A Self-Proclaimed Mercenary's Just Desserts

 

Writer Lady looks at the ceiling, “You’re making that up.”

“Maybe. It’s a good way to get revenge on Tinklebutt. He has it coming.”

Writer Lady shakes her head as she cooks.

“You know he does.” House continues.

“He does.” Writer Lady agrees, “But I am not going to be the one to do it.”

One hour later two pots sit on the stove ready and waiting for a bit of faerie magic.

“TP I’m ready.” Writer Lady calls.

The faerie stretches, yawns, and flies down from his lounging spot on top of the refrigerator. He flies over the pans as he inspects the food.

“One is a stew, the other Chili Mac. What I need you to do is remove the moisture from the food and package it into individual servings. The package should look like the food we showed you earlier.”

TP nods.

“I’ll wrap up the granola bars so we can get that man the hell out of here.”

TP looks at Writer Lady as he attempts stifling a giggle.

“I meant I'll wrap up the granola bars so we can get Tinkletoes and Carp on their way.”

“Okay.” The faerie floats to the far side of the kitchen. “You work here,” he instructs. “TP do the rest.”

Writer Lady gathers her supplies and moves out of the way. A familiar song begins to play as the faerie works.

“Smelly gon-go-la. Frank-en-bam-bo-la Bibbity bobbity boo…” He sings.

“TP. No.”

“What no?” He asks as portions of the entrees float in the air above each pot. TP flutters between them. As the faerie makes a wringing motion with his hands, moisture is expelled from the food as water is wrung from a dish cloth. An empty package appears labeled Big TP’s Big Entrees. A hose which extends from the package sucks up the dry food particles. When the package is full it seals itself shut, causing the hose to detach itself. The packet floats away from the stove, gently landing on an empty stretch of counter.

“You can’t sing that song. Disney owns that.”

TP stops working. “It is a faerie work song. All creatures of Faerie sing it. Nobody owns it.”

“Maybe not in Faerie but here on Earth someone does. You can sing your song just not that part.”

“Which part?”

“The bippity bobbity boo part.” She explains.

“That’s what makes it so fun.”

“It could be considered copyright infringement if you sing it so please stop.”

“I don’t see what the problem is, it’s not like your making money.” House points out. “The little guy is just having some fun.”

“Let’s just find new song, okay?”

TP rolls his eyes. “Okay.” The faerie sings. “Smelly gon-go-la. Frank-en Bam-boo-la….” He pauses for a few beats and continues. “Smelly gon-go-la, frank-en bam-bo-la…” TP looks at Writer Lady. “It’s not the same.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Sucky humans.” The faerie mutters as he continues his work.

The last packet seals and floats down into an open box just as the final grain of sand falls through the hour glass. Tinkletoes walks through the house and picks up the box without saying good-bye. Carp says “Thank you,” to all and encourages Writer Lady to get some sleep as he follows the self-proclaimed mercenary out carrying a case of bottled water.

Two Days Later

Tinkletoes walks through the living room, gear bag in hand, disappearing down the hall without uttering a word. When he returns several minutes later, Writer Lady puts down the book she is reading and follows him into the kitchen.

“How was your camping trip?” She asks as he pours himself a cup of coffee.

“Fine.”

“The food?”

"MREs aren't usually dehydrated. You could have just had TP vacuum seal them. The food would have been fine."

"Really." Writer Lady comments.

"It would have saved you some work." 

Writer Lady bites her tongue. "Anything else?"

The self-proclaimed mercenary shrugs. He stares at the clock on the stove as he sips his coffee. “I do have one question.”

“Yes?”

“I find myself wondering why I went to all the trouble to wake you up and ask you for food.”

“What do you mean?”

“You made two different meals?”

Writer Lady nods.

“Everything I ate this weekend tasted like Chicken A La King.”

“The Chili Mac?”

He nods.

“The stew?”

He nods again.

“The granola bars?” Writer Lady asks.

“Everything. I would have just taken what was already in the bin with me if I had known that was gonna happen.”

Writer Lady sees something moving in her peripheral vision, she looks past Tinkletoes to find a rooster wearing a velvet cloak and crown. She watches as it struts through the laundry room behind the self-proclaimed mercenary’s back, out of his line of sight. The rooster turns to look at her, puts the tip of a wing to his beak and whispers “Shh...”

A Writer Lady's Quest To Get Some Sleep

*Never light any firework of any sort inside a building or at a stove. That goes for sparklers too.

 

Writer Lady covers her head with her pillow and lays back down as far out of Tinkletoes’ reach as humanly possible.

“Still here.” The self-proclaimed mercenary announces. “I’m not leaving without food.”

Writer Lady removes the pillow from her face. “Eat nuts.” She says.

“What?”

“Eat nuts, berries, boil up some tree roots. You have a rare opportunity to really hone those skills.” She says before covering her face with the pillow again.

“It’s January. Too cold for foraging.”

Writer Lady ignores the comment. The room grows quiet, she hears a rustling sound. “He’s still here isn’t he?” She asks. No one responds. She feels the mattress shift as Tinkletoes' weight takes residence on the far corner of the bed.

“Still here.” The self-proclaimed mercenary says.

Three minutes pass.

“Still here.” He repeats.

“You aren’t going to give up are you?” She asks.

“I’m military trained and a Browncoat, what do you think?”

“Duude...you said you were in a hurry.” Ray says.

His voice is coming from the general direction of the bedroom door.

“I am.” Tinkletoes responds.

“I found some food. The bowls, plates, and cooking spoons. Let’s get this put together. I’ve been up for three days, I’m finally ready for some shut eye.”

“Okay Ray. Let’s do it.”

The bed shifts again as Tinkletoes’ weight is no longer forcing the corner of the mattress down. “I appreciate the help Ray. At least some people care enough to pitch in.”

“Some people are too out of it to realize they’re being taken advantage of.” Writer Lady mutters under her breath.”

“Tinkletoes and Ray cooking together. This oughta be fun.” House comments.

The bedroom is once again quiet as a light slowly dawns.

“What did you just say?” Writer Lady asks.

“Tinkletoes and Ray cooking together. This oughta be fun. I wonder if TP would record it for me. We could send it to one of those comedy websites.”

Writer Lady sits up, wide awake. “Not in my kitchen,” she says as she throws on a robe.

“You sure?”

“I like my kitchen and besides listening to you complain about smoke damage isn’t something that I want any part of.” Writer Lady walks into the kitchen seconds before Ray begins toasting a jumbo marshmallow at the stove’s front burner. One that has been skewered with a sparkler. The burner is on. Blue flames dance merrily around the burner's circumference, waiting.

“No!” Writer Lady’s voice echoes through the room as she pushes both men out of the way. “No fireworks in the house!”

“Does this count?” Tinkletoes says.

“The kitchen is inside isn’t it?” House comments.

“How much time? How much time do we have?” Writer Lady asks.

“Twenty minutes.” Tinkletoes responds, straightening up.

“Where’s TP?”

“Mor-NING.” TP calls as he dives from a curtain rod above a kitchen window and flies into Writer Lady’s field of vision.

“You’ve been in here the whole time?”

The faerie nods.

“And you did nothing to stop them?”

TP shakes his head. “It looked like it was gonna be fun.” He says rolling into a series of mid-air somersaults. “TP loves a good show.”

“Guess what? The cost of your ticket has just come up and payment is due. If I'm providing food for this excursion, I need you to slow the passage of time. I'm going to need about two hours.” Writer Lady looks around her kitchen at Tinkletoes and Ray’s mess. “Make that two and a half hours. I need to clean up this mess before I can do anything. Now what to make..."

  Tinkletoes steps forward, "I have a list of preferred items."

  Writer Lady glares at Tinkletoes.

  "In case you're looking for ideas." He says handing over the list.

  "Ideas." She confirms as she studies his requests."I know what to make. The other challenge is going to be packaging.” Writer Lady looks at Tinkletoes. “Will you get one of your open MREs? I need to show TP the packaging.”

Tinkletoes leaves and returns with an open Chicken A La King MRE.

Writer Lady scribbles a quick list. “If I make this can you package it up like what you’re looking at here?”

TP nods.

“Okay let’s get to work,” she says as she gets started putting things back in order. Several minutes have passed before she realizes things are unusually quiet. She turns and looks around the room. TP is relaxing on a lounge chair on top of the refrigerator, a large hourglass towers over the faerie as he naps, she notices the sand is moving at a phenomenally slow pace. The clocks on the stove and the microwave appear to have stopped moving completely. Her oven beeps indicating it has preheated. She sets about mixing together oats, dried fruit, nuts, butter, brown sugar and honey. Tinkletoes wanders over to where Writer Lady is working and peers over her shoulder while she is stirring.

“What’s that?”

“Whole grain, fruit, nuts, honey, brown sugar or in other words, granola.”

A look of disgust crosses the self-proclaimed mercenary’s face. “Don’t you have any protein bars?”

“This is granola. It’s all-natural and has no preservatives. People have been eating this as a convenient and portable source of nourishment since way before a single protein bar came into existence.”

Tinkletoes nods halfheartedly. “Could you at least throw some extra protein in?”

Writer Lady looks at Tinkletoes. “If I don’t have protein bars in the house what makes you think I would have protein powder?”

“Good point.”

Writer Lady spreads the mixture on to a cookie sheet and puts it in the oven. She heats oil in a skillet and begins sauteing onions and carrots.

“What’s that?” Tinkletoes asks. “We’re sleeping rough. There’s no refrigerators where we’re going.”

Writer Lady nods. “TP and I know what we’re doing.”

“Okay. Well make sure you don’t put any dairy or fish or anything that will go bad in there. Don’t make any of that funny food either.”

“Are you going to continue asking questions or should I send you on your way with a backpack full of Chicken A La King?”

Tinkletoes stares at the wall for a moment. “Just remember I gotta eat whatever this is. All weekend.”

Writer Lady glares at Tinkletoes until he leaves the kitchen. “The only thing keeping me from pouring a laxative into this pan is Carp.”She mutters.

“I heard Carp mention that he was feeling constipated.” House says.

Writer Lady's Bedroom: Four AM

Writer Lady opens one eye. The room is dark. Her mother’s words run through her mind. “You don’t eat enough, you’re too skinny.” She rolls on to her back and contemplates how many times she heard those words. Shaking her head, Writer Lady rolls over to the other side. Smudge is curled up against her. She smiles. It’s always nice to have your own personal heater on a cold night. It seems the kitten agrees. She closes her eyes hoping to return to some level of REM sleep. Then she hears, “It’s so difficult to shop for new clothes these days. Mind your sweets!” This is also her mother’s voice. Eventually she gets back to sleep, “Grr...where are the sweets?” The words are gruff, she imagines a large monster in the room standing over her. Raising her hand, she feels around in the general vicinity the voice seems to be coming from and finds nothing. She lowers her hand falling back into the deep sleep she is craving.

Several minutes later she hears someone say, “Where’s the food?” Writer Lady ignores the question. She feels something push against her shoulder. “Where’s the food?” She opens one eye, a large silhouette is standing over her. She sits up, the top her head meets against something hard. She hears a grunt, the obstruction is no longer blocking her trajectory. “What the…?” She asks.

“That’s what I was gonna say.” Tinkletoes’ voice counters.

She reaches out for…

“That is not the lamp.”

“Get out of the way.” She says. Writer Lady manages to find the switch and turn the bedside lamp on, after her eyes adjust she releases a full glare in his direction. “What are you doing in here?”

Tinkletoes is standing next to the bed in full fatigues: pants, t-shirt, coat, and combat boots. The self-proclaimed mercenary is dressed for an outing and rubbing the chin which has just met with Writer Lady’s head. “Looking for food.”

“For what?”

“Carp and I are brushing up on our survival skills this weekend, we’re out of food.”

Writer Lady reaches for her phone. “The supply store will be open in two hours.” She announces as she places her phone back in its resting spot. “Have fun.” She says as she lays back down.

“We are scheduled to reach our campsite at 0500 hours. Food supplies must be packed now.”

“Go to your room.” Writer Lady says.

“What?”

“Your room. Go get some of those MRO thingies you’re always stockpiling, isn’t that what they’re for?”

“MREs or Meals Ready To Eat. Yes, that’s what they’re for. I don’t have any.”

Writer Lady sits up again and waits for more information.

“Ray ran out of cheese puffs, sugar cereal and popcorn last week. He was looking for a snack and got into them. TP kind of told him if he kept eating he would find a prize.”

“The next day you went out and purchased replacement supplies...” Writer Lady prompts.

Tinkletoes shakes his head. “There haven’t been any orders for my new line of lighted sabers. The training budget is empty.”

“If you have no training budget then why did you schedule an excursion? Where did the money come from for registration, gas, and your other supplies.”

Tinkletoes looks at the walls, the ceiling, and the floor, everywhere except Writer Lady's face. “I might have done well with a wager or two.”

“It was enough to pay for everything except the food?”

“Something like that.”

Writer Lady picks up her phone, she scrolls through the web browser for several minutes. “Would you look at that, the camping supply store delivers anywhere at no additional charge.”

Tinkletoes looks at the screen. “That is only for the extra large tub of dehydrated macaroni and cheese.”

“Uh huh. If we order in the next ten minutes they’ll throw in a case of powdered eggs, yummy.” She says as she begins ordering the supplies.

Tinkletoes grabs the phone away before she can finalize the order.

“Hey.”

And cancels it.

“An excursion with such unbalanced supplies is unacceptable.”

“Beggars can’t be choosers.” She counters.

“To run a proper training expedition the correct supplies must be obtained, ‘sides it wouldn’t look right in front of the other guys, you know, a delivery truck pulling up way out in the middle of nowhere like we’re a couple sixth graders who forgot their lunches.”

“Correct supplies?” Writer Lady repeats, “It’s four in the morning. You are waiting until the last minute to tell me, someone who is not a part of any of this, that you, the one who failed to replenish your supplies when you first noticed them missing is in need of several days worth of food within the next half hour.”

“Reminds me of a sixth grader.” House offers.

“House.” Writer Lady says.

“It’s the truth.” She counters.

“Also unnecessary thank you very much.” Writer Lady says.

“Compromised.” He corrects. “The supplies were compromised.”

“Compromised? How were they compromised?”

“Ray opened each and every one of them, eating only the items he wanted.” Tinkletoes admits.

“Meaning?”

“I kinda got a whole bin full of salt and pepper packets, wipes, plastic cutlery, toilet paper, and highly suspect entrees.”

Writer Lady raises an eyebrow and looks at Tinkletoes squarely.

“Chicken A La King. The only thing left is the Chicken A La King.” He confesses.

“How is that her problem?” House asks.

“Shh!”

Tinkletoes reaches deep, deep, deep down. Where is anybody’s guess. He looks at Writer Lady and says. “I know I may not be the nicest guy and considering some of the things I’ve done, you may not care if I spend the next three days eating that stuff but Carp has been a good friend to all of us. If you don’t help us you’re subjecting our friend to that...stuff. Not just for one meal but for several. You are a kind and just writer lady. Be kind for Carp’s sake.”

“For Crap’s sake.”

“House!”

“I’m going, I’m going.”

“Don’t make Carp eat the Chicken A La King.”

Writer Lady hears a clucking noise. She looks past the edge of the bed, a rooster wearing a crown and a velvet cloak struts past her. She closes her eyes wondering what she possibly could have done to deserve a night like this one.

A Quiet Evening With The Schwartz - The Conclusion

*For Mom.

 

I decided that the only way I was going to get out of the room and away from the man of every woman’s dreams was by reaching down; deep, deep, deep down and finding a speck of courage. I prayed that there was still some left. Accepting the ticket, dress shopping with my sister, along with the trip into the city and the time spent in the salon had already been a long and difficult journey outside my comfort zone. With any luck, I had another thirty seconds of bravery hidden some place.

I took a deep breath, looked at Ryan Joseph and said, “It was really nice of you to come over here to talk with me when everyone else has gone, the event is clearly over. You must be exhausted.” Unfortunately, it was not long before my resolve began to waver, I started rattling. “I know I would be both mentally and emotionally exhausted if I'd said hello to half of the people who were here tonight and you have to do it...all the time.”

His eyes didn’t leave mine as I stood up.

“Thank you very much for the conversation but I don’t belong here. I will never forget this. I have to go now.”

“You didn’t buy a ticket.” Ryan said.

I held out my arm so he could see the disposable bracelet I was presented with when I checked in. “I have a ticket.”

“You didn’t buy it.” He said. “You really didn’t want to be here tonight, did you?”

Fuck.

With that single observation what was left of my courage exited my body. My insides felt like a balloon being emptied of air. This man had gone out of his way to be nice to me, but to confess…

You have to tell him the truth. Lying leads nowhere.

Honesty can be harsh even cruel at times. I don’t want to hurt someone’s feelings who went out of their way to be nice to me. What kind of a person does that?

Ryan Joseph, movie super star and all around Hollywood hottie looked at me, waiting for an answer. I didn’t know enough about him to guess what might hurt his feelings. I didn’t know for sure that the truth would, but it could. I sat down, speaking slowly, hoping not to lose my composure. “I will answer your question, before I begin I need you to promise me that you’ll listen to the entire answer.”

Those kind eyes found mine and Ryan nodded.

“I hate the thought of hurting you when you’ve been so nice to me but you asked so here it goes. It’s true, I didn’t want to come here tonight. I didn’t buy the ticket. It was a gift. A gift I received after I told a lie.” Once I started talking, the words came tumbling out, waiting for someone who would listen, who wanted to hear my dilemma, someone who might care. “I’m single. I have been for several years now. At first, my loved ones would say things like: 'I’m glad you’re taking time for yourself' and 'It’s always good to focus on your career.' My parents would brag about how independent I was and tell people I was taking time off to get to know myself. When years pass and not much has changed about your life, time spent with friends and family can become a little less comfortable.”

An odd expression crossed The Schwartz’ face. Was he confused? I don’t know, maybe. The sadness, the loneliness of spending a long period of time alone,whatever the hell it is, probably never lasts long for him. I tried another approach.

“A few months ago at a family gathering, my sister looked like she could use a break. After dinner, I followed my niece into the family room for a tea party. We did it right, we wrapped feather boas around our shoulders and put on hats and gloves. I set the table and we sat down for tea. I hadn’t seen little Jillie in a while. I didn’t know she had learned what gossip was.

After she told me about her recent break up with her classmate, Timmy and her new beau, Jesus, she held her up her tea cup, pinkie extended and said, ‘I told Daddy all about Jesus and the outing we have planned for Saturday. After I finished Daddy looked at Mommy and said, 'Our daughter sees more action in one month than Bette does in a decade.’ Jillie sipped her tea then continued, ‘Then Grandma pointed out that wasn’t a very nice thing to say no matter how true it was. Grandma wondered if you were even looking at men any more. Then Mommy said 'None of that mattered because you were never going to meet anybody as long as you kept daydreaming about celebrities.’ It hurt a little to hear, but at first I didn’t let it get to me. A few months later, after my mother made a comment about how I seemed determined to die alone I began thinking about what Jillie had said a bit more. I couldn’t help but wonder if that was what my family really thought of me. I knew I let go of fruitless daydreams like those ages ago, yet here they were convinced I still had a crush on you.”

I looked at Ryan. His face offered not a hint of what he might be thinking or feeling. He seemed to be just quietly listening.

“The holidays were coming. Mom gets especially pushy around the holidays.”

“It’s not that bad, is it?”

“When we went shopping for Halloween decorations she pointed out all the men she thought might be single. Say things like: ‘Look at that one, he’s handsome,’ and ‘Check out the way that one fills out those jeans.’

Ryan started smiling.

“She picked one guy up while I was in the restroom and then ambushed me with him in tow in the middle of the mall parking lot.”

He covered his mouth to hide his smile.

“At that point I felt like I had two choices, one very long distance move or doing something desperate. One night when I couldn’t sleep, it came to me. If my family was convinced I was spending my life waiting for you to fall in love with me then who was I to argue? The next day I dug out my Ryan Joseph scrapbooks from my college days, hid a few posters around my apartment, picked up a few DVDs and waited. It wasn’t long before a duly appointed family representative stopped by to ask about the new décor. I begrudgingly admitted that I was still in love with you and was waiting for you to feel the same way. The representative went home to make their report and I sighed with relief at the solitude.”

I jumped when I heard the ballroom door open. One of Ryan’s associates approached, the two whispered back and forth for a few moments. The man left.

“The hotel staff needs to get back in this room, it seems I have been keeping them from cleaning up. Could we continue this elsewhere?” He asked.

I nodded, a bit unsure of myself.

“I’d really like to get some air.” He said.

“Isn’t it a little bit late for that?” I asked.

“It’s perfectly safe. I do it all the time.”

He wasn’t kidding, when you go for a walk along a less frequented city street with four men I know I wouldn’t want to meet in a dark alley it’s definitely safe. His friends stayed far enough away to ensure a private conversation but close enough Ryan would not be disturbed.

The air was cool. The moon was nestled high in the sky, cradled by clouds. It was definitely growing later. Christmas decorations made things look brighter than they already were and lightened my mood. I buttoned up my full length coat and pulled a scarf out of my pocket. Cocktail dresses are designed for enjoying cocktails, indoors.

“It’s getting colder, it looks like we might see some snow.” Ryan observed.

“No. Not yet.” I responded without thinking. “The temperature is right for snow but the clouds aren’t the right color.” I could feel him looking at me. “Snow clouds are gray, it’s a lighter, brighter, gray. Closer to white. Probably because they are full of snow.”

“You’re right, I never thought about it very much.” He commented. “You were enjoying your solitude…” Ryan prompted.

 

“I did until November. On Thanksgiving I was presented with a surprise. A ticket to a meet and greet with Ryan Joseph.”

“The Schwartz.” He said as he held both hands up with his fingers curled in, indicating The Schwartz was something big and scary. Mannie “The Bullet” Schwartz, a character Ryan had played early on in his career, was a gangster who lived during the roaring twenties and was direct competition to Al Capone, according to the world of Hollywood at least. He was ruthless, sexy, and looked fantastic in a double breasted suit. Definitely a bad ass. I waited to see if Ryan was going to growl.

I smiled. “People always talk about The Schwartz like Mannie was such a bad ass. Whenever I hear the name it just reminds me of Space Balls.”

He looked at me and smiled. “Me too. That’s what I like about him. Please continue."

I continued my story, “I didn’t know what to do. I had two options I could tell them the truth, there would be grumbling about wasted money and I would be back to shopping with Mom while she cruised for guys or I could accept the gift and enjoy a little bit more peace.”

“Where did the clothes and hair come in?”

“My sister. She told me she thought my continued interest in you was a bad idea. Mom and Dad really wanted to see me with someone and if I truly believed that you were the one for me she was going to do everything she could to help move things along. I was afraid if I refused her help, she would see right through me.”

We had crossed a street and entered a park as I rambled on. Ryan stopped at a bench near the water and sat down. I did the same.

“So you have no interest in me?” He asked, not looking at me.

I studied his face, he was quietly watching the reflection of the moon as it danced along the water. I shook my head. “The crush of my college years was extinguished a long time ago.”

We sat for a bit longer then headed back to the hotel.

“It’s been nice talking with you. It’s been like sitting with an old friend.” I observed.

Ryan did not respond. When he stopped at the hotel’s entrance he turned and handed me a card with a phone number printed on it. “You should call me some time.”

I looked at Ryan. I couldn’t read his face clearly, he seemed distant, the light I noticed earlier in his eyes a bit dimmer. I thought for a minute and said, “No.”

One of his associates from earlier in the evening came through the hotel door stopping next to us. I did something I never do, I spoke first. I looked at the new arrival and said, “Hello. Do you work with Mr. Joseph?”

He nodded.

“This is Todd.” Ryan said.

“It’s nice to meet you Todd.” I quickly removed a pen from my clutch and scribbled my contact information on the back of the card Ryan had just handed me. “Tell me Todd, do you and Ryan see each other a lot?”

“I am wherever he is, usually.” Todd responded.

I looked at Ryan. “I won’t take your phone number because if I call you there’s a chance you might only talk to me because you feel obligated to. What I will do is give my contact information to Todd, that way if you want to talk to me you will have to reach out to him for my information. Taking an extra step insures that you are calling out of genuine interest and not out of guilt or some other sense of obligation.” Again with the rambling. This time it felt like good rambling. “It’s been a long three weeks and I’ve learned a few things about myself along the way. I like the idea of getting to know you better and being friends with you. We have to do this in real time.”

“No more crushes.” He said.

“No more crushes on men I have never met in real life. Even a crush needs a foundation. I think friendship might be better.”

I looked at Ryan’s assistant and smiled. Leaning in, I whispered. “If he asks for my number wait at least 24 hours before you give it to him, that way he’s sure that he wants it.”

I looked at Ryan one last time, “You can’t fire him for doing what I asked. Promise?”

One corner of his mouth turned up in a smile. “Promise.”

I entered the hotel and returned to my room wondering if I would ever hear from my new friend again. After a shower and a cup of tea I found a bit of relaxation. I climbed into bed and turned out the light. Tomorrow would be a brand new day and for the first time in a long time I was looking forward to it.

A Quiet Evening With The Schwartz

*Profanity.

 

I am a terrible liar. I have been for my entire life. You know how some kids suck at things but as they grow up their skills improve? Not me. I never got better at cooking, dating, or lying. When you’re a kid and you tell a lie you find yourself standing in the corner or something. When you’re an adult, unless you lie about something big or to someone important there is no one to stand you in a corner and remind you not to do it. Instead you end up in situations like the one I’m in right now. Sitting in a nearly empty hotel ballroom in a ridiculously overpriced cocktail dress knowing that I wasted $800.00 of my family’s money-they don’t know I looked up the ticket price—hiding at a meet and greet for a celebrity I haven’t drooled over since 2003. How did this happen? Simple.

I told a lie.

It was an important lie. A lie for my continued survival. A lie for my own sanity. If you had been in my place you would have done the same thing. If you wouldn’t have please pretend you would. It’s only polite. I watched as Ryan Joseph, the guest of honor, quietly walked towards the exit with his people and the last three women to leave. These women walked into the ballroom hours earlier carrying signs and pictures, along with totes full of memorabilia. They stood at the front of the room and announced to everyone within earshot they were Ryan Joseph’s a.k.a. Mannie “The Bullet” Schwartz or The Schwartz as many affectionately think of him, they are his biggest fans. They arrived at the event dressed as three of his most iconic characters. Lacey, the leader of the group, dressed up as The Schwartz himself. They took their time with Ryan leaning in close if the opportunity presented itself to whisper gossip about other fans who did not make it tonight. Lena couldn’t afford the trip because of a messy divorce, Sandy was going through a bankruptcy and there was poor Tillie’s unexpected pregnancy months before her youngest was getting ready to leave for college. But Tillie still looks wonderful. One would whisper that Tillie started her family young at which time the threesome would look at each other solemnly and nod in agreement. I had heard the same speech earlier as did a few dozen other people. If you see those women on the street don’t tell them anything, at least not anything you don’t want the entire eastern seaboard to know by five a.m. the next day.

What did I do while all of this activity went on around me? I watched. I studied Ryan’s face, his eyes, his smile. I memorized how he was dressed and some of the things that he said. I did it for one simple reason. If I had any hope of getting through the post meet and greet interrogation that was coming alive I was going to need details. Lots of ‘em.

All was going as planned until when for some unexpected reason Ryan turned around and saw me watching. I turned away, took a deep breath and counted to ten then I raised my head and slowly looked in his direction. I watched as he whispered something to two of the bigger men with him. Both nodded. Everyone left the room except for Ryan. He turned around and headed straight for me.

Oh shit...oh shit...oh shit. Go Away. This was not the plan. HELP! So it began, the onslaught of ridiculously unhelpful random thoughts that were going to keep me paralyzed and incapable of dealing with this sudden change.

“Hi.” He said as he approached. “It was really busy here tonight.” Ryan said with a smile.

I watched as the smile crossed his lips and headed up. His eyes brightened slightly like I was the one person he had been hoping to speak to the entire time. Actors. “My name is Ryan Joseph. It’s so nice to meet you.”

I nodded and hoped he would leave now that his job was done. Instead he sat down on the chair directly across from me.

“What’s your name?” He asked.

Oh my god...he’s actually doing this? (Mental sigh). Now you’ve done it. You just had to wear the dress and get your hair done at the salon. I looked down at my perfect red toe nails. Damn pedicure! First you lie to your mother, now this! You are the worst daughter on the planet. I finally mutter. “Bette. My name is Bette Turner.”

“Hello Bette Turner.” He said repeating my name back to me.

“Have you enjoyed the evening?”

“It was...fine.” I responded as I fiddled with my clutch.

“Only fine?”

“I don’t really get out much...I mean, this is the only celebrity meet and greet I’ve ever been to.”

“You’ve never gone to all this trouble for anyone else, I’m flattered.” He said.

I lowered my head and didn’t say a word. When someone finds themselves talking to a wall they leave. He’ll have to leave now.

He lowered his head and found my eyes. The dick.

“I'm serious. The fact that you don’t go to these things all the time makes your presence all the more meaningful.”

I looked at his face, his tender smile, the way he was leaning forward… the reality of my situation began to sink in.

Ryan Joseph thinks I am here tonight in this cocktail dress with styled hair and flawless make-up because I have a crush on him. He thinks I’m another big giant, lonely, socially uninteresting fan girl! My mind and emotions sent a tidal wave of thoughts and feelings forward most of which had nothing to do with the present moment. He thinks I am a fan just like these other women. I haven’t looked at his work in ages. His eyes are so kind. I feel so safe. Where was this kind, caring, attentive man when I was in my twenties. I wanted him then! I needed a great guy like him then! I really wanted to ask Mister Wonderful that. What I managed to say was, “Oh my god. I can’t believe you’re talking to me.” Why is this happening to me? All I wanted was for people to stop telling me how pathetic I am alone, for my parents to stop hounding me.

“I am.” He smiled again.

What is it with this man and all the damn smiling?

“As you can see, we are the only ones left. Did you have to travel far to get here tonight?”

“No...not far.”

“So you live here, in the city?” He asked.

At that moment I decided I was hungry and the only thing that would appease my hunger was a thumb nail. One that tasted terrible. What the hell is in this stuff? I dropped my hand back to my lap. Lies. Lies. Lies. This is what lying gets you. My mother’s voice rang through my head. “This is unreal,” was my answer.

“This is actually very real.” Ryan said. “How long have you lived in the city?”

I shook my head and took a stab at honesty. “I live that way.” I said pointing east. “About three hours that way.”

“Three hours is a bit longer than not far.”

“It takes three hours to get anywhere that is open after nine pm from where I live. For me it’s not far.” What do I do? I shifted my eyes to the left and the right hoping to see movement in my peripheral vision. Bodyguards, security, men with a way cool coat that ties in the back, a rat on the buffet table. Anything, anything that would get me out of this awkward situation.

Gotcha

Writer Lady continues typing. Something strange is going on in the upper right hand corner of the screen. She finds it unsettling. Deciding she must be seeing things because, look at who she has been dealing with today, she decides the fact the X in Close seems to pulse faintly every now and then has to be her imagination. She continues with her work. The X pulses faintly again. She tries to ignore it. The X sits dormant for a time and then pulses for one-two- three seconds then goes back to normal for approximately two minutes at which time it pulses again as she watches.

“How are things going Diomedes?” She asks without turning around.

“All is quiet Milady.”

The icon pulses again. “Stop it. Just stop.” She comments to the screen.

“Milady?”

“After all that’s been going on now my computer is not cooperating.” She turns and faces the dragon. “I’m sorry I growled.”

“May I?” Diomedes asks.

Writer Lady nods.

The dragon inches closer to Writer Lady and her computer, he doesn’t have to travel far.

“This is my word processing program. I write stories on it.” She says turning back to the computer. Writer Lady points to the close icon. “This ‘X’ at the far right corner closes the document. It is supposed to look exactly as it does now. I noticed when I am typing it doesn’t always look that way. Sometimes it grows a little bit brighter and pulses which is not normal. I find it troubling.”

“May I see? I find human tools positively fascinating.”

“Okay.” Writer Lady says as she continues typing. It is not long before the icon begins to pulse. “See?” She asks, pointing to the icon. “I hope there is not a problem with the program.”

“There is nothing wrong with your technological contraption. That pulsing indicates the presence of magic.”

“Magic?”

“Yes.” Diomedes says as he smiles. “If you would, please allow me.”

Writer Lady rolls the Big Writing Chair out of the dragon’s path.

Diomedes carefully waves a claw over the icon as he reads the magic. “The spell allows its wielder to view all of the characters being entered into this program. They are to be viewed as you type them.”

“You mean it’s...spyware?” She asks.

“Is that what spyware does?”

“I think so.”

“Yes, it is spyware. This spyware as you call it was generated by a magical being not a human one.”

“Can you see who created the spell?” Writer Lady asks.

“TP. TP has a very specific magical frequency.” Diomedes chuckles. “Although I am surprised the faerie did not make some kind of an effort to try and hide it. Would you like me to trace the signal? Surely you want to know where it’s going?”

“Thank you Diomedes, I’m fairly sure I know exactly where this story is going.”

Writer Lady attempts to continue writing her story as if she is completely unaware of what’s happening. The longer she types the more irritated she becomes. The letters N-a-t-h have been entered when she finds she’s had enough. “Fine.” She mutters. “If he wants to find something, I’m giving him something to find.”

Writer Lady reads what she has written and finds her stopping place. She selects and cuts everything that comes after it. Then types END CHAPTER SIX in bold print.

She opens a new document and begins typing.

Tinkletoes leans forward waiting for that name to appear on the screen. As quickly as N-a-t-h appears on the screen it is removed. The words END CHAPTER SIX appear at the bottom of the page. “What do you know, she’s finally catching on.” Tinkletoes announces. “Good girl.”

Within seconds of the words coming out of the self-proclaimed mercenary’s mouth, a new document emerges.

12/04/2021

Dear Diary

(Sigh) I don’t know how any of this happened. How was I so wrong? Tinkletoes knows more than I have given him credit for in the past. I am regretting that now.

He was so right. The more I work on this story the more Nathan creeps into my mind and my feelings. The more he creeps into my heart. He’s my character so I know everything about him. What he likes, what he doesn’t like, what’s important to him, how he loves. Oh and how he loves.

Note to self: if Carp gets this book accepted by an agent, publish under a pseudonym. No one can ever know it was me who wrote this. If my mother saw this, I would be devastated.

Nathan oh Nathan. The thought of you. I can hear you walking through the halls of my heart. I can see the depths of your soul in my eyes. I can picture the beauty of your smile and wonder what it would be like to feel your lips pressed against mine. To feel…

“Oh my.” Diomedes exclaims over Writer Lady’s shoulder.

Writer Lady can no longer keep her laughter corralled. She laughs as she types.

If you would only be mine dearest one. I would bake you anything you desired, anytime of the day or night. I would bring it to you wherever you are. You could eat it in bed if you like.

Love

Writer Lady

“Did you write those words intentionally?” Diomedes asks.

Writer Lady turns to face the dragon with a look of mirth in her eyes. She nods. “When someone spies they run the risk of seeing things they don’t want to see. Now he’s seen something he really doesn’t want to see. Perhaps it will teach that...man...not to spy.” She responds, raising her brow.

Tinkletoes’ head has become bright red. All of it. By the time the self-proclaimed mercenary appears um...less cartoon angry he has quietly reached under Dobby’s couch and pulled out his back up artillery bag. “How do you control it?” He says looking at TP.

“What?” The faerie asks.

“Go backwards. I want a full name, I want a place, an address.” Tinkletoes opens the bag and pulls out a grenade. “Lover boy will never have my baked goods.”

After two hours of scrolling, reading, re-reading and looking at images of manor houses on cliffs in areas with large amounts of rainfall Tinkletoes is finally convinced that the Nathan of Writer Lady’s story/diary will never be found.

“You do realize what’s going to happen now don’t you?” Tinkletoes says looking at Dobby. “Nathan’s going to see this, come to her...she’s never baking me or anyone else anything ever again. All of the good stuff will go to him.” Tinkletoes looks from Dobby to TP and back again. “No one appreciates a good cupcake like I do.”

Silence hangs in the air creating a darkness Dobby’s room has never seen before.

“Something is happening.” Dobby says.

“What?”

“Look at the screen.”

A post script to the diary entry and Writer Lady’s final word on the subject emerges across the big screen television.

P.S.

GOTCHA

Writer Lady

The Better P.S.

Nathan is just a character. He’s not real.

Get over it you big Dork.

No love here,

House

Faerie Spyware

 

Recognizing the upper hand, Tinkletoes stands up. He exits the living room and crosses the hall way with reignited confidence. The self-proclaimed mercenary knocks on High Command’s door.

“Go Away.”

Knock-knock-knock.

“I know the sound of your knock. Go Away!”

Knock-knock-knock.

Writer Lady has already began talking before she opens the door. “Banned means you can’t come in, if you don’t believe me I will be happy to show you a dictionary.”

“There are no Nathans.” Tinkletoes says. “That is your argument?”

Writer Lady eyes Tinkletoes suspiciously. “Yes.”

“Would you mind stepping into the living room please.”

Writer Lady heads for the living room making it a point of closing the door to High Command behind her, just in case some Halo playing, baked good eating Neanderthal tries to pull a fast one.

“If you would turn your attention to Exhibit A and tell the jury what you see.” Tinkletoes says.

“A full living room, an empty cupcake container...”

“Anything else?” The self-proclaimed mercenary asks trying to hold back a grin.

“A whole lot of shirts and things that say ‘NATHAN’ on them.” Writer Lady responds slowly.

“A room full of NATHANS.” Tinkletoes says. “What have you got to say about that?”

“Three kids, a baby dragon, a full grown dragon, a faerie, a much loved Auntie, a demon, three cats, and an insomniac.” Her mouth begins to turn up in a smile. “If this group is a threat to your masculinity something might be wrong. You might want to get things checked.” Writer Lady looks around the room. “I’ll be in High Command if anyone needs me.” Writer Lady returns to her writing room shutting the door behind her.

Tinkletoes walks over to the empty cupcake container, picking it up, he turns it over hoping to find a few random leftover crumbs. Finding nothing, he sets the container back on the coffee table. The self-proclaimed mercenary sits down and frowns. He releases a long breath and doesn’t say anything, not a word.

Dobby approaches,  the name ‘NATHAN’ in a vibrantly glowing orange covers the ginger tabby’s snow white chest. “You wanna get back to the game?” He asks.

“Nah. I can’t...focus...Halo...while he’s in there.” Tinkletoes says looking in the direction of High Command’s door.

Dobby shakes his head. He reaches out, placing a paw on Tinkletoes’ forearm. “If Mom says she’s only writing a character with that name then she’s only writing a character with that name.”

“If only I could be as sure of that as you are. If only I could see what she was writing...”

Sensing an opportunity for mischief, TP flies over to the pair.

The door to High Command opens and Carp exits. The assassin-in-training enters the living room and approaches Diomedes. The dragon bends down and Carp whispers something in his ear. The dragon says, “Oh my, she is serious.” Diomedes takes his leave and enters High Command.

Carp joins Tinkletoes and the others. “It feels so good to be out of there.” He shakes his head. “She’s usually so calm. Now...it’s such a relief not being the one her discontent is focused on.” Carp looks at Tinkletoes. “You had to keep talking about it didn’t you? Nathan, Nathan, Nathan. You just couldn't shut up."

Tinkletoes looks at High Command’s door. “How does she do it? How can a female have so much anger?”

Carp puts a hand to his face, he lays the opposite arm across his body to cradle the elbow of the raised one. “I don’t know, why would that be...maybe, it’s your fault.” The assassin-in-training looks at the self-proclaimed mercenary pointedly.

“It’s okay. TP fix.” The faerie announces.

Carp begins to walk away.

“You’re leaving?” Dobby asks.

“Yes. I have a headache.” Carp says to TP as he gestures to everyone's ‘NATHAN.' “I’ve seen how you fix things. Not a fan.”

TP blows a raspberry as Carp turns and walks away.

Tinkletoes reaches out to TP. “Never mind him. How do I get in there?”

“You don’t.” TP giggles. “Magic does.” The faerie gestures to Dobby to open the door to High Command a little.

The ginger tabby nods and runs over to the door. Crouching so his nose is level with the bottom of the door he sniffs. The feline scratches lightly. The door has not quite latched all the way as is common in older homes. Dobby raises his head and gently pushes on it. The door opens, just a small crack, not enough to make a sound but enough for...”Ouch.” Dobby cries out as a whisker is removed from the cat’s cheek without warning. The whisker is guided into High Command by a tiny ball of light, it flutters close to the wall lowering itself slowly and comes to rest on the back of Writer Lady’s monitor.

“Dobby kitty is that you?” Writer Lady calls. “Are you hurt?”

“No. I’m fine, my tail got stuck for a minute. I’m okay now.”

Writer Lady looks at the door. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. Be careful sweetie.”

“I will.” Dobby says. He creeps away from the door and returns to the living room. He looks at TP. “That hurt.”

“The magic needs a home to keep it safe.”

“A necessary sacrifice for the good of the mission.” Tinkletoes says. He looks at Dobby. “Thanks man.”

“What did my sacrifice get us?”

“A looksy.” TP responds, looking at Dobby. “Let’s go to your room.”

The threesome enter Dobby’s room. Game controllers are sitting out where they had been left earlier. The large screen television is still on but instead of the game that is usually on pause waiting for them to resume play or reset a simple white page is showing with margins at the top along with various word processing icons. Words are being typed as they enter the room. As the group locates drinks, snacks, and makes themselves comfortable they watch Writer Lady work, in real time.

“We’re spying?” Dobby asks.

“That is the mission.” Tinkletoes says not taking his eyes off the screen.

Dobby crosses the room and tries to unplug the television. The feline can’t, no thumbs. He turns around, wrapping his tail around the cord,Dobby slowly inches the end of the plug from the wall. Satisfied he has protected his mother’s privacy he struts back to the couch only to find Tinkletoes still reading.

“You’re still reading?”

“Yep. The program is magic, magic doesn’t need the assistance of something as inferior as electricity.” Tinkletoes seems fairly relaxed as he reads.

Dobby watches as the letters N-a-t-h begin to appear.

The self-proclaimed mercenary stops chewing, his body begins to tense.

Banned From High Command

 

“Are you attempting to tell me what to do not only in my own home but in High Command, my writing room, my private space?”

“Umm...ye-ah?”

“What makes you think you can do that?” Writer Lady asks.

Tinkletoes shifts his weight and looks at the floor.

“What makes you think you can do that?” She asks more emphatically.

Nothing happens.

She lowers her head to catch his eye. “My eyes are up here.” She says pointing to her face. “What was your logic?”

Tinkletoes makes a face.

“Lo-gic.”

“Umm…”

Carp leans in and whispers to the self-proclaimed mercenary, “What were you thinking when you told her what to do.”

“Being the alpha male within this dwelling it is my prerogative to dictate what is done in said dwelling.”

“Let’s see...you’re not my father, not my husband, and you don’t pay the bills. You don’t even live here. And even if you were one of those things you still would have no say as to how I spend my time.” Writer Lady glares, calling up the ever threatening, stink eye. “I don’t care what kind of a male you think you are you have no influence in this dwelling. Especially in this room. You don’t even live here.”

“You already said that.” Tinkletoes points out.

“Alpha male? What do you think if you stand outside and take a whiz on the siding, the house and all who reside within are yours to command?”

“I’m the biggest guy here.”

“So?”

“It could be a...thing.”

Writer Lady turns her attention to a specialist. “Carp!”

The former romance novelist and assassin-in-training startles momentarily.

“In all of your years of writing, reading, living among romantic stories and studying historic mating rituals have you ever encountered a place or time where men marked their territory by relieving themselves on the outside of a dwelling?”

“I have not.” Carp answers.

“That’s because it isn’t a thing!” Writer Lady announces.

“Does that include third world countries?” Tinkletoes asks.

“It isn’t a thing!”

Tinkletoes looks at Writer Lady, “Could you just stop it, you know with the...writing...Nathan business?”

“There is NO NATHAN!”

Tinkletoes points to the name Nathan on the monitor display and raises an eyebrow.

“There is one. It is a flat one dimensional grouping of letters, it’s not like he’s a living breathing human being or anything.”

“She does have a point.” Carp agrees.

“True but you know what,” House’s voice echoes throughout the room, “there are currently over 300,000 males named Nathan residing within the U.S. alone. Some are actors, several others are athletes.”

“That’s a whole lotta pecs…” Carp says.

“Yes that is.” House agrees.

“Not helping.” Tinkletoes calls out.

Writer Lady sighs releasing some of her frustration. She looks at Tinkletoes. “How long have you known me?”

“A long time.”

“More than five years?” She asks.

“Ten probably.”

“How many Nathans have you seen in this house?”

“None?”

“At the door?”

“None.”

“There are no Nathans here.” Writer Lady says.

Tinkletoes points to the screen.

Writer Lady ignores the gesture.“If you don’t mind I would very much like to get back to my story.” She says gently.

He nods. “I get it. When you’re concentrating on a mission you don’t mess with details like code names. That crap will get you killed. I’m sure you’ll change his name when you get to it. Being a girl and all it takes time for you to see the error of your ways.” Tinkletoes shakes his head. “You are really screwing up this time.”

“That’s it. I’ve had enough of this.” Writer Lady raises her hand and points to the door. “Good-bye.”

“What?”

“From this moment on you have been banned from High Command.”

“I have security clear…”

“Get Out!”

Carp puts a hand to Tinkletoes’ shoulder. “Let’s give her some time to calm down. You know how women are.” As Tinkletoes heads for the door Carp turns to face Writer Lady, he mouths “You tried.”

The pair enter the living room to a group of stunned faces. Some of them sticky ones. No one utters a word for several moments.

“Dude...what was going on in there? The windows were rattling.” Ray asks.

“Writer Lady was writing a story about some guy and I told her she shouldn’t be doing those things, you know, thinking, about guys.”

“Writer Lady is working on a new story and our friend here is feeling a little insecure.” Carp pulls out his expression of reassurance. “It’s all a misunderstanding.”

“There are No Nathans!” Writer Lady’s voice is heard from High Command. “No men coming over, visiting, being nice to me. Nothing has changed!”

“Nathan...rawr even the name is hot.” House says. “Can I call you Nathan, Mur?”

“You can call me anything you want darling as long as I can hold you.” Mural Man responds.

“Any-whoo as soon as some people stop stirring the pot,” Carp explains, “everything will go back to normal. For the time being…”

“For the time being I have been banned from High Command.”

“Damn right you have!”

“Whoa. She sounds mad.” Ray says.

“Yep.” Tinkletoes says looking in the direction of the writing room.

Writer Lady spies him peeking and shuts the door.

The self-proclaimed mercenary lowers his head and closes his eyes for a moment.

“If she says there’s no Nathan there must not be any Nathan.” Ray says.

When Tinkletoes looks up again, the self-proclaimed mercenary sees Ray munching away on one his Creme de Menthe cupcakes. The insomniac/junk food junkie’s favorite surf tee had been replaced by a simple baby blue t-shirt with the word NATHAN printed on it in bold white print.

The self-proclaimed mercenary does a double take. Ray is still sitting on the couch sporting the word Nathan. Tinkletoes looks around the room. Dylan is wearing the same shirt along with Peter and Paige. Every face he sees is wearing some variation of the Nathan t on their bodies. “What the…” Tinkletoes hears a familiar sound and looks in the direction of the hall. TP the faerie is fluttering in the hallway just outside the door to High Command. He hears Writer Lady call out, “He lost his mind. There is no Nathan!”

The closer TP gets,the faerie’s NATHAN t shirt comes into the self-proclaimed mercenary’s sight.

“You too?” He asks shaking his head.

“TP help. Writer Lady says there is no Nathan. Now there are Nathans everywhere.”

Tinkletoes looks around the room again, silently counting Nathans. The self-proclaimed mercenary raises an eyebrow as one corner of his mouth begins to turn up in a smile.

When A Self-Proclaimed Mercenary And A Writer Lady Butt Heads

 

Dylan pokes his head into the room. His older sister Paige’s head, appears just above his. “Ray wants to know if there are cookies.” He says.

Writer Lady situates herself so she can peer around Tinkletoes’ side. “We are out of cookies.”

“Is there anything else to snack on?” The six year old asks. “We’re hungry.”

“We are out of snack crackers, chips, and pretzels.” Writer Lady responds, as she runs through a mental list. “Chocolate and soda too.”

“There’s no food.” Dylan announces. He raises his eyes to his sister. “We’re gonna starve.”

“We’re out of junk food you big baby.” Paige responds to her brother. “There’s plenty of food in the house. Eat an apple.”

Tinkletoes turns to face the children. “Writer Lady is being naughty. Go eat your apples. I’m gonna see to it that she behaves.”

TP pops in, floating in front of Tinkletoes. “Don’t look down. You’re gonna get it now.” The faerie giggles.

Tinkletoes looks down. Writer Lady’s face is red, her eyes have deepened in color to a black shade of blue. Several moments pass and slowly… the redness dissipates and her eyes return to their natural bright cornflower blue. “Don’t be silly TP, I’m a grown woman. I would never resort to violence.” She looks at Tinkletoes then turns her attention to the open doorway, Writer Lady calls, “Dylan, tell Ray there’s a container of Creme De Menthe cupcakes in the refrigerator for everyone to snack on.”

“Those are my cupcakes.”

Writer Lady looks at Tinkletoes. “They were. Now if you’ll excuse me.” She says turning back to the computer.

“No.” Tinkletoes responds.

“No?”

“You’ve already gotten away with taking off on adventures with a pirate and brief dalliances with actor guys.”

“As you know, Pirate and I were saving the world from a full scale invasion of magical beings not to mention protecting my sister. I kissed Monitor Man, one time, Carp told me to.”

“Here you are again, writing yourself into a story so you can play patty cakes with some weirdo named Nathan.”

“Nathan huh?” Carp comments as he enters High command. “A gift from God. Tell me Writer Lady how are his pecs?”

Writer Lady turns to Carp, she points to the screen in front of her, “He’s a character in a story. He wears clothes the whole time. Pecs are not a thing.”

Carp raises an eyebrow. “Pecs are always a thing.” He looks the monitor and begins reading. “Yes. Okay. Yes. Got it.” The assassin-in-training looks at Tinkletoes. “I see where Writer Lady is going with this. The handsome yet strangely private man living in the big house on the cliffs in a place that rains a lot, the ghostly woman in white. It’s your standard Gothic ghost story.”

“No ghostly...?” The self-proclaimed mercenary asks.

Carp grins slightly and his eyes brighten, “Well, it wouldn’t be difficult to spice things up a bit. I know I would have the firelight reveal a silhouette of what is under her thin nightdress. The man of the house would wake to find the mysterious woman in white watching him sleep. He happens to sleep in the buff, of course. There is a strange attraction regardless of the dimensions that separate them...”

The wheel of Writer Lady’s chair meets with Carp’s toe.

“Of course, Writer Lady would never do that.” He says.

“Of course not.” Tinkletoes says. “She knows that would upset me. She’s always a good girl.”

Writer Lady’s back stiffens, her face reddens, she glares at Tinkletoes. “Don’t be too sure of that.” Writer Lady begins typing, furiously.

“You go girl.” House exclaims.

You Don’t Own Me by Lesley Gore echoes around them.

Carp glances at the screen, pales, and changes the subject, “How are your gaming numbers these days? I bet you’re beating Dobby’s pants off, if he wore pants.”

Tinkletoes turns his back to Writer Lady and the computer. “Cats don’t wear pants but if he did they would be mine.”

“That good?”

“Yeah. You should have seen the move I pulled on him just the other day. It was this airborne kick while shooting thing. It’s not in the book. It’s not in any of the books.”

Carp’s eyes wander to the monitor and grow large. He quickly nods and smiles at Tinkletoes. “How did you do it? Make your character do the shooting kicking thing.”

“That’s it, I don’t know. I have been practicing my finger motions for days. I can’t seem to recreate it.”

“Oh girl, that’s my kind of stranger.” House comments.

Writer Lady grins and keeps typing.

Tinkletoes turns around and looks at the monitor. His head tilts up and down, turning in odd directions like the self-proclaimed mercenary can’t quite picture exactly what Writer Lady is describing.

Carp reads it as well, his mouth drops open. “Hmm...I never thought of...interesting.” He leans down and whispers, “I have to get him out of here, keep going, there are some people I’d like to introduce you to when this is finished.”

Writer Lady’s expression does not change, she keeps typing.

Tinkletoes looks at Carp. “What happened? This isn’t right. She can’t do this. Make it stop.”

He leans down and whispers to Writer Lady, “You’ve made your point you can stop now.”

Writer Lady types faster.

“No.” Tinkletoes says, “Don’t...do...that.” He cringes.

“Is someone talking? I’m so busy writing I can’t hear a thing.” She says.

Another sentence appears on the page.

“Wow.”

“Whoa.” Tinkletoes shakes his head. The self-proclaimed mercenary continues shaking his head. “That’s it, I’ve had enough.” He pulls back her chair and places himself between Writer Lady and her keyboard. “No more writing.”

Writer Lady looks at Tinkletoes and says, “Excuse me...” An eyebrow raises.

“No more writing.” He repeats.

Writer Lady stands up, quietly placing a hand to each hip, she looks Tinkletoes in the eyes.

Carp takes several steps back, “Oh no.”

“Here it comes.” TP giggles.