Good afternoon. It is I, Gigi the parti poodle, here to present chapter nineteen of my story Certified Sadistic Accountant. As many of you know my beloved companion Tucker the Maltese passed away recently. On Easter weekend he would always join me here on the blog to celebrate the holiday. And so, this year I was forced to find a substitute. I would like to introduce you to a brown bunny who hops around my neighborhood, Peter Cottontail.

My name isn’t Peter Cottontail. I’m Bernard D. Bunny.

And he is homeless…

I am not homeless I live in a burrow.

And needs financial support…

I do not need financial support. I am a wild bunny. I’m self-sufficient.

And so, he has agreed to join me today for a fee…

I did not take any money for this.

…to perform an Easter song.

That is not what we agreed on.

It most certainly is. You are going to sing the Easter song.

Alright, look. I’ll do the song, but I want to make it clear just because I’m a bunny doesn’t mean I’m the Easter Bunny.

No one said you were the Easter Bunny.

You called me Peter Cottontail. A lot of people associate Peter Cottontail who hops down the bunny trail with the Easter Bunny.

I certainly did not say you were the Easter Bunny.

Okay, so you understand I am Bernard D. Bunny.

Mr. Bunny is now going to perform an Easter Song.

Well, I guess I’m doing this. You say Easter I say bunny.

You need to put a little more energy into it. And it’s “I say Easter, you say bunny.”

Yeah. Okay. I say Easter, you say bunny. Easter.

Bunny.

What?

Bunny.

Oh, right…Easter.

Bunny.

Easter.

Bunny.

I say Easter, you say bunny. Easter.

Bunny.

Easter.

Bunny.

Alright! Alright.!Are you ready for some holiday celebration, poodle?

Yes, I…

I say Easter, you say bunny! Easter!

Bunny.

Easter!

Bunny.

This poodle is crazy! Alright, crazy poodle! Alright! We’re going to rock this one home! I say Easter, you say bunny!

Easter!

Bunny!

Easter!

Bunny!

I SAID, I SAY EASTER, POODLE! YOU SAY BUNNY! EASTER! EASTER! EASTER! EASTER!

BUNNY! BUNNY! BUNNY! BUNNY!

STAGE DIVE!

Mr. Bunny? Mr. Bunny? Are you alright?

Happy Easter, Baby! Yeah!

And with that thought here is Chapter Nineteen of my story Certified Sadistic Accountant. Happy Easter!

Certified Sadistic Accountant

by

Gigi the parti poodle

Chapter Nineteen

“What am I supposed to sleep on in that filthy room?” Fia asked as they headed back upstairs to the attic.

Curtis realized he hadn’t considered her sleeping arrangements. His aunt didn’t have a bed up there. A table and chairs, yes. A bed, no. And he didn’t want to make Fia sleep on the floor. She was, for all practical purposes, a houseguest. There were two bedrooms on the second floor: the master bedroom and the guestroom. The guestroom could be locked from the outside. The master bedroom could not. The problem was the window. His aunt had new windows installed about six years ago when he was still in college. But it wouldn’t take much for Fia to get out of it. There wasn’t anything she could climb out on like a tree or a trellis. But she could take the risk of jumping out the window which meant she would either break a bone or get lucky, come out unscathed and take off. And that just wouldn’t do. But if he were to sleep in the bedroom with her, he might be able to come up with a way to make it difficult for her to run.

“Let me think about it,” he told her.

“So, you haven’t thought this out,” she said.

“Of course, I’ve thought this out. But like all plans there are always little details that come up the planner doesn’t expect. So, one must be able to call an audible.”

“You had better call an audible right now because there is no way I’m sleeping on that filthy attic floor.”

“I have no intention of you sleeping on the attic floor. In fact, what I’d really like is for you to make yourself at home. Feel free to roam about the house. But you tried to escape and that makes things difficult. And I don’t want things to be difficult.”

“You kidnapped me. I’m obliged to escape.”

“This doesn’t have to be a hostile situation. It could be amicable.”

“Amicable?”

“Yes. You are my houseguest…”

“Houseguest?”

“…and you could consider it a unique way to spend your spring break.”

“You’re nuts. You’re cracked.”

“Don’t say that. I’ve been put in a precarious situation.”

“Precarious situation? You need a psychiatric evaluation.”

“Stop saying that.”

“No sane person would kidnap someone and not have a plan.”

“I’ve changed my mind. You will sleep on the attic floor.”

“Better than being your “houseguest”,” she said making quotation marks with her fingers.

Curtis grabbed her under the arm and marched her back to the attic. He opened the door, shoved her inside and said, “I hope you enjoy your filthy floor. And my aunt soundproofed this house so any yelling you are planning to do is a moot point.”

“You can’t leave me bound in this zip tie all night.”

“Yeah? Watch me.”

Curtis slammed the door shut, locked it, and marched down the stairs. He headed into the kitchen, put on his aunt’s apron, and went about fixing himself a late dinner. He took out a water glass, a fork and a steak knife and set himself a place at the dining room table. He opened the refrigerator, took out the top sirloin steak he’d purchased for himself, and set it next to the mushrooms and russet potato he had set on the counter. He walked over and checked on the potato he’d stuck in the oven suddenly realizing his face was burning and his hands trembling. Why did she have to say those things to him? He wasn’t crazy. He had a plan and a solid understanding of where it was going. Crazy people didn’t have plans or at least not very good ones.

Curtis went about seasoning his steak and preparing his mushrooms. He found his aunt had left a bottle of merlot in the kitchen for cooking wine. She hated regular cooking wine as her pallet found the libation too salty. He cooked the steak to medium rare while using a sauté pan for his mushrooms. He took out a plate, placed his steak on it with tongs, grabbed the pan with the mushrooms and tilted it allowing them to tumble into place by the steak. Then he put on an oven mitt, retrieved his potato from the oven, sliced it open at the top and garnished it with butter and sour cream. He chopped up some chives and sprinkled them on top.

He untied his apron, hung it on a nearby hook, carried his plate to the table and sat down to eat his dinner. He found himself looking across the table at the empty chair. He sighed. This was not how he pictured the situation. In the back of his mind, he’d imagined Fia sitting in that vacant chair as his dinner companion. He’d stayed up most of the night researching what women liked to eat. He chewed his steak thoughtfully and considered the possibility of dessert.

After he finished his meal, he rinsed his dishes in the sink and put them along with Fia’s in the dishwasher. He marveled for a moment his dishes were standing next to hers. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if they were Bexley’s? He shook his head. No matter. He opened the refrigerator and took out a miniature cherry cheesecake made for two he’d picked up at the downtown bakery. He opened the cupboard to retrieve two dessert plates then changed his mind. The cheesecake was, after all, presented on a gold foil cardboard doily. It should be served this way with two small silver dessert forks for two participants to share.

Curtis straightened his shirt and marched upstairs. He stood outside the attic door and raised his hand to knock. Suddenly, a nervousness came over him. He lowered his hand and stared at the door. Perhaps dessert was a terrible idea. He turned to leave and heard movement inside. She’s not asleep after all, he thought. He straightened his shirt again, took in a deep breath and…

“I know you’re out there,” Fia called from inside. “You’re freaking me out.”

Curtis coughed as he exhaled.

“What’s the matter?”

“Nothing,” he said catching his breath. “I just…I wanted to ask you to join me for dessert.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes. I have a little cherry cheesecake I…”

“I’m lactose intolerant.”

Fia wasn’t lactose intolerant. But under the circumstances she liked screwing with Curtis’s head.

“Oh,” he said disheartened. “Well…perhaps I could find you a different dessert.”

“You know what I’d really like for dessert, Curtis? I’d like to go home. That would be the perfect ending to this otherwise miserable day.”

“I’m just trying to make you feel at home.”

“By locking me in an attic and zip-tying my hands. Yeah, that’s a brilliant way to make someone feel at home.”

“Honestly, if I’d known you were lactose intolerant I would have bought a different dessert.”

“I don’t want desert, Curtis. I want to go home and sleep in a comfortable bed.”

“Lucky for you I’ve changed my mind.”

“You’re letting me go home?”

“My aunt has a comfortable bed in the guest room. I’ll let you sleep there if you stop complaining. My aunt has some clean oversized t-shirts you can change into if you want to wear one.”

Fia considered the idea. “I could do that.”

Curtis unlocked the door and quickly flipped on the light. He saw Fia was still sitting at the table. She looked as if she may have folded her arms and laid her head on the table. “Come on.”

Fia rose and slogged towards the door. He could see she was tired. He led her down the stairs to the second floor to the guestroom. He opened the door and turned on the light.

“This is an improvement,” Fia said looking around. The room had a large painting over the bed. The bed was modern looking with a white comforter and matching pillows and sheets. There was a white leather lip couch opposite the bed and a small walk-in closet. The floor was solid wood with a white Persian rug in front of the bed.

“The t-shirts are in the drawers there by the lips. The door locks from the outside. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Curtis shut the door and locked it behind him. He headed to the master bedroom. Fia hurried over to the window and looked outside. She could see nothing to climb out on. And there wasn’t a ledge. There had to be a way out of this place.

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: ROAD HOUSE (2024)-AMAZON PRIME

This week’s movie is violent, ridiculous, lowbrow, and stupid. And it’s a whole lot of fun. Jake Gyllenhaal is in top form in this remake of the 1989 cult classic as Dalton, ex-UFC fighter with a past who finds himself asked by owner Frankie (Jessica Williams) to take a job in the Florida Keys at her roadhouse. She is willing to pay him a handsome some of money as head bouncer. After his car gets smashed by a train, Dalton decides to take her up on her offer. Leaving his elegant car behind in good hands, he takes the bus to the Glass Key neighborhood of the Keys where he meets likable Charlie (Hannah Love Lanier) a very young co-owner of a bookstore with her father Stephen (Kevin Carroll). They assist in helping him navigate his way to the Road House.

Once he arrives Frankie offers him a comfortable place to stay but Dalton opts instead for The Boat, an old boat Frankie owns which is rumored to have had a crocodile problem. Dalton quickly finds the bar to be quite harrowing after he takes five rowdy bikers outside, beats them up and drives them to the hospital. There he meets Dr. Elle (Daniela Melchior) a female doctor in the ER who tends to his injuries is none too pleased with the load of patients he has brought in. Dalton finds out the bikers work for Ben Brandt (Billy Magnussen) the local heavy who plans to tear down the roadhouse. Billy and has a few problems of his own including a man named Knox (Conor McGregor) whom his imprisoned father has sent to assist with the situation.

Be sure to check out the original Road House starring Patrick Swayze also streaming on Amazon Prime.