Tyrone and Turner

Tyrone and Turner
A short story by Diana Weeks

Tyrone and Turner had been adversaries since birth. Tyrone was four when his brother Turner came along and spoiled Tyrone’s pampered “only child life”. Turner quickly began hogging all their working parents’ attention. Fate had put them together in retirement.

Turner left a career as an ace crime reporter. He took early retirement, at the request of his Paper’s Publisher, to stop the City editor from firing Turner, who missed a story… due to… what the Publisher called… Turner’s “large capacity for having fun”.

Turner was a copy boy when he got drafted in 1941… returning from three years in the South Pacific… married his high school sweetheart…went to college…and was welcomed back to a reporters job held for him. by his daily paper where he worked another thirty-five years.

Poor Tyrone,who daily exercises his neck… had never thought he’d get old…He is a retired health inspector…living on his paltry Social Security…it barely covers his beer and cigarettes. First he had tried to be a door to door vacuum cleaner salesman…but found it impossible to pass up a housewife’s come on. He felt the women took advantage of him when they didn’t buy a vacuum cleaner. He went on to become an insurance actuary.

Its Christmas Eve morning. Tyrone and Turner are finishing breakfast at the Early Bird Café. Turner watches Tyrone… concoct the recipe for his second cup of coffee… combining one and a half teaspoons of sugar and three packets of… torn… one at a time… powdered creamer. Turner mutters “’what delicate taste buds you must have.”

“My tongue has precise requirements.” Mack replies. “Redheads”.

The old men both laugh…and begin reading their papers. Turner starts at his first section, Tyrone his sports section…”Ty, look at these low sale prices…”

Tyrone, deeply into a football story doesn’t look or listen…Five minutes later, he looks up and asks Turner, “Have you finished your Christmas shopping?”

“Two weeks ago. That little TV you couldn’t afford to buy your son … is on sale for $19.99…Tyrone you have enough money to buy it at that price”.

Tyrone looks for the waitress for more water and holds up his empty glass... “Where is it? I don’t want to go all the way downtown. “

“Macy’s is all over town. There’s one at The Mall”…Turner bounces, eager to go somewhere. Tyrone is back to reading…three minutes later…Tyrone looks up again. “Okay… let’s drive into town this afternoon and I’ll get it for Mark.”

Turner moans “Let’s go now; we’re already fifteen miles on our way.”

“We can’t… I don’t have my checkbook.”

Not wanting to offer a loan he wouldn’t get back, Turner drives them back home.

They live forty miles outside Houston…on Turners’ G.I. Land deal… 20 acre ranch property…Turner in a converted Santa Fe Railroad caboose, Tyrone in a small trailer Turner had found for his ‘poor mouth’ brother… Tyron’s check book is found and he robustly agrees to go now.

From the look of the crowded parking lot…everyone had waited for sales. “Do you want to stay in the car? Tyrone asks “I’m just going to run in and buy the TV and be right back”.

Turner shakes his head “I need the exercise.” The two men look at each other and laugh… Turner the shortest takes the lead. Tyrone stops suddenly in panic…when they reach the automatic doors…opening into dense strolling shoppers. Fight or flight juice zoomed through Tyrone’s body.

Turner didn’t know Tyrone was missing until he got to the store directory. Turner climbs on a foot high display base and looks around the crowded store, he sees Chili, a cop he knew…outside talking to Tyrone, taking Ty’s arm and leading him inside. Tucker whistles loudly like a tropical parrot call and waits for Security officer, Chili, and Tyrone to look his way… then he waves his baseball cap…and points.

They meet in the men’s room. Tyrone had taught his energetic little brother Turner…that if he got lost in a store to go to the men’s room. The men’s room was where they made Santa a list of gifts…later waiting for their mother to get off at Neiman Marcus they went to the men’s room to tell nasty jokes…and talk about the girls they liked.

Turner‘s voice is firm. “You can’t be a quitter Ty. Your kid wants the TV on sale…you’ve got to complete your mission. … Making your little boy happy on Christmas morning…”

“This is like running with the bulls” Ty;s. head drops down so far his chin is covered with his brown muffler. Turner talks faster..”Why I bet our pal here will escort you to the electronic department. Do you have time Chili?” Turner slips him a five dollar bill,

Tyrone tells Chili. “Don’t hold on to my arm or people will think I’m under arrest’.

Turner speaks up. “Ty just pretend you’re blind”, hands his brother his sunglasses.
Tyrone puts them on and lets Chili lead him to the elevator. When the elevator opens they see a long line of folks clutching the little TV on sale… in their arms waiting to be checked out.

“Where’s the display of sale TVs, Chili?”

“Around to the left” All three hurry but discover only an empty shelve...Tyrone softly cusses.
Tuner picks up a slightly larger TV that’s on sale for $30.00 “He’ll like this bigger one even better and I’ll pay the difference!” The deal was done…Tyrone offered to tell Mark it was from both of them. Chili got Tyrone …still as a blind customer to the head of the line and Tyrone happily held the TV in his lap…all the way home…smiling at his little brother…and getting a grin back..

THE END
All RIGHTS RESERVED

A Shrine to Obsolescence

Thanksgiving Murder

Thanksgiving Murder
A short story by Diana Weeks

Mom told me not to name the turkey the church ladies gave us. It was my job to feed the bird corn to get her fat before she gets the ax on thanksgiving.

I named the fowl Jean Harlow after Pa's favorite movie star. I had noticed our scrawny turkey had a “sure” natural stride like Miss Harlow.

I started talking to her, assuring her that I would help her escape. Yes; I wasn't going to stand by and watch the murder of my new friend.

My folks had to send my twin brother Bubba to work on Uncle Al's farm. I'd been alone with 'them', our parents, who were both out of work and cranky. I had heard one of the church ladies call us 'the most pitiful family in the congregation, a pure insult.

Miss Harlow would strut around the empty chicken yard. Our flock of chickens had been sold the week before the early frost had killed ma's kitchen garden.

“Don't worry about a thing” I told Miss Harlow. “There's a bunch of wild turkeys in the woods. I'll take you there.”

“Hey kid, I like it here” she insisted.. “Food hand delivered.

“Are you crazy? They'll kill you!

“Of course…the way I taste…it thrills the tongue. Yum yum … eating a drum stick or thick slices of my breast. I makes people happy”

“For one day” I say.

I like your folks. I want them to get to keep their turkey eating tradition. Getting together to eat gives families comfort.

It's barbaric. I've got it; you could start laying eggs to earn your keep.”

“No, that hurts. I want to be a thanksgiving turkey. I'll get all the praise! I don’t have to compete with decorated trees or presents for attention. A turkey spirit never dies. I'll come back as. Santa’s elf, the Easter bunny…or the tooth ferry.

I don’t think…I'll be able to eat you. I threw Miss Harlow some more corn…from my apron pocket…and told her. I don’t thing I’ll be able to …eat you.

You must…you can’t ruin the balance of nature. While I’m being stuffed…I’ll find out what the children want for Christmas and be sure they get it.

I can till you right now…I told Miss Harlow… I want a bicycle. But I still won’t eat but maybe one drum stick.

“Gobble, gobble…enjoy me”…she shook her turkey tail feathers.. “Cheer up…a turkey’s spirit never
dies.

My brother made up a Thanksgiving poem last year…when he had to feed the Thanksgiving turkey.

A TURKEY NEVER DIES
Turkey dressing hotly roasted
Turkey sandwich lightly toasted
Turkey salad made of legs
Every meal it’s on your plate
I use mine for fishing bait
Two weeks past Thanksgiving Day
You may turn up in a soufflé
Enchiladas stew or hash
Even Turkey succotash
With imported caviar
Or a chocolate candy bar.
You can feed all the troops
On the Turkey carcass soup…on the Turkey carcass soup.
Miss Harlow flapped her wings, laughed loud and gobbled. Yes child, it’s true. …Turkeys never die…
Mom just doesn’t want you to land on her hips or Pa’s tummy.

THE END
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Christmas Party Crasher

Christmas Party Crasher
A short play by Diana Weeks

Set – The Apex Oil Company's conference room.
Characters : Sonya – Executive Secretary
Shirley – Sonya's best friend and room mate a secretary
At rise: Sonya is on the phone listening and making notes.

SONYA
Yes sir...yes sir...(pause to listen and make notes) Yes sir...
Shirley enters and flops down in the Chairman's puffy dark leather arm chair .Sonya puts her finger across her lips.

SHIRLEY
Yes sir, yes sir...sort of has a rythumn...

SONYA
Thank you sir. (hangs up phone)

SHIRLEY
Our land lord called and threatened us with eviction.

SONYA
My boss just promised me a nice bonus if I host the company Christmas party next week. Mr. Charley's got a date to go to the Mayor's party so he can't stay.

SHIRLEY
You said they weren't giving a party this Christmas.

SONYA
True...but in September, the Chairman's wife spent four-thousand dollars for a designer dress to wear to the office Christmas party.

SHIRLEY
So now they're optimistic. What's the budget, do they get us a couple of boxes of doughnuts?

SONYA
No. My boss Charley is giving me a company credit card. We're going to be okay.

Shirley puts her hands together pointing under her chin.

SHIRLEY
Thank you Jesus for another month we don't have to move back home.

SONYA
Plus ...the company party will be the same night we had invited our friends over for wine and crackers, bring your own cheese bash. Now they can enjoy smoked turkey and baked hams.
SHIRLEY
We call our friends and change the address to here?

SONYA
The lady needs people to see her dress.

SHIRLEY
Do you think the Chairman will notice fifty people he doesn't recognize?

SONYA
No, we don't have faces to him.

SHIRLEY
Wait a second. Most of them are looking for jobs.
Are you inviting company vendors. (Sonya nods yes.) Our friends can make contacts.
They laugh and hug.

SHIRLEY (con't)
How did you find out about the four-thousand dollar dress?

SONYA
A pal...his secretary, who he makes do his personal bills. I had her remind the Chairman
of the pity of not getting to wear such a dress. He's the type who wants to get his money out of everything.

THE END
All Rights Reserved

Halloween Lovers

Halloween Lovers
a short story by Diana Weeks

The idea of visiting an old cemetery was Kyle’s and it was their first date. Joyce was skeptical. Why do you want to go there? Kyle dropped his head. “My Grandmother died last month and I promised to keep flowers on her grave. It won’t take long and then we can go to the party your friends are having. I want to meet all your friends because you look darling in your doctor’s costume”. This appeased Joyce...

Joyce looked around “I don’t see any flowers”.

“I thought we’d drive by a Kroger. There’s a vase already there because she was buried next to Grandpa so their double headstone is up...

Grandpa picked the best flower from his garden everyday, he put it in a crystal bud vase he gave her the first Christmas they were married in 1952..It was kept in her kitchen window over the sink. And she’d give him a bodacious kiss so mushy my Mom would say “Mother, not in front of the children”.

Joyce was touched… that this leather clothed motorcycle riding tough guy talked about such sweet family feelings. Joyce had run to the window when she heard the throbbing cycle motor stop outside. Her mother looked and turned white. “That thug must have gotten lost from his, from his, Hell’s Angels gang!”

“Mother, he’s a very nice guy, don’t be so judgmental.”

“Oh yeah, where did you meet him?” She stood with her hands on her hips and made Joyce feel five years old.

Joyce’s mind whirled…do I tell the truth or lie?”

“Well…answer me.”

“In the grocery store…last week when you sent me to buy bread because Dad forgot.”

Her mother walled her eyes and held on to her hips until her finger tips pressed into her tummy. “What department? I want details”.

“He was looking at the steaks”. Joyce stopped there and left out… in the mark down nook where she was looking for lamb. He joked with the butcher and said to me” The butcher ought to wear a blue bandana to hide his face. He can’t even look me in the eye.”

I couldn’t resist answering “He would if you smiled at him”. Kyle laughed and smiled at the butcher and got a smile back. “Just for that he told me “I’ll buy one for you, we’ll grill em at the park this weekend.”

“Oh heaven help me…Joyce, you’re in love! She looks out the window. Her mother presses her hands against her heart and takes deep breaths…and says a quick soft “Hello” and left the room at a run to get her husband.

“I’m sorry you have to meet both my parents” Joyce whispered.

“Heck…” he gave her a ‘You can trust me” smile. “I want to meet them”…Joyce wanted to hug and kiss him right there.

The cemetery was very dark. But as soon as they got parked, he pulls out the biggest flash light Joyce had ever seen, hands her the yellow tulips and took her free hand. They started walking towards the darker wooded section. They stopped behind a large hedge and heard a low giggle. Kyle pulls Joyce behind it,. “That’s Grandma?!”

A ghostly male voice speaks as Joyce squats to sit on the ground…”Darling I’m so longing to hold you”. Kyle curiously peeks over the hedge and whispers “It’s them”. They hear the ghosts breathing softly at first, then harder and faster…then the sound of the spirits falling easily to the ground…”Darling, it’s king sized…let me help you off with your dress…” A soft female voice...”…It lifts up you know.”

Kyle squeezed her hand…”I think we better leave them alone…I’ve got a blanket in my saddle bag…I don’t want you to get grass stains on your white coat…we’ll come back later with the flowers. I want to get to know you! Did I mention that I’ve heard you sing at Jane’s Place….I was in the patio but you made my heart jump. Did you really write that beautiful song?”

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
THE END

Mother's Funny Halloween

Mother's Funny Halloween
A short story by Diana Weeks

I had been feeding a stray Halloween orange and black calico cat on the sly for two weeks …I got caught when I used the last of Mothers’ coffee cream…only because we were out of milk.

The back kitchen door bangs open…her “Greatest Mom” coffee mug splashed black coffee on her hand…and made her howl …in her rush to find me…Mother points with her elbows, hands on her hips, “Betty, is that a cat?”

I tried to lie my third grade… troubles away. “The cat just turned up hungry this morning… I was afraid she was going to starve to death.” I rambled on tenderly stroking the cat’s silky back. My red headed brother Steve, who’s ten and thinks he owns the world, looks out the kitchen door…watching Mother give me “the magnet look” that grabs and holds on.

Mother walks around me. “What’s her name?”

“Princess” I blurted. “Feel how soft she is.”

Steve proclaims… “Caught red handed” and goes back in. Mother comes over and pets Princess…and picks her up. “This cat is probably just lost…her family may be walking down the alley now”…Mother put her hand around an ear “Yes…here kitty kitty”…as she’s walking toward the back alley.

“I know Daddy doesn’t want us to have cats… ever since he accidently rolled over the neighbor’s “…but Princes’ll stay in the back yard and Daddy won’t even know she’s here.” Mother puts her down on the ground and Princess runs away up the alley.

“She’ll come back”. Mother takes my hand. “You don’t find cats…cats find you. Don’t ever ever …let her in the house…” Mother ordered. “This afternoon we’ll fix a box for her under the back porch… get ready for school”

I might have gotten away with a secret pet…Daddy runs a grocery store and leaves before we wake up and comes home after we’re asleep…He is too tired to complain.

@#$%^&(*_+ my Princess sneaked in and had a litter of six kittens in my parents closet…and best of all…it happened on the next Saturday and we got to watch the last three kittens come out. It was so exciting.

Daddy came home for lunch and was greeted by my little sister Kimberly… who told him she discovered our cat having kittens and took his hand and pulled him to his closet. “I didn’t know what was happening” she explained “but I saw blood”.

“Debora!” Daddy called. Mother came in and gave him a hug…and a long kiss.

“Isn’t it great …they’re getting to learn about life…just like you did living on a farm”.

Daddy had helped us move Princess and her still wet kittens…to my closet. He barely gave me time to get my ballet shoes out of the way. I heard Mother tell him several times…just till they’re weened”...And give him a deep kiss. Mother thought I couldn’t see them.

. …Finally, its Halloween my favorite holiday and Mother is baking cookies to give trick or treaters. She let us eat two each right out of the oven.

Mother didn’t believe in buying Halloween costumes. “What fun is that? You all get to create your own costumes. You can be whoever you want to be”.

“Can I be a ghost? I found the sheet” Steve waved it in my face and threw it over Kim’s head.

“Steve, you were a ghost last year. This year you can be really scary…a mummy” then she laughed her cackling “witch” laugh and started tearing the sheet into long strips and wrapping them around Steve’s limbs taping the ends with scotch tape. I stepped on strips as they fell rounding on the floor. …Kim joined me stomping. Steve yelled. “Mother make them stop getting my costume dirty”.

“Thank you girls, you don’t want it clean… a mummy has just raised-up-out-of-the-dark ground… he’s been scratching upward from the grave.”

I joined Mother’s movements sing songing “The mummy’s mad with anger about his dirty finger nails…”

We were all laughing when Daddy came in from their bedroom with one of his house slippers in his hand…extended toward us. “Smell this…all my shoes smell like piss.”

Mother smiled. “I’ll have the closet all cleaned out when you get home tonight”.

“I can tell by that determined look…” teased Daddy kissing her goodbye. We waved his 65 ford along. When he was out of sight…Mother pulled us into a huddle.

“Six lucky kids… who come here… to our house… for trick or treat will win …their very own little kitten” Mother jumped her cheerleader dance. “Yea, let’s hear it…I’ll tie a sweet bow around each neck…blue for boys and pink for girls…if we can tell. Steve speaks out…”in my Boy Scout book.”

Mother becomes director of our annual Halloween show. “Steve you go down and scare the kids over to us…I spoke up. “Especially … groups with no adult tagging along”.

Kim put on Bet’s pink ballet tutu…you can pass out the cookies.”

“Betty you can get our laundry basket for the kittens….the basket that’s short enough for them to peek over and look cute. And Betty…you my blond golden girl. can be the judge…you can pick out the winners”.

Until she said that… I was going to cry to keep all the kittens.. I could advise each child who got a kitten…to cross their heart and hope to die… promise to take good care of their new pet.. Honestly I was glad Mother thought of this…I felt so powerful getting to pick winners.

The third “treat” kitten given away was tearfully returned. “If Dad had been driving our group around tonight I could have kept “Frisky”. I’d already named her”. Kim gave her two cookies.

The next gaggling group of five …had two screeching girl twins…dressed as bats…black bats…each won a kitten. And a boy my age smiled and said he’d always wanted a cat to give his mom for her birthday tomorrow. “Go on” Mother laughed.

I had on Mother’s old white waitress uniform that was this years nursing uniform…with a red cross printed on my paper folded nurse hat. I got to use my toy hypodermic to give shots to the boys my age. What a great Halloween.



THE END
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Driving Lesson

Driving Lesson
a short story by Diana Weeks

"I can learn how to drive!” I thoughtfully celebrated when I woke up on my fourteenth birthday. I had requested a driving lesson as a gift from Daddy. It had been my secret wish when I blew out the candles on my party cake last year.

We lived close to bus lines and hadn’t had a car until after the war, when Uncle Buddy sold Daddy his 1940 Chevy. Bud decided to re-up in the Navy when his wife Ruby left him for a 4F-er who drove a Cadillac.

I could understand Aunt Ruby. I loved cars. My favorite game was identifying makes, model, and year, driving on Berry, the busy street a block away. I got many right, even from that distance.

As soon as Daddy put down his empty coffee cup beside his yoke-stained breakfast plate, I told him I was ready for my driving lesson. He laughed, like he’d hoped I’d forgotten.

I was lucky it was Sunday. Dad was off work from the print shop, and mad at our preacher for starting a building fund and expecting Daddy to sign up for monthly payments. Daddy was on strike against money-hungry Baptists.

Before Daddy would even let me get in the garaged sedan, he raised the hood and showed me the battery, radiator, surrounding hoses, and spark plugs. I bounced on my toes screaming inside “Let’s go!” But no, he showed me how to check the air in the tires with a fountain pen air gauge. Inside I was jumping.

Daddy smiled. “Well, get in!” I bolted for the driver door.
“No,” he strained not to yell. “Let me back us out of the driveway, and drive us where there’s not much traffic.”

“There’s no traffic here on our street,” I said smiling. He backed the vehicle and parked by the curb. Then he slowly exchanged places with me. His face flashed “I’m going to the dentist” fear. Thank goodness I had reached my full height, five foot three. My feet reached the pedals.

Daddy explained the horizontal right pedal was the gas, always to be respected. The clutch is tricky, he explained. It is for changing gears without killing the motor. Reverse is in the far corner of the invisible “H” pattern for the gears. There’s a special quarter-size silver button on the left side of the floor to tap to turn up and down the headlights high beams. By the brake pedal and the emergency brake handle.

I knew how to drive in my mind. Why was he boring me with all this? I did fine with turning on the key and pressing the starter which purred. I slowly pressed in the clutch and gently let it out while pressing on the gas pedal and shifting to first. The Chevy rolled backward. It was a perfect reverse execution. Dad started breathing again.

I turned right on Berry Street and shifted into second, and then to third. Wow, this is so easy. This is more fun than boys! Out of nowhere, a red truck streaked in front of me. “EEEK!” I hit the break so hard, the car jumped and stopped.

I got it started again, just as the light changed to green. But my smooth maneuvers, letting the clutch out and pressing the accelerator, didn’t mesh. The car bucked like a horse. I took my foot off the brake, and the car rolled back and hit a blue 1950 Buick. The whack sounded like a bonk. Oh no, the lady driver wore a purple hat.

Daddy was out of the car, seeing if everyone was all right. Cars stopped around us. I got out to look at the car I hit, and our back bumper, and it all looked fine. The thick chrome bumpers saved both vehicles from damage. I apologized and turned back to the driver’s seat, but it was occupied by Daddy.

“We’ll try again next year,” Daddy told me.

“Next year? That’s forever! I’ll be dead by next year. Or at least you will be,” I thought. But I didn’t say a word. Walking back in the house, I was mentally making a list of every neighbor, relative, and friend who might trade a driving lesson for a car wash.

THE END

© 2009, Diana Weeks
ALL RIGHT RESERVED

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Roughnecks' Luck

Roughnecks' Luck
A short story by Diana Weeks

Cliff whistled to the tune on the radio and realized he was feeling drenched in peace and happiness. At the red light he closed his eyes and saw his wife that morning leaning over him… using a strand of her red hair to tickle his lips. Connie teased him with her cheer leading rhythm, whispering “Let’s do it…Let’s do it…Let’s do It.”, while climbing on top of him. ..And just breathing against her freckled shoulder … let her take him to her heaven.

Afterward he followed her into their shower and washed her back and they talked about the ‘Wonder” in their passion and Connie giggled and kissed him between pantyhose and blouse while she dressed for work. Honk, honk, honk! Blair jumped and laughed at himself...marveling at how much his new wife enjoyed loving on him.

His first brief high school wife did nothing but complain about his off shore drilling job. He liked the money. He liked using his muscles and being active…but a job on land … spending every night with Connie… instead of having to be apart for weeks at a time.

Cliff shook his head… he couldn’t believe that he was even thinking about changing jobs. It surprised him…so much that he decided to go on out to the rig early. They had hired a new cook… Cliff’s oil patch pal, Bobby, had worked for Red who said “That Chef could stop a mutiny”.

From Skip, the boat captain taking him to the deep water rig in the Gulf…he learned that the bossy boss had flown in from Europe and been taken to the rig earlier…”Yes, he came with his prissy accent and complained that cagins were too slow and wasted time and time was money”…Skip raised his voice…I wanted to slug him…why hell, we invented oil”.

The men on the crew he had come to relieve were pumping from a gigantic off shore pool of sweet oil… that was light brown and thin, it doesn’t need as much refining as black crude… for double rich profits… Cliff went below to eat and was full of fluffy pancakes when he came back up. Bobby was standing still, taking off his blackened gloves… so Cliff grins and asks “Any thing up?”

“We’re behind schedule” Bobby whispers under his breath and slaps his dirty gloves together. “We’re waiting for the top dogs to get out of a meeting with the rig owner…the alpha dog… before continuing”.

Cliff didn’t stop grinning. Bobby looked at him…”You look like you got lucky.” Cliff laughed. “You’re blushing” Bobby added… poking Cliff in the side.

‘So I may as well let you go home early.” Cliff offered “You know how long those meetings can last…maybe you’ll get lucky”.

“I’ll lay siege to our bedroom, barricade her in with me…and let the kids bang on the door,” Bobby promised, and was gone in a blink.

Cliff joined Bobby’s huddled crew and listened. They were all talking at once… concerned about the bottom pipes. Two miles down… “BB is gonna say to use sea water, a faster but not better stablalizing method” the oldest roughneck explains to himself in a low voice while wiping mud from his jump suit.… The “kid” said “The safety test showed that the cut off cap broke up; and the liquid mud that rained on us … had capping rubber particles in it...”

“Do the big guys know that?”… Cliff asks…and the men laugh…”They know their huge bonuses are at stake”…the old guy whispers “probably they are bumping chests claiming it won’t blow out....it can’t happen Ha Ha Ha”. Just then the crew chief’s phone rang…Cliff watched him listening and frowning darkly even while saying “Yes sir”… and turns to his men “We’ve got to catch up we’re behind schedule”.

Thirty minutes later… they saw the big dogs leaving and noticed their company’s hound had his tail between his legs.

Two hours later….a low rumbling sound started coming from below. Cliff’ was sent to tighten bolts in the pump room. The grumble hick cupped and the sound of a deafening explosion was the last thing Cliff heard…The orange flames the last thing he felt.

TO BE CONTINUED...

NEXT WEEK:
CONNIE FIGHTS BACK



ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Connie Fights Back

Connie Fights Back
A short story by Diana Weeks

Connie got to the Memorial Service for the deep well men on time… but she couldn’t make herself go in. She screamed in surprised agony… when she heard his name on the radio driving to Louisiana and had to pull off the highway until she could stop sobbing. Her scream was as piercing as the wicked witch from Oz.

She knew Cliff would be mortified if that happened to her in public, that’s why she wouldn’t let her mother come. .when her mother, cries she cries. .Connie had gone to her mothers as soon the well explosion hit TV screens…Connie wanted to hide and pretend she was a little girl again.

Cliff had called her from the well sight while he was waiting for his pancakes… to tell her… he’d let Bobby off early and he thanked her for his hot sex-sational wake-up call. The last thing she heard from her beloved husband were his wet smacking sounds of telephone kisses.

Memories were interrupted when she saw a back door open and a Leslie another new oil widow she recognized tip toeing towards the parking lot, a long walk. Connie started her car and went to pick up Leslie. They are both reporters, who had bonded at the last Christmas Party. Connie pulled up by her and shouted through the open window “Get in!”

“Thank goodness Connie, it’s awful…they keep talking about it.” Leslie gets in… just as they see Bobby come out slowly and stand with his face in his hands… Connie… whistles softly and gets his attention.…Bobby gets in…rubbing his leaking eyes.

Connie asks “Where’s your wife?”

Bobby leans against the front seat gap. “In there…She made me promise to quit drilling wells…take a desk job… we’ve got three kids”.

“If only they hadn’t said their names” Leslie moaned. …”like we didn’t know…”

”I’m friendless…Bobby puts the heel of his hands over his eyes. “my wife made me leave when...I lost it… Cliff had my back since 7th grad …they kept saying it couldn’t happen…”

Leslie turns and pats Bobby’s hand, like a Sunday School teacher. “My guy knew what he was up against. Before he went back out the last time… he made out his will, paid off our car and wrote notes to our grand children.”

Connie drives slowly to the shady edge of the parking. “Let’s walk; awhile”. … Bobby walks backward in front of the women. Connie..speaks softly “ Alpha dogs ..don’t just want a fair share…they want it all”

Leslie jumped in, “I’m not going to be a good sport. I want the cheapskate CEO held responsible.”

Bobby cleared his throat, “Remember that toxic gas leak in India that killed over 15 thousand of their people. India just won their law suit and ordered two years jail time for the seven top dogs at Union Carbine for…neglecting the employees safety. Greed may be going out of fashion.”

“I researched the web yesterday” Connie confided, “and found out lots about our Alpha… like he lives with his Widowed Mother…He’s certainly not a son of a bitch…She is a Lady who cares about the future of our planet.. I e-mailed her and told her our side and she actually answered.

“His mother is royal… a daughter of a Knight…. She’s on the Board of Directors for an active charity favoring moderation and peace. Tuesday she’ll be at a charity committee meeting for high tea at the London Savoy….She invited me to come over the pond and speak to them. Leslie I hope you’ll go with me.”

“I’ll go and take pictures…Leslie agreed. “Alpha’s lied to governments, employees and John Q.”

Connie smiled. “We’re going to tell… his mother… on him.”

“Oh look, the people are getting out” Bobby says hurrying toward the crowds.
He shouts back at them…”Don’t get too frisky”.

“The Lady said she was already mad at her son…for risking lives for money. His dead father would just die if he knew. she confessed. She may decide to run for office…to write tougher rules for safety”.

“You never know what will happen when you get a British Lady angry…she might take him out of her will!” Leslie announced and they laughed… really laughed… for the first time in weeks.

THE END
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

What’s in a Name?

What’s in a Name?
A short story by Diana Weeks

Bubbles stood a foot back from the 125th Street apartment window… even though she was four stories up. She didn’t want her date to see her watching him. She had spotted his car roof the second time the red and white convertible passed by. Oh… he’s looking for a parking place she thinks. But he drives away to leave? What? There he is again… he gives up on street parking and goes to the “ten bucks for all night” lot across the street.

She picks up her bird-watching field glasses and clears the focus. She can’t help smiling watching… seeing how he bends his tall lanky body in half to get out. He reaches to retrieve his jacket and puts it on…looks at his reflection in the window… and dusts his hands like a cowboy on his way into a clean farm house… he grinned and looked up…and dusted his hands again.

Bubbles decided to be herself with this guy… just plain ole Norma Jean. She grabbed her coat and left her apartment with all the lights on…she wanted to go meet him… go someplace to talk… so she could explain that her nickname was because she blew bubbles with a wooden spool... after the thread was used up.

He hadn’t gotten fresh on their first date… the next day… after a neighbor introduced them… in an aisle at Central Market. From the things in his basket… a whole raw chicken, box of rice, colored sweet peppers, fresh basil... and a small watermelon. She knew she was going to like him. Her father could cook.

Buck had taken her to a chick flick last night and bought her… her own box of popcorn. He didn’t talk much but he kissed her... at her apartment door after… and she thought she would faint. She had not planned to ask him in. During the long kiss she wanted to drag him in and kiss him all over. But her late mother’s advice… to not let her ovaries make decisions for her…made her send him home.

The second Buck saw her in the lobby he put out his arms… like a soldier home from the war… And she walked right into them. They kissed until the doorman cleared his throat… and waved them out the door. Buck put his arms around her waist as they walked. “Mom invited us over for dinner. Have you ever been to Brooklyn?”

THE END
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Ritual

Sacrifice

Naming Children

Bird in Hand

Israel Road

Mugger and Killer

Mugger and Killer
Short Story by Diana Weeks

Mugger felt hot July sunlight against his sleepy eyelids and slowly raised his nose and sniffed the air. He could smell Mistress Carol's "Shalimar" fragrance. Carol let them sleep in the big bed with her now. She wouldn't when her husband lived there.

Mugger hopped down, slowly heading for the kitchen, stopping in the hall to sniff his Master Cliff's faint scent on the coat rack. Yawning, he shambled along, his nails clicking on the shiny mahogany wood floors. He stopped in front of the curved bay window and looked toward the driveway.

His sister, Killer, stretched her lean golden retriever body and arguing, followed Mugger. "It doesn't matter how long you wait, Cliff''s never coming back. He strayed, got caught and POW he's gone".

"But Carol didn't have to throw his clothes in the magnolia tree", said Mugger, growling in displeasure, "Or pitch his golf clubs in the deep end of the swimming pool". Mugger howls and bared his teeth.

"She had to...", Killer said scolding Mugger. "That was the tree her father planted outside her kitchen window, when he gave them this house. Her Daddy wanted some sweet smells in her yard because he said she married a shit".

"He is charming". Mugger woofed he couldn't stop looking at the driveway where Cliff parked his car. "Every morning when he went to work he waved at us." Mugger's head drooped. "On Fridays he even tapped his horn, to tell us 'so long'. Cliff hugged me first when he came home!"

"Oh stop it"! Killer barked biting his neck, "Carol was the one who got up in the night to bottle feed us when we were tiny blind puppies...He didn't even fill our water bowls twice in the last year. Sometimes he stepped in my dish when he was drunk!"

Mugger ran to another window. "Hey, there's the bug van on time. I wonder where Carol went?"
Killer looked around the kitchen. "Well, she left out the empty coffee canister, and I see a Wild Turkey bottle in the trash ".
Suddenly a neighbor's alarm system goes off. Killer howls, "I hope she didn't urgently break into a neighbors for coffee."

Mugger heads back to the big bay window. "Here she comes, oh Killer, she almost hit the police car that just pulled up down the street."

Killer goes to look and walls her eyes at her brother, who is compelled to describe what they were both looking at... Mugger insists "She's wearing her jaunty red hat."

Both dogs watch as Carol turns the corner into their culdesac in the ritzy part of Phoenix. Mugger continues, "She made it into the driveway without cutting through the flower beds."

Killer licks her shoulder. "I'm glad she got custody of us when he ran off with his red headed dental hygienist".
Carol bursts through the kitchen door clutching a grocery sack weighted by a large bag of hazelnut coffee, she hurries to open. Mugger bolts and escapes to scare at the bug guy...because he makes the whole house stink. Mugger jumps toward their exterminator, growls and barks loud.

Carol sees the open door... tells Killer to "stay"... grabs a leash calling loudly, "Mugger! Mugger!" Suddenly two police officers run into her yard with drawn guns held with both hands...pointing straight armed, right at the bug guy. "Spread and prong," an officer calls. The bug man quickly parts his legs and leans his palms against the van.

"Wait...wait...no...no...wait..?" Carol yelled as Mugger ran a circle around her and leaps to lick her face. "He's not a mugger, that's my dog's name..." She made dimples at the cops and looks back at the other dog standing still in the kitchen door. "Her name is Killer".

"Lady," the Sargent who had gray hair said walking up, "You better give her a nickname", his tone filled with cynical empathy. Killer licked his hand and it tasted like a doughnut not the flat dull taste of bagel.

The officer pats Killer's head and frowns at Carol. "If you had run out calling "Killer, Killer!" there could have been bloodshed." He squats and strokes Killer's smooth satin head. "Good work". Killer wags her yellow tail at Carol, who smiles with engaging desperation, hugging Mugger and Killer.

That night Mugger licks his sister's ear and whines a whisper. "You're my hero, you saved the bug guy's life."
"Well yeah..." Killer nudges her brother, "I do know how to 'stay', but Carol knows if she lets Cliff come back... I'm running away!"

THE END
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

I Really Wanted a Kitty Cat

I Really Wanted a Kitty Cat
a short story by Diana Weeks

I really wanted a kitty cat, but Mike said “Oh no…mmmmm you’re my kitten” and hugged me around the waist… and lightly bit my ear lobe… right there in the middle of the shopping mall. I love public displays of affection. My first husband would never do it. Mike would stop people on the walkway to point at me and say “I love her”. That’s why I moved in with him, even though… he never wanted to get married again

A fluffy puppy was yelping and pawing the window at the pet store. Mike laughed, a deep earthy sound, as I tapped the puppy’s nose through the glass pane. “Let’s don’t go nuts… there’s a 200 dollar pet deposit” he whispers taking my hand to lead me to the back to see the fish….colorful exotic fish.

I had no idea how expensive tiny fish could be. We split all household costs down the middle… including the lighted Aquarium. It was so expensive we bought the last seven plain gold fish.

We named them after Snow Whites’ seven dawarfs. “See you’ll have company when I have to work out of town”, Mike told me giving me a full body hug with his hands pulling my hips closer, closer. A passing sales clerk mutters… “Find a motel”.

We were so happy on Sundays. We didn’t ever go to church. He paid our bills while I read the Chronicle. We grocery shopped and did chores together since we both worked. He’s a salesman, I’m a secretary. Mike would wash his car while I fixed supper.

Mike became so fond of the gold fish he talked to them, and read books to learn more…He went around singing “Off to work we go”. I nick named his tally whacker “Moby Dick”. Mike began to fear I might accidently over feed them. So he took over all care of the fish except cleaning the fancy aquarium …to me it was a big boxy fish bowl.

But Mike let me select the ceramic fish castle and silk sea weed for the bottom and the bubble sound did comfort me when I felt lonely. When Mike did have to travel, he left written “instructions for fish care”. He fed them at certain times.

I thought we had a very romantic relationship until I noticed his credit card bill between books on our book shelves. There was a purchase I knew nothing about…it was for a diamond tennis bracelet… for me? My birthday was three months ago. I got a box of candy. Christmas was three months away and we had decided to cut back from last years three hundred dollar Christmas budget.

On my lunch hour I called to question him…Long pause.. “Well, I hope you’re happy,” he snapped, “You’ve ruined your surprise.” Wow!
I hopped up and down…I never thought I’d get to wear diamonds. “Since I know, give it to me now…don’t make me wait for Santa Clause” I begged. “And bring Mr. Moby home quick…so I can thank him “

Mike did come home early and Moby Dick got to dive deep. He put the bracelet on my wrist. Mike was in the shower when I noticed the gift box thrown aside when he opened the door and saw me completely naked.

Inside was a forgotten card “To Cindy…my little kitten…happy 22 birthday”. Cindy works at the cleaners where we take our clothes every Sunday. He had given her my “nick name”.

I see red…angry red… dark as blood and pick up his new blackberry to verify his betrayal …and the first number in it is labeled “Cindy.”

I’m feeling so hurt I want to kill him…but that wouldn’t hurt him enough.

I punched the text buttons saying “Cindy…my girl friend left me…we can get married!”
Let him get out of that. I hit send… and turn off his blackberry…and slip it under the mattress. Then I barricade the bathroom door with his chest of drawers…and quickly dump my drawers in a large box and throw my things in the closet on top. Mike is singing in the shower…”and they swam and swam all over the damn”…stalling to give me time to fix supper. “Gone fishing…” he sings on…liking to hear his voice bounce off the tile.

I’m suddenly hungry for fresh fish. I put my things in my car. I find the small wired white catch net and turn the stove burner on and throw butter in the skillet and slice a large yellow lemon and dump all seven little fishes in the bubbling butter and brown them on each side, and put them on the plate sprinkling on tangy lemon drops.

I ate the tiny fillet from each side of all but one…I wrote my farewell note…and left it by the plate of small golden bug eyed heads and tensy bones. “I’m gone you double crosser... I had fish for supper… but I saved Dopey for you”.

THE END

"I Really Wanted a Kitty Cat" (c) 2009, Diana Weeks, All Rights Reserved
Special thanks to Linda Douglass for inspiring this story.

Deeply Buried

Deeply Buried
a short story by Diana Weeks

Back in the 90s…our neighbors Carol and Harry played bridge with us once or twice a month. We never partnered with our spouse. Harry cursed when Carol trumped his Ace and frogged her on the shoulder like it was a joke. She didn’t laugh she groaned.

We all worked and didn’t have much time to socialize. Carol and I never had any “girl” time…so we weren’t really close. I did notice a bruise under her sunglasses…when they came back from a skiing trip. And she had to go to the hospital when she fell and broke her arm. Harry said Carol was clumsy.

I was glad when Harry decided to move them to a new sub division where they had room to have a swimming pool. We meet them for dinner once in a while. Harry was very good at telling jokes. The guys both liked to fish and play golf.

I suspected Harry was an abuser…their kids left home as soon as they could and didn’t visit. I knew he had a nasty put down mouth…and she had a jewelry box full of “make up” gifts she never wore. I knew she left him several times but he must have made love like x times squared and promises to stop drinking… to get her back.

Widowed now I was living alone and got a call from Carol and Harry’s oldest son saying his mother had shot and killed his dad. I brought Carol home with me after the funeral. She spent the night and sadly admitted that Harry was rough…he had put her in the hospital twice and always rapes her every month during her period. I didn’t question…Carol needed to voice her life of hidden terror.

“The final argument was when he wrecked his new truck and instead of having it repaired…went out and bought another one. When I questioned him he was insulted, he yelled ‘You cunt, I’m going to break your nose!’ …with evil shining in his eyes…he slammed his left fist into his right palm…the pop sound reminded me what it had felt like to get a broken nose. He’d given me two.

“You’re dead bitch” he growled…at.me and I knew he made good on his threats… I panicked …reached in his night stand drawer and got his gun and shot at his right arm, the one with the swastika and lightening bolt prison tattoo…he chuckled sharp and surly… and I shot him in the shoulder with the one percent tattoo…he still swaggered at me pointing… ‘ Now you’ve made me angry, I’m going to kill you with my fists and then I’m going to cut off your ears…like I did the Gooks”.

Then she tells me, “Really, I was aiming for his other shoulder but he bent down and got hit in the chest. I didn’t mean to kill him. I wish I’d let him kill me…but I couldn’t take another broken nose”.

THE END
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Resourcefulness

Resourcefulness
A short story by Diana Weeks

Ellen 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. Ellen 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". Ellen 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".

Ellen 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 Ellen'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 Ellen had made the house, the table set with fresh flowers, savory pinto beans, cornbread and cantaloupe.

"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 Ellen again for a long time.

Ellen 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 Nita 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?

Ellen 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 Ellen how to weed and water the vegetables.

How could she have supper ready? Ellen 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.

Ellen 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 Ellen 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 Ellen, have you already read all our books"? she teased.

"No, but I want to", Ellen 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" Ellen 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.

Ellen 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.

Ellen'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 humongous 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

...Byline Houston

...Byline Houston
A short story by Diana Weeks

Jack makes it to the hotel room death scene before the cops. He was in the Rice Hotel bar when the maid Irene came out of the elevator screaming. "He's naked and dead. His face all blue..."

The manager Jeff, races out of his office and Jack catches up with him. In the elevator Jack grins. Jeff frowned, "How'd you get here so fast? Who tipped you off?"

Jack smile widens splitting his freckled face into deep dimples and his red hair flops over his forehead. "I'm abundantly adroit at covering my crime beat."

Jeff shakes his index finger at him. "You were drinking in the bar."

Jack’s brown eyes light up. "You know, Jeff, that's usually where trouble starts. Don't you agree?"

Jeff scowls looking at his watch, "And it's just one in the afternoon."

"It's my lunch hour." Jack winks.

Jeff Charles looked around the elevator, though the two friends were alone, "Jack, I'll pay your bar bill if you don't use the hotel's name."

Suddenly, the elevator stops and they have a clear view past the open door. They see a face down thin man with a red silk tie between his teeth, his rear end still resting on his folded legs..

"Let's look" Jack whispers, walking ahead into the room to circle the corpse. Jeff heads for the phone to call the police, his back turned. Jack felt for a pulse. "He's gone. I guess it was too good… for his own good."

Jeff didn't turn. Jack slips a photograph from under the man's face. The nude woman looks familiar. He puts the photo on the nightstand.

While Jeff is still distracted. Jack goes through the guy's clothes thrown neatly across a chair. Jack tries to get a better look at the dead man, turns to open the curtains and gasps. He knows him; Tom worked for another paper but drank at Al's Bar and Cantina. Damn, a drinking buddy.

Jack moaned remembering who the girl was. The "chip" of a jealous married police officer.

Jeff hung up and turned. "Come on this side so you can see his face," Jack said.

"I don't want to look" Jeff answers. "I'll wait in the hall."

"No, stay in here just cover your eyes, first look at this picture pointing to the nude blond. "I bet you recognize her."

Jeff looked. "You think he was with her?" Jeff asked.

"No. You know who she mostly hangs with?"

Jeff nods "Mickey Mandell, the cop who killed an unarmed teenager and got off?"

Jack's head leans up and down. "The dead man is a pal. Worked for the Post, his wife is nice.” Jack pulled the curtains closed. “Did you see Mandel around today?"

"He never comes in here. Do you think your friend was murdered over a dame?"

Jack frowns in thought…as tears slipped down his boyish face. "I think he had a heart attack. He must have hired Big Red, the whore from England that likes to paddle bad boys."

"I don't understand that fetish." Jeff confessed..

Jack sniffed and blew his nose. "I think Tom went to boarding school. Let's keep Tom's wife from being hurt thinking there was another woman.. Help me put him on the toilet. Then I can make my story nasty but innocent.

"You're going to get us in trouble." Jeff argued.

"Will you back me up, Jeff?" Together they carried the man into the bathroom and propped Tom on the toilet. As they turn the body falls. Jeff yells.

"Don't worry that looks more natural." Jack assures picking up the phone and dialing, "Stoppp, the presses...have you got your pencil? Or have you learned to type?" speaking into the mouthpiece and signaling Jeff to shut the door and lock it.

"An unidentified body has been found at a downtown hotel at noon by maid, Irene Fisher who screamed "He's naked and looks dead.

“Jeff Bennett, popular Rice Hotel manager said a bar customer borrowed a room key because he was having chest pain and needed to lie down. "I was calling an ambulance from my office when the man was discovered." Bennett says.

"See the next edition" Jack concludes "as names are being withheld pending family notification and results of the police investigation." Jack pauses. "Gotta go the cops are on the way."

"Popular, you say?" Jeff grins.

Jack speaks very clearly. “Jeff, tell the cops Tom was sweating and looked sick” Just then sirens wailed.

Jeff walked into the hall. "Popular? I guess that means I'll have to pay your bar bill and lie for you?"

"A beat reporter who can't write something the desk likes… can't add two plus two."

The sirens stopped. Jack grinned at his friend. “Thanks.” Jack slaps Jeff on the shoulder, and hums a bar from his song, THE GOOD TIMES and they wait in the hall. Seconds later Police are rushing out of the elevator.

Jack laughs. "Remember what happened to Trent at the grave digers convention?"

The lead cop answers Jack. "Yeah, Trent got matched up with a one-tited whore?"

Then the Captain orders "Wait out here, I want to talk to you both in a minute," and closed the hotel room door.

Jack punches the button for the elevator. "Shall we wait in the bar?"

Jeff shakes no. "I'd better get back in my office and call my boss in Pittsburgh."

"I'll have a drink for you just because you're so popular." The men shake hands and part.

THE END
All Rights Reserved

Grandpa's Harmonica

Grandpa's Harmonica

Written by Diana Weeks
Art by Kay Sarver

A mixed group of girls his age were jumping rope next door when the moving van pulled up in front of his Grandpa's old house. Dark girls at each end were swinging two ropes that made fast sharp sounds slapping the cracked sidewalk.

The girls ignored he and his mother as they walked back and forth unloading the car. The youngsters were running in and out of the whizzing circles jumping and singing a double dutch song. Edward had never seen any game like that in the suburbs where he had lived.

He hated having to move to this old fashioned neighborhood, right in the middle of the school year. He wished his Grandpa hadn't died until summer. He wished his Grandfather hadn't died at all and left his Mom this big old place with pealing paint.

His divorced Mom had insisted. "It's closer to my work downtown and I was very happy growing up here. I'm going to let you have Dad's big room. And you can have all his things".

"How can I sleep in the room where he died"? He ashamed of the whining he could hear in his twelve year old voice.

His mother turned and put her hands on his shoulders. "His love for you is still here. Love never dies. Remember the things he taught you: like how to play his harmonica".
(Page 2)

The three moving men were very fast. Mom had given most of their furniture to his Dad and he promised to never be late with child support payments. She had them put her parent's old double bed in the garage and put in the bunk beds he'd had since he was eight.

They were sitting on the front porch steps relaxing sipping hot chocolate when they noticed an older woman coming from the house next door carrying a casserole dish. The most beautiful of the jump ropers was hanging on her porch rail pretending not to watch.

The woman spoke with an accent Ed had never heard before. "Welcome home" she said. I brought you a noodle dish with chicken. Your father was so kind to us when we first came to Houston. He befriended us before we had even learned English".

His mother rose. "Please come in. Dad said you checked on him everyday. He loved your Vietnamese food".

The grownups went inside. Ed looked over at the creamy skinned, dimpled, dark haired girl next door, and fingered the harmonica in his pocket. He wondered if his grandpa's dead spit would hurt him. Somehow he couldn't bare to wash it off.

He sauntered over to the tree between the yards, leaned against the trunk and looked at her not looking at him. He wanted to break through her Asian shyness. It must be possible her friends were all colors. He took off his jacket and spread it on the ground and sat down next to it. and slowly started playing the only song he knew. The instrument purred and pleaded out "Let Me Call you Sweetheart". She glanced over and he patted the place he had prepared for her and she smiled, skipped down her stairs and came toward him. Just walking made her hair bounce. Ed knew she was going to be fun.

THE END
All Rights Reserved

Bargaining Power

Bargaining Power
a short story by Diana Weeks

The summer before my 12th birthday, my working parents deemed me old enough to watch after Buddy, my eight-year-old brother. A job I couldn't turn down. It was an order. Plus cleaning the house and starting supper. My lazy annual vacation was over before it started.

A new second hand car, Mother called "The Big Oh" cinched the belt on our 1950 budget. A reporter pal of Dad's was moving to Chicago to be an editor at the Tribune. Dad pleaded saying his friend was practically giving it to us. "We simply pick up the payments."

Mother shook her head meaning "NO". She spoke through clinched teeth. "What about Rita?" her voice getting softer.

"She can get another job easy". Dad came to Mom and hugged her. “We don't need a maid anymore. The kids are old enough to do all the chores." Then he left for work.

Mother had hired Rita, when she went to work at the bomber plant, during the war and had kept Rita after VJ day, when she became a buyer for a department store.

I argued that I had joined the reading club, but Mom promised me a three dollar and fifty cent increase in my weekly two-dollar allowance. Five fifty, WOW, with no "healthy" school lunch to use it up.

The first day on duty, I heard Buddy up as soon as they left at seven. "Go back to bed," I told him when he brought his cereal in to eat sitting on the end of my bed.

"Lloyd's going to be here in a minute," he told me checking his Timex. "We're going to go watch them feed the alligators at the zoo."

"You know you're not allowed to leave the neighborhood” I declared”.

He sighed. "I guess we could stay here if you'll get up and play Monopoly with us". He went toward the closet to drag out the game I hated.

I sat up. "If you cooperate, I could take you to a movie Saturday afternoons and we could see a double feature with two cartoons and a serial."

He tipped the bowl to his mouth and drank the rest of the milk. “I'll be back to help you pick up and peel the potatoes for supper... I'll stay completely out of your way. And the baby zebra might be born today”. He grinned his widest grin… to show off the blank space in his mouth… where I think baby teeth had been pried out… for tooth fairy money.

Hummmmm, I thought. ..And said "It's a long walk to the zoo."

"That's all right”…Buddy said whispering. “We take a shortcut through the new… sewer pipeline the city put in…in the wrong place. It goes all the way to the park”…ends in the creek near the Farris Wheel.

Humm, hummmmm, hum. "How can I enjoy lolling around in bed reading with you in danger?"

"No, Sister, Sister it's safer than walking on the sidewalk”. Buddy announced…in Bud Abbot’s voice. “Nobody's using it. Dad said the contractor that made the mistake got fired. You don't have to worry about me getting sun blistered, having to cross busy streets or falling down on a railroad track."

"No, just being drown in sewer water."

"It's not connected to anything."

"What about rain water?"

"It’s not going to rain! The trainer guy will let us watch them feed all the animals’ everyday…that’s the only way to get to know them”.

"Are you going to be a veterinarian?"

"No, a lion tamer, then I want to buy my own circus... pleeeease".

I mulled over and held up three fingers… "Will you take the oath?"

Buddy raised his right hand, “One. I won't get hurt. Number two...I won't get caught. Three: I'll always beat them home…Scouts honor" He saluted smartly and ran to play. I went back to sleep. Buddy kept his word. We had a fine summer, until he stole my diary.


THE END
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Crazy Babs

Crazy Babs
a short short story by Diana Weeks

Poor Babs was so nervous about her first day at the Oil Company in downtown Houston, the capitol of the oil business. She sat up in bed recalling the lies she's told about her work experience.

Barbara stretched, glad she had gone to the library straight from the interview, and done some research.

Downstairs in her two story condo she made coffee and noticed a dubie her marijuana smoking friend had left... after their "Babs got a job" celebration Friday night. She lit it with a kitchen match and puffed it so short she almost burned her fingers.

She drove one house past the day care center for her three-year-old boy. Her "try to make her marriage work" baby. It didn't, but she got the condo.

When she finally threaded through the tangled traffic to the tall building she circled it twice before she found the underground parking entrance. It was already eight.

Breathing deeply like she learned in yoga she rolled up and down car aisles and found a parking place near an exit door and ran up the stairs.

The receptionist looked at her watch "Barbara, glad you're here. Mr. Gordon needs this file ASAP...his office is across from your desk in the executive suite. The phone rang and she waved Babs away.

She looked around for a friendly face. What did ASAP mean. What kind of oil company lingo was that? The three secretaries were already at their desk's typing fast... like they were in a race to ring bells. What luck she thought seeing a door sign "Jessie Gordon" and knocked.

"Come in" his half shout made her stand straighter in her five-eight slinder frame and thrust out her recently added 38 inch boobs. She didn't lean over when she placed the ASAP file on his desk.

"Very good, thank you" he muttered looking away to answer his phone before she could flash him her dimpled smile.

Somehow she got through the day, thanks to her friend in PR, who had helped her get the job, and took her to lunch. Babs typed "well reports" so Mr. Gordon could tell which wells were pumping how much...and drilling reports to tell how deep the crew had gotten the pipe.

At five she eagerly gathered her purse and the company "policy" booklet and hurried to the underground parking...not at all realizing she was not entering the same way she left this morning, a thousand years ago.

Not wanting to appear panicked, she strolled up and down the rows of cars, wishing she had put a Jack-in-the-box clown head on her short VW radio antennae...crossing her fingers she could get to the day care before late fees kicked in.

Her feet... in the latest style four-inch heels...were begging to be taken off. Just for a few minutes one at a time. When the security golf cart passed her for the third time the man stopped and waved her over. "You lost your car?" he smirked.

"No" she answered putting her shoe back on. Babs lied with assurance. “Get in I'll find it for you". She got in beside him. "You do know the MYLP"? She didn't know what that meant so she smiled wide to deepen her dimples and replied "Of course". The driver got a pad and pen and poised to write. "What's the make, year and license number"? She took the pad from him.

"You just start driving, I'll write it all down for you". She gave him more dimples and suddenly there it was...her car... hunched down like a shy turtle. "That's it, stop"! Babs laughed and jumped out. "You're so kind. I'll be your friend forever". Babs managed to back out without hitting him although she wanted to... because he stayed and watched like he didn't think she could drive. Departing she sighed and told herself. "This is going to be funny someday, maybe even by Friday".

THE END
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

After Thoughts

After Thoughts
A short story by Diana Weeks

Gwenavier was jolted awake by the vibrating yell of her one year old Dafney. Slowly Gwen scrambled from the couch, stumbling toward the sunlit kitchen. Using her hand to shade her dark blue eyes she took the baby a nippled bottle of cold milk.

The loss of warmth didn't seem to bother the child a bit. She slurped happily balancing the bottle with her feet. Gwen dove back under the comfort on the couch not wanting to face another day of fighting with her husband Al.

Last night she wouldn't sleep with him. He had been drunk all weekend and dabbing at a cocaine nosebleed.

Through the bedroom door she could see him sprawled all over their king-size bed.
"You loved getting drunk and doing drugs and going to bed with me before we married! You're not the hottie I fell for."

"We have children to bring up in the real world" Gwen remembered shouting. "You have four DWI's, you'd be fired if you weren't working for relatives," she had growled pulling the soft purple velvet cover off the bed and wrapped in it on the new sofa. He didn't come to tickle and kiss her back to his bed.

She dozed until three-year-old hands patted her face. Della smiled at her young pretty mother who whispered "Just five more minutes, go wake your daddy."

Gwen turned her back to the room and held her knees. Maybe he would be feeling guilty enough to make breakfast. When they were first married and she was still working…he made breakfast every Sunday, if she didn't make him go to church.

Al was extravagant and fun. When they first started hanging together, Gwen bragged to her best friend, Donna, "He must be rich, the other boys I've dated could barely afford to buy me a beer and maybe share a joint rolled with street shag."

Gwen was admittedly a party girl in college, looking for a husband to have fun with. Al did make her laugh, but now seemed jealous of their daughter’s demands. She felt tugs all the time. She couldn't seem to find a balance between wife and mother.

She squeezed her eyes tight and wondered why she had not known that motherhood is so constant. Maybe that's why her mother drank so much.

Gwen felt Della's fingers pulling her shoulder over. "Mommy, I can't make Daddy wake up." Just then Daf started crying. Gwen screamed at Della. "Tell your Daddy to get up now," and ran to get the baby and carried her squirming into the master bedroom.

Della was patting her daddy's face and looked at her mother. "He feels cold".

Thinking, "He didn't even pull the sheet over himself," Gwen puffed a breath past her dry lips and put her hand on Al's forehead. It felt like cool gray damp clay.

"Let's call the doctor," she said as they left the room and closed door. Gwen had to look for the cell phone to call 911. "My husband's asleep and won't wake up." she told the dispatcher and answered the unthinkable; "He doesn't seem to be breathing."

Gwen gave them the address and hung up, unable to think anymore…but her heart kept pumping reality…her husband had over dosed.

Gwen put the toddler in her highchair and poured cheerios on the tray and got a bowl for Della then started looking in the dryer for clean tee shirts for everyone.

She half expected Al to burst through the bedroom door wondering why she let him over sleep, then she started shaking and called her mother. There was no answer. She called Donna who said “I’ll beat the ambulance”.


THE END
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Stacks of Sadness

Stacks of Sadness
a short story by Diana Weeks

Pat, best pal drove over from San Antonio to help me find a new abode.. She drove… all day for three days. We climbed stairs, down crunchy gravel paths… and could not find anything that made me feel as safe as the Palmer House…We had checked out a Heights complex for senior citizens…but they had no vacancies. Thank you, Jesus.

Then …on our way home…West on the side street from the Palmer House…less than four blocks away … Pat noticed a courtyard at the rear of a sixteen unit apartment complex, I never see “for rent” signs there…as I got out of the car… I heard laughter.

The manager/owner had just sold the 1970’s property and moved. I rented his apartment… It’s not as big as the Palmer but my small upstairs apartment opens to a deck. shaped like the blunt end of a cruise ship … from the rail I see the courtyard below fountains, splashing in a pool, a white round cement table, plants, flowers and a big barbecue grill… a party was going on.

The party makers, Lynn and Mike, lived downstairs by the mailboxes and talked to neighbors …from a long cement bench where the young couple… sat when Mike got home from work… she an art history major and he…a cub reporter for the Chronicle. They took time off to talk. They made each other laugh, so in love they were delightful to be around…just feeling the warmth from their glow. Mike gives Lynn a raised eyebrow smile and makes her giggle.

The final day I moved in…my wheels fell off…I rested. My daughter Ellen, and her helpful husband were unloading the last load. They started giving away…the “no room for” furniture and bundles of things …to the young folks who came to help them unload the van.

Lynn and her neighbor friends… got bags of over flow from my closet… back at my large “New York” deco apartment…neighbors got rugs from my Palmer sun room and office. The home where I had planned to die…would soon be torn down… the whole block. The artistic tenants thought the Palmer House should be preserved with a large engraved bronze plaque with all our names…to be a Montrose tourist attraction. Now the Palmer House has been erased from the earth…lost the same year my sweetheart and brother died.

Lynn especially liked my art. She would come upstairs to invite me to weekend parties. She introduced me to her friends from high school...Lynn made me feel like I had a little fan club.

I spend a lot of time on the deck…Lynn visited when I was out,,, but never disturbed me when I was writing. . I went to the parties but I didn’t stay late…Lynn worried that I would be disturbed…”No, no…” I convinced her, “It makes me feel at home”.

We talked about art and politics. She didn’t gossip about neighbors. Her folks from the white suburbs were a little uncomfortable with Hispanic Mike…whose Dad was mad. Lynn was like a butterfly with the happiness of being in Love... Lynn wanted to finish college… so she could have a baby…with Mike.

Her job at Starbucks was the early shift, she had to get up at five…and work until her after noon University of Houston classes…then home to do housework till Mike got there. They visited neighbors on the bench, drinking beer, until time for supper, often Mike barbequed but then Lynn still had hours of study…she was living on, six hours sleep. Her winter cold…drug on. I quizzed her. “I know I should rest on the week ends” Lynn admitted, “but by the time the weekend is here, I just want to have fun”. I didn’t lecture her.

I learned I could write at the new apartment…I could walk to the post office, library, drug store, buy groceries, eat out, listen to music…but most of all… it was good to be around young people. ..Some finishing college others working…many both. They have energy and things to talk about besides ungrateful kids, high prices and poor health.

First I heard from a neighbor, that Lynn had the flu…I didn’t go over because I didn’t want to catch it. Next Mike had taken Lynn to St. Luke’s hospital…I was on my way to take her an ivy plant and she came up the stairs and said they released her…but she was picking up some things and going home with her Mother to recover completely. They had no health insurance.

I saw Mike that evening, he was staying in town, and he said she told him she was better. Two days later, I heard a hesitant knock. It was Mike. “How’s Lynn?” I inquire, ready to invite him to lunch.

He couldn’t speak for a moment, “Lynn died. She got sicker last night and they took her to their local hospital and she died this morning”

I hugged him. “No, no, no”...I cried, sobbed, I couldn’t stop. Every sadness from the past caught up with me. I could not stop crying. Mike cried…and tried to comfort me…I was too blown apart to comfort him.

I went with neighbors to her funeral…standing room only. Lynn was twenty-two.

Mike couldn’t stand to live in their apartment. Seeing us reminds him…of how much Lynn loved him. All out. He moved back with his folks…we lost him too. It’s quieter now…laughs not as hardy.

Neighbors bought a weather proof relief sculpture to screw on the wall between the bench and their apartment…in Lynn’s memory. The sculpture is of a beautiful young woman…holding a jug of wine on her shoulder. Last month I noticed a new tenant using the memorial art to hang… her long red dog leash. It bothered me. I mentioned it to my close neighbor George and he disagreed, “Lynn is still helping someone.” Personally, I was glad when that renter and her dog moved away.


THE END
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED