Tag: writing

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-Seven

~ gigicatchesair ~ Leave a comment

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

Certified Sadistic Accountant

by

Gigi the parti poodle

Chapter Twenty-Seven

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Certainly,” the man said.

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

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

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

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

“Do you need it there tomorrow?”

“Yes.”

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

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

“I sincerely doubt it, sir.”

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

“But that’s what it costs.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thanks. Sorry about that.”

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

“Here’s your change.”

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

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

“Sure,” she said.

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

“I can’t drink lemonade.”

“Are you allergic to that too?”

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

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

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

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

“Yes.

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

“Thank you for curling my hair today.”

“Of course.”

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

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

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

“What business?”

“The business of settling the score.”

“You mean revenge.”

“Revenge is a dirty word.”

“So is business.”

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

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

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

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

“So, you’re unhappy here.”

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

“Your mother yes, your father no.”

“And you’re stressing me out too.”

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

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

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

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

“If possible, yes.”

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

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

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

“They’ll never believe you.”

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

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

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

MY BOOKS

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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-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.

Tucker: In Memoriam

~ gigicatchesair ~ Leave a comment

What can you say about a thirteen-year-old Maltese who died?

That he was beautiful. And quiet. That he loved going for walks. And suppertime. And my novelist. And me. One time when I was feeling particularly generous, I let him snuggle up on the chair I happened to be sharing with my novelist. I even let him lie to the left side of her whilst I, of course, lay on her lap. I am normally quite stingy when it comes to these things. But in retrospect I wish I had let him lie next to her more.  

On Saturday, the day Tucker passed away, my novelist could not stop crying. She was stronger on Sunday but on Monday I heard her sniffling and trying to hold back tears. Every so often she would look over at the chair he used to lie in, and a deep sadness would fill her eyes. She has his collar properly buckled and sitting near the door. Perhaps with the hope he will someday come home.

I too am adjusting to the loss of my companion. I found myself checking his empty bed and a couple of nights ago I ran over and barked at the beanbag chair hoping he might hop down and romp around with me. And then I realized he wasn’t there. I even checked under my novelist’s bed where he liked to hide, but my efforts were in vain.

Tucker was a rescue dog. His original owner was an elderly lady who passed away when he was three years old. My novelist had owned a chihuahua poodle mix who’d died in surgery several months prior. The woman who was fostering Tucker was my novelist’s groomer. The groomer agreed to part with Tucker and my novelist paid her and gave Tucker a home.

It took Tucker some time to adjust to living with my novelist. He did not know how to be carried at first. His elderly owner must not have picked him up much. My novelist tells me when she first started carrying him, he would lose balance and tilt in awkward ways. But after a while he got used to it. I dare say he enjoyed it. He was a Maltese and a lapdog after all. He loved curling up in her lap which I could not stand because I always wanted to curl up in her lap. Sometimes I just had to accept I needed to share. And I hate to share. I think for a long time Tucker missed his original owner. My novelist tells me it is very hard on a dog to lose their owner. What he went through was traumatic, she told me, and there was a small room inside his heart where he always kept her.

My novelist procured me from the same groomer. I was the groomer’s poodle’s puppy. My twin brother had already been sold and I was still for sale. I am a parti poodle, but my brother had pure black hair. My novelist purchased me, but I couldn’t go home with her at first. My brother and I were too young to leave our mother yet. And so, my novelist had to wait about a month before she brought me home to live with Tucker. Tucker was displeased with me the moment he saw me. But after a while he came to understand it was my abode and he was merely allowed to live there. My novelist disagreed with my philosophy and often scolded me or gave me a time-out when she thought I’d crossed a line. But it was only because she loved Tucker and wanted to protect him and keep him safe.

Some of the good times I remember included Tucker and I going on road trips with my novelist. We got to stay in some lovely Airbnb places together by the beach. There was one in a rather remote and quiet area which was quite wonderful. It was cavernous and my voice echoed magnificently throughout the house. We both enjoyed the sea air and exploring new places.

Tucker’s decline came upon us slowly. He started to bump into things and my novelist said his eyesight must be going. Others were skeptical but it turned out she was right. His eyesight indeed left him, and he was blind for the last portion of his life. Last year the vet noticed he had a heart murmur. I thought of his first owner. Perhaps she is the reason his heart started murmuring. The weight of the loss had finally broken him. 

Tucker died in my novelist’s lap. He just fell asleep and never woke up again. My novelist went out to the car a little later. She says she saw a small white butterfly flit around the passenger side window. Perhaps that was his way of saying goodbye.

Our home is much quieter now. I used to start barking and that would get Tucker barking, but I don’t feel the urge to bark much these days. A little here and there usually when UPS drives by. But not as much as I did. I go about my daily routine. I go for walks. I lie around the house. Mostly I just feel a little sad. I know things will get better with time and I know he will never be forgotten. I feel sorry about the way I treated him sometimes. But I guess there is something to be said about love meaning never having to say you’re sorry. And he loved me. And I loved him.

-Gigi the parti poodle

Certified Sadistic Accountant Chapter Eighteen

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Good afternoon. It is I Gigi the parti poodle here to introduce chapter eighteen of my story Certified Sadistic Accountant. I watched the Oscars last week and it was a most scrumptious event. I did miss the first part of the opening monologue because, as my novelist puts it, I was naughty. I was merely correcting Tucker the Maltese. He needed to know this was an auspicious event. He didn’t even dress for the occasion and yet I am the one who gets a timeout. After that, I was able to see all the awards. The food was delicious even if I was not allowed to have the chocolate. I must put in a request for white chocolate at these events so I can partake as well. But I was rather fond of the crackers that we had. My novelist picked seventeen of the Oscar categories correctly this year, which is not bad. She has never picked them all correctly, but she did well. We have not had the opportunity to view all the films, but we are hoping to see a few more soon. And on that note, here is chapter eighteen of my story Certified Sadistic Accountant.

Certified Sadistic Accountant

by

Gigi the parti poodle

Chapter Eighteen

Curtis snuck up the street near the Dupree residence. He was dressed all in black including a knit hat and leather gloves with the hopes that no one would notice him or catch him on surveillance. He had the ransom note carefully packed in a large Ziploc bag. He located the neat even row of mailboxes and found the one with the numbers which corresponded with the Dupree household. He took out his keychain which had a small black nano light attached to it and shined it on the numbers to locate the correct box. He found it rather quickly and reached for the knob.

Suddenly, a large racoon leaped onto the Dupree mailbox. The racoon leaned in and stared intensely at Curtis. Startled, Curtis yelped, jumped back and examined the masked intruder. He waved his hand at the animal. “Get out of here, stupid racoon.” The racoon hissed at him. A rare thing as racoons do tend to be non-aggressive animals. Curtis could not remember the last time he had seen such a sadistic looking racoon. “Go!” he half whispered at the thing swatting his hand in its face.

The racoon did not take kindly to the swatting and swatted back catching Curtis on the left cheek with its paw. Curtis grabbed his face and ducked as the racoon continued to claw at him. Curtis glanced down and noticed a half-full bottle of water lying on its side on the ground someone had carelessly discarded when they came out to retrieve their mail. Curtis reached down and grabbed it. Between ducking the racoon’s claws, he worked the cap off and hurled the contents in the animal’s face.

Curtis’s defense gave the racoon a good scare and it jumped off the mailbox and scurried into the night. Curtis grabbed the handle of the mailbox and opened the magnetic door. He carefully removed the ransom note from the plastic bag and attached it to the outgoing mail clip. Then he slowly closed the mailbox and hurried back to his Honda.

He’d parked the car a few blocks away with the hope no cameras would see him or suspect he had done something nefarious. He climbed inside, started the engine, slowly backed the car up, and turned down the quiet suburban road.

Curtis pulled into the driveway of his Aunt Odette’s cabin. He eased the Honda up to the garage, opened the door and parked. He had not turned the porch light on to deter attention and had to be careful traversing from the garage to the cabin. A tremendous wave of pride overcame him as he stepped inside. He had succeeded. He had managed to deliver the ransom note. Now all he had to do was make sure Fia was still secure in the attic.  

He retrieved his flashlight and bear mace and headed upstairs. “Fia,” he said as he knocked on the door. “I’m coming in.” He opened the door and posed in his policeman stance with his mace in one hand and his flashlight in the other ready for trouble. He scanned the room with the flashlight and found Fia standing near some of his aunt’s old dresses.

“I’ll bet you were close to your aunt when you were a kid,” she said.

Curtis flipped on the light switch with his shoulder. “Why do you say that?” he said.

“What did you do when you visited her here?”

“She didn’t always live here. She had a house in the suburbs. A brown rambler with a big back yard and a stone birdbath in the center.”

“What else was in the yard?”

“The fence had paintings on it.”

“She hung paintings on her fence?”

“No, she had a boyfriend named Arbor who painted murals on either side. I remember they were strange but beautiful. Kind of like watery dreams.”

“Did you play outside in the yard much?’

“Now and then. I remember catching bees. I had this jelly jar and I snuck up on a bee sitting on one of my aunt’s roses. I captured it quickly and screwed the lid on tight. The bee started bouncing up and down from the bottom of the jar to the lid. It went back and forth agitated and angry until finally it just gave up.”

“Is that what I am? A bee trapped in your jar?”

“No. No, not at all. There’s a reason, you see.”

“A reason? What reason?”

“The reason is none of your business.”

“It is my business, Curtis. It’s very much my business since you’ve decided to put my life on hold and locked me in an attic. Have you even thought this out, Curtis?”

“Yes, of course I’ve thought it out. I’ve already taken the next step.”

“What’s the next step?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“I need to use the bathroom.”

“Oh. Oh, yes. Of course. I’ll have to put a zip tie on you again.”

“How am I supposed to go to the bathroom with my wrists bound?’

“If you hadn’t tried to run off maybe I could trust you.”

“You cut the zip tie off so I could eat, and I didn’t try to escape then.”

Curtis studied her for a moment. “I’m still going to zip tie you,” he said.

“Fine,” she relented. “But I need my hands bound in the front.”

“Fair enough.”

Curtis took a zip tie out of his back pocket. “Put your hands out.” Fia put her hands out in front of her. Curtis put the zip tie on them. “Alright, let’s go.”

Curtis led Fia out of the room and down the stairs to the second floor where his Aunt Odette’s bedroom was. Curtis opened the door. All yours.”

“I don’t feel comfortable with you standing right outside,” she said.

“I have to make sure you don’t bolt.”

“I won’t. Just give me some privacy, will you.”

“I’ll stand right over there,” he said pointing to the staircase.

“Fine.”

Fia stepped inside and Curtis closed the door behind her. She took note of the window. She used the facilities and turned on the water. She quietly looked down. There was nothing near to climb on to. If she jumped, she would break her leg. She would need to find a way to lower herself down. Right now, she needed to get him to trust her. Fia washed her hands and turned off the water. She noticed his Aunt Odette had a matching hand lotion to go with the soap. It was lovely. Too bad she had to have Curtis for a nephew.

“I’m ready,” she called.

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: PAST LIVES (2023)-SHOWTIME

This week’s movie was one of the movies nominated for Best Original Screenplay this year for writer director Celine Song, and although it is not one of my most favorite scripts of the year it is still well penned, properly paced, thoughtful and honest, and well worth the watch. Especially if you are the type of filmgoer who enjoys romance and lean towards more emotional stories.

The story is about two children Nora (Seung-ah Moon) and (Seung-Min Yim). We can tell even at their tender ages there is a strong connection between the two. But Nora’s parents decide to emigrate to Canada where they feel they will have better opportunities.

Twelve years later we Nora (Greta Lee) is living in New York City pursuing her dreams to become a writer. She has become Americanized and is accustomed to living in the hustle and bustle of the western world. She finds that Hae Sung (Teo Yoo) has been trying to find her online. The two reconnect and spend hours conversing. But things become tense when Nora tries to persuade Hae Sung to come see her in New York and Hae Sung tries to persuade Nora to come back to see him in South Korea. Finally, after some time Hae Sung finally goes to New York and the two reconnect over the course of a weekend.

One of the strongest parts of the story is how the two characters don’t just represent human beings but lifestyles as well. Nora is a break from tradition that Hae Sung is apprehensive about taking a chance on and Hae Sung is a re-embracing of Korean culture that Nora is apprehensive about returning to. And these obstacles strain their relationship even though it is clear both are each other’s true love. John Magaro rounds out the cast as Arthur.

Certified Sadistic Accountant Chapter Seven

~ gigicatchesair ~ Leave a comment

Good afternoon. Normally Gigi would be introducing the blog but this week I am. I am the one known as Him. And I want to give you my side of the story. These dogs are a pain in the neck. Spoiled to a fault. I mean they whine when they want to go outside, they whine when they want a treat, they whine when it’s suppertime and they whine when they want to sit on your lap. And then when one sits in your lap the other one either protests or starts a fight. They get me up at six in the morning. Sometimes five. Maybe if I were a farmer that would be acceptable. But I’m no farmer and this is insane. I don’t know how Gigi’s novelist puts up with these two. I’m about ready to trade them in on a mutt. There are some seriously nice dogs in the pound who would love a home and would be better behaved. Maybe I should box these two up and make a trade.

Are you talking to my audience?

Yes, I’m talking to your audience, Gigi. And I’m telling them what a pain in the neck you are.

That is most rude.

Yeah, I don’t think so.

And why aren’t you wrapping my Christmas gifts.

Your Christmas gifts? You’re on the naughty list, poodle. You’re not getting any Christmas gifts.

I am not on the naughty list. Santa sent me a letter saying so.

Santa sent you a letter. Right.

I have it right here. Allow me to read it: “Dear Gigi, you are no longer on the naughty list. You will be getting lots of presents this year. Sincerely, Santa Claus”. See. Now go wrap my gifts.

Why should I wrap you gifts if Santa Claus is going to deliver them to you?

Because…

I am Tucker and I am a Maltese. I am now going to bark the song Jingle Bells.

What? Not again! You dogs suck!

Listen to Him. Do not bark that stupid…

I just wanted to wish your audience Happy Holidays., Gigi

I…well…okay.

Maybe we should all wish your audience Happy Holidays.

Okay. Fine. Him, what do you think?

Sure, why not.

Okay one the count of three. One, two, three!

Happy Holidays!

And now here is Chapter Seven of my story Certified Sadistic Accountant. Joyeux Noël!

Certified Sadistic Accountant

by

Gigi the parti poodle

Chapter Seven

On Wednesday afternoon at exactly 12:15 PM, Makenna and Lance pulled up along the sidewalk of the street where Curtis’s duplex resided.

“Have you got your ski mask?” Makenna asked.

“Right here,” Lance said waving it around.

Makenna scowled. “Don’t be an idiot. Stick it in your hoodie pocket and don’t take it out until I say so.”

“Yeah, alright, okay, whatever.”

“It’s stupidity like this that makes me not want you tagging along.”

“I put the ski mask away, okay? Get a grip. Sheesh.”

“We’re going to follow the plan exactly as we planned it. Otherwise, we’re going to get caught. And I don’t want to get caught. Just like I don’t want to get caught cheating on my taxes.”

“You cheat on your taxes?”

“I just…I don’t want to get caught.”

“Alright, already. We’ll follow the plan exactly as we planned it.”

“Now let’s put our hoods up and get out of the car.” Makenna and Lance disembarked Makenna’s BMW and headed quietly up the street towards Curtis’s duplex. “Keep your hood up and your head down. The place likely has some sort of surveillance system.”

“I guessed Cook the Books probably had one.”

“More likely the landlord had something installed. You’ve got Grady’s dog crate, right?”

“I thought you were bringing it.”

“No, we agreed on this. You would bring the dog crate and I would put the dog in it.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” Makenna threw up her hands. “Let’s go back to the car and get the crate. We’re losing time.”

“I’m sorry.”

“This is the second reason I didn’t want you involved with this part of the plan.”

“You can’t do this kidnapping alone, Makenna.”

“Yes, I can. And don’t use my name. Who knows what kind of audio recording is listening to us around here.”

“You are so paranoid.”

“Only because you tagged along. If you didn’t, I’d have the dog in the car and be on my way to the safe house by now.”

They arrived at the car and Makenna popped the trunk. Lance reached in and grabbed the handle of Grady’s dog carrier. They adjusted their hoods and headed on route to Curtis’s duplex. Makenna motioned for Lance to head around to the back yard. Lance circled right, and she circled left. They met in the backyard which had a simple patch of green lawn and was surrounded by a wooden fence with a gate which they both entered. Makenna snuck up to the back door and took a few small thin metal tools out of her pocket and began to work the latch on the door.

“Can you actually open that?” Lance asked. Makenna glared at him and continued picking the lock. There was a click and Makenna turned the knob. They entered Curtis’s duplex and looked around. “Where do you think the surveillance camera is?”

Makenna scanned the apartment. She glanced up and thought she saw a camera in the upper right corner where the kitchen and living room met. “Up there,” she said.

Lance reached into his hoodie and produced a can of spray paint. “This ought to do the trick,” he thought, popped open the can and sprayed the lens.

“What are you doing?” Makenna snapped.

“I’m making sure the camera doesn’t incriminate us.”

“Don’t! Just…never mind.” She looked over and saw the bedroom door was cracked open. “I’ll bet the little furball is in there.”

“Ah,” Lance said and slid over to her. Makenna put her finger to her lips and gently pushed open the door. Inside they saw the small Yorkie, alert and sitting up on Curtis’s bed watching them. “You’re a cutie.”

“Shut up,” Makenna hissed. “You’re going to startle it.”

Haven yipped.

“Shh,” Lance said to Haven. Haven yipped again.

“Get out of here,” Makenna told Lance and pointed to the door.

“But…”

“Get out of this room.”

Haven yipped relentlessly. Makenna crept over to the side of the bed and sat down. She slowly extended her hand towards Haven. Haven cowered backwards into the pillows her bright green hair bow twitching slightly as she went.

Makenna reached into her pocket and produced a small Ziplock bag. She unzipped it, took out a treat, and held it out for Haven. “Come here, sweetie. I’ve got a goodie for you.” Haven cautiously crept closer, craned her neck forwards, and sniffed the treat. As she did Makenna leaned in closer. Haven did not like this and hopped back.

“Come on, sweetie.”

Haven remained cautious and did not move. Makenna narrowed her eyes and scooted closer. “Come on. Take the treat.”

Haven looked at the treat then at Makenna. She wagged her tail. Makenna leaned in closer. Then closer. Suddenly, Haven flew off the bed and took off for the door.

“Rotten little mutt!” Makenna yelled.

Lance, who had left the front door cracked open, didn’t see the little dog scurry past him and wiggle through the breach until it was too late. “Uh, oh,” he muttered warily.

Makenna burst out of the bedroom like a frenzied ferret. “Get that thing, you idiot!”

Lance lurched for the front door and burst outside to find Haven sitting on the grass looking at them wagging her tail and panting.

“Come to daddy,” Lance said as he took a slow step towards the dog. “Come on…come to daddy…”

The second Lance was in arms reach, Haven turned and ran. Now on a normal day there would be no traffic on the street in front of Curtis’s duplex. Today, however, one of the neighbors was having flowers delivered. When Haven took off, she bolted towards the oncoming delivery truck.

Makenna heard the engine rumbling down the street. “No!” she yelled as she ran towards the sidewalk. “Stop!”

The truck’s tires screeched to a halt.

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: METROPOLITAN (1990)-HBO MAX

Here is a Christmas movie many of you have probably not seen. Before the television shows Gossip Girl and Gossip Girl there was this more sophisticated and smarter film which contains a lot less soap factor and a lot more wit. Featuring a young and at that time mostly unknown cast (for many of them it was their first major motion picture) the story is set in Manhattan during the holiday season which is also what is known as the Deb (debutante) Season where the young wealthy teenage elite meander through a course of various parties dressed in haute couture dresses and black and white tie tuxedos. The more interesting time they spend together is the downtime after the parties than the parties themselves. The kids who are required to pair off and escort each other to these shindigs often end up gathering in one of the parent’s swanky townhouses late at night sitting about and discussing, or at least attempting to discuss cultural and philosophical ideologies. Or at least as best as teenagers can do in their own microcosm of a world. The film has a bit of a different flavor from the John Hughes films of that time, but it is still amusing, engaging, and interesting to watch. 

The film was written and directed by Whit Stillman, and it is an impressive feature debut. It remains a charming, cultured comedy for those out there who would like to try something different from the usual holiday fare. The cast includes Carolyn Farina, Edward Clements, Chris Eigeman, Taylor Nichols, Allison Parisi, Dylan Hundley, Isabel Gillies, Ellia Thompson, Dylan Hundley, and Will Kempe.