Author: gigicatchesair

Certified Sadistic Accountant Chapter Twenty-Seven

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Good afternoon. It is I Gigi the parti poodle here to introduce chapter twenty-seven of my story Certified Sadistic Accountant. Yesterday my novelist got a couple of inoculations and is not her usual self today. I spoke with Bernard D. Bunny Wednesday, and he said he was sure my novelist would be down for the count. I said preposterous, my novelist can take a shot as well as the next human. But sadly, I am eating my words because Bernard has risen triumphant with his analysis. My novelist is not sick per say but she is unusually tired and worn out. She also pulled a muscle in her neck exercising and that makes her even more testy. And so, she is having me post both my story and her movie pic this week. I had to switch out her mouse for mine. She likes to use this large domed Microsoft mouse and I prefer the small purple travel one. Much easier for small paws. And as you can see, I was able to make it happen. Hoorah for me. After I finish, I am going to fix my novelist a nice hot cup of tea and invite Bernard out to lunch. I will have to make him a nice salad with the leftover iceberg as he is a vegetarian and all. Anyway, here is chapter twenty-seven of Certified Sadistic Accountant. Enjoy!  

Certified Sadistic Accountant

by

Gigi the parti poodle

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Curtis checked his reflection in the vanity visor mirror. He put on the pair of his Aunt Odette’s glasses he’d grabbed before locking Fia in the attic. They were large thick rounded plastic aviator frames from the 70’s. They made the world blurry, but they also distorted his face enough to make whatever surveillance system they had in there recognize him.

He flipped the visor up, put on his leather gloves, grabbed the manilla envelope with the ransom note in it, got out of his Honda, and headed for the trading post.

The place reminded him of the bank from Dog Day Afternoon. There were two people ahead of him. He glanced at the distorted looking wall clock. Twelve-thirty in the afternoon. The lady at the front was trying to mail a package, but she didn’t have what she wanted packaged. The clerk was trying to help her pick out a properly sized box. Curtis marveled at how people with such minimal skills functioned in this world. The man behind her seemed remarkably patient but Curtis could tell he was starting to get annoyed. The woman was sweet enough. She just had too much air running between her ears.

Suddenly, Curtis noticed a small caramel and white kitten peek its head out of the enormous quilted calico bag the woman had slung over her shoulder. It looked at Curtis and hissed. Curtis furrowed his brow. First the delivery girl from the bakery and now this little furball. No one liked him.

“CeCe,” the woman said to the kitten, “behave.”

The clerk rang up the woman’s sale and handed her a slip.

“Thank you very much,” she told him. Then she turned around and looked at the man behind her. “And thank you for being so patient.”

“Certainly,” the man said.

The woman looked at Curtis as if she were about to say the same thing and got a strange look on her face and turned to leave. The kitten peeked its head out of the bag and hissed at Curtis again.

The man in front of Curtis stepped up to the desk and set what appeared to be a very heavy package about the size of two bricks stacked on top of each other down on the counter. “I need it there by tomorrow.”

The clerk weighed the package. “That’ll be three hundred eighty-five dollars and sixty-seven cents.”

“Jiminy Crickets!” the man said. “That’s highway robbery!”

“Do you need it there tomorrow?”

“Yes.”

“Well, that’s what it costs when it absolutely, positively has to be there overnight.”

“Listen wiseass, I could buy my wife a new engagement ring for that price!”

“I sincerely doubt it, sir.”

“Three hundred eighty-five dollars and sixty-seven cents is highway robbery!”

“But that’s what it costs.”

“I’m going to the post office. This place is a rip-off!”

Curtis watched the man storm out with his heavy package. He stepped up to the counter and set the manilla envelope with the ransom note down. The clerk weighed it on the scale.

“That’ll be twenty-nine dollars and sixty-seven cents.”

Curtis nodded, took out his billfold and slapped two twenties on the counter.

“I’m sorry, sir. Do you have something smaller? I’m running out of ones.”

Curtis pulled a ten dollar bill out of his wallet, set it on the counter, picked up one of the twenties and put it back in his billfold.

“Thanks. Sorry about that.”

Curtis nodded. He did not want to say anything or look up for fear the surveillance system could pick up his face or voice.

“Here’s your change.”

Curtis took the change off the counter, gave the guy a quick boy scout solute, and headed out the door.

Curtis returned to his aunt’s cabin just after two o’clock in the afternoon. He headed upstairs to the attic and knocked on the door. “Fia,” he called knocking on the attic door, “Would you like to come downstairs?”

“Sure,” she said.

Curtis opened the door. He saw she was in the middle of rehearsal. “Would you like some lemonade?”

“I can’t drink lemonade.”

“Are you allergic to that too?”

She smiled. “No. I’m just yanking your chain.”

Curtis shook his head. “Come on downstairs. I’ll go ahead and make it.”

“My dad’s coming to my place on Wednesday to pick up my aunt’s paintings,” Curtis said as he sat in the bookshelf chair in the living room.

“The ones you had me help you with?” Fia asked, taking a sip of lemonade.

“Yes.

Fia nodded. She wanted to leave on Friday to get back in time for spring quarter. And she just plain needed to leave.

“Thank you for curling my hair today.”

“Of course.”

“I am aware this situation I’ve put you in is harrowing. And you have surprised me with your kindness. I am not used to people being kind to me.”

“You’re not hard to be kind to, Curtis. You might just need some time to work through your grief.”

“Maybe. But first I must take care of business.”

“What business?”

“The business of settling the score.”

“You mean revenge.”

“Revenge is a dirty word.”

“So is business.”

“I loved Haven and Lance and Makenna, and those other two bastards killed her. Do you have the slightest idea what its like to lose the one thing in this world that makes you happy?”

“No. I guess I’m lucky. All that ever happened to me was I got kidnapped.”

“Getting kidnapped isn’t all that bad. I have cooked for you, given you a comfortable room to sleep in, and let you work on your performance art in the attic. It’s been a better spring break option than what your father set up for you.”

“I wanted to be his receptionist for a week. The point was to take a break from school.”

“So, you’re unhappy here.”

“Except for being pinned to the ground when I tried to leave it hasn’t been terrible. But you can’t keep me caged here. Putting stress on my mom and dad like this isn’t fair.”

“Your mother yes, your father no.”

“And you’re stressing me out too.”

“I don’t like doing this any more than you like having it done to you. But if I let them get away with this without retribution they will never stop.”

“Retribution is just another name for revenge, Curtis. It leads you nowhere. Except you ending up losing your job, your license, and your life as you know it.”

“I think you need to go back upstairs now,” he said rising from his chair.

“Right. Because if someone disagrees with you, you lock them in an attic.”

“If possible, yes.”

“Curtis, think,” she said standing up and staring him in the eye. “If you let me leave right now, you get off scot-free with no one the wiser.”

“What are you going to tell your parents? The police?”

“I’ll tell them I went off to spend time with friends.”

“They’ll never believe you.”

“Yes, they will. It’s a perfectly plausible answer.”

“No, it isn’t. You’re too responsible. I was at work when your father came into the office the morning after I delivered the first ransom note. He was certain someone had abducted you. And he did everything a reasonable father would do to get you back.”

“I’m giving you a way out of this. Let me go now before it spirals out of control. I’ll tell them my friends sent the ransom notes as a joke. A sick joke, but a joke. All you need to do is move on.”

MY BOOKS

You can check out my books Chicane and all five installments of the Musicology book series Musicology: Volume One, Baby!, Musicology: Volume Two, Kid!, Musicology: Volume Three, Twist!, Musicology: Volume Four, Sweetie! and Musicology: The Epiquad on Amazon in Kindle and Paperback editions. You can also check out Musicology’s web site at www.musicologyrocks.com and vote for who you think will win Musicology!

STREAM OF THE WEEK: THE SEARCHERS (1956)-HBO MAX

Although it’s great to pick a newer film or show for my Stream of the Week, I like to feature a classic occasionally because I find there are movie enthusiasts out there who may not have some of these films.

One of the greatest westerns ever made, the legendary John Ford’s epic masterpiece is not a typical western story. And its subject matter is not for the faint of heart. It’s ugly and relentless and shows ruthlessness on both the side of the settlers and the side of the Native Americans.

Based on the book The Searchers by Alan LeMay it is the story of Civil War veteran Ethan Edwards who comes home after eight years to see his brother Arron Edwards (Walter Croy) and his brother’s family: wife Martha (Dorothy Jordan), oldest daughter Lucy (Pippa Scott), young son Ben (Robert Lyden) and youngest daughter, eight-year-old Debbie (Lana Woods). Ethan has a large collection of gold coins for which he gives no explanation as to how he acquired them. Ethan finds out his brother has adopted a young man named Martin Pawley (Jeffery Hunter) who is one-eighth Cherokee which does not go over well with Ethan.

Not long after Ethan’s arrival Arron’s neighbor Lars Jorgensen (John Qualen) finds his cattle stolen. Under the leadership of Rev. Captain Samuel Clayton (Ward Bond) Ethan, Martin, and a group of Rangers head out to find what happened only to realize they have been tricked by the Comanche tribe who has led them astray so they can carry out a murderous attack. Ethan and Martin return to Arron’s home to find Arron and young Ben killed and scalped and Martha raped, murdered, and scalped. But the two girls Lucy and Debbie are missing sending Ethan, Martin, and Lucy’s fiancé Brad (Harry Carry Jr.) on a long and brutal Odessey to find them and bring them home. A teenage Natalie Wood rounds out the cast.

Some critics have suggested perhaps Ethan and his brother’s wife Martha may have had an affair and Ethan having been gone eight years and Debbie being eight may explain why Ethan left originally and why he searches so tenaciously for Debbie.

Cold Weather

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Daily writing prompt
How do you feel about cold weather?
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As a poodle, I am not fond of cold weather per say. Neither is my novelist. However, she did write a novella that is set in the Colorado mountains that takes place during a blizzard called Chicane. When she writes novels she likes to consider how easily the story can be lifted from the novel and made to be cinematic. In other words, she considers how easily the story could transfer to film and therefore she often chooses to write stories which are visceral and dialogue driven. Many excellent films have taken place in the snow such as Fargo, Dr. Zhivago, A Simple Plan, The Shining, The Frozen Ground, It’s a Wonderful Life and recently The Holdovers. Also a small film called Blackway with Anthony Hopkins and Julia Stiles is an interesting little story that takes place in the dreary, somewhat snowy Pacific Northwest. Snow is excellent for setting.

Certified Sadistic Accountant Chapter Twenty-Six

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Good afternoon. It is I Gigi the parti poodle here to introduce Chapter Twenty-Six of my story Certified Sadistic Accountant. This week my novelist and I thought it might be fun to list one dozen of the original motion picture scores that we enjoy listening to when we write. Our criteria being the scores must be almost exclusively instrumentals and they must have been original music written for the film. Here they are in alphabetical order:

  1. American Beauty by Thomas Newman  
  2. Drive by Cliff Martinez. This one is still in print.
  3. Fire Walk With Me by Angelo Baldalamenti. This one is still in print.
  4. Memories of Murder by Taro Iwashiro
  5. Rocky by Bill Conti. This one is still in print.
  6. Rounders by Christopher Young
  7. Secretary by Angelo Baldalamenti.
  8. Sex, Lies and Videotape by Cliff Martinez
  9. Sideways by Rolfe Kent
  10. Taxi Driver by Bernard Herman. This one is still in print.
  11. The Game by Howard Shore
  12. Vertigo by Bernard Herman. This one is still in print.

As an honorable mention I will list Bubba Ho Tep by Brian Tyler and make this a baker’s dozen. This is a great score especially the tracks “All is Well” and “The King’s Highway”.

In addition, as a toy parti poodle I would like to extend an exuberant congratulations to Sage the miniature poodle who won the Best In Show at the Westminster Dog Show this week. This was a huge victory for the poodle pack worldwide. Here she is:

And with that here is chapter twenty-six of my story Certified Sadistic Accountant. May the Poodles be with you.

Certified Sadistic Accountant

by

Gigi the parti poodle

Chapter Twenty-Six

“I’ll help,” Fia said rising from her chair and heading into the kitchen where Curtis was loading the dishwasher.

“There’s not much to do,” he said slipping the table knives into the silverware caddy.

“I’d rather be useful than bored.”

Curtis reached up and grabbed a small whisk broom and dustpan set. “You can sweep the table,” he said handing them to her. Her arm brushed against his leg as she did. Curtis felt a shiver run across his skin. A comfortable pleasant shiver. He looked down at her shiny hair and wondered what it felt like. “Thank you,” he said, his knuckle grazing hers as he took the set from her hand and put it back up on the hook.  

“So, what are we doing today?”

“What do you mean?”

“You don’t go to work today so what are we doing instead?”

“I need to get this ransom note delivered.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s my priority.”

“Okay, fine. If you don’t mind, I’d like to continue working on my project in the attic today.”

“What project?”

“My performance art piece.”

“Your performance art piece?”

“Your aunt has a lot of wonderful things in her attic. I didn’t realize how much it was until I got into some of the cabinets and boxes. Do you want to see what I’ve put together so far?”

Curtis thought he’d very much like to see what she’d put together so far. “I do not want to interrupt your work.”

“What do you mean? You would be helping me. I could use an audience at this point in the process.”

“I…would be delighted.”

“Why don’t I work up in the attic and you figure out your ransom note situation.”

Curtis nodded. “Alright,” he said and closed the door to the dishwasher.

After Curtis let Fia in the attic and locked the door, he went downstairs to his Aunt Odette’s office. He closed the door, sat down at the desk, and put his head in his hands. How exactly was he going to deliver that ransom note to the Dupree residence?

He could drive to the town just beyond the lake. There was a trading post there he could Fed Ex the letter to. He’d just pay cash, and no one would be the wiser. The only concern was the surveillance camera. If he could recognize Lance on his system, surely, they could recognize him on theirs. He would need to find a way to go incognito. But he needed to hurry because they likely closed at one on Saturdays. He thought about what Fia said about the clothes in the attic. Maybe there were some stored up there he could use. He grabbed the keys and headed up the stairs.

“Fia,” he said knocking on the attic door. “I need some help.”

“What’s the matter?” she said.

He unlocked the door and opened it. He saw she had the place set up like a black box theatre.

“What do you need?”

“I need some men’s clothes. I think Aunt Odette went through a menswear phase when I was a kid.”

“Okay…yeah. I think she did have some men’s clothing in that trunk over there,” she said pointing to a large vintage steamer trunk.

“Fantastic.” He made a beeline for the trunk. He unlatched it and opened the lid. He lifted out the full-length drawer inside that was snapped shut and set it on the floor. Inside were tailored suits, shirts, and hats.

“What do you need these clothes for? They look like they’re from the 70’s or something.”

“I have to go somewhere.”

“I thought you had to take care of the ransom note.”

“That’s where I’m going.”

“Are you sure these will fit you?”

“They’ll have to.”

“But you wear a suit to the office.”

“Not like these things.”

Fia studied him. “You want some help figuring out what to wear?”

Curtis stopped rifling through the trunk and considered her proposal. “Sure.”

Fia walked over to the trunk, knelt, and nudged him aside. She picked up a blue dress shirt and held it up against him. “This one matches your eyes,” she said.

Curtis watched her face as she studied the shirt before handing it to him, crawling over and unsnapping the drawer he’d taken out. She opened it to find a collection of silk ties, belts, tie bars, and cufflinks.

“Wow,” she said. These are some seriously wide ties. This one is snazzy.”

She picked up a silk tie with a gradation of three bold blue stripes. There was a black semicircle to the side with the rest of the length of the tie a golden tan. “Hold the shirt up against you again,” she said. He held it up and she laid the tie against it. He felt the back of her hand against his chest. Another shiver ran across his skin. “That doesn’t look half bad. Let’s pick out a jacket.” She lifted out a stack of folded shirts and set them aside. Then she pulled out a tan jacket and a blue one. “You know, I think the tan jacket looks pretty good, actually. Try it on.”

Curtis unbuttoned his shirt and took it off. Fia noticed he wore a t-shirt underneath. He didn’t look half bad in it, she surmised. He put the blue dress shirt on over the T-shirt and began buttoning it up. Fia stood up and put the tie around his neck and started tying it. Curtis studied her as she did. She had creamy skin with childlike rosiness still in her cheeks.

Fia slipped the tie through the knot and tightened it. “There,” she said. “That looks good.”

“Thanks.”

“Put on the jacket.”

He swung the jacket over his shoulders, slid his arms through, straightened the lapels, and studied the hats. He grabbed a grey and white hound’s tooth fedora and put it on.

“You know what?” Fia said. “Let me style your hair. Give it a retro look.”

“Just hold still,” Fia said as Curtis sat on a wooden stool in the bathroom as Fia styled his hair with a curling iron. She took another section of his hair and rolled it up with the iron.

“I look stupid,” Curtis said studying his reflection in the mirror.

“Men got perms in the 70’s. My mom told me about it. My grandpa had one.”

“How long does the curl last?”

“A day maybe. If you wash your hair its gone.”

“Just one more section here.” She took the last of his hair and rolled it in the silver rod. She held it there for a moment and then released it. “There. What do you think?”

Curtis studied the results. “Bizarre.”

“I think you look 70’s cool. Stand up.” She set the curing iron on the counter and studied him. “Where are you going?”

“Let’s get you back to the attic so you can work on your performance art piece. Maybe tonight I can see you perform what you have.”

“Sounds good.”

Curtis nodded. “Wish me luck.”

Fia reached up and ran her fingers along his silk tie. “I could really use a flashlight up there. I would like to use it in my piece.”

“My aunt has one in her bedroom. I’ll get it for you.”

“Thank you,” Fia said. She turned off the curling iron and left it on the counter to cool.

They left the bathroom and headed for the master bedroom. “She always kept one by her bedside,” Curtis said moving over to the bedside table and opening the drawer. “It’s small but its mighty.” He reached in and pulled out a small flashlight. He pointed it at the wall and turned it on. “Yep,” he said. “Works.” Then he handed the flashlight to Fia.

“This is perfect.”

“I look forward to seeing it in your show. Now, let’s get you back to the attic.”

MY BOOKS

You can check out my books Chicane and all five installments of the Musicology book series Musicology: Volume One, Baby!, Musicology: Volume Two, Kid!, Musicology: Volume Three, Twist!, Musicology: Volume Four, Sweetie! and Musicology: The Epiquad on Amazon in Kindle and Paperback editions. You can also check out Musicology’s web site at www.musicologyrocks.com and vote for who you think will win Musicology!

STREAM OF THE WEEK: THE ZONE OF INTEREST (2023)-HBO MAX

Evil comes in different forms. And one of them is indifference. This film is not for everyone. Not because it has explicit violence but because we never see violence. Violence is left to the imagination. And that’s what makes it chilling. But there is no doubt it is there, just on the other side of a wall that boarders on a beautiful piece of property in Poland. There are children, and lush gardens and flowers, and a clean airy house. And the house is filled with lovely things most of which were stolen off the dead burned bodies of Jews who were killed on the other side of the wall. We see the smoke, hear the screams and the gunfire. We even witness the ash used to help the gardens flourish. And the family, kids included, know exactly what’s going on. They know because they see the steam of the trains constantly coming in and the relentless smoke from the buildings filling the air. But they do not care. They are too interested in their treasures like long fur coats and French perfume and teeth filled with gold. They are happy with their lives and have no problem with the fact that it comes with the incineration of millions of men, women, and children next door in Auschwitz.

This is a stark film brilliantly directed by Jonathon Glazer who, despite the fact I adore Christopher Nolen, maybe should have taken the Oscar here. Not to mention the marvelous cinematography by Lukasz Zal. There are little to no close ups in the film. The audience is kept at a distance throughout because what we are viewing are soulless people, psychopathic people, with no real human emotion, save the wife’s mother who, while visiting the family has an epiphany. And it allows the audience to see the bigger picture. It forces us to step back and examine how to never let it happen again. The film is based on the book The Zone of Violence by Martin Amis who co-wrote the script with Glazer. The movie differs greatly from the book, which has more of a love story woven into it. There is no love story here.

Certified Sadistic Accountant Chapter Twenty-Five

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Good afternoon. It is I Gigi the parti poodle here to introduce chapter twenty-five of my story Certified Sadistic Accountant. The weather is getting warmer which means I must make my novelist adjust my walking schedule. I have not been in for my spring trim and my hair is getting longer. My novelist and I have been turning to original movie scores as our background music when we write. We will find a soundtrack online we like and play it when we work. One that recently caught our attention was Fire Walk With Me the film accompaniment to Twin Peaks. What is marvelous about this one is it is still in print. I am a Twin Peaks fan, and my novelist and I have been watching the original 1990’s series here and there. She has seen it all the way through, but I have not. I am most intrigued. There are times when I believe I have been visited by a giant. Not a giant person, mind you, but a giant brown bunny. The bunny told me the squirrels are not what they seem. This, of course, comes as no surprise. One can never fully trust what a squirrel is. Then again, maybe it’s all that darned fine coffee talking. And with that thought, here is chapter twenty-five of my story Certified Sadistic Accountant. Enjoy!

Certified Sadistic Accountant

by

Gigi the parti poodle

Chapter Twenty-Five

Fia woke up and looked at the West German-made clock nestled in the French-made crystal case sitting on the bedside table: 9:15 AM. Surprised Curtis hadn’t come to unlock the door, she rose and got dressed. She knew it was Saturday, but she had expected Curtis to unlock the door by now.

As she pulled her t-shirt over her head, she heard the downstairs door open followed by Curtis plodding up the stairs. He knocked and said, “Fia?”

“Yes?” she replied.

“I’m unlocking the door,” he said slipping the key into the lock. “I didn’t mean to get you out of there so late.”

“Did you sleep in or something?”

“No, I fell asleep in the office. It was nearly sunrise when I left to deliver the ransom note to your dad.”

“So, he has the note now?”

Curtis opened the door. “I ran into a glitch.”

“A glitch?”

“There was a police car parked near the mailboxes.”

This news made Fia hopeful. “Did the officer see you?”

“I parked down the street. But when I got back inside my car, he came up to the driver’s side window.”

Good, she thought. “Did he say anything to you?”

“He just thought I was a guy coming home late from a date…are you hungry?”

“I could use some tea.”

“I’m sure we have some of that. Aunt Odette is a bit of a tea connoisseur.”

“Really?”

“Yes. She taught me white tea has more caffeine than black tea. So does matcha. Green tea has the least, then oolong, black, matcha and white.”

“I would have thought white tea and green tea had similar caffeine levels.”

“I know, right? She also has an espresso machine if you want a latte or something.”

“Tea would be great.”

“Would you like breakfast? I thought I’d make scones.”

“You’d make scones?”

“I have a mix in the cupboard.”

“I’d love scones.”

“Good.” Curtis hesitated, wondering whether to let her out of the room or come back and get her for breakfast. “I’ll go turn on the oven,” he said as he went to close the door. “I’ll come back and get you when…”

“I need to clean up and use the bathroom, Curtis.”

“Oh, right, yeah,” he said. “Uh…let’s go down the hall.”

Fia stepped out of the room and Curtis followed her down the hall to the guest bathroom. She headed in and he shut the door and waited outside. He looked down at his hands. They were shaking. That drive had been harrowing. He still wasn’t sure if he was paranoid or if those prowlers had really been following him. But somehow, he had to get that second ransom note to Mr. Dupree.

Fia turned on the water and washed her face. She grabbed a towel to dry off before looking over at the window. She left the water running and carefully opened it. It was a straight drop down. Nothing to climb out on. However, it occurred to her she could send an SOS signal out of it if she had a flashlight. Maybe someone would notice it.

“You okay in there?” Curtis called.

Fia whipped around and said, “I just need to finish brushing my teeth.”

“Why do women take so long in the bathroom?”

“Details. Men cut corners.”

“Cut corners?”

“Men don’t exfoliate. They don’t use moisturizers. These things are important.”

Curtis shook his head. “There are exfoliators and moisturizers on the market for men. I have some on my counter at home. But I’m efficient when I use them.”

Fia stepped away from the window and looked in the mirror. I’ll go back to my room and wait for Curtis to make breakfast, she thought. Then I’ll figure out how to get my hands on a flashlight.

Curtis pulled the scones out of the oven and set them on top of the stove. He opened the cupboard and took down the jar of the lemon infused blueberry jam he’d purchased before kidnapping Fia. He picked up the eggplant colored Mosser Glass butterdish and carried it and the jam to the table. The tea kettle whistled, and he hurried back and moved it from the hot burner to the center burner in the back row. He took a couple of table knives and a couple of grapefruit spoons out of the utensil drawer and folded them in cloth napkins. Then he retrieved two small clear glass thistle pattern plates out of the cupboard, grabbed the settings and set two places at the table.

“I hope you like kiwi,” Curtis said as Fia sat at the table watching him move about.

“Kiwi is good,” Fia said.

Curtus reached into the cupboard and retrieved two white porcelain egg cups. He sliced the top off each of the kiwis and set them upright in the cups. Then he set the tops back on the kiwis.

“What are you doing?”

“I like kiwis this way.”

“No one eats kiwis that way.”          

“That does not mean it cannot be done this way.” He brought the kiwis over and put one beside her plate and the other beside his and sat down. “Now, you lift the top off and set it aside,” he said placing the top of his kiwi on his plate. “Then you take the grapefruit spoon and scoop out the kiwi like this.” He took the serrated spoon and scooped out some kiwi from the skin and ate it. “See, it works.”

“Weird. Fine. I’ll do it.” Fia stuck her grapefruit spoon into the kiwi, circled it, and ate the fruit. “I suppose that’s logical.”

“A kiwi is generally the size and shape of an egg. And although I like the skin, a lot of people don’t. I figure you could steady the kiwi with the egg cup, hold your hand at the base, and eat the kiwi like a grapefruit without the resistance.”

“Why am I here, Curtis?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean why did you kidnap me?”

“Everyone at the office likes to play tricks on me. This time they went too far.”

“But I had nothing to do with it.”

“Ah but see your dad did. He has a habit of ignoring the other accountants’ shenanigans.”

“And so, you’re punishing me for it?”

“They killed Haven.”

“They killed Haven?”

“They broke into my house, tried to kidnap her, and she ran into the street and got hit by a delivery truck.”

“How do you know all that?”

“My landlord set surveillance up on all his properties.”

“Why didn’t you go to the police?”

“I did. But what are they going to do?”

“For starters, arrest them for breaking and entering.”

“My coworkers need to be punished for more than breaking and entering.”

“I don’t get it, Curtis.”

“Oh, you will. Please pass the jam.”

MY BOOKS

You can check out my books Chicane and all five installments of the Musicology book series Musicology: Volume One, Baby!, Musicology: Volume Two, Kid!, Musicology: Volume Three, Twist!, Musicology: Volume Four, Sweetie! and Musicology: The Epiquad on Amazon in Kindle and Paperback editions. You can also check out Musicology’s web site at www.musicologyrocks.com and vote for who you think will win Musicology!

STREAM OF THE WEEK: FARGO (1996)-HBO MAX

Every so often I like to recommend a movie everyone should see but surprisingly some may not have. There are those out there who consider superhero films and such to be cinema. Gigi and I believe the definition of cinema is “literature in the visual form”. While superhero films, with some exceptions like Unbreakable, are made for mass appeal with a simple story and an elementary premise, cinema aims for a more discerning audience who enjoys more complex themes, symbolism, and concepts that are timeless and universal. Sometimes there have been graphic novels which fall under the category of cinema. For example, A History of Violence directed by the brilliant Canadian director David Cronenberg. But blockbusters rarely fall under the definition of cinema.

Also, great directors often have a common theme that runs through all their films. For instance, Quinten Tarrentino’s movies tend to be about honor. Hitchcock often deal with voyeurism especially in Vertigo, Rear Window, and Psycho. And the Cohen Brothers love to explore the theme of greed. Even in Raising Arizona where greed isn’t about money, it’s about babies. But of all the Cohen films, greed has never been presented as uniquely as it has in Fargo.

The story starts out with a plan devised by Jerry Lundegaard (William H. Macy in an Oscar nominated performance for which he should have won) to have two low-end criminals, Carl Showalter (Steve Buscemi who should have also received an Oscar nod) and his cold as ice partner Gaear Grimsrud (Peter Stormare in a wonderfully creepy performance) kidnap his wife Jean Lundergaard (Kristin Rudrüd). The idea is Jean’s wealthy blowhard father Wade Gustafson (Harve Presnell) who owns the car dealership where Jerry is executive sales manager will pay a hansom ransom of one million dollars for his daughter. Jerry would then take the money and purchase a lucrative piece of real estate after giving his henchmen a cut. But nothing goes as planned and things start spinning out of control after the two ne’re-do-well criminals get pulled over by a patrolman and commit and even more horrific crime. And that’s when very pregnant Brainerd police chief Marge Gunderson (Francis McDormand in a spectacular Oscar winning performance) finds herself on the case.

As a side note, something I noticed in the film on this viewing were the fantastic knife skills Kristin Rudrüd who plays Jean has. Most actors are terrible in kitchen scenes and it’s a wonder they don’t slice their fingers when they are cutting vegetables or fruit or whatever. But hers are fantastic.

Certified Sadistic Accountant Chapter Twenty-Four

~ gigicatchesair ~ Leave a comment

Good evening. My name is Gigi the parti poodle and I was running a bit late, but I am here and ready to introduce chapter twenty-four of my story Certified Sadistic Accountant. As you may know, last week my novelist and I were more than happy to find out Foreigner is finally going to be inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. I was so excited about it I decided to pen ala Weird Al and Twisted Tunes, a different take on one of the group’s biggest songs. Here it goes,

Well, I’m, hot mailing

Click it and see

I’ve got a letter burning inside of me

Come on baby, do you do more than text?

I’m hot mailing, I’m hot mailing

You don’t have to read my font

To know what I really want

Honey, you ought to scroll

Now you type so fine

Let me read another line

I want to see

What attachment you’re sending me

Now it’s up to you

We can leave a bad product review

Just me and you

I’ll show you trolling like you never knew

That’s why I’m hot mailing

Click it and see

I’ve got a letter burning inside of me

Come on baby, do you do more than text?

I’m hot mailing, I’m hot mailing

If it feels alright

Maybe we could Zoom all night.

Shall I send you my link?  

But you’ve got to click on that key.

Come on, girl. Click the send key.

Tell me, are you hot mailing?

Inbox looks that way to me.

Are you old enough?

Will you be phishing when I call your bluff?

Is my texting right?

Will you send your dirty pics tonight?

Well I’m, hot mailing

Click it and see

I’ve got a letter burning inside of me

Come on baby, do you do more than text?

I’m hot mailing, I’m hot mailing

Now it’s up to you

We can write a bad product review

Oh, before we do

You’ll have to block and unfriend you know who

Well, I’m, hot mailingI

Click it and see

I’ve got a letter burning inside of me

Come on baby do you do more than text

I’m hot mailing, I’m hot mailing

Hot mailing, every night

Hot mailing, you’re emoji’s so tight

Hot mailing, you’re texting me wild

Hot mailing, I’m so sexting you, child

Hot mailing, I’m a little bit geek

Hot mailing, you’re a little bit freaked

Hot mailing, you’re making me pog

Hot mailing, for your sweet, sweet blog

Did you read what I wrote?

And with that thought, here is chapter twenty-four of Certified Sadistic Accountant. Rock on!

Certified Sadistic Accountant

by

Gigi the parti poodle

Chapter Twenty-Four

Curtis huddled in his breakfast nook watching his round vintage-style wall clock. His clock had a silent sweep non-ticking quartz movement. But he heard the seconds marking off time in his head. He’d been sitting there for almost two hours hoping the police officer hadn’t followed him and was parked outside. His plan was to leave in a few minutes and blend in with traffic. However, it was Saturday and there wouldn’t be many cars on the road until around ten or eleven. He sipped the coffee he’d made with his espresso machine. Mr. Dupree was right about one thing: coffee should be made with whole beans and ground to order.

For some reason he started wondering what happened to all the coffee grounds once they were used and discarded. He figured some ended up being spared and turned into potting soil. But how many ended up in garbage dumps paved over with a golf course built on top? All those grounds trapped like prisoners with no dirt to fertilize. They would sit there for decades, centuries even. Curtis took another sip of his coffee. If he’d just not fallen asleep, he would have made it to the mailbox in the middle of the night. Maybe even beat the prowler. The policeman wouldn’t have walked up to his car and asked for his license and registration. He looked at the second hand on the clock. It glided past twelve. After it glided past twelve again, he would get up and leave.

When Curtis had pulled into his driveway at 6:40 AM, he’d noticed the red Ford Fiesta still parked in Earl’s driveway. Maybe his neighbor wasn’t as lonesome as he thought. The second-hand glided past twelve. He rose from the table and quietly stepped outside. As he turned to lock the door to his duplex, Earl and the woman with the long dark brown hair, short skirt and tennis shoes stepped outside onto Earl’s porch as well. Curtis told himself to act naturally as if he was heading off to do something ordinary for the weekend. He would not greet them. He would let them greet him first, act like he was focused on his normal weekend plans. Oddly, all Earl did was wave and after a moment Curtis realized Earl and the woman were not on friendly terms. There was tension between them. Curtis waved back, climbed into his pale green Honda Accord, and backed out into the street.

Curtis looked around the neighborhood as he headed for the main arterial. He scanned the streets trying to see if anyone was following him. He didn’t see any police prowlers around. He checked his rearview mirror. No one was behind him. He continued forwards.

He pulled up to the stop light to turn right onto the street that headed towards the mall. He turned on the radio and when he looked up in the rearview mirror, he saw a police car. Curtis froze, rattled. Breathe deep, he told himself. Just drive. Curtis gripped the steering wheel tightly; he flipped on the turn signal as his eyes peered to the left to see if anyone was coming. He turned cautiously and headed down the hill. He looked up in his rearview mirror. The prowler was on his tail. Curtis drove at the speed limit. Take it easy, he told himself. Stay nonchalant. Down the hill, past the eateries, and on to the mall. The prowler kept right on his tail. Stay calm and think, he told himself.

As he drove forwards, he saw the lights on the railroad track come on. He slowed to a stop and checked the rearview mirror. The prowler’s tinted windows made it difficult to see the driver. The sound of the train’s signal was deafening. He wondered if the officer was taking down his license plate as he waited for the train to pass.

As the last car went by, Curtis noticed another prowler sitting on the opposite side of the tracks. His heart began beating faster. He waited for the bar to lift. Then he crawled over the tracks and continued forwards. The prowler on the opposite side passed him and made a right turn towards the little lunch shack at the end of the street. The prowler behind him continued following his Honda. Curtis decided he was being paranoid. There were police cars everywhere. He was overthinking what happened last night.

Curtis drove over the bridge and out towards the mall. He glanced in his rearview mirror. He saw a second prowler two cars back. Did the other prowler turn around and start following him? He was tempted to speed up, but the first police car was right on his tail. He passed the mall and headed towards the turnoff to the lake. He stopped at the light. He looked around to see if there were any other police cars. Then he turned right and continued towards the lake. The police prowler turned with him. And after a moment the other prowler turned and stayed behind him as well. He needed an alternate destination.

He would head back and stop at the gas station. He drove a couple of blocks and then got into the right turn lane. He saw the two prowlers merge into the right turn lane behind him. He continued down the road to the gas station across from the mall and pulled in. As he did the two prowlers drove past the gas station and back the way he’d come. Were they on to him, Curtis thought?

Mr. Dupree set Sheriff Bob’s coffee and biscotti on the dining room table.

“Thanks, Dal,” Sheriff Bob said. It’s been a long night.”

“Did we receive a second ransom note giving us further instructions?”

“No, we did not.”

“Did your guy out there see anyone?”

“Just some twenty-something kid coming home from a date.”

“Is your guy sure that’s what he was doing?”

“Nope. That’s why he took down the kid’s license and registration. We’ll run it through our system to see if his name comes up with anything. I also had another one of my guys follow him to his house.”

“My daughter could be lying in a ditch somewhere.”

“Or not. You need to keep your head here, Dal.”

“Fia has been gone an entire day. Almost two.”

Mrs. Dupree walked into the dining room. She was a visible wreck but kept her composure. “Do you have any leads?” she asked.

“None yet,” Sheriff Bob said. “There was a young man the officer saw parked out on the street early this morning. My guy got his license and registration. We’ll run it through our system. Probably won’t come up with anything but you never know.”

Mrs. Dupree nodded. “It isn’t like Fia to disappear for days like this.”

“Do you think it’s possible she ran into some friends from high school on spring break too? A lot of them are around town right now.”

“No, Fia was supposed to be taking the place of Dallas’s receptionist who went to Palm Springs this week. Fia was excited about the job and is a responsible young woman. She would not just take off.”

Sheriff Bob took another sip of his coffee. “Do you know if she was seeing anyone?”

“No…although she did always like that kid who was in marching band.”

“She did not,” Mr. Dupree snapped.

“Yes, Dallas, she did.”

“He was an odd little troll. Always wearing vests. You got to look out for boys who wear vests.”

Mrs. Dupree rolled her eyes. “But I still don’t think she ran off with friends or went to see a boy.”

“So, you believe the ransom note to be legitimate?”

“Yes. Absolutely.”

Sheriff Bob nodded. “I’m going to have my guy head home in another hour. I’ll send a new one to watch from the house. I think we need to consider doing a stakeout.”

MY BOOKS

You can check out my books Chicane and all five installments of the Musicology book series Musicology: Volume One, Baby!, Musicology: Volume Two, Kid!, Musicology: Volume Three, Twist!, Musicology: Volume Four, Sweetie! and Musicology: The Epiquad on Amazon in Kindle and Paperback editions. You can also check out Musicology’s web site at www.musicologyrocks.com and vote for who you think will win Musicology!

STREAM OF THE WEEK: THE PEZ OUTLAW (2022)-NETFLIX

It’s always a pleasure to come across a documentary that is fun and engaging to watch and this week’s pick fits the bill. This is one of those biographical stories that screams out to be made into a major motion picture. I can’t imagine any actor who wouldn’t want the lead role. And his wife Kathy, son Josh and the villain would be stellar parts too.

Steve Glew is a bit of an oddball. But he’s smart and always thinking of ways to make money. When he was younger, he used to buy kid’s cereals (the more sugar the better) and send away for free items advertised on the back of the box. He ordered so many of them the cereal companies had to start printing “one item per customer”. Steve is a collector himself…of the cereal boxes. But as for the toys, he sold those at toy conventions as a side-hustle. It was a way to make extra money since his 9-5 job as a machinist, an occupation which he was clearly over-qualified for, didn’t pay nearly as well.  

Then one day he found the holy grail of small toys: the Pez dispenser. And he had to get his hands on them. A lot of them. And he did…in Russia. He found that the factories there made Pez dispensers the United States Pez company rejected. But these rejected toys were worth thousands to American collectors. Thus began Steve’s odyssey as a smuggler of Pez dispensers and the egomaniac US Pez CEO, better known as the “Pezident”, who would do whatever it took to stop him.

Camping

~ gigicatchesair ~ 3 Comments
Daily writing prompt
Have you ever been camping?
View all responses

Despite being a poodle or rather a canis lupus familiaris, I have never been camping. My novelist, on the other hand, has`camped in an Airstream, camper, log cabins, elevated log cabins, wooden cabins, tents of different types and out on the open ground in a sleeping bag. Most of these modest adventures were done in her childhood where she would spend at least one or two weeks each year in the woods. She was taught to cook various campfire meals over open fires such as stews and items cooked in foil as well as the basic hotdogs on sticks. She also learned how to make “fruit pies” as it were with a special tool which uses two slices of bread and fruit filling. One would never know this about her now. She does not seem the type.

Certified Sadistic Accountant Chapter Twenty-Three

~ gigicatchesair ~ Leave a comment

Good afternoon. It is I Gigi the parti poodle here once again to introduce the twenty-third chapter of my story Certified Sadistic Accountant. This week this Hot Blooded poodle was pleased to find out that one of my favorite Dirty White Boy bands is being inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. For years the band had been told with words Cold As Ice they would never be let in. But That Was Yesterday. Our Juke Box Hero probably thought someone was playing Head Games with them when they were told they were inductees. But they are not seeing Double Vision. The Rock and Roll Hall of Fame has decided it is Urgent they become a part of the heralded few. Congratulations, Foreigner. I’ll bet it Feels Like The First Time! And with that here is chapter twenty-three of Certified Sadistic Accountant.

Certified Sadistic Accountant

by

Gigi the parti poodle

Chapter Twenty-Three

Fia decided Aunt Odette’s office was the least unusual room in the cabin. It appeared organized and just as Curtis promised there was a substantial collection of books. They were organized alphabetically by the author’s last name. The books stood on an old-fashioned hardwood bookshelf circa 1960 which ran the length of the longest wall. It had different length shelves and was made of maple and had a beautiful soft gloss finish. The tall hardbound books were along the bottom and stood vertical except for the last area on the lowest right.

Fia perused the vast layout of choices. “This is interesting,” she said picking up a paperback and showing it to Curtis.

“Is that what you want to read?” he said before checking his watch.

“No,” she said putting it back and perusing the shelves again.

Curtis watched as she languidly ran her fingers along the spines. He watched the light catch the glossy lacquer of her painted peach nails.

“This looks interesting too,” she said lifting a leatherbound copy of Lady Chatterley’s Lover off the shelf.

“Mmm, hmm,” he said checking his watch again. He watched her bend down and peruse the bottom right-hand corner. She grabbed a large book with a spiral binding, picked it up, and studied it. Then she turned around and showed it to Curtis. Curtis raised an eyebrow. “That’s what you want to read?”  

“Yes.”

“Sex by Madonna and Steve Meisel?”

“Yes.”

“You realize when my aunt bought that book, they kept it behind the counter and didn’t display it. It was by request only.”

“I’ve never seen it before. I’ve heard of it, but never seen it in the flesh.”

“It’s rare now, I guess.”

“Did you used to sneak in here and read it when you visited your aunt?”

“I wouldn’t have gotten away with it.”

“I’ll bet you did.”

“Be careful with it, would you. It’s fragile to begin with and it’s rare.”

“I’m surprised it wasn’t still hermetically sealed in the mylar.”

“Oh, she has a copy that is.”

“She has two copies?”

“Yes. She just doesn’t keep the sealed one lying around on the shelves.”

“Wow.”

“Enjoy the book. I’m sure it will be heady reading. Let’s go. I have work to do.”

They left the office and ascended the staircase. When they reached the guest room Fia turned to Curtis and said, “I hope you understand I chose this book for inspiration.”

“Yeah, it’s inspiring alright.”

She leaned against the doorframe and nodded. “And I hope you understand the inspiration is for my performance art piece.”

Curtis noticed the room temperature suddenly rise. He cleared his throat and said, “I hope you put on a great show.”

“You’ll have to let me know how you like it,” she said flirtatiously.

“I will…,” he averted his eyes. “I will do that.”

“Goodnight, Curtis,” she said and stepped backwards into the room smiling coquettishly at him as he closed the door and locked it.

Curtis stood for a minute watching the door. He turned slowly and slogged back down the stairs. He entered his aunt’s office and sat down at her desk. He took out a couple of magazines he’d stashed in her drawer along with his tweezers, scissors and glue and began cutting letters out of the pages. He meticulously started assembling the second ransom note carefully putting a small amount of glue on each letter, placing it precisely on the paper with the tweezers and pressing it down with the eraser side of the pencil. As he did, he thought about Fia. Why did she clean the attic? Why did she agree to dessert? Why did she flirt with him?

Maybe rehearsing her performance piece in the attic made her happy. She wouldn’t have gotten that opportunity working at her father’s accounting agency all spring break. He did her a favor by kidnapping her. It upset him that she suggested he would harm her. What would be the point of harming her? That wasn’t why he’d kidnapped her. He’d kidnapped her to show how brutal they had been. Taking a man’s dog was vicious. Killing a man’s dog was downright cruel.

Suddenly, he felt tears well up in his eyes. He pushed the chair away from the desk so they would not fall on the ransom note. What was the point of putting on rubber gloves and a shower cap just to get caught by falling tears?

He reached over and grabbed a Kleenex out of the square cardboard box. He’d had to buy the Kleenex because his Aunt Odette always insisted on using handkerchiefs. Curtis always found that odd. But she insisted handkerchiefs were more environmentally friendly and felt nicer on her, as she called it, ultra-sensitive skin. Curtis breathed in deep and slowly exhaled. He grabbed the desk and wheeled himself back. He decided he was going to need some coffee to complete the task.

He headed into the kitchen, checked the bur grinder to make sure it had enough coffee beans, and ground out enough for a double shot. He grabbed the press, packed down the grounds and stuck the portafilter in the machine. He poured milk into a steel pitcher. The only syrups his aunt ever had were vanilla and raspberry. He poured equal amounts of both into an oversized mug, made the coffee, and steamed the milk. He liked his milk foamy, somewhere between a cappuccino and a latte. He poured the coffee into the mug, stirred it then added the milk. He capped it off with ample foam and headed back to the office.

After fifteen minutes of drinking the coffee, Curtis found a second wind. He steadily added one letter at a time to the note. All he had to do now was wait for the glue to dry.

Curtis lifted his head. The office came into focus. He shot up in his chair and looked at the clock. It was five-thirty AM. He only had forty-five minutes until sunrise. He pushed back the chair, pulled off the shower cap and gloves and ran into the master bedroom. He threw on his black shirt, pants, and shoes. He rushed back to the office and put on his matching gloves. He grabbed the Ziplock freezer bag and carefully slid the ransom note into it. Then he rushed out of the office and whirled around to lock the door. He raced through the living room and out the front door. He opened the door of the garage, hopped in his Honda Accord, backed out and drove off. He glanced at the car’s clock: 5:40AM. Forty minutes to daylight. 

He drove too fast around the corners, anxious about the way the car struggled to hug the curves as he raced around the lake towards the main road into town. Stay cool, he told himself. Stay calm or you’ll run into another car or crash into the lake. He pulled up to the intersection that led past the mall and headed downtown on route to the neighborhood where the Dupree house stood.

He rolled down the window and let the cool air blow across his face. He breathed deeply and smelled the fresh spring night. He looked at his car clock: 5:50 AM. Thirty minutes to daylight. He saw the hill up ahead and punched the gas. He stopped at the stoplight, swiftly turned left, and powered up the second hill until he reached the crest before coasting towards the wealthiest part of town.

As Curtis pulled his pale green Honda Accord up to the curb, he glanced at the clock: 6:10 AM. Ten minutes to daylight. He grabbed the Ziplock freezer bag with the ransom note and got out of the car. He shut the door as softly as a butterfly closing its wings and prowled up the street towards the row of mailboxes.

He was almost there when he saw the police prowler parked in front of the Dupree house. He checked his watch: 6:15 AM. Five minutes to daylight. The prowler looked like a cougar waiting to pounce. Curtis turned and scurried back towards his Honda, heart pounding, fingers trembling. Dawn was breaking. He would have to hurry home to his duplex. He’d wait there for an hour or two before he headed back to the cabin.

He got into the car, stuck the ransom note under the passenger’s seat, pulled off his black knit cap and was about to start the engine when he was startled by a tapping on the driver’s side window. He whipped his head around and saw a policeman staring at him with an expressionless face. Curtis rolled down the window.

“Yes, officer?” he said with a squeak in his voice.

“What are you doing parked here?” the officer asked.

“I…,” Curtis felt a drop of sweat roll down between his shoulder blades. “I was coming home from a date.”

“A date?”

“I had dinner with a girl…a young woman…of legal age.”

“Where did you go for dinner?”

“My…her house. We had dinner at her house.”

“What did you have?”

“Clam pasta.”

“She made you clam pasta?”

“I made it, actually.”

“Where’s her place?”

“Over the bridge. Past the mall.”

“Why are you parked here?”

“I was on my way home.

“Where do you live?”

“I live in a duplex.”

“There aren’t any duplexes in this neighborhood.”

“This neighborhood is on my way home.”

“Where’s home?”

“Over by the middle school.”

“Which middle school?”

“The old one that was built in the 70’s.”

The emotionless policeman stared him down.

“Is there something wrong, officer.”

“License and registration.”

“But I was just parked. I wasn’t speeding…”

“License and registration.”

Curtis reached into his hip pocket and fumbled for his wallet. He took out his license and handed it to the officer. Then he reached into the panel of the door for the registration and handed it to the officer as well.

The officer looked over the documents, wrote something down, and handed the documents back to Curtis. Curtis put the registration back in the door and his license back into his wallet. As he was about to put his wallet back in his hip pocket, he glanced over and noticed the corner of the ransom note sticking out from under the passenger seat. He turned his eyes forwards.

“You can go,” the policeman said.

“I can go?”

“You can go.”

“Thank you, officer,” Curtis said.

The officer stepped away from the window, his heels clicking along the asphalt as he headed back to the prowler. Curtis turned on the engine and slowly drove away.

MY BOOKS

You can check out my books Chicane and all five installments of the Musicology book series Musicology: Volume One, Baby!, Musicology: Volume Two, Kid!, Musicology: Volume Three, Twist!, Musicology: Volume Four, Sweetie! and Musicology: The Epiquad on Amazon in Kindle and Paperback editions. You can also check out Musicology’s web site at www.musicologyrocks.com and vote for who you think will win Musicology!

STREAM OF THE WEEK: THE WARRIORS (1979)-AMAZON PRIME

Following last week’s pick Seven Samurai, I thought it would be apropos to choose another film about a different group of warriors. From what I understand it is becoming more and more difficult to make and distribute independent films. Which sucks. And so, I thought I would feature this wonderful little gem packed with fantastic talented young actors, many who would go on to be successful character actors as well. Look for Oscar winner, Mercedes Ruhl in one of her very first motion picture appearances.  

The book the film was based on is the 1965 novel of the same name and written by Sol Yurick. After Yurick graduated with a degree in Literature from New York University (NYU), he got a job as a social investigator for New York City’s welfare department. He worked with children of welfare families, many of whom were members of gangs, hundreds of gangs in New York City. He later finished his masters of English at Brooklyn College and became a full-time writer. He penned The Warriors based on his experience with the gang members he worked with and the Greek Anabasis by Xenophon, which is a work about the Ten Thousand, an army of Greek mercenaries hired by Cyrus the Younger to help him seize the throne of Persia from his brother, Artaxerxes II, in 401 BCE.

The film takes place over the course of one night when Cyrus (Roger Hill), the leader of the Gramercy Riffs, the largest and most powerful New York City gang, calls a meeting and a truce between all the gangs. While giving a speech suggesting all of them merge and join as one force against the police, he is shot and killed by psychopathic Luther (David Patrick Kelly), leader of the Rogues. Chaos ensues and Luther immediately realizes Fox (Thomas G. Waites) has witnessed the crime. He immediately pins the act on the Warriors, falsely accusing them. This leads the vengeful Riffs to fatally attack Cleon (Dorsey Wright) the Warriors wise and dynamic leader.

Before his death, Cleon had appointed Swan (Michael Beck) as “War Chief” second-in-command. It is then up to Swan to lead Fox, graffiti artist Rembrandt (Marcelino Sánchez), and soldiers Snow (Brian Tyler), Cowboy (Tom McKitterick), Cochise (David Harris), Vermin (Terry Michos), and quick-tempered enforcer Ajax (James Remar) on a dangerous odyssey back to their home turf on Coney Island.

Rounding out the cast is Deborah Van Valkenburgh as the bright and spirited Mercy, who hangs around a lower-tier gang called The Orphans.

Certified Sadistic Accountant Chapter Twenty-Two

~ gigicatchesair ~ Leave a comment

Good afternoon. It is I Gigi the parti poodle here once again to introduce chapter twenty-two of my story Certified Sadistic Accountant. This is my sixth blog story and when I began penning it, I decided to make this one a little longer than the other five. I do not wish for it to drone on forever because stories must at some point come to an end. My novelist and I have discussed story length many times over tea, and we believe each story is its own animal. No pun intended. Some stories are better shorter, some medium, some large and some extra-large. And some extra small. And so, I am letting this one run a bit longer than the others. Bernard D. Bunny and Sergio Squirrel each have a different opinion, however. Bunny believes in the short story and Sergio believes the long haul is more apropos. Such is the way of the wild untamed animals. I however, being a domesticated poodle have a more flexible mind when it comes to such matters. I can write or read stories of varying lengths. I suppose it is impressive both Bernard and Sergio read stories at all. Bernard is slowly working his way through the Sherlock Holmes stories. Sergio, on the other hand, is working on Lonesome Dove. To each his or her own. And with that thought, here is chapter twenty-two of Certified Sadistic Accountant. Enjoy!

Certified Sadistic Accountant

by

Gigi the parti poodle

Chapter Twenty-Two

Fia set her pasta down across the table from Curtis and took a seat., “This is a lot more comfortable than that little table and chairs set in the attic,” she said.

“My aunt had that as her table and chairs before she bought this one,” Curtis said. He looked down at his food not knowing how to continue a conversation with her.

“What are your parents like?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Just making conversation.”

Curtis shrugged. “Typical upper middleclass family. My dad is an accountant, and my mother is a high school teacher.”

“Do you have any siblings?”

“I have an older sister.”

“What’s her name?”

“Pear.”

“Pear? Really?”

“Yes, really.”

“They named you Curtis, but they named her Pear?”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“Pear sounds exotic, and Curtis is more…pedestrian.”

“I happen to like the name Curtis.”

“There’s nothing wrong with your name. Pear just sounds more hip.”

“Pear’s not all that exotic. She’s studying to be a veterinarian specializing in reptiles.”

“See, that’s exotic.”

“I don’t understand anyone who would want a reptile for a pet. It’s a good way to get E. coli. Tell me about your mother,” Curtis said trying to take the focus off him. “I already work for your father.”

“Hasn’t she ever come down to the office?”

“No.”

“Really? I suppose that makes sense. She’s not a very happy woman. I think she finds accounting dull.”

“Then why did she marry your father?”

Fia took a bite of her pasta and considered Curtis’s question. “My mother was a forest ranger.”

“A forest ranger?” Curtis said surprised.

“She got her college degree in Forestry. My mom loves being alone. Being a forest ranger allowed her to be alone most of the time. She once told me right after she graduated from college and got her first forest ranging job was the happiest time of her life. She loved being out in nature and roaming around the forest.”

“Did she ever run into any dangerous animals?”

“Oh, sure. She said she’d see wolf packs and black bears.”

“How did she end up meeting Mr. Dupree if she was out there in the forest all the time?”

“Her dad was an accountant, and he knew my dad’s dad because he was an accountant too. Grandpa supported her being a forest ranger, but I don’t think he liked the low pay she received. Being a forest ranger is an underpaid occupation. So, one night he asked my mom to come over for dinner. But he didn’t tell her it was a dinner party. So, she showed up wearing her uniform because she came straight from work. But her mom and dad and my dad and his mom and dad were all dressed in business casual clothes. My mom felt like the whole thing was an ambush. Mom said when they all sat down to dinner, my parents had seated my father right next to her.

“Mom said it wasn’t the last time she got ambushed either. Two weeks later they had my dad and his parents over for dinner again. She told me she would have had enough time to change out of her uniform, but she didn’t. At the end of dinner, she and my dad were out on the porch talking and he asked her out on a date. I think she told him to go to hell, but it did not deter him.

“Mom says she was out doing her job when she heard something coming from the bushes. At first, she thought it might be a moose. But then my dad stepped out of the foliage. She was so angry she pulled out her gun and shot at him. He told her that was incredibly rude, and he’d just come to visit her at work. She told him it was her job to enforce the rules and laws of the forest and he could kiss her ass.

“Mom says after that she started to get depressed. She is a woman who needs her alone time. That was one of the main reasons she became a forest ranger. The problem is there are too many people in the world who need people and that makes for a nasty ugly place for those who don’t.”

“Interesting mother you have,” Curtis said. “She doesn’t sound like the type of woman who would marry Mr. Dupree.”

“They’ve been married for a quarter of a century.”

“Wow.”

Fia took a bite of her pasta and chewed thoughtfully. “You made a good dinner, Curtis,” she said.

“Thank you.”

“What are your after-dinner plans?”

“I need to finish a second ransom note.”

“You should be careful about sending my dad too many ransom notes. You might get caught.”

“I won’t get caught.”

Fia scoffed. “Famous last words.”

“Would you care for some dessert?”

“That cheesecake thing?”

“Yes, that cheesecake thing. The cake is made for two which means it should be served on one plate with two forks.”

Fia smiled. “Let’s do it.”

Curtis trotted into the kitchen, took the pink cardboard box with the cheesecake out of the refrigerator, and opened the drawer with the good silverware. He removed two small ornate sterling silver dessert forks, folded two napkins, placed a fork in each napkin, picked up the cheesecake and napkin wrapped forks and brought them to the table.

“You fold napkins like a professional,” Fia said.

“Aunt Odette insisted I have good manners. She has no tolerance for young people who don’t know how to sit down and have a proper dinner.”

“I don’t think most guys know how to tie their own shoes much less fold a nap. Should we try this cheesecake?”

“Please.” Fia sliced off a piece of the cheesecake with her fork and tasted it. “That’s really good,” she said. “Creamy like a French cheesecake.”

Curtis took a bite. “You are right, it is good,” he said. “I never tried the bakery’s cakes before. I’ve only had their cookies and the croissants your father orders from them every morning.”

“I’ve got to get my dad to stop doing that. It isn’t healthy to eat a croissant every day.”

“You have to admit the croissants are awesome, though.”

“But not healthy. By the way I thought about what you said.”

“About what?”

“About creating a new performance art piece.”

“That’s why everything was arranged better in the attic today.”

“I hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all. It’s been a mess for years. My aunt talks about organizing it but never does.”

Fia took another bite of the cheesecake. “Am I allowed to sleep in the guest room again tonight?”

“Yes, of course. I’ll take you up there after we finish dessert.”

“It’s a little boring up there trying to fall asleep. Is there a book or a magazine I could borrow?”

“My aunt has a bookshelf in her office. You can pick out something to read before we head up.”

“Thank you. That’s sweet of you.”

Fia studied Curtis as he took another bite of the cheesecake. Letting her into his aunt’s office was a good sign. He appeared to trust her more. If she was going to get out of here, she needed him to trust her.

Curtis gently pushed the gold foil cardboard towards her. “You can have the rest of the cheesecake,” he said.

“Thank you. You have such good manners, Curtis.”

Curtis beamed. “My aunt wouldn’t have it any other way. After you finish that we’ll go find you a book.”

MY BOOKS

You can check out my books Chicane and all five installments of the Musicology book series Musicology: Volume One, Baby!, Musicology: Volume Two, Kid!, Musicology: Volume Three, Twist!, Musicology: Volume Four, Sweetie! and Musicology: The Epiquad on Amazon in Kindle and Paperback editions. You can also check out Musicology’s web site at www.musicologyrocks.com and vote for who you think will win Musicology!

STREAM OF THE WEEK: SEVEN SAMURAI (1954)–HBO MAX

Without question one of the finest films ever made. And that’s an understatement. Here is a timeless story about courage, friendship and humanity directed and co-written by master filmmaker Akira Kurosawa. The story is straightforward: in the year 1586, a man from a village of farmers overhears a conversation between members of a gang of bandits. The bandits want to charge into the man’s village and steal the villagers’ food and commit other horrors. But the leader says they will wait until the crop is harvested so they can take a larger bounty. The villagers discuss the dilemma and finally go to Gisaku (Kokuten Kôdô) the village elder for advice. He suggests a small group of the men travel to a nearby town and hire samurai to protect them. This is easier said than done as farmers at the time were thought to be worthless and no samurai would be interested in the job.

But they do find one older highly experienced rōnin samurai named Kanbei (Takashi Shimura) who sympathizes with their plight. Kanbei in turn manages to convince six other samurai, Gorōbei Katayama (Yoshio Inaba), Shichirōji (Daisuke Katō), Kyūzō (Seiji Miyaguchi), Heihachi Hayashida (Minoru Chiaki), Katsushirō Okamoto (Isao Kimura), and Kikuchiyo (Toshiro Mifune) to assist him in protecting the village.  

The film’s story and even the film’s elements have been copied numerous times, most notably by the fantastic western The Magnificent Seven. In my opinion, one of the factors that makes the film so great is the story takes time to allow the audience to get to know the characters. We watch their relationships evolve naturally, with humor, poignancy, and tension without any rush. This adds great impact to the phenomenal landmark finale. If you have never had the joy of watching Kurosawa’s masterpiece, you will not regret doing so. It is a hands down absolute must see.

Certified Sadistic Accountant Chapter Twenty-One

~ gigicatchesair ~ Leave a comment

Good morning. It is I Gigi the parti poodle here to introduce chapter twenty-one of my story Certified Sadistic Accountant. This week my novelist took me on a trip to visit one of her relatives. They live in a pleasant little apartment which I got to know well. My novelist and her relative had to go out a couple of times and I was left to explore. It is always a delightful and uneasy experience to be left alone in a new place. But I found it to be pleasant and comfortable. I’d had a good breakfast before we left that day and so I was not hungry. My novelist’s relative made sure I had a cool bowl of water to drink should I get thirsty. Across the street there is a convenience store which is interesting to view from the apartment window. From what I understand someone once ran their car into said store, and it was closed for a while. I sat on the back of a chair to see if anything intriguing was happening. Alas, all I witnessed were customers going in and getting coffee, icy drinks and occasionally a pastry. But I still enjoyed the action. I do believe I would have made a fabulous stakeout detective. I could bark notes into a recorder as I describe what I see. I could put visual clues together and maybe even sneak into the convenience store to get a better look, hide in the shelves and such. Wouldn’t that be exciting? And with that thought, here is chapter twenty-one of Certified Sadistic Accountant. Enjoy!  

Certified Sadistic Accountant

by

Gigi the parti poodle

Chapter Twenty-One

Fia was not impressed with Curtis’s idea of having freedom to move about the place. At six AM today he escorted her out of the guestroom and back to the attic where he locked the door behind her. After she heard him leave the cabin and drive off, she flipped on the light and began looking around the place. She thought about what Curtis had said about creating a performance art piece. Just by looking around it was obvious there were a lot of potential props as well as a few sculptures and paintings.

She had noticed a wooden wardrobe against the far wall earlier. She wandered over to it, opened the door and looked around inside. All the clothes were made of thick sturdy fabric. Out of style obviously but well-made. She tried on a couple of dresses and found herself drawn to a chartreuse colored one made of silk. She assumed the dress was probably worn by Curtis’s aunt to art galleries or possibly a cocktail party. She also found a bright white fur stole. Fox, she assumed. She wrapped the stole around her shoulders. It had a silk lining that moved like cool water against her skin. Fia continued hunting around the wardrove and found an old hat box. Inside was a bright white fox fur hat which she imagined matched the stole. Yes, she thought. This would work well. She started rifling through some nearby boxes that looked like they contained shoes hoping for a pair of pumps. But all she found were a pair of well-worn sandals and a pile of receipts.

She closed the wardrobe and perused the artwork around the room. She was drawn to a bright red sculpture that looked like a vase unraveling or coming together. She also found a set of three small, framed panels that worked together to form an abstract piece. There was also a sculpture of a turtle with a blue body and legs and a burnt orange shell. The head appeared to be facing the wrong way and it was large enough to double as a footstool.

Near the turtle was something covered with a white tarp. Fia grabbed the tarp with both hands and dragged it off the object to reveal a wild looking chair with wires bending in all directions. The seat and back were glossy and had mother of pearl inlay in floral designs. The wires, as she looked closer, were gradient in color going from cherry red to the major color of the piece: jet black. She knew instantly this shocking vision must be worth a fortune.

The chair could be an interesting focus for her piece. Almost a statement on the madness she had experienced over the past twenty-four hours. The backwards facing turtle could double as a footstool.

Now for the props. It is difficult to express a performance art piece without props. Not impossible, but difficult. And then there was the history behind the props. How did they come into one’s possession? What is the history behind them. Why did someone make the object and why was someone compelled to own it? Or was it a gift? What are the props the audience sees and what does the character hide in her pocket, her backpack, her purse. How do the props affect her?

Perhaps she should first look for a pen and paper to write down these thoughts since Curtis had stolen her phone and likely hidden it. Would his eclectic aunt have such pedestrian things in her attic? Fia headed over to the old desk that stood on the adjacent wall to the wardrobe. She started opening the drawers and rummaging around. They appeared to be empty except for the bottom one which had a ledger in it with a pen attached to the side by a stretch-band loop. She slid the pen out of the loop and opened the ledger.

Inside she found a list of purchases. Some were quite high. But as she flipped through and studied the pages closer, she noticed that the sales of the art pieces far outweighed the price Curtis’s aunt had paid for them. And from the number of sales, Fia started to realize Aunt Odette was more than just a casual collector. It was clear that cuts of the sales had gone to auction houses. But the gains still outweighed the original costs.

Suddenly, she heard the doorbell ring. The sound startled her so much she nearly lost her balance. It took Fia a moment before she screamed, “Help! Help me!” She grabbed any object within her reach and began banging the wall. The doorbell rang again, and she tried to make a louder noise. “Help! I’m trapped in the attic!” The doorbell rang a third time. “I’m here! Help! Help! Help!”

She waited. No sound. “No, no, no! Come back! Come back!”

When she realized the person had left, she slumped to the floor, wrapped her arms around her knees and hugged them tightly. She could have gotten out if only they had heard her. She would need to somehow persuade Curtis to trust her, believe that she had come around to his way of thinking. If she could do that perhaps he would give her free reign of the house and the person who came by today may come by again and help her escape.

Curtis arrived at the cabin around seven-thirty that evening, later than he would have liked. He’d have to hurry if he was going to get Fia something to eat and be able to put together the second ransom note and deliver it to Mr. Dupree tonight. He had stopped by the duplex after work to make it seem like he was staying there. His neighbor Earl was hanging out on his front porch when Curtis pulled into the driveway.

“Hey, buddy,” Earl said when Curtis disembarked the Honda. “How’s it been going since Haven…” He trailed off as if the subject was too sensitive to bring up.

“I miss her every day,” Curtis replied, a genuine lump in his throat.

“I notice you’ve been keeping to yourself these past couple of days.”

“I have.”

“Well…if you ever want to come over and hang out, watch the ball game, you’re welcome to stop by.”

“Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.”

Curtis headed inside his unit. He should have known on Friday night Earl would be sitting on his porch. Now he’d either be forced to come up with an excuse to leave or wait for Earl to leave, which seemed unlikely.

And then the unthinkable happened. About a half an hour later a woman drove up into Earl’s driveway in a red Ford Fiesta. Curtis heard the engine and peered out the window. The woman had long dark brown hair and was wearing a short skirt and tennis shoes. She marched up to Earl, cocked her head to one side, her wide-necked sweatshirt sliding off her bare shoulder as if she was daring him to disagree with her. Earl shrugged, got up out of his chair, followed her to the Fiesta and they got in and left. Curtis grabbed his keys, hurried out to his car, and took off.

When Curtis got inside the cabin, he scurried into the kitchen. He opened the bottom drawer by the sink where Aunt Odette kept her cookbooks and took out a small orange one. They were the only books she didn’t have neatly filed on her bookshelves in her office. He reached into the cupboard and retrieved three cans of clams, a package of thin spaghetti, and a jar of capers.

He opened the refrigerator and took out a pound of Roma tomatoes and fresh parsley. He flipped to a recipe before dicing the tomatoes. Then he snatched the brown paper bag of white mushrooms he had sitting on the counter and began slicing them. He opened the three cans of clams before grabbing a pot, filling it with water, adding salt and setting it on the stove to boil. Then he put a twelve-inch frying pan on the stove and proceeded to make the sauce.

After Curtis finished boiling the pasta al-dente he put it into two bowls. He chopped the parsley, took the pan and a large wooden spoon, and proceeded to pour the sauce over the pasta. Then he finished it with the parsley. He took his bowl to the table before grabbing a cloth napkin and a fork and set those beside it. He grabbed the other bowl, headed up the stairs, and knocked on the attic door.

“I’ve brought you dinner,” he said. “I’m sorry I was late. I know you must be starving.”

Fia felt all the hairs on her neck stand up, but she remained calm. “Okay,” she said.

Curtis unlocked the door, quickly flipped on the light, and looked around. He noticed the place appeared to be more…organized. Fia must have gotten bored and rearranged things. “Clam pasta tonight,” he said. “A perfect dish for the lactose intolerant.”

Fia had an overwhelming desire to tell him she was also allergic to seafood but resisted the temptation. “Sounds good.”

“Oh, no.”

“What?”

“I just realized I forgot to pick up a baguette at the bakery.”

“It’s not a problem.”

Curtis moved over to the table and chairs and set the bowl of pasta down and put a fork wrapped in a cloth napkin beside it.

“What are you having?”

“Same thing.”

She nodded. A silence fell between them.

“I should tell you,” Curtis finally said, “your father got the first ransom note this morning.”

“How many are you planning on sending him?”

“He’s concerned about you. He called the police immediately, but they can’t consider you a missing person until you’ve been missing twenty-four hours.”

“No wonder people go missing. The law makes it so no one can look for you.”

“But they’re looking for you now.”

“Are they going to find me?”

“What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean.”

“I have no intention of…”

A silence fell between them again.

“Enjoy your pasta,” Curtis finally said and started heading towards the door.

“What if we ate together tonight?”

Curtis stopped and turned back towards her.

MY BOOKS

You can check out my books Chicane and all five installments of the Musicology book series Musicology: Volume One, Baby!, Musicology: Volume Two, Kid!, Musicology: Volume Three, Twist!, Musicology: Volume Four, Sweetie! and Musicology: The Epiquad on Amazon in Kindle and Paperback editions. You can also check out Musicology’s web site at www.musicologyrocks.com and vote for who you think will win Musicology!

STREAM OF THE WEEK: ANATOMY OF A FALL (2023)-HULU

This week’s pick won the Palme d’Or for Best Film and a BAFTA, a Golden Globe, and an Oscar this year for Best Original Screenplay for writers Justine Triet (who also directs) and Arthur Harari and puts an interesting twist on the classic courtroom drama. One day successful writer Sandra Voyter (Sandra Hüller) is being interviewed by young Zoé Solidor (Camille Rutherford) about her career. As the interview progresses, Sandra appears to be oddly elated. But soon we can hear loud music in the background which clearly irritates Sandra. After hearing the song is on loop, Sandra asks the interview stop.

As Zoé heads home, Sandra’s young son Daniel, who was injured and left half-blind in an accident, takes his seeing-eye dog Snoop for a walk in the snow. When he returns, he is shocked to find his father Samuel Maleski (Samuel Theis) dead in the snow, apparently from a fall from the top floor of the chalet they live in where he has been doing construction. Daniel then runs inside and alerts his mother who apparently has been sleeping. An autopsy is done on Samuel which reveals that he was killed by something that struck his head most likely before he fell. Murder is presumed and Sandra, the only other person who was home at the time, becomes a suspect. She then contacts her friend and lawyer Maître Vincent Renzi (Swann Arlaud) to defend her.

Rounding out the cast are Jehnny Beth as Marge Berger, Daniel’s court appointed guardian and Antoine Reinartz as the opposing lawyer Avocat general.