntie Addie had a million dollars worth of texas panhandle oil land..her estate was worth..giving careful thought... To her feelings. She did pay for my university education.

I teach for a community college and make a so-so-living and get a bit of respect.....My last companion died of aids after 12 years together. If auntie did... Leave me her money... I could move to the penthouse at the Edison lofts, hire a house keeper and travel.

I'm thinking... What could be so difficult about landing a woman..I love to fish.... Just to put... Aunt Addie's mind at peace.
Aunt Addie was determined to insist I find the right woman... Because she just couldn't force herself to have her heir... A queer.. She was convinced the “right woman” could show me the joys of the right kind of love.

Not that this was ever discussed.....Certainly not.

I crossed the room to meet this lovely lady but she had on a wedding band. I introduced myself. She said she liked my name... Marvin.

“You are a good liar” I told her and she grinned. ”I was hoping you were single I whispered. “ I was going to ask you to dinner”.

“Where were you going to take me” she asked?.

“Where ever you want to go” thinking I had plenty of plastic in my pocket”?

She slipped the ring off her finger and dropped it in my hand. “I'm an actress...I'm just pretending I'm married... I'm auditioning for Maggie in “Tin Roof”. Next week.

I took her hand and put the ring back on her third finger.“I've got a gig for you”. She frowned. “It doesn't involve a donkey does it. ” I bust out laughing...We're just going to make an old lady happy...You'll play my new shy bride...For one fancy dinner in Abilene. She bubbled giggles..and assured me “ I'm good at blushing”

The End
All Rights Reserved

I Shared a Bathroom with 150 men

Born on the Tundra

Resourcefulness

Resourcefulness
A short story by Diana Weeks

Laury had looked forward to summer every day of the fifth grade. She absolutely hated to get up early. The only day her mother let her sleep late was Saturday. They both slept in that one-day of the week. Sunday's they had to get up to visit sick relatives or help some friend move. It was good deed day.

This was the first summer her widowed Mom had agreed to let her stay home alone. Laury promised to clean the house and have supper ready when her Mom got home from work, just like the housekeeper they had last year, before the insurance money ran out.

"Wow, she thought and hugged herself. "After Mom goes to work I can read". Laury could read all night if her mom didn't wake up and lecture about your body needing sleep...and turn the light out…it's getting in her eyes.

Big brother, Sam, had given her a powerful flashlight, for her ninth birthday, for just such occasions. Oh, Sam could make her laugh. And cry, when he would tell her a bedtime story wrong. "Cinderella's mean step-sister sees the Prince coming and gets a jar of Vaseline and spreads it all over her foot, and gets her foot in the glass slipper and the Prince has to marry her".

Laury would cry and sob. "Tell it right. Dad, make Sam tell it right". Her daddy would laugh, and come in and put his arm around her and say "You're too good for any man, even a Prince. And mean bad things happen". That turned out to be too true.

Reading was the only thing that captured Laury's mind enough to block out the couldn't hide hurt. Her daddy and older brother had been killed when she was nine, their car hit head-on by a drunk driver.

The second day of the new "summer deal", their electricity was turned off. It had been on last night, after they had eaten dinner, her mother bragged on how cool and neat Laury had made the house, the table set with fresh flowers, savory pinto beans, cornbread and canalope.

"You made me feel so welcome." Her mom smiled and smiled and kissed both her cheeks three times.

"Daddy always said he loved to come home, because he felt so welcome, we all went to the door to hug him". Tears tracked both their cheeks, but they didn't go into boo-hoos like they did for weeks, after the accident. "I am so pleased, if you keep this up, I won't wake you up to tell you what to do, before I leave in the mornings. I'll let you sleep. How 'bout that?" Then they both bawled and hugged. "You are so good. You don't worry me" her mother told her and hugged Laury again for a long time.

Laury felt like she was in heaven and didn't even have to die. She didn't wake up until ten the next morning and read the last two chapters of Rebecca Wells' "Little Alters Everywhere", before she got out of bed. She was surrounded by the "Princess' pillows" her daddy had given her for Christmas in 2001.

Her parents did not let 9/11 spoil their Christmas. She had a million funny family memories. Her parents could make everyday a party.

She splashed cold water in her face and put her matt down and did her exercise routine. Mostly stretching. Before the unthinkable, and her mom had to get a job as a doctor's receptionist, they did it together every morning. Now her mom gets up at five to do her yoga, but she didn't wake Laury until she was ready for work.

The sluggish youngster didn't know the power was off until she started to cook bacon for her favorite breakfast, a BLT, waiting for the pan to warm, she opened the fridge to get a tomato, and the light didn't go on. She held her hand above the heating coils on the stove and felt nothing. Still in her nightgown she went around the house clicking the light switches.

Yes, the power was off in their all electric home. That meant she couldn't turn on the air-conditioner at four to cool the house down. Had her mother forgotten to pay the bill?

Laury knew things were tight, the television had gone out and not been replaced, and her mother liked to watch the news. Plus her grandmother had put in a garden on her spring visit, and taught Laury how to weed and water the vegetables.

How could she have supper ready? Laury knew better than to call her mother at work. If they were behind on bills, she sure couldn't ask her to bring home fast food.

Laury got their big foam ice chest from the garage and filled it with everything out of the fridge, having a baloney sandwich for breakfast.

She hurried and made the beds and picked up dropped clothes and the scattered free weekly newspaper, and sat the table for supper, while she tried to think of a solution.

First, she would walk the six blocks to the neighborhood library, the only place she was allowed to go alone. Her books were due and she had read all five, including "Simple Recipes". She dressed in her red shorts and tie-dyed yellow tee shirt. "I'm going to look bright, anyway" she told herself.

Slowly Laury paced the aisles between the tall brown wooden bookshelves, distracted by her problem. She had to keep her end of the bargain. Her mother had bragged so on last night's supper.

Her grown-up friend, the librarian Mrs. Simmons, was putting up a display on solar energy. "What's the matter Laury, have you already read all our books"? she teased.

"No, but I want to", Laury assured her, stopping to look at the arrangement of new books. Her heart thumped and jumped like a frog, right there like magic, "Cooking with the Sun". She leafed through it and quickly found directions with a drawing of a simple solar cooker. All she needed was cardboard, aluminum foil, a clear plastic bag and a black pot. They had a navy blue roaster, that should be close enough. "What a great idea" Laury thought.

She rewarded herself with a thick adult book, "The Red Tent", and hurried out. Stopping behind the new dollar store, she picked up a large cardboard box. At home she cut out pieces and covered one side with foil, propping them inside her plastic baby bathtub from the attic, creating a big bowl shaped sun cooker.

In the garden she quickly gathered a small head of cabbage, onions, carrots, sweet yellow peppers, butter lettuce and two red ripe tomatoes for a salad.

Laury retrieved two lamb chops from the freezer, They were the last of the spring lamb, saved for a special occasion but she didn't want to risk letting them spoil. Her daddy's parents raised lambs, and gave them a slaughtered frozen lamb every Easter, so good and easy to cook. It was always eaten fast.

The girl carefully cut the vegetables in small pieces. She buttered the inside of the roaster artfully arranging the food, and put the covered pan inside a large plastic bag. She placed it in the center of her solar stove, and carried it to the sunniest spot in the yard.
Relieved that the book said you couldn't burn food in a solar cooker, Laurie sat in their shady porch swing and luxuriously read, intimate details about the women in the Bible…all afternoon. She had closed all the blinds and curtains and opened the front and back doors to suck a breeze through the house.

Laury's sun cooked supper was a huge success. "You are resourceful and that's a great blessing" her Mom told her that night, giving her a hewmungus hug. "Paydays tomorrow and I can get the bill paid".

That night, her mother did not wake up and say one time, "Turn off the light and go to sleep".

THE END
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Planet in Jeopardy

Planet in Jeopardy
A short story by Diana Weeks

Liza waited tables to get through environmental engineering at texas university. She went to work for “a green life” organization. As a fast Thinking photographer & activist in Washington D.C. She is so persuasive… the anti-green lobbyist fear she will bring them down.

Their diabolical leader tom, who protects the bottom line of many chemical industries, panics. He puts together a trip to the north pole so they can personally get the latest discoveries. He dares Liza to come along by saying “it’s not as bad as you think”. And she agrees.

While Liza is in the icy wilderness setting up her camera equipment, they leave her behind, alone without provisions... She sees their plane take off, and the wings waved goodbye. Murder is a joke to them.

Liza bangs her cell phone against a tripod…and taps the phone calling a local pal for help. She has to leave a message “come get the film” her phone goes dead. She works setting up her cameras to video the north pole melting.

Liza searches her backpack and finds a stray mint and tries to open the cellophane…can’t do it with gloves…starts to remove a glove…but it’s too cold she puts it in her mouth, still in the paper wrapping, Looks up and sees a small baby polar bear wanders into her camp...Shaking and unsteady.

Liza scoops it up…and turns on all three of the tripod cameras. She holds a tiny paw and waves it toward the red lights. The little body feels skinny inside the white fur. She unzips her coat and puts the bear against her blouse and zips it against her chest and dances singing “she’ll be coming round the glacier, she’ll be coming round the glacier… when she comes”, twirling until she gets dizzy and sits down on her backpack.

The tiny bear is still whining. Liza takes the mint out of her mouth, spits out the soggy paper and twists the round, red and white candy in the end of her scarf, spits on it and tells the bear…”try this, see if you like peppermint…I made you an old fashioned sugar tit”. Liza spits on the sugar tit…and the baby sucks it. Liza rocks back and forth.

Liza sings every song she remembers holding the baby polar bear to keep the animal alive and watches the moon rise until sleep overtakes her. The tears in her eye lashes turn to icicles. It makes a great picture.

The next day, an Eskimo journalist friend, Annie, arrives with a dog sleigh. The baby polar bear is gone but there are pictures and tracks of the mother bear… leading her cub away. Annie knells by Liza and tells her “you saved the baby bear. The mother found it”.

Pictures of Liza freezing to death, while trying to keep the baby polar bear alive are released to all media by Al Gore. A documentary is made… people were moved watching her death.

Tears spring to the eyes of everyone who sees the pictures. The public outcry is forcing congress to pass stronger environmental laws.

The End
All rights Reserved

Father and Son

FATHER AND SON
A short story by Diana Weeks

Erik’s first born; Cory was seven, his sister Paulette, four. The family had just moved into a new neighborhood…because Erik got promoted to assistant manager of a big grocery store and makes more money than the… public housing project they lived in…allowed…in 1958, Austin.

The rent on the three bedroom they now live in costs more than Erik’s raise…Betty finds a job to help but there are no neighborhood playmates, for Cory and Paulette. The project was filled with TU student’s families… an average of three kids in each apartment. Erik dropped out of UT his senior year to take the full time job.

A pregnant teen age neighbor keeps the kids while Betty’s at the ad agency, but everyday during nap time…Paige is on the phone. Cory undoes the window screen and helps Paulette sneak off to go visit their friends at the project. Cory and Paulette are out of sight… by the time Paige hangs up.

Paige panics at the thought of losing her job. It allows her to pay her parents rent. They are already mad at her. A kidnapping…just what she needed. She calls Betty and tells her the children are missing from their naps.

Betty burst into tears, realizes that won’t help…and takes a deep breath… “I’ve got the car, I’ll pick up Erik. I don’t think anyone would take the kids.”

Paige mutters “No one who knows them”.

“Wait, we taught them how to open the window screen in case of a fire. They may have walked over to the project. We’ll go there first. You have his emergency number …call Erik and tell him to be out front of the store. Stay there Paige… in case the children get back!

Erik starts running toward their 1952 Chevy and opens the door and jumps in...Before Betty can completely stop. Erik is crying. “Have you called the police? Paige thinks they’ve been kidnapped.”

Betty had never before seen tears on her husbands’ cheeks. She takes his face between her hands and kisses him. ”We’ll find them”. But no one they knew at the project has seen the children. The now silent parents drive up and down the streets between…and find the kids sitting on a curb… lost.

As soon as they get back to their house, Erik, a thoroughly frightened father takes off his belt and starts whipping Cory, who jumps around his father in a circle… his hands trying to protect his bottom from the leather waving in the air….Cory is yelling “Help, help” and Erik is ordering “Hold still”.
Suddenly, Cory shrieks loudly and holds out his left hand towards Betty. Cory’s’ little finger hangs at an un-natural angle; Paulette sobs “Don’t hurt my brother”!

Erik knew he went too far. “Betty can you get me back to work and take Cory to the hospital?”

“Oh no you don’t”, tears fill Betty’s’ eyes. “You were so scared he would run away again…you didn’t know what you were doing. Well Erik, you can explain to the doctor.”

Betty picks up Paulette and walks to the next room... Paulette leans over her mothers’ shoulder and sticks her tongue out toward Cory who sticks his tongue out at his sister…and wiggles it. Paulette laughs.

Erik clears his throat. Cory looks at his bent finger…and back at his daddy. “I think I hit it on the corner of the coffee table trying to get away.”

Eirk looks at his son and pulls Cory into his arms. Cory hugs his father’s neck with his right hand “We didn’t run away… we didn’t have anybody to play with.”

“You have your sister.” Erik told his son.

“She’s nobody!” Cory explains. “Can’t we move back?”

His father holds him,“Cory, you are one fast twirling kid. Maybe you’ll be a quarterback someday. And I’ll come to all your games…and say, I taught him everything he knows”.

The father-son laughter lures Betty. She comes in with a pillowcase pinned to make a sling and puts it around Cory to hold his arm and hand. She gets down on her knees to adjust the sling. “There, Cory, we don’t want you to leave without permission ever .again.”

Cory nods agreement and smiles. Betty gasps. “You’ve got a loose tooth. I’ll pull it in the morning.”

“I want dad to do it tonight when we get back”

Betty looks out a window, cups her hand above her eyes, “There’s the tooth ferry outside now…look”…Paulette and Cory peer out..”Oh, now she’s hiding?” Erik winks at Betty. She winks back.

THE END
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Going to Athens

Going to Athens
By Diana Weeks

Candace was sitting on the front steps of the four plex she manages, for some friends …in exchange for free rent. The Brit couple, who had lived downstairs fell so in love with the place they bought it…then suddenly got transferred back to London. Candace, a free lance writer, was anxiously… waiting for the postman. The magazine editor had told her a check would be in the mail. She sings “I’m just a gullible girl”.

Her across the hall neighbor, Mimi, an award winning playwright, drove up in her Mercedes, just as the postman turned the corner and walked toward them. Mimi got out and retrieved a letter from her backpack smacked a lip print on the back and said “I’ll trade”. The postman sniffed her letter….looks at the address. “I thought you broke up with Vincent…or is this the kiss off letter”.

Mimi “Maybe” and grabbed the envelope he handed her; Candace… didn’t even get any junk mail. She watched Mimi rip open a letter with foreign stamps, and start laughing with excitement. “They picked my play for the Women’s Playwright Conference in Athens, Greece. Candace covered her face with her hands…wanting to sob. Mimi pursed her lips. “Aren’t you happy for me?”

Happy for her? Candace wanted to kick her. “I know something that will make you feel better” Mimi said. “You can be the stage manager and I’ll write a grant to take the cast and you. It’s a two character just us four women….Just think we can fly in and out of Paris….Ou la la. You can write the grant for travel”.

Candace thought…So that’s how I got invited. Suddenly Mimi starts running after the postman shouting “Stop. Please stop.” Candace joins Mimi at the corner watching the postman walking away fast. “When I wrote that “Dear John”…I didn’t know I’d be going to Paris”. Candace feels sorry for her impulsive friend. “Come on…don’t worry…remember how good it feels to “make up”.

Mimi turns and laughs “You’re right Candy…I’ll get to make up with Vincent…in French”

“Oh yes, how romantic. Let’s plan some publicity” Candace, a retired reporter, suggests.

“Oh would you?’ Mimi rushes up the stairs “Oh Candy, Candy, would you get me on TV?”

“Yes, if you quit calling me Candy.”

The grants were requested and granted. Another project way underway…by the time it was time to go to the conference. Now a scene of Mimi’s play about Tolstoy had to be translated in to Russian...to be presented at a Russian Celebration…the week end before they leave for Athens.

Candace used an international angle of the two plays to get Mimi a TV interview set up for the Friday before they left.

Mimi was to go directly to the TV station after she takes the new pages to the translator. Candace was pacing the lobby of the TV station… thinking of calling the police to see if there had been a wreck…or if Mimi got car jacked….when the receptist motions her over. “Mimi can’t make it she had a flat tire.”

Candace remembers how handsome the translator is and stops worrying about her friend.
.
She didn’t see Mimi until the next morning….when she knocked on her door loudly. “You missed the TV interview. “

Mimi opened the door a crack and shrugged “Oh was the interview yesterday?” Candace didn’t bother answering. Mimi bubbled on, “Just think we’ll be in Paris Monday night. Vincent called me. He’s going to meet our plane and take us to our hotel.”

“Stop it. Stop it” Candace almost screams…It’s not fair, you’ve got success, men everywhere…I hate you!”

“Okay, if you feel that way… I won’t tell you that Vincent has a brother…in fact he sez he has three handsome brothers.”

“And I suppose they all own liquor stores”.

Mimi stretches her arms over her head. “Who cares? We’re going to Paris’.

THE END
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Sad Valentine's Day

Sad Valentine's Day
By Diana Weeks

Dr. Richard Howard was into his second whiskey sour, when a friend passed the bar and gave him a strong friendly pat…that almost knocked him off his bar stool. “Sorry Dr. Dick” whispers the tall slender City Police Detective…

”What’s your beef tonight Chuck? Surely there’s been no malice on Valentines Day.” Dick mutters.

Chuck turns to the man sitting next to Dick “Mister, you’re sitting in my place.” as he helps him down.

Dick tells the customer. “Ralph, make an appointment with your family physician…I’m a pathologist”. Ralph strolls back to his booth to wait for the cop to scram so he can find out more from Dr. Howard later. ..about his sore throat.

Chuck raises a finger at the bartender…and tells his pal Dick “Everybody wants something for free.”

“But not you. Never you” Dick sips his glass. “Want to buy me a drink?”

Chuck signals the bar keep and points to himself and Dick, who covers the top of his almost empty glass with his flat palm. “No thanks Chuck. I can guess why you are here…it’s your old girlfriend Darlene.”

“You went with her too when we were in college…remember what a nice girl she was.

“Of course, she got my cherry. I was sorry when I heard her body was found in the park this morning.”

“Yeah, the new young Medical Examiner… who replaced you ruled accidental overdose... Darlene loved life. She never did drugs. I think her husband poisoned her. “After you quit, our Commissioners Court cut out budget money for autopsies.

“Oh, I see. You want me to do a free autopsy?”

“Not free …for the good of justice. No ones over there. I’ll go with you and my partner will look out for us. You don’t have to cut her up just test the contents of her stomach.

An hour later the two men are back in the bar. The doctor sits in his place at the bar. “You were right Chuck, but how are you going to explain it?”

“I’m going to show the M.E. and give him credit…and tell our ole’ classmate Chris, their life insurance agent…to drag his feet paying off the husband…until I can find where he bought it…Her killer’s going down, I promise.”

THE END
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Glamour Shots

Glamour Shots
Short Story by Diana Weeks

Becky and Beverly’s forty year friendship started at a 1968 coffee break in another neighbor’s house. The hostess declared that she was canceling her subscription of Life Magazine for having nudity on the cover. “Why the magazines are mailed straight to our mailbox and sometimes I let the children bring in the mail. I don’t want them to see such trash”.

New neighbors, Bev and Becky, walked to their next door homes talking about how foolish it is to think we can protect our children from anything, much less everything. Both assumed their kids would do everything they had done… and anything new.

Now the kids are on their own. Bev lives in San Antonio, in an apartment, near grandchildren. Becky has been writing plays in Houston since quitting her reporter’s day job. Bev has been encouraged by Becky to write something. Bev decided to write about the only thing she really knew…her life story. And use real names.

Becky sprinkled in her pants having a coughing fit… when Bev called to tell her…she had signed a contract to publish her memoir. It will be in book stores this winter. Becky is envious…she has not gotten a play up in five years. Wham, her “beginner” friend writes a hit. Bev’s publisher wants a photo for the back cover.

She calls Becky about needing to come visit…The web revealed no Glamour Shot studios left in San Antonio…but one just outside Houston in the Woodlands. Considering themselves “natural beauties” the women, now in their seventies… had laughed at those people in the rich eighties…who paid big money for a picture of themselves to frame.

The appointment was made, a financial deal cut for the copyright rights. The friends arrived on time. The pre-shooting make-over began with a foundation applied with an electric powder sprayer. It gives face and exposed skin a glowy color. The photographer looks and acts gigolo-ish, touching Bev’s cheek, head or arm directing her…in a throaty voice to “Smile”.

When we looked at the proofs something was wrong with all but one. It was chosen and a check was written….but before the women got back to Becky’s apartment…Bev had decided that her eyes were too squinty and it was the photographers fault for telling her to smile…and cause her cheeks to puff up and squash her eyes.

A friend came by and Bev explained her doubts “My room mate is a photogher…She got $400 dollars for her last shoot, you can look her up on the web under Rabid Girl Scout.
“Would she shoot a few of me for fifty if we come to her” Yes. Becky dropped Bev off and went to find an ATM for the money.

By our return the young woman had shot four frames and one Bev loved. “Look…” she sighs in awe, Bev in the picture looks like a sixteen year old saint….the white hair around her face makes a holy halo. And it’s all over Facebook, Classmates, Twitter, Photo Bucket, Flicker, Mobile Me and her web site.

THE END
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED