The End is Near

The End is Near 

 By BR Chitwood

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With some shame and omissions, I can honestly say that the mind is a most perplexing combination of stupidity and bright ideas!

“Huh?”

Okay, instead of saying ‘my mind’, I said, ‘the mind’. MY MIND is the perplexing combination of which I write. There are times when I hatch an idea on this laptop and it flows very well for a while until…until the mind is sidetracked with too many different themes coming into play, and they are darn good themes, just mildly disconnected from what I intended for this post.

“So!”

 So, I look back over my over 500 post writings and find posts quite similar to the one I’m writing.

“Disconcerting?”

Indeed, because I want to be ‘fresh with what I write.

So, after reading over my 300 or 400 words, I wipe them off, clean and clear of my other posts…but I pushed the wrong button and ended up not only wiping out the post I was writing but the post in front of the one I was writing… Yes, I know, I used ‘I was writing’ twice in a sentence – a mistake because the ’wipe out’ was from exasperation and I went too far back and wiped out two posts… please don’t ask me why and how I could make such a mistake. Suffice it to write, for an ‘old coot’ like myself, I embarrass myself and my wife who reads all my posts and comments, generally always positively to them like a good wife (and writer, herself) should. When she begins her comments negatively, she acts like she’s embarrassed herself.

It’s enough to take an author to ‘drink’!

So, we doubled up that night – meaning we got half-soused on those two ‘hyped-up’ cocktails.

In this post, I wanted to be honest with my readers and let them know it hurts to make this admission…

So, with this post I apologize to readers of my words and their generally wonderful comments. It appears the ‘Writing Gods’ are reminding me of age factors…don’t get me wrong, I can get around rather handily, and it appears that I’m being reminded by some good and wholesome author friends that I should not cease my writing – you know, ‘good for the mind’, ‘good to be active in what you are good at’, and I know they are being kind and generous…some of them have written great reviews of my books – twenty books, in all! Many of my mysteries are fiction taken from actual crime cases.

Now, it would be nice if the readers of this post will join my writer friends and check out my books on my Word Press web site… https://www.brchitwood.com – Just saying!

Some say I should have been a comedian instead of an author.

Maybe! In the next life!

– BR Chitwood –

August 22, 2022

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(Go to my Word Press web site for all my writing – 20 novels, shore stories, flash fiction, poetry, over 500 blog posts…)

https://www.brchitwood.com)

Who Do You Think You Are?

Who Do You Think You Are?

*

BR Chitwood

*

“Who do you think you are?”

“What? Who is speaking?”

“You are, Weirdo! You’re talking to yourself.”

“Hmm! Strange! That’s never happened before…”

“Sure, it has, almost daily, in fact.”

“Whoa! Who the hell are you…and, where are you?”

“In your brain, Idiot!”

“Which side?”

“Which side? Which side? What a dumb-ass question… your frontal lobe.”

“Oh, My God! I’m going nuts!”

“Going? You been working on this for some time, dip-shit!”

“Hey, keep it clean!”

“You’re doing the talking, dip-shit!”

“So, I’m going crazy! The ‘Frontal Lobe’ of my brain is talking to me…so, you eavesdrop on everything I think or say. Is that your function? There’s a ‘left’ and a ‘right’ lobe, right? So, what’s your job ‘Lobe-Meister’?”

“Why did I get stuck in your brain? You are a dummy…but, okay, I’m a functionary part of your brain: the ‘left side’ of the lobe controls the right commands; the ‘right side’ controls the left… You’ve never done this before! Why, now? This chat business”?

“’Never done this before’? Hey, Lobe-Meister, this is as new for me as it is for you. It’s not like I requested this meeting…”

“Okay, okay, something is up, and I have to check it out. Are you hurting anywhere?”

“There is a light quaking sound… No pain. Otherwise, I’m sitting here thinking I’m crazy!”

“Don’t take that off the table as a possibility, because I’ve never had this happen before… I will do my ‘due diligence’ and get back to you. For now, go to bed and sleep for hours.”

“Before you go, what’s the difference between the ‘mind’ and the ‘brain’?”

“Huge subject, pardner… The mind can influence the brain, have a ‘mental force’ – check out ‘Neuro Plasticity and The Power of Mental Force’.”

“That’s it? You are leaving me with that? One last thing: Am I going to be hearing from you on a frequent timeline? Do I have a ‘say’ in the matter? If not, please, don’t come at me when I’m making love or out on a date…”

“Sorry, I cannot make any promises…maybe your thought processes will be enough! Bye.”

“Meant to tell you this earlier: your voice sounds really prissy-like…does God include you with every birth?”

“No comment! I said, ‘Good-bye’!”

“Hmmm!”

*

BR Chitwood – May 25, 2022

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All 20 of my books with synopses, 500 blog posts, short stories, Flash Fiction, Poetry, and Songs can be found at:

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Author BR Chitwood’s Writing

By BR Chitwood

PLEASE VIEW

  1. You sleep while riding a ‘mare’ or ‘dreaming peacefully’. You awake in a ‘bad mood’, snack on quick and easy ‘coffee and toast’ (too much coffee!), and drive to your job – while your kidneys insist on your quick attention…
  2. You sit at your desk, work menial tasks and have your fanciful day dreams and ‘Romantic Thoughts’…
  3. You think of where you and your soulmate will vacation… perhaps a great resort in Aruba or an Ocean Cruise…
  4. Work ends for the day, and you go for cocktails at your favorite pub with your favorite lady…
  5. At home, feeling guilty, you open your laptop and resume writing the manuscript for your new novel…
  6. You take a break, check your E-Mail. There is your new blog message: “5-Star Reads in most genres – 20 books, some based on true crime, Short Stories, Flash Fiction – some books are related to true criminal events: https://brchitwood.com – Also, Romance and Suspense…”
  7. Ah, c’mon! Take a ‘tour’! There are some great books and writing at this website…
  8. If you are a reader, avid or not, you will enjoy the books’ synopses, blog posts, short stories, flash fiction, poetry.  
  9. ‘Thank you’ from the author – and good reading!

BR Chitwood – February 24, 2022

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Oh, My!

Oh, My

BR Chitwood

*

Oh, My!

A female form floated above the bed

On which my wounded body lay,

Her long lovely hair Splaying slowly,

Her face and form increasing in clarity

And nude voluptuousness on the ceiling.

My eyes locked on the colorful image…

As my surprised eyes roamed the earthy

Transitional moves of the curvy images,

The tongue and lip silent whispers, I

Faintly heard the hospital door opening…

A pretty nurse came to my bed, looked above:

“We’re experimenting with a new ‘Curative

Technique’ for our brave war soldiers:

Would you like to try the ‘CT’ innovation?

Oh, My!

*

BR Chitwood – January 25, 2022

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Murphy – The Baby Sitter

©Murphy – The Baby Sitter

Fiction

By BR Chitwood

“Your first night, Murphy, want a quick ‘Q and A’? asked Brian Headley.”

“Really, Brian, that’s a bit insulting, don’t you think?”

“That was not in my mind when I asked, Murphy. Cheri and I are just making sure we’ve covered all the bases. Don’t get feisty with me.”

“Yeah, Murphy, added Rob Drawly, father of Brittany, same with Piper nd me.”

I am ‘all the bases’, and I’ve covered everything with all of you…several times. Brian, Cheri, and, Rob, you and Piper, go to your yearly weekend ritual in New York. The children will be fine. I know all there is to know about their likes, dislikes, the food they love and hate, their favorite games…and they already love me. I love them, each and every one – Jordon (the kid who would be King), Camille and Bonnie (who will be famous movie stars and dancers). Now, please, get out of here and leave me with my ‘Charges’!” Murphy did not smile but his voice was frisky and playful.

After a few chuckles and raised eyebrows, the parents looked quickly upon their sleeping children and were gone.

***

After some listed duties, Murphy settled in the den next to the children’s bedrooms, turned on the television – near-muted because his ear-pieces had dual listening capabilities: the children could not hear the television speakers but TV volume defaulted with any crying or needs of the children. Murphy was able to hear their gentle in-and-out breathing with the ‘state of the art’ ear devices.

The TV and den light went off at the prescribed setting time, and all was quiet in the 3000 square-foot house. As the den light brought darkness and stillness to the entire house, Murphy went silent as well…his keen hearing still able to pick-up the sounds of the children.

***

At 3:10 AM, Murphy heard a distant sound, like broken glass falling to the hardwood floor in the entry hall. The children were still asleep…only the ears of Murphy could isolate the sounds.

Murphy immediately deployed an unseen varnish-like spray-substance on the entry walls and the hardwood floor a few steps from the front door. He heard the door opening, heard the shuffling of feet for only a few seconds. After some minutes passed, Murphy heard two sets of grumbling voices.

Murphy dialed a pre-set police telephone number, gave them a required validation code for house equipped as was this one for Brian and Cheri Headley…a similar pre-set requirement was also in place for Rob and Piper.

***

Within a flash of some moments, the police arrived at the Headley residence and found two terribly distraught would-be robbers rooted to the hardwood floor…two sets of shoes stuck to and occupied a space…two sets of socks stuck to and occupied another space…and blood was coming from bare feet in another space.

Murphy magically made the sticky liquid disappear from the hardwood floor, restored within seconds its original finish, and miraculously replaced the glass at the entry…

Murphy watched the police take the unlucky robbers away.

At no time before, during, and after this incident did the children awaken.

The police shook their heads and waved at the strange-looking robot called Murphy.

Flash Fiction by: BR Chitwood – 7-27-2020

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‘Sport’ and Cruise – A Visit With Tim

[Image Art by Peter Hansen – Unsplash.com]

‘Sport’ and Cruise!

-A Visit With Tim-

*

          [Doorbell rings]

“C’mon in, Tim! The door’s unlocked!”

                    [Doorbell rings again]

BR pulls the door open…

“Didn’t you hear me? I yelled that the door was unlocked.”

“The door wasn’t unlocked, BR.”

“Tim, I just opened the door to let you in. It was not locked.”

“Then there’s something wrong with your door, BR, because it would not open for me.” He shrugged. “Are we going to stand here and argue about your frigging door? Hell, maybe I didn’t push it hard enough.”

“Okay, let’s try it again, Tim. Go back out, ring the doorbell, and I’ll yell again, and you can push the door a bit harder this time…”

Tim wrinkles his eyes, dips his head, and asks, “Are you having sport with me, BR?”

“Am I ‘having sport with you’? Where the hell did you come up with that? Is that the same as, ‘you kidding me’?”

“Yeah, I’m sure it is. I heard someone use those words on the golf course today, and I liked the fancy way they sounded. Just trying it out on you, BR. It doesn’t hurt to learn new ways of saying things, am I right?”

“Well, I can’t imagine any of our steady friends not laughing their asses off hearing you say, ‘Are you having sport with me’?”

“You’re not laughing your skinny ass off. You are impressed with those words, BR. Admit it.”

“Oh, yeah, Tim, I’m all ‘gaga’ over those words. Let me apologize for my lack of gentility and respect for your newfound knowledge of word usage.”

“Hey, BR, you invited me over to talk about some damned thing and you’re killing me with your insults. What the hell’s going on?”

“Okay, okay, I’m backed into a corner and I don’t quite know what to do about it. Sit and sip your beer while I try to explain my predicament, and, believe it or not, you’ve already helped me a bit…”

“I’ll be thinking of you tonight when I’m up about a dozen times taking whizzes. We had a six-pack each at the golf club. I’ll drink your beer, BR, and I won’t make sport of you again. See, you learn a new word or a  new phrase and use them. They then become part of your ‘lexicon’.” Tim paused for BR’s reaction.

With a big sigh, BR said, “Okay, I’m biting. What means lexicon?”

“Oh, I’m so glad you asked, BR. Lexicon is sort of like your vocabulary, like a dictionary of words you use for your communicating with people.”

“Well, that is a joy to know…and will the cum laude education you’re giving me today ever end? Look, Tim, I’m the guy you’ve known for lots of years, and I can live with the fact that you have better words at your disposal than I, but can we talk about what I asked you over to talk about?”

“Sure, BR Buddy, most of me was just kidding around and showing off… Go ahead and tell me what it is you want to talk about.”

“Okay, Julie won’t be home for another hour or so, but here’s the thing: her birthday is coming up in August, and I’m thinking about what to give her, you know, new dress, a big night out, or, now don’t flip out on me, a 7-day Caribbean Cruise, maybe a 14-day Caribbean Cruise. The idea just came to me, and I thought maybe, just, maybe, you and Annie might want to go along. Now, we have several weeks to book cabins and/or suites. I’ve got all the cost factors down…and, here’s the thing, Tim, I’m not saying here that I’m including your costs with mine. I just thought, being best husband and wife pals for years you might be up for it…”

“Holy Crapola! That’s gotta cost a mint, man. Yeah, I’ve got some fairly healthy savings, but I don’t know if Annie would go for it. Hell, we’re getting older as the time goes by so quickly. We die. The kids get the house and the money. Hell, why don’t we spend the money and let them cash out the house… I like the idea, BR. We’ve never done anything so extravagant before. Maybe it’s time. The ladies didn’t like it too much when we spent the money for the golf club membership, but I have a feeling they just might go for a Caribbean Cruise.”

“Are you as excited as you’re putting on, or, are you having sport with me? The other thing, Tim, the Cruise lines are hurting a bit after the pandemic and costs attached to that. We should be able to get some great ‘Suite Deals’… You want another beer?”

“I’ve got to deposit some used beer soon or bust, so, no, I’ll pass… It’s about time for Julie and Annie to get home. Let’s start working on them, BR.”

Tim left but not without a starboard bow passing shot:

“By the way, good buddy BR, there’s nothing wrong with the lock on your front door, so don’t go messing with it…I was just funning you. Bon Voyage, Pal, let’s get this package put together with the ladies…”

BR Chitwood – June 25, 2020

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Passport Pictures

Passport Pictures

“OMG! That’s, ME? Okay, That’s I?”

“That’s you, sweetheart.”

“Damn, lie to me, woman, don’t let me try to sleep  tonight with that ugly truth in my sub-conscious.”

“You ‘OMGed’ when you saw you new driver’s license some months ago.”

“Yeah, I know, but, at least, the Driver’s License was in vivid color. This passport picture looks more black and white than color – more gray than black… Geez, my eyes look vacant and without any show of life…”

“Come on, honey, you’re becoming obsessed. I never knew your ego to go this far out north of kilter. You know drivers’ licenses and passport pictures are always horrible.”

“Yeah, I know you’re right, but it’s still a shock seeing my face in a depressing morgue’s gray slide-out chamber… By the way, where the hell might we be going? We just got to Phoenix a few weeks ago. That’s a beastly long drive for an internationally successful and wealthy author.”

“Uh, darling, you’re spacing out again…forget who you’re talking to?”

“I believe that should be, ‘…to whom you’re talking?”

“Oh, shut up and eat your oatmeal, grammar-hog.”

“I hate oatmeal! You know, your passport is no image winner, either!”

“Okay, I’m taking your oatmeal away.”

“That was the plan, dear heart.”

“You and your passport make good companions. I’m giving your oatmeal to ‘Lady Gray’.”

“Okay, that ‘draws the line’ so I’m using my ‘Executive Privilege’. You may not torture my beautiful ‘Lady Gray’ by feeding her something that only you like… You and your new passport sleeping in the guest room tonight?”

“No, you are!”

“Ah, you win some and you lose some…um, no kiss, ‘goodnight’…”

BR Chitwood – Feb. 20, 2020

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Too Many Gauges

Too Many Gauges

-A Dialogue, PLUS-

 

JH: “Interesting ‘Title’, Billy Ray. Why  do you use that title?”

 

BRC: “Why ‘not’ that title’, John?”

 

JH: “Well, I don’t really know. Maybe it’s nothing, but ‘gauges’ usually refer to automobiles, furnaces, machinery of some sort. Titles of topics should signify interest before the reading starts, don’t you think?”

 

BRC: “Yes, of course, but why would not someone think just looking at the title that it could be probably interesting?”

 

JH: “I said it was an interesting title. I’m just asking, ‘why’ the title?”

 

BRC: “Sure, but you’ve already shown that the title interested you. So, what you’re really asking me is to tell you the ‘dialogue’ so you don’t have to read it, correct?”

JH: “Geez Whiz, Billy Ray, I just asked, why do you use that title, and you’re acting like I broke a commandment or some sacred oath. I mean, it’s a ‘given’ I’m going to read ‘Too Many Gauges’. I’m just asking, ‘why do you use that title’?”

 

BRC: “Okay, okay. What does the word, gauges, mean to you?”

 

JH: “Gauges measure things, like a car’s gas gauge tells you if you’re about out of gas. A thermometer tells you how high your fever is…”

 

BRC: “Right, and you know I would not write something simple like that, and you want to draw me into a long chat about what ‘gauges’ means in this piece I’ve just written, and, you know my ‘gauges’ will be more of a philosophical bent than simple gas gauges and how sick someone might be. You would likely shift into a ‘funny mode’ and want to know if I would be writing about an anal or oral thermometer. It would turn out that my article would become yours. Then, I would have to hide from you and re-write a whole different article. You’re so easy to see through, John.”

 

JH: “Well, would you?”

 

BRC: “Would I, what?”

 

JH: “Would you be writing about an anal and/or oral thermometer?”

 

BRC: “John, you know I love you, but you’re beyond any possible hope…”

 

JH:“Ah, c’mon, buddy, lighten up. I’m going to read your dialogue thingy. Just give me a fast synopsis of your use of gauges in your article. Just, whet my appetite for more, okay?”

 

BRC: “Okay (sigh), I’m in bed, can’t sleep, a toss and turn night, emptying my bad kidneys every hour, and, okay, feeling sorry for myself, thinking about my life and times…why so much romancing and vagabonding instead of becoming POTUS (Yuck! Does anyone really want that job?), the greatest writer in the world, an ‘Oscar-winning’ actor, and/or, just an ordinary ‘picket fence’ guy with family and love…

 

“Yeah, I even thought about you, also like me, playing the ‘Corp Games’, about all your ’Willet Bourbon Intake’, your checking in and out of the ‘dry-out clinics’, your DUI tickets, the shame you carried after spending that time in the ‘slammer’…yeah, you had a tough go of it, John. My heart bled for you – that is, until you took one of my women, after all the lies you told about me. Funny how you’ve stayed together all these years with one of my favorite ladies and the dogs you stole out of the kennel…that really hurt, John…you knew I wanted my favorite lady and those dogs.

 

“Okay, open the fist, John. You know I’m just roasting you because you are a better writer than I, have a better blog than I, prevaricate so much more convincingly than I can (just, kidding). You, John, are  a standard bearer for all would-be ‘gentle-men’, and I love you, Man.

 

“Those were the gauges misread by me, John, those attributed here in this post, the missed opportunities, the chances at ‘greatness’ that I had and never took advantage of – those are the ‘mis-read’, or, ‘did not read’, gauges.

 

“There is some solace in the recounting. While too busy passing up my many opportunities, my life is complete now, with Julie Anne, Lady Gray, and our wonderful children and grandkids. When all is finally written I’ve had a rather fascinating life…

 

“With years left to come…”

 

JH: “You finished?”

 

BRC: “Yep, all done…”

 

JH: “Good. You will hear from my attorney tomorrow.”

 

BRC: “The gorgeous blonde? Or, the wrinkled-faced Methuselah?”

JH: “You giving odds?”

 

BR Chitwood – Feb. 11, 2020

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One Last Romance – Part Two

One More Romance – Part 2

 (I was forced into writing!)

*

6

One should never have to compromise himself (male, presumption, me!), to be verbally bullied, coerced, cowered, manipulated, threatened, vilified into adding to a story already written, filed, and, presumably, in a secret, private vault.

(One side note: my lovely and most curvaceous writing coach advised me not to hesitate in showing off an extensive use of qualifying words and phrases to show the readers my total command of an excitable vocabulary.)

So, it is with these statements that I begin the second part of “One More Romance.” The person who did all the nasty ‘force-thingies’ in paragraph one of this Part Two will not be mentioned by name, but, will, in some future and unsuspecting moment, be placed in a compromising, utterly embarrassing, and dreadful position of shame…

*

At the last moment, my Debbie was called into work at the Throne Room for a special gathering of some college fraternity dignitaries. She was filled with dismay in missing the dinner at the Arizona Country Club and meeting Doctor Sam and his wife, Char, a cute and endearing shortening of her full first name, Charlotte.

So, good Sam, Char, and I enjoyed best we could dinner without Debbie, and the alcohol gave us uplifting glows. It was determined after dinner that we would go to the Throne Room, meet Debbie, and enjoy the wonderful piano styling of Lady Gwendolyn.

Our Arizona Country Club was having a relatively slow night. Our lone piano player kept playing and singing our old-time memory melodies, and we reminisced and let the glows grow into a miasma of melancholy. We talked about Peggy, about Debbie, how they resembled each other in so many ways.

Sam, Char and I were feeling no pains as before-dinner libations and vintage Cabernet through our gourmet meal did their jobs well. In short, we were not ready to call it a night. We chided ourselves that prospects for morning hangovers were viable possibilities, so with the vestiges of youth mixing well with the drinks, we hauled our asses to the Throne Room in Scottsdale.

On the way we were pulled over by a motorcycle cop, and, for a moment, oh, oh, the rain was coming to fall on our parade. (Side Note: that curvaceous writing coach also explained that it was an occasional coup d’état to use a cliché.)

No driving ticket was issued from the pretty brunette motorcycle cop for a dysfunctional rear light… Yes, it was a female M/C, and the kind lady re-energized particularly me by issuing ‘no ticket’.

We drove onward to the Throne Room.

“I think the lady cop was looking you over beyond the scope of her duties, Chuck. Should we be telling Debbie about this driving incident?”

“Doc Sam, control your wife, please.”

With more time-killing, tantalizing teasing, we soon arrived at the Throne Room.

There was a deepening, dissociative disorientation of sorts as we walked toward the lobby entrance, a rather awkward feeling of unrest, and I was restless and disturbed by the feeling. My guess was that we all have those moments from time to time…as well as the recurring need for alliteration.

The mind can have strange diversions, can bemuse the hell out of me

Ah, but it was all to become clear to me in just moments.

7

Entering the lobby just off the Throne Room the emanating noise level in the lounge had a too loud and raucous element which surprised me, and apparently good Sam and Char who was visiting my drink din for the first time. They looked at me curiously with the raising of their brows.

Besotted folks did not stay long at the Throne Room, and I looked around for Tommy DiGrazio.

Tommy was a big guy who kept order in the Throne Room, usually stationed himself at the entrance to the Lounge, his quick thoughts determining the mind-set of the people entering: were they looking to cause trouble? Had they already had their limits of booze? Were they men ‘feeling their oats’ looking ‘to score’ before the evening ended? (Ah, love the clichés.)

This hotel and this up-scale Throne Room was not the typical pick-up bar. It was a hotel and lounge that catered to the Movers and Shakers of the Corp and Entertainment world, but anyone with a sane and sound-working brain knew that trouble could happen at any time and any place, regardless of its resumé.

So, where was Tommy?

Maybe he was inside the lounge, and there’ an easy way to find out. Go into the lounge, Dummy… I like kicking myself with an occasional verbal jibe.

Tommy was every bit the look of what a person might consider labeling a man true to the Mafioso element, not too keen on smiling, slow moving and a ‘hulk’. He was not a good friend, but we did like each other, and, through the years, except to know and to kibitz, we maintained a buddyship. A new joke was shared here and there, and there was always the feeling on my part that he was looking out for me – in a good way.

Somehow, my senses were suddenly alerted to danger, and I could see the same transformation taking place on Sam’s and Char’s face.

“There’s no piano music, Chuck, just a lot of noise, with some sharp yells. Are we going into the lounge?”

We were standing in the lobby, just outside the lovely statue-entrance to the big Room.

“Why don’t you two relax in one of the love seats while I go in and see what’s going on. I won’t leave you sitting out here too long. It’s more than likely there’s something special going on for the frat people, people just having fun.”

Just as I entered the lounge, I heard loud tinny whistles behind me, voices, screaming, “Police. Out of the way. We’re coming through.”

In a moment of crowded clarity, I saw three things that scared the hell out of me: Tommy was on the lounge floor in front of the Piano Bar, face bloody and gashed, still fighting two stout young men in suits, the police rushing to aid Tommy; Debbie was kneeling on the floor, blood coming from her brow at her hairline with an unmoving Lady Gwendolyn cradled in her arms; one of the bartenders was crawling over the shiny mahogany bar trying to reach and help Tommy.

I rushed to Debbie’s side, knelt, yelled her name and lamely asked: “Are you okay? What happened to Gwen? You have blood on your brow? What just happened here?” My questions rushed from my lips, sounding inane and with pitiful urgency.

Debbie looked up at me and almost in a whisper, said, “Later, Chuck, when we’re alone and you can hear. I’m okay so don’t worry. A piece of glass flew into my hair. I’m okay.”

Medical help soon arrived, and the police returned the lounge to some semblance of order and whispering voices.

I talked briefly with the bar manager, Artie Pierson. He told me the lounge would be closed when the ‘suited bastards who caused all of this are hauled away’.

Artie told me to get Debbie out of there, that she would be reliving Lady Gwendolyn’s attack – One of the young suited apes went wild, threw several cocktail glasses when Gwen screamed in her mike trying to restore order. One cocktail glass knocked her out.

“What caused all of this, Artie?”

“The Frat Apes caused it, flirting with guys’ dates or wives, grabbing their breasts, their behinds… They went crazy for no reason I could tell you. Lady Gwen did plead with them to stop their crazy behavior, and you can see what she got for her efforts.”

“Artie, these guys are too old to be ‘Frats’ in college.”

“Oh, no, these guys are the big shots in their luxurious Corp-Offices. College kids have their own hangouts for booze and girls.”

A doctor was working on Lady Gwen –now stirring – and announced she would be okay.

I lifted Debbie from the lounge floor and gently led her out to the lobby. The police somehow knew that I was not part of the problem.

Doc Sam and Char met Debbie under a full-moon sky, and they liked her.

Debbie and I drove Sam and Char back to the club and their own car.

It was almost 12:30 AM when we were settled enough for bed.

I hated the ugly events at the Throne Lounge, but I loved pampering Debbie all through the night, a strong stamina stud, you might say – OMG, where is all of this coming from?

The next morning, I made breakfast for us – a new cereal so good we had two bowls, each. Debbie and I would never be as close as we were that sun-filled morning.

We had such an emotional yesterday and a hard day’s night, we decided to take a nap in mid-morning. Well, say what you will, but, unaccountably, we were still exhausted after a bologna sandwich and took another nap.

The afternoon nap produced another period of ennui that we found difficult to understand, and, with a left-arm- stretch, I was able to reach the TV remote. It just happened that a Spider-man movie was on, and, with all his ‘webbing-zips’ from one tall building to another, we got tired again.

So, again, we napped!

8

It was Debbie’s final decision to make, and I’m glad she made it.

She was fired from the Throne Lounge.

‘Fired’ is a bit strong. She was  given a choice.

Reason for ‘no job’? She screamed obscenities at the bad International Frat-A-holes during their bad bar behavior, and management felt she exacerbated the situation.

She joined in a Class Action Lawsuit leveled at an International Fraternity Consortium, and, waited – okay, if you insist – and, waited – oh, okay, one more time – and, waited.

Now, the story, weird from the very beginning, got more weird.

That International Fraternity group was in a ‘blind trust’ – that is to say, it was so damned blind that it was not at all visible, to anyone, ever, any time, never.

The few people arrested that night at the Throne Lounge were mysteriously released with large bail sums which was also a thick mist of mystery – just love my alluring alliterations. In college, I was named, wait for it, Always Alliterating Ad Nauseum Nerd. The college officials promised to use only the acronym – AAANN – and award scholarships to any-student interested and smart enough to figure out the words those big Cap-letters represented. Is it just me, my ego? I’m thinking that AAANN sounds rather impressive… Just, Saying.

Enough about me and my, uh many, college honors…

Oh, yes, the Class Action Lawsuit? Or, if you like acronyms, CAL.

There were several unamused lawyers who could not find any associations with the appellation, International Fraternity Whatever, or, for that matter, any of the signatory names used for room reservations, rooms that were stayed in, many that were damaged and/or vandalized, for rooms badly used but for which the hotel was never paid.

It is to this day one of the ‘not talked about’ Arizona anomalies in its long history of jurisprudence. It is likely best not to mention this story’s subject matter if you should be in an attorney’s office, particularly one who spent time trying to find out just who the hell were ‘those people’ of the International Fraternity Whatever and where their offices might be located.

The good news?

Debbie and I are still together, getting old together, making our naps a bit longer and more ‘strenuous’. We are both losing weight, and good old doc Sam tells us to “keep on doing what you’re doing, keep eating whatever you’re eating, keep doing your body exercises every day.”

Well, I can tell you this, good Doc Sam is now legitimately out-driving me every damned drive on every hole, sinking unbelievably long putts, and taking my money like he needs a vacation home in Aruba. And, he’s not being sneaky about it.

So, why am I smiling every day of my life now?

If you have a clue, let me know…

The End

©One Last Romance – Part Two

By Billy Ray Chitwood

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My Aching Back

My Aching Back

“Really? A ‘bitch and moan’ post?”

“Well, yeah, I guess one could call it that.”

“Tell me, Roscoe, do you think your followers really care that you have an ‘aching back’?”

“Are you playing my ‘alter ego’, Sidney?”

“Yeah, I am. Think about it, Roscoe, the few people – maybe – you’ve never met are going to read about a guy crying about his aches and pains. You will put them off, man! People want to read an interesting ‘flash fiction’ piece, short story, something that will be positive and uplifting, not about a hypochondriac who moans and groans about his ailments. People want entertainment, a murder mystery and/or suspenseful romance. Give them what they want, and you build your ’brand’.”

“Well, ‘alter ego’, you’ve given me ‘food for thought’ – don’t you just love ‘clichés’, Sidney?”

“No, I don’t. Clichés are dull and tiresome. At the end of the day, you should avoid them at all costs.”

“You just used a cliché, Roscoe.”

“How do you figure?”

“You said, ‘at all costs’ – that, my friend, is a cliché. In fact, you’ve used other clichés in these few moments we’ve talked. Earlier, you said, ‘moans and groans’. You said, ‘give them what they want’. Those are clichés, buddy-boy. Oh, and, you said, ‘at the end of the day’, another cliché.”

“Yeah, but it’s just the two of us talking here. There’s a difference, ‘buddy-boy’.”

“Did your Mama have any that lived, Sidney?”

“Oh, that’s vicious, and, not too original, Roscoe.”

“You said you were just ‘stopping by for a second’. Really, Sidney, don’t you have other places to go? I would like to finish my post.”

“Are you leaving those clichés in the post, Roscoe?”

“Yep, sure am. Oh, one last cliché, Sidney, ‘don’t let the door hit you in the ass’ on the way out.”

“That’s uncalled for, Roscoe.”

“You asked for it, Sidney.”

“Stay out of the ‘Cliché Pantry’, Roscoe.”

“Leave, Sidney, and take your clichés to the grave.”

“Sticks and stones…”

“Hasta La Vista, Baby.”

“Up yours, Red Raider.”

“Don’t let the door hit you in the ass, Sidney.”

“You already said that.”

“Happy days.” Door closes.

“That settles that.”

Billy Ray Chitwood – August 27, 2019

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