Tag: fiction

Certified Sadistic Accountant Chapter Thirty-Three

~ gigicatchesair ~ Leave a comment

Good afternoon and Happy 4th of July! Gigi the parti poodle here to introduce chapter thirty-three of my story Certified Sadistic Accountant. Today I am housebound. We do not go for walks around this auspicious holiday. We could run into explosives. One time my novelist took a walk on the morning of the 5th of July and had a firecracker thrown at her and her previous dog, who I might add was a poodle mix. But that is another story. Anyway, that was back in the days before I was born when the neighbor across the street happened to be a “chemist” who had visitors in and out of his abode at all times of the day. The individual who threw the firecracker at my novelist and her poodle mix was one of the “chemist’s” visitors. One night, I was told, the “chemist” made a faux pas and there was an explosion. The neighbors next door had had enough of his shenanigans and called the police who were greeted by the “chemist’s” effervescent pit bull. The pit bull, however, was no match for the officers. Much was recovered from the house including a baseball bat likely not used for sport and a plethora of paraphernalia. The officers then kindly fitted the “chemist” with a pair of lovely silver toned handcuffs and escorted him into the prowler. And after that night the “chemist” and his pit bull were never heard from again. And with that thought, here is Chapter Thirty-Three of Certified Sadistic Accountant. Have a safe and delightful holiday.  

Certified Sadistic Accountant

by

Gigi the parti poodle

Chapter Thirty-Three

Fia stepped out of the attic and headed down the hall with Curtis following behind. She gently patted her pocket to make sure she had the flashlight and then continued forwards. When they reached the bathroom, she nonchalantly slipped inside and after a moment she turned on the water and slowly, quietly opened the window. She drew the flashlight out of her pocket. She carefully stuck the light outside and flashed SOS. She hoped one of these times soon someone would see her signal. After a minute she shut off the flashlight, finished cleaning up and opened the door.

“Feel better?” Curtis asked.

“Much,” she said stepping into the hall.

They headed back down the hall to the attic. Fia opened the door and went inside.

“I’ll see you in a few hours,” Curtis told her.

“I’ll be waiting.”

He locked the door and headed downstairs. He noticed his father had switched from sitting on the bookcase chair to the lip couch and had a quizzical look on his face. “Are you ready to leave?” his father asked.

“Yes, I got the photograph. It was in her steamer trunk. Let’s go.”

Mr. Cook rose slowly, and he and his son left the cabin. As they drove around the lake and headed out towards the main drag, Mr. Cook said, “I’m glad your Aunt Odette kept that photo locked in the steamer trunk.”

“It wasn’t locked.”

An uncomfortable look crossed Mr. Cook’s face. “Odette’s getting a Master Lock for her birthday,” he said. As they closed in on the mall, Mr. Cook got into the right-hand turning lane.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m going to the mall.”

“Why?”

“I want to see if that guy from the sports store is working and ask him about the college woman who’s missing.”

“That’s none of your business.”

“Of course it’s my business. It’s the whole community’s business.”

“He’ll suspect you.”

“No, he won’t. I look like a dad.”

“I need to get back home and work. I’ve already gone out to lunch with you and out to the cabin and picked up this photograph which is both humbling and horrifying. I mean it’s halfway to kiddie porn. Please just take me home so I can do other people’s taxes.”

“Too late. I’m turning.”

Mr. Cook drove into the mall and parked his car near the entrance Curtis and Fia had used. He shut off the engine and said, “You need to take more stock in your community, son. When a local college student comes home for spring break and goes missing, that’s a serious thing.”

Curtis opened his mouth to say something and shut it again. Mr. Cook disembarked the car and headed inside.

Twenty minutes later Mr. Cook returned to the car. He had been gone nearly half an hour before Curtis saw the door to the department store open and his father exit.

“That was interesting,” Mr. Cook said when he got back in the car. “Sounds like that guy who was last seen with the girl could have been anyone. The way he described him he could have been you.”

“Really?” Curtis said, feeling a shock run through his system.

“Just an ordinary young man in his 20’s. That’s what makes the whole thing so creepy. Just an ordinary average guy.”

Mr. Cook started the car and drove towards the exit on route to Curtis’s condo. Curtis exhaled suddenly realizing he’d been holding his breath.

Curtis returned to the cabin around seven. He’d picked up some salmon from the grocery store. It was Copper River salmon, but it was frozen as the season wouldn’t start till June. He figured he’d bake it with some broccoli and oven fried golden potatoes. He’d also gotten a couple cupcakes from the bakery right before they closed and set them in the refrigerator. He removed a pan from under the oven and set it on the stove. Then he headed up the stairs to check on Fia.

“I’m back,” Curtis said knocking on the attic door. He heard her shuffling around inside. He unlocked the door and opened it. He was surprised to find the place set up like a black box theatre. Everything had been moved to the sides and all that was in the center was a tall velvet backed wooden chair and a table.

“What do you think?” Fia asked stepping up to him.

“It looks like a black box theatre. Must have taken you most of the afternoon to move all this stuff.”

“Most.”

“I was going to make us dinner…”

“Why don’t we have a late dinner?”

“Aren’t you hungry?”

“Not really. Besides, I work better on an empty stomach.”

“When does the theatre open?”

“Eight.”

“Alright. I’ll finish putting away the groceries.”

“May I use the bathroom?”

“Sure.”

Fia headed out the door and Curtis followed her down the hall. As he waited outside, she stuck her flashlight out the window and shined her SOS signal again several times hoping there was someone out there who would notice. Then she went about cleaning up and running the water. She exited the bathroom, and they headed back down the hall to the attic. After Curtis locked the attic door and headed back downstairs, Fia moved over to the wardrobe, took out the clothes and shoes she was going to wear and started to put them on.

At eight o’clock sharp Curtis ascended the stairs and knocked on the attic door. “I’m back,” he said. Fia did not respond. “Are you ready to perform?” Still no answer. He knocked once more. “Fia,” he called. Nothing. Concerned, Curtis slipped the key into the lock and opened the door.

The lights were off, and the room was pitch black. “Fia,” he said again with less confidence. He crept forwards until he could make out the outline of the wood and velvet chair. He thought he saw Fia’s leg dangling over the upholstered wood arm. He moved stealthily around to the front.

Suddenly, a flashlight rolled across the floor, startling him. The light stopped, tapping at the toes of his shoes. He picked it up, turned it on and pointed it at the front of the chair. He jumped. What he saw sitting there was not Fia. 

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: HOOSIERS (1986) TUBI, ROKU, PLUTO

One of the most outstanding sports movies ever made and one of my all-time favorites is this absolute must see film about redemption. And yes, it’s streaming on Tubi. Coach Norman Dale (Gene Hackman), a renowned college basketball coach with a secret past has been invited by his longtime friend Principal Cletus Summers (Sheb Wooley) to come to the small rural town of Hickory, Indiana to become the high school’s civics and history teacher and the new head coach. The team’s star player Jimmy Chitwood (Maris Valainis) has abandoned the team after the death of the former coach.

On his way up to the office on his first day, Norman runs into fellow teacher Myra Fleener (Barbara Hershey) who is not a basketball fan and strongly encourages him not to coax Jimmy to return to the team. Her reasoning is Jimmy has a chance of leaving Hickory and heading to college if he focuses on his studies. Coach Dale finds the only boys on the team are a handful of ragtag misfits. While Norman begins to train the rag-tag team he comes across a lot of resistance from the men of the town who do not like his training style. However, Norman finds that the town drunk Shooter Flatch (Dennis Hopper), father of one of the players named Everett (David Neidorf) is highly knowledgeable about the game and may be the key to the team’s future.

The film was superbly directed by David Anspaugh (his first major motion picture) and the basketball scenes are riveting. The acting by all the leads is superb. Dennis Hopper was rightly nominated for an Oscar for Best Supporting Actor as was the fantastic Original Score by Jerry Goldsmith. Why Gene Hackman wasn’t nominated for his outstanding landmark performance is one of the most unforgivable snubs in Oscar history.  

Certified Sadistic Accountant Chapter Thirty-Two

~ gigicatchesair ~ Leave a comment

Good afternoon. Gigi the parti poodle here to introduce chapter thirty-two of my story Certified Sadistic Accountant. Today I am writing to you from under my novelist’s bed. I am hiding you see because the most terrifying phenomenon of all the pacific northwest is happening today. Forget vampires. Forget serial killers. Forget Starbucks Coffee. The Nordstrom Anniversary Sale catalogue just dropped today. My novelist has been online since this morning ogling over all the new merchandise. It is monstrous. Sane people everywhere up and down the upper west coast are cowering as hordes of Nordstrom fanatics stampede towards laptops, smart phones, tablets and yes, desktop and start making out their wish lists. I must suffer the entire month of July as my novelist takes note after note, wringing her hands trying to narrow down her beloved list to fit her budget. Her eyes grow wide and bloodshot. Her hands quiver inexplicably. Her credit card trembles. And all I can do is cower and watch as the pandemonium grows more and more out of control. Oh, no! I think she just clicked on something. Pray for me. And with that thought here is chapter thirty-two of Certified Sadistic Accountant. Enjoy…and stay safe.

Certified Sadistic Accountant

by

Gigi the parti poodle

Chapter Thirty-Two

Curtis hurried up the stairs to the attic and unlocked the door.

“Don’t you knock?” Fia said when he burst inside.

“I need to get something,” Curtis said.

“How’d it go with your dad?”

Curtis hurried over to the steamer trunk and flipped up the large brass latches. He rummaged around inside desperate to find the photograph and leave.

“What are you looking for?”

“Something for my dad.”

“What is it?”

“An art thing.”

“I thought you got all the paintings.”

“I did. But now he wants this photograph too.”

“You drove all the way back here for a photograph?”

“I didn’t have a choice.”

“Is it valuable.”

“No. It won a competition.”

“Can I see it?”

“No.”

Curtis reached inside and took out a black rectangular box. He opened the lid to find both the framed photo and the award. He quickly put the lid back on the box and closed the chest.

“Is that you?” Fia asked.

“Is what me?”

“Is that a photograph of you?”

“It’s a picture my aunt took of me when I was a kid.”

“Can I see it?”

“I’m in a hurry.”

Curtis stuck the box under his arm and rushed towards the door. Fia cut him off at the pass.

“Why are in such a hurry?”

“My dad needs this.”

“I thought you wouldn’t be back for four hours.”

“Change of plans.”

“Where’s your dad?”

“Waiting for me to bring him the picture. Now get out of the way.”

“Waiting where?”

“I want to see the photograph.”

“Not showing you the photograph.”

“Why?”

Curtis tried to push Fia aside, but she held her ground.

“I’ll scream.”

“Why?”

“Because I’ll bet you a million dollars you dad will hear me. Now, show me the photo.”

“It’s not my photo to show.”

“But you’re the subject of the photo.”

“That does not make it mine.”

Fia started to scream. Curtis clamped his hand over her mouth. Fia pointed to the rectangular box.

“Is everything okay up there, Curt?” Mr. Cook called from the living room.

“I just saw the squirrel,” Curtis yelled as he glared at Fia.

“Squirrel?” Fia mouthed.

“Your need me to come up there and help?” Mr. Cook yelled.

“No,” Curtis yelled back. “She’s in the trap now.”

“How do you know it’s a she?”

“I got a good look at her.” Curtis whirled Fia around and dragged her to the table and chairs. “Listen up,” he told her. “If you scream again your actions will have consequences.”

“You said you wouldn’t hurt me.”

“But I didn’t say I wouldn’t hurt your mom or your dad or your family business.”

Fia studied him for a moment. She was ninety percent certain this was an empty threat. “Just show me the photo, Curtis.” Curtis slapped the rectangular box down on the table. He lifted the lid slowly and set it aside. Fia peered into the box. She took a long look at the photo. “You’re naked,” she said.

“Aunt Odette was into nudes then. She was going through her nude period.”

“You’re like what, six here?”

“Seven. Look, I’ve got to get this to my dad.”

“I hope he likes it…I guess.”

“I just hope he doesn’t post it on the internet.”

“Did you find it?” Mr. Cook called from the living room.

“I’ve got it dad!” Then he turned to Fia and said, “Good luck with your performance art piece.”

“Good luck with your…nude.”

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: LOLITA (1962)-TUBI

In resuming my hunt for great films on Tubi (and there is a surprising number of them) is Stanley Kubrick’s classic comic tragedy based on the masterpiece book Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov, one of my favorite novels. The film’s droll and disturbing screenplay was also written by Nabokov. Filmed in glorious black and white with subtext aplenty, it is one of the several brilliant, twisted tales from Kubrick’s genius body of work. Be forewarned: this is not your normal story, and the subject matter is profoundly provocative.  

An astute French Literature professor named Humbert Humbert (the always fantastic James Mason) needs a place to stay for the summer before his professorship begins at Beardsley College, Ohio. He finds himself looking at a room at the home of Charlotte Haze (Shelly Winters). He’s not so sure he wants to live in the house of this emotionally unstable woman until he goes into the back yard to look at the garden and sees Charlotte’s incredibly beautiful barely teenage daughter Dolores (Sue Lyon in her spectacular debut performance) lit on the grass. But what the monstrous Professor Humbert doesn’t know is he had a predecessor: Mrs. Haze’s short-time boyfriend, the even more vile and sleezy playwright Clare Quilty (Peter Sellers).

This is one of the many fantastic films Tubi managed to have on its streaming channel leaving in a few short days so be sure to check it out soon. If you ever want to read Nabokov’s darker and more disturbing predecessor to Lolita, check out Laughter in the Dark. One might also note the name Dolores means “sorrow”.

Certified Sadistic Accountant Chapter Thirty-One

~ gigicatchesair ~ Leave a comment

Good afternoon. It is I Gigi the parti poodle here to introduce chapter thirty-one of my story Certified Sadistic Accountant. This week my novelist found my beloved weasel. I have not seen this toy in a very long time. I have been keeping this treasure close to me. I carry it around in my mouth, curl up with it when I sleep, and adore it wherever I go. For quite a while my novelist seemed to think I was not a Canis lupus familiaris who liked toys. She is sadly mistaken. I love my toys. But especially my beloved stuffed weasel which I adore with all my heart. Its head even squeaks. I love the squeak. It is something I can truly call my own. My novelist originally took my weasel away because I would bait the Maltese by setting it out for him to find and then attack. Ah, the good old days. But now that my weasel is back in my possession, the sun is brighter, the air is sweeter, and my world is better. May you too find the lost toy you so long to embrace. And with that thought here is chapter thirty-one of Certified Sadistic Accountant. J’adore les jouets!

Certified Sadistic Accountant

by

Gigi the parti poodle

Chapter Thirty-One

Curtis sat in his dad’s silver Honda CR-V LX wringing his hands and clenching his jaw. He knew he couldn’t sit there forever with his dad wondering why he hadn’t returned. But he was certain if he went back inside the sports bar the tall guy with the baseball hat who was already describing him to the deputy would peg him instantly.

Curtis caught something out of the corner of his eye and turned to see his father standing outside the window with a to-go bag in his hand and a perplexed look on his face. Mr. Cook walked around to the driver’s side door and climbed inside.

“What’s the matter with you?” he asked Curtis. “You said you had to go get something and the next thing I know thirty minutes have gone by.”

“I couldn’t find what I was looking for,” Curtis said.

“I had the bartender pack up your meal and I left her a generous tip.”

“Thank you.”

“Are you sick or something?”

“No.”

“Because you look sick or something.”

“I’m not sick or something.”

“What did you come out to the car to get?”

“You know whatever it is Aunt Odette wanted you to have I can get it for you. You don’t have to drive out to the cabin today.”

Mr. Cook narrowed his eyes. “We’re driving out to the cabin,” he said and started the car.

Curtis sat stiffly in the passenger’s seat, his mind racing. Stay calm, he told himself, just be cool. She’s locked in the attic. If dad stays downstairs everything will be okay. He could retrieve whatever Aunt Odette wanted to give his dad and get out. No one would be the wiser.

“I like driving around here on Sundays,” Mr. Cook said. “Less traffic.” He glanced at his son and then back at the road. They drove over the river and continued north towards the mall. “I overheard that deputy ask that guy about a kidnapped college student. Have you heard about this?”

“Maybe.”

“Apparently this guy works at a sports memorabilia store at the mall and saw her come in with a guy around the same age.”

“Interesting.”

“I mean you get robbed and then this college woman disappears. What’s going on in this town?”

“The world’s getting more dangerous, I guess.”

“Have you thought about moving back in with us?”

“No.”

“It would be cheaper for you.”

“It would be a longer drive to work.”

“What if thieves break into your house again? What if you’re home? They’ve already done it once and gotten away with it. What’s to stop them from doing it again?”

“They will never do it again,” Curtis said defiantly.

“You could boarder with your Aunt Odette.”

“No.”

“Her place is big enough for the two of you.”

“She doesn’t want me to live there and I don’t want to live there.”

“It would be closer to work.”

“It would be a lousy drive in the winter.”

“Your aunt does it.”

“That’s because she’s crazy.”

“She’s not crazy she’s eccentric.” The Honda passed the mall and stopped at the intersection. The light turned green, Mr. Cook hung a right, and they headed for the lake. “This shouldn’t take long.”

“Let’s hope not,” Curtis grumbled.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

Curtis looked out the window at the lake. He was certain his dad wouldn’t hear Fia in the attic if he kept him downstairs. But he’d have to keep him downstairs. 

Mr. Cook turned into Aunt Odette’s driveway and parked the car. Curtis looked up at the top floor of the cabin where Fia was working on her art piece. The two men disembarked the Honda and headed towards the cabin.

“I see your aunt still has that lip couch,” Mr. Cook said when they stepped inside. “Do you know how expensive that thing is? She told me she’s going to buy a yellow one for the master bedroom. This is what happens when an art student goes to New York and sees things she can’t afford. She ends up buying them. I still like this bookcase chair though. At least it’s pragmatic. You can enjoy the aesthetics of the chair and grab a book to read at the same time.”

“What was it Aunt Odette wanted you to have?” Curtis said impatiently.

“It’s a photograph she took of you as a child. Apparently, she entered it in a competition recently and won. So, she took the picture and the award and stored them in the attic.”

“The attic?”

“Yeah, I’ll just run up and get it.”

“You can’t!”

“Why not?”

“There’s…a squirrel up there.”

“A squirrel?”

“I saw a squirrel in the attic when I went up to get the coverings for the paintings. So, I got a trap and set it up there.”

“Let’s go up and see if you caught it,” Mr. Cook said and headed for the stairs.

“No,” Curtis said blocking him. “If…if I didn’t catch it, it might escape and run roughshod all over Aunt Odette’s cabin.”

“She’s got a lot of art in the attic so she’s not going to be happy about it running roughshod up there either.”

“And I have a profound fear of squirrels.”

“A profound fear? Not just a run of the mill fear?”

“They freak me out with their bushy tail and that scratching noise they make when they run up trees.”

Mr. Cook looked at his son with concern. “Be that as it may I still need to get that photograph.”

“Just let me go up and get it.”

“With your profound fear of squirrels?”

“But…but this way I could see if I caught the little critter.”

“You’re not making any sense, Curt. I’m concerned about you. You’ve been acting strange all day.”

“I just really need to get back to my taxes, dad.”

“Maybe you need to change occupations.”

“Just wait down here. I’ll go check on the squirrel and get the picture.”

Mr. Cook shook his head. “Fine,” he said and plopped down in the bookcase chair.

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 RIGHTEOUS GEMSTONES (2019)-HBO MAX

This week’s pick is a hilarious raunchy show that was recommended to me by a family member. If you are looking for something fantastic to binge watch over the summer, here it is. Created by Danny McBride along with a fantastic cast including John Goodman, it’s both a send up and a lampooning of American mega churches. Be forewarned, the first episode has a dark ending but don’t let that throw you. Keep watching this sleeper because it just gets better and better. It’s one of those comedies that should be reeling in wheelbarrow loads of Emmy nominations but for some inexplicably bizarre reason it is not. What is wrong with Hollywood? Has that become a rhetorical question?

Dr. Eli Gemstone (John Goodman) patriarch of the Gemstone family has recently lost his beloved wife and the light of the family Aimee-Leigh Gemstone (Jennifer Nettles) and must face the future of the Gemstone mega church with his three adult children Jesse (Danny McBride), Judy (Edi Patterson) and Kelvin (Adam Devine). All these kids have seriously disturbing issues and handle situations abominably, but Jesse especially has gotten himself into some hot water. His oldest son Gideon (Skyler Gisondo) has run away from home, much to the dismay of his wife Amber (Cassidy Freeman), and a blackmailer named Scotty (the always funny Scott MacArthur) is threatening to release an explicit video of Jesse and his church buddies which will surely go viral and threaten the Gemstone name. Also, Eli’s get rich quick brother-in-law Uncle Baby Billy (Walton Goggins) wants to get back into the family business and is willing to use every trick in the book to do so. This show is an absolute must see.  

Certified Sadistic Accountant Chapter Thirty

~ gigicatchesair ~ Leave a comment

Good afternoon. Gigi the parti poodle here to introduce chapter thirty of my story Certified Sadistic Accountant. This week I have been dealing with insomnia. I love the longer days we get this time of year, but I find it difficult to sleep past 5 AM. I will wake up from a pleasant slumber to find the morning sun shining in my face and I simply must rise. I of course make my novelist rise with me so she will not miss the beauty of the morning. This seems to raise her ire, but if I cannot sleep well then neither can she. Bernard D. Bunny is usually up also, partaking of his morning breakfast. I prefer to use grass for medicinal purposes but to each his own. My novelist has a pot with a strawberry plant which she purchased a year ago in spring. I was delighted to find it is bearing fruit again this year. I have told Bernard the strawberries are specifically for my novelist and me and he seems to be okay with that. I have, however, noticed Sergio Z. Squirrel eyeing them. Squirrels can be a bit wily as you know. I do think he will stick to his usual nuts especially since I have given him that “I will chase you” look. That seems to put him in his place. Ah, the glory of the oncoming summer. And with that thought here is chapter thirty of Certified Sadistic Accountant. Profitez du soleil!

Certified Sadistic Accountant

by

Gigi the parti poodle

Chapter Thirty

Curtis watched his dad park his silver Honda CR-V LX in the driveway. Aunt Odette’s paintings lay tilted against the bench of the breakfast nook fully packed and ready to go. Mr. Cook locked the car, strode up to the porch, and rang the bell. Curtis rose from the bench reminding himself to remain calm and act normally.

“Hi, dad,” Curtis said when he opened the door.

“How are you doing, son,” his dad said and gave Curtis a pat on the back.

“Can I get you some coffee?”

“Oh, no, no. I already had two cups this morning.”

“I collected the paintings from the cabin,” Curtis said moving over to the breakfast nook and pointing.

“Thanks, son. But we’re still going to have to drive out to the cabin.”

“Why?”

“I was chatting with your aunt on the phone yesterday and we got to talking about this and that and there was something she wanted me to have.”

“I thought the whole point was for me to drive out to the cabin and get the paintings for you.”

“Initially, but now I need to go to the cabin.”

Curtis’s stomach tightened. “Let’s get the paintings into your car,” he said and headed towards the breakfast nook.

“Don’t you want to go to Deep League and get some lunch?”

“Yeah, but…”

“Let’s go.”

Mr. Cook parked his Honda CR-VLX in the back parking lot of Deep League. Curtis followed his dad to the front of the building where they headed inside and grabbed a table. He looked out the window thinking he was trapped in a fishbowl. The buxom bartender with the size too small t-shirt sauntered over to them and set down two laminated menus.

“Can I get you boys something to drink?” she asked in a whiskey voice.

“I would like a Coke,” Mr. Cook said.

“I’ll have green tea,” Curtis said.

“We only have black tea,” the bartender said.

“Black tea then. Lots of cream, lots of sugar.”

“You’ve got it. Be right back with your drinks.”

The bar tender left, and Curtis’s dad said, “So, you’ve been busy.”

“Well, it’s Tax Season, so…”

“More clients this year?”

“A few, but most of them are our core clientele.”

“Do you still like working there?”

“I’d like to get a job in the city.”

“So, you don’t like working there. Say, I didn’t see Haven today.”

Curtis sighed and traced the table with his finger. “Haven died.”

Shock spread across Mr. Cook’s face. “What?”

“She ran out of the house while I was at work and got hit by a delivery truck.”

“Oh, Curt, I’m so sorry. I know you loved that dog.”

“Yes, I did.”

“Don’t let it get to you. We all make mistakes.”

“Mistakes?”

“Like leaving the gate open…”

“I didn’t leave the gate open, nor the window, nor the door. Thieves broke into my apartment and tried to steal Haven.”

“You were robbed?”

“Yes.”

“I thought this was a safe small-town.”

“It is a safe small-town. But even safe small towns can have sadistic people residing in them.”

“Did they take anything?”

“They killed Haven.”

“Next week we’re going to find you a new dog.”

“You’re missing the point.”

“The point is you need to move on, son. When you were a kid, you’d get too attached to…”

“Here we go,” the bartender said returning. She set down Mr. Cook’s fizzy Coke and Curtis’s black tea along with a monkey dish of creamers and a container of sugar and sweetener packets. “Are you boys ready to order?”

“Curt?” Mr. Cook said. “You ready?”

“I’ll have a burger and fries,” Curtis said.

“I’ll have the same.”

“Sounds good,” the bartender said as she took the menus from them. “I’ll go get those started for you.”

As she headed back to the kitchen the main door opened and in moseyed Sheriff Bob and Deputy Gunther. They ambled over to the bar and Sheriff Bob leaned into the counter. He folded his hands and looked into the large mirror with the letters SRB, a local microbrew company, emblazoned across a mountain range. Curits put one hand up to shield his face and turned his head slightly to the side. The Sheriff’s reflection seemed to be looking directly at him. His heart pounded as the spiky blonde-haired deputy leaned his back into the bar and scanned the room.

“You suppose those two policemen get free beer when they come in here?” Mr. Cook asked.

“I don’t think officers are supposed to drink while they’re on duty,” Curtis said.

“Maybe they get free sandwiches,” Mr. Cook said and focused his attention on the ballgame playing on the flatscreen television behind Curtis.

The front door opened and a tall athletic-looking guy with a baseball cap on his head moseyed over to a table near the bar. He sat down, pulled the basket of peanuts near him, reached in and started shelling the legumes and popping them in his mouth. The deputy turned his head in the direction of the guy. He pushed off the bar, walked over, pulled out the chair on the opposite side of the athletic guy’s table and took a seat. As Curtis watched them talk, he started to think the athletic guy looked familiar. 

Just then the bartender set a bottle of ketchup and a bottle of mustard down on the Cooks’ table causing Curtis to jump.

“Your guys’ burgers should be up in a minute,” she said.

“Sounds great,” Mr. Cook replied.

“I’ll bring some extra napkins.”

The bartender returned to the bar and leaned into Sherrif Bob like they were old friends. Suddenly, the sheriff straightened up. He put one hand on his hip leaving the other flat on the bar.

Curtis noticed the deputy was taking notes. He suspected he may be asking the tall guy with the baseball cap questions about Fia.

“Homerun!” Curtis’s father shouted causing Curtis to jump and blanch white.

The sheriff turned his attention in their direction. Then he looked up at one of the other televisions and saw the hitter rounding the bases. Curtis stole another glance at the table with the deputy and the tall guy. Suddenly, it struck him. The tall guy was the clerk who’d helped Fia and him at the sports store at the mall.

“Two hamburgers with fries,” the bartender said and set down Mr. Cooks plate and then Curtis’s. “Anything else I can get you guys?”

“No, this is great,” Mr. Cook said.

“I’ll come back in a little bit and check on you,” she said and left.

“This looks delicious,” Mr. Cook said. “Doesn’t it, Curtis?”

“I need to get something from the car,” Curtis said.

“Can’t it wait? We just got our food.”

“No,” he said and stood up keeping his back to the table with the deputy and the guy from the mall. He cautiously and nonchalantly headed towards the door and left.

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: OH, GOD! (1977)-TUBI

Here is another great gem of a movie streaming on Tubi. Directed by Carl Reiner and starring the ever-droll George Burns, this smart, charming, thoughtful little tale asks the question what if God came down to earth and anointed someone to be His messenger in the modern world? Based on the book by Avery Corman who also wrote Kramer vs. Kramer, the movie is surprisingly funny and philosophical with a marvelously serendipitous first-time performance by John Denver.  

Jerry Landers (John Denver) is your average young family man. He works as an assistant manager at a grocery store in Burbank, California. He is great with the customers and his staff. He is also an atheist. One day when his wife Bobbie Landers (Teri Garr) hands him the mail in bed, Jerry finds he has a letter with no stamp and no return address which simply says, “God grants you an interveiw. Go to 600 Madison Ave., room 2700, Monday, at 11 a.m.” And yes, the word interview is spelled incorrectly. Both Jerry and Bobbie think it’s a gag and likely a stunt pulled by their mutual friend Artie Coogan. Except Artie is an English teacher and wouldn’t misspell the word interview. Jerry wads up the letter and tosses it in the wastebasket by the bed. He wakes up in the middle of the night to find the letter unwrinkled and lying on his pillow. Confused, he tears it up and tosses it back in the wastebasket.

The next day Jerry goes to work to meet with the district produce manager Mr. McCarthy (David Ogden Stiers) only to find the letter untorn and folded neatly in a head of romaine. At that point, Jerry decides to take the interview. When he reaches the 27th floor of 600 Madison Ave. and enters room 2700 he finds the place completely white with a white chair and a white table. And that’s when he hears the voice of God (George Burns) coming over a white intercom. God tells Jerry he’s chosen him to tell people he exists and to spread the word.

Larry Gelbart was rightly nominated for an Oscar for Best Adapted Screenplay for this marvelous gem which also stars Ralph Bellamy, Donald Pleasance, Barnard Hughes, and Paul Sorvino who’s deliciously evil as Reverand Willie Williams.

Certified Sadistic Accountant Chapter Twenty-Six

~ gigicatchesair ~ Leave a comment

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-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.

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.

Certified Sadidstic Accountant Chapter Twenty

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Good afternoon. It is I Gigi the parti poodle here to introduce chapter twenty of my story Certified Sadistic Accountant. One can never underestimate the importance of getting one’s blanket just so. I spend a fair amount of time each day adjusting my beloved blanket. My novelist will fold it into a nice flat rectangle and place it on the bed. This is all good and well except I simply do not like it that way. You see, I like to fluff it up a bit, rumple it even, arrange it so that I am content. And then what does my novelist do? She shakes it out and folds it back into a rectangle. I must get her to understand that once my blanket is exactly the way I have arranged it, that is the way it should remain. It is my blanket after all. It is necessary for me to scrunch it up the way I imagine it to be in my head so I can think. How else am I to get any work done if she keeps flattening it out into a boring easy to describe shape? How is that creative? She writes novels, she should have insight into this. An artist needs their quirks. I must have a word with her about the matter. Until then here is chapter twenty of Certified Sadistic Accountant. Enjoy!

Certified Sadistic Accountant

by

Gigi the parti poodle

Chapter Twenty

Mr. Dupree slogged into the office the next day haggard and beside himself. His eyes were glassy, his shirt untucked, and his tie not properly knotted. Curtis took one look at his boss and knew his plan was in full swing. He hurried over to him and said, “Mr. Dupree, you look terrible. Is everything okay?”

“Fia,” Dallas moaned. “Fia is being held for ransom.”

“Really?”

Mr. Dupree flung his briefcase up on one of the nearby desks and flipped open the latches. He produced the ransom note Curtis had left inside his mailbox last night. Curtis tingled with adrenaline when he saw it.

“Shouldn’t you have given it to the police?”

Mr. Dupree ruffled. “Of course, I called the police, Cook. I called the sheriff directly. But she must be missing for twenty-four hours before they will do anything.”

“Did you tell them about the ransom note?”

“No, Cook I did not. I called the sheriff before I ever received the ransom note. Before I even knew there was a ransom note. I am waiting until lunch time to call them again. Then it will be twenty-four hours since she’s been gone.”

“I think the ransom note would be enough for them to spring into action. It specifically shows she’s a hostage.”

“In the hands of criminals.”

Curtis wasn’t sure he liked the idea of being referred to as a criminal. “Although, I suppose its possible they might consider you wrote the ransom note yourself.”

“What possible reason would I have for writing a ransom note for my recently abducted daughter, Cook?”

“I am sorry you are in this terrible situation, Mr. Dupree.”

“My poor Fia. My poor dear Fia.”

Just then Makenna, Lance, Irving, and Grady entered the office all carrying pastel coffee cups from The Steamed Bean. They collectively looked at Mr. Dupree and knew something was wrong.

“What’s the matter?” Lance asked, being the bravest of the four.

“Fia,” Mr. Dupree said sullenly. “She’s been kidnapped.”

“What?” Makenna said shocked.

“I received a ransom note in my mailbox this morning saying Fia had been kidnapped with instructions to follow.”

“How much money do they want?” Lance asked.

“I don’t even know if it’s money they want. All I know is there will be instructions to follow.”

“The whole thing seems implausible,” Grady said.

“Well, it is plausible, Grady. It’s very plausible.”

“How is Mrs. Dupree doing?” Makenna asked.

“Pretty much the same way any sane mother would after finding out her daughter had been kidnapped: out of her mind!”

“Do you have any idea when you might be getting more information from the kidnappers?”

“No. I’m hoping by tonight. Maybe in the morning. Until then I must wait until noon to report her missing.”

Mr. Dupree trudged upstairs to his office.

“What are we going to do for a receptionist?” Lance asked.

“Don’t be so insensitive,” Makenna said.

“It’s going to get busy. Someone needs to be at the desk.”

“I’ll ask Mr. Dupree,” Curtis said.

“Why you?” Irving said. “I don’t trust you.”

“Screw it,” Lance said. “Go ask him, Cook the Books.”

Curtis turned and headed up the stairs to Mr. Dupree’s office and knocked on the door.”

“What is it, Cook?” Mr. Dupree called.

“I hate to be insensitive,” Curtis said, “but who do you want handling the receptionist desk?”

Mr. Dupree sighed. “Why did this have to happen during tax season? People always kick you when you’re down.”

“I’ll take over the receptionist desk, Mr. Dupree.”

“No, Cook, you won’t. You’re handling some of my biggest clients. You don’t have time.”

“Yes, Mr. Dupree,” Curtis said, appreciative of the complement.

“You’re a good man, Cook.”

That complement, however, filled Curtis with remorse. But he had to keep it together. All he had to do was make it through the weekend.

“I’ll do it.”

“Sir?”

“I’ll handle the desk.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea…I mean considering what you’re going through?”

“It’s too late to call in a substitute. Fia was our substitute.”

“Okay, Mr. Dupree.”

Curtis trotted back downstairs and told his fellow accountants, “Mr. Dupree will be working the receptionist desk.”

“You mean he’s going to come down here and spy on us?” Lance said irritated. “Tax season is stressful enough. I don’t need the boss looking over my shoulder. I mean does the guy even know how to answer the phones?”

“We need a receptionist,” Makenna said, “so, stop complaining.”

“Seriously not liking this at all.”

As soon as business hours began, Mr. Dupree came down the stairs, straightened his navy-blue Savile Row silk tie and marched over to the receptionist’s desk, stepped up on the platform and took his place just as the first phone call rang.

“Dupree Tax Agency,” he said into the handset. “How may I direct your call…oh, it’s you, Bob. So, now you call me after dismissing the disappearance of my daughter.”

All the accountants leaned in to eavesdrop.  

“You said I had to wait until noon…then why are you calling me? Oh, you’re worried. How kind of you. How considerate. If you were so worried you should have helped find my daughter last night! And she’s been kidnapped. I found a ransom note in my mailbox this morning…. yeah, that’s right, a ransom note…. yeah, you’d better get right on it, Sherlock!” Mr. Dupree slammed down the handset. After a beat, he looked out at all his employees staring at him. “What are you all looking at? Get back to work!”

“I guess he does know how to answer the phones,” Lance whispered to Curtis.

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: DREAM SCENARIO (2023)–HBO MAX

It’s always a delight to come across a smaller film that is well worth watching and be able to recommend it for our Stream of the Week. This week’s pick is one of those films. Introverted, unassuming, unpublished professor Dr. Paul Mathews (Nicholas Cage in top form) only wants a couple of things out of life: his family, his job and publishing his book which he has yet to write. Then one day his younger daughter Sophie (Lily Bird) tells her dad she had a dream about him the night before where all around her in their back yard things were falling from the sky, the ground was shaking, and she suddenly was being lifted into the air. And all the time her father was just calmly raking leaves.

Paul later meets up with his old girlfriend from college with a vague hope that she still thinks about him or has some residual feelings. But in truth she’s hardly thought about him over the years and all she can say about Paul is she saw him in a recent dream, and he was doing nothing. Paul finds out his students are also having dreams about him where something stressful is occurring and Paul just seems to walk through them unphased. In fact, the only people who don’t seem to be dreaming about Paul are the Dean of Paul’s college Brett (Tim Meadows) and his wife Janet (Julianne Nicholson). Paul’s life starts to become crazier when he contacts a public relations firm called Thoughts? where he meets the head of marketing Trent (Michael Cere) and his assistant Molly (Dylan Nicole Gelula) who want to have Paul pimp Sprite in people’s unconscious. Molly confesses to Paul she has been having erotic dreams about him, a fact that will spin Paul’s world into greater chaos.

Dream Scenario is an excellent meditation on the modern take of mob mentality and the inability for human beings in the modern day to tell the difference between fantasy and reality. The film’s editing was done by Kristoffer Borgli who also wrote the original screenplay and directed the film, to move like a dream throughout, giving the audience the sensation of not necessarily knowing what is real and what is not. I am disappointed the film did not receive Oscar nominations for Nicholas Cage’s superb performance, and Borgli’s editing and writing.  

If you’d like to see Nicholas Cage in another outstanding smaller film, check out Pig (2021) which we strongly recommend and featured as one of our Stream of the Week picks last year. It is currently streaming on Hulu.