Noir Electra’s dictionary thoughts in a dictionary diary flow

 

West Side Story

       that is what Norma would say of them. She would sit with me and ….calm me ….

I do not know why I was there. There are some dark pages ….and often it happened at night —when I was sleeping. They’d move me. It was confusing. The worst pain I recall that devestated me was ….no, I’m not ready to go there ….

Looking back I understand it

I was to go with him and I didn’t understand why I was being sent away. It was something I’d done. By mistake. What I’d revealed about the time when we went by boat to the restaurant ….i fucked up. It was me. Do you see? I was bad. And then ….in retrospect we do understand the motives; the spy equipment I found…. her husband was leaking secrets about conversations of my biological dad with the home phone number. Phone calls I remember. I remember every Thursday was the day. He’d call me. Then talk to my mother. And all this was connected to timing and details of things that were part of evidence used against him…. 

Those things you remember out of sequence. I’d hide in my mother’s closet—Florida days. She knew I hid there. It was like a room! I’d sit below her dresses by the boxes of beautiful designer shoes. Everything smelled so good in there, even her shoes. I loved to curl up on the floor and go to sleep. It was the one place he’d never find me. The last place he’d look. The one place I could relax and make the stomachs go away. 

It was one of many times she talked to me through the door…. her way of allowing me to be there if I was quiet 

but this was one bad time.it was after a very bad beating I got.they were getting worse and it did feel he meant to kill me but she was drinking ….she didn’t do that. Not in any overt way. But this time —she had a glass of wine and it was in a beautiful glass. She had the bottle too. And she dumped more into the glass….she said to me, “don’t plan on getting a college degree— you can kiss your dreams goodbye—don’t worry, I’ll keep you as my lapdog….” and the said nothing more and emptied her glass in two gulps. 

I never saw her that way ever. That was the only time. But now. Only now. Do I know what she meant. 

I know there is much more through that door I heard. Those are the horrors of my dreams 

Electra’s noir pages/jmchron

earlier in the diary pages of the dictionary :

I realize now that I blocked these memories. You see? Firstly, I was told they never happened; secondly, it was painful of the loss of it and agony to dream of it and know it was —not real?or not meant to be for me ….that family we were to have ….been; the three of us….the sand, the sea, the sea weed, shells on the shore, sea salt air and falling asleep 

the fear that I should have created such an amazing dream of my own …. I did think I was insane then. As a child —I thought it was possible I was mad —so I had to stop thinking ever again about ….him …. the one in that voice read me those brear rabbit stories 

I had to forget. Had to. Or go mad for sure 

She …. would play the Jamaican tin drum music for hours ….when it was just me and her at home 

The secret was real. And it was dangerous. Who I am was dangerous then and could still be so; the secret is real. I heard about when they caught a photo of them together. It was going to be front page. Imagine? Who he was! But he called the editor of the paper and had words. He could do that. He did. Many times my mother almost got caught with him in a photo but he knew all the right people. But there is one detail that I recall which —is too specific to have dreamed myself. It was something he said to me and not just once…. He said, “do you know how amazing your mother is? Do you have any idea how fabulous a woman she is and that I adore more than any other!” And I remember thinking as a child “wow—that other dad doesn’t talk about her that way at all ….” And I suppose it is his fault I’ve always been searching for that ….

I think once I blocked it and it was buried deep things thst later came never added up because I stopped remembering they ever happened 

But now I do the rewind back —there’s a story there 

   a story I forgot —what is it ….is it my story ? my story —my story —that one we cannot tell …..

    She’s standing there….see….waiting still there, little fool, someone hit her in the head with a ball 

There were other signs too but so much happened. So much was going on. And even now …..it is too much to take under the microscope of thought as I feel the mind’s defense start to build its fuzzy walls within my thoughts 

JM Chronicles/Noir thoughts Electra’s dictionary

How little my inner routine changes even with the Swedish headquarters 

I try to paint in the studio Jörn built for me next to the sauna but my mind is so restless.

The news is horrible everywhere and all I want is to bury my head in search for something that makes any sense to me anymore. 

So after an hour holding my paintbrush and staring at nothing, I decide to walk back to the barn house. Jörn and his father have hidden away in Jörn’s office with Zoom meetings and the transferring of power from Josef to Jörn requires hours of them locked away.

Elsa has gone back to the city. She said to see Andreas perform and check in on the Swedish Opera House that is actually located not far from the Metropolitan Museum of Art. A block or so from Gerald’s and not too far from the Plaza hotel. But when I think of present life ….

I don’t fit anywhere that makes any sense

I’m not used to family; to people noticing if I’ve stepped out or returned…. The awareness of that unknown phenomena to me (always watching but never among one; always watching from outside, the outsider; other people with other families from outside their window; like my nose up against the glass: wonder—what is that like?)I felt and noticed of the ‘familia’comfort of Jörn’s family presence. Being around them. At first it was so hard for me ….accepting thoughtful gestures even as I like to give them, accepting it is impossible to me…. I’m not used to it. I find moments when I stop and fall into thought as I try to determine if —I don’t mind if anyone notices —was she hit by a car; fall into a pit; get accosted by someone…. No, I’m not used to that 

And also, I realize something else that seems to bother me…. The real world out there? 

Real? 

I find I have trouble connecting with the electronic world. I don’t notice that people have an authentic heartbeat. 

People, I guess I find, aren’t real in the real world, 

it’s all a persona and though people are talking constantly out there through that electronic screen, no one is saying anything. They are just filling time and deluding themselves that time is endless for them and they just get a set of new hearts when they refresh their game 

and deep in such thoughts, irony! what’s worse it seems I keep hearing Link’s theme playing in my head 

but for me, it is not at all what being alive is—I cannot giggle life off in empty performance and stare at a screen and make pretend as the real game —life— is meant to be engaged in but people don’t do that much so, I find I sit and often brood ….trying to find something constructive to fill the void that’s gone missing out there 

“Duvan,” Josef has taken to calling me by Hanna’s version of her father’s name for me

and when he says it now it gives me such a start as I hadn’t seen him there

I look as he walks over to me,

“you have been angry at me,” he says and looks into my eyes with his deep Nordic blue that sees everything

9 January 2025 the scandi-UN JM Noir Chronicles; Electra’s dictionary

“No he’s not thinking of just his one term—he’s building an empire,”

     Jörn’s voice carries high up to the rafters of the barn house from below 

but I stay back by the railings 

the Swedish ‘UN’ (as I like to call them) are in privy council  

        as the American wife of my Interpol spy chief I can only reflect. And consider …. the chronicles of history and the ancient great minds of philosophers and political thinkers ….the mind reaches mostly in hope for the bestowing of some kind wisdom to be imparted ….chi-scry into the mental waters as I sit up against the corner walls by the hall where the edges meet

to come to the mountains again

now

 seems to call upon some awareness to search a higher consciousness; inches from Montreal I feel the currency from every polar direction

and more…. the moon is reaching its fullness 

the apocalyptic chasm within the human soul 

    is at war with the deception of a make believe world at the cost of everyone’s blood 

Electra’s dictionary—the tape continues

Once more into the deep morass:

I remember Norma from the Jamaica life. She always wore white and it contrasted so well with her skin. I adored her as a child. She did not visit often, always showed up at my mother’s cocktail parties with her tall, lanky blond white husband. He was ….Ethan Rhys Jone’s secret serviceman; the one who hired the big thugs that always shadowed us.

She was ….the one who looked after me when we had the secret meetings with him. I’d go with my mother in the car, we’d drive over the causeway and the smell of the ocean as that view opened up and the wind blowing through the car windows. She loved to speed. Especially on our way there to meet him at his boat 

“You will always be special to him,” Norma said leaning down to hug me when it came time to go. I hated leaving. I always felt safe with him

“Do you know why?” she asked me. Then she said, “because you are the only daughter! You’re his princess!—that makes you special to him, don’t ever forget it! But I’ll tell you a little secret—you are the most like him of all!”

“for me…. all you have to do is write 

      and know whose woman you are.” 

passing the baton to: JM chronicles/film noir

How altered I feel now. And to find myself back at the barn house again; as if nothing ever happened 

I think about the last few weeks as I stare looking across the length of the room to the window that faces the farmhouse.

But I remain where I am. Reluctant to get out of bed. 

The night of the retirement party …. feels like an eternity ago —straight from Latitude and still in my Christmas sweater, he throws me into the Swedish UN in the barn house living room. There’s Elsa dripping diamonds in her gilded gown (alliterations unintended)

well— it was Josef’s ‘retirement’ (but do we really believe he will ever retire?) as much as the passing of the baton ….everyone was there. I recognized Marcus; the director from the time in the Hamptons. Of course the usual suspects; Stina, Smulligan

I did have to work it too because Elsa, once she scared away the catering crew, wrapped an apron around me and joined the guests! It was like being back at Starbucks behind the barista machine with a massive line and my entire staff quit on me. You don’t forget how to juggle but how dare she?

Why don’t I care ….? I feel calm, so relaxed; considered and cared for and whole somehow

Andreas was there but only about ten minutes as he was rushing back to Lincoln Center.

They put a helicopter land behind the house —an interesting new feature Jörn came up with so it’s like a commute to Manhattan and the noise!

I was too busy to enjoy the party and exhausted after. But somehow it is like Jörn’s family has bonded to me now. That shut out feeling isn’t there anymore, I feel included which ….I've never felt or known before 

The last clear day I could get out before the snows hit I was on my way back to the house and my mind was on the smeden…. from the regressive memories …. the barn house from the drive up looks like a Viking longhouse and suddenly I remembered something about —that time

JM muse chron/Electra’s dictionary and film noir “I don’t exist”

“Try to remember the sequence of events….” 

we are ….we are —where? I’ve not been sleeping —there seems to be some kind of ….ominous warning comes lately to me whenever I sleep 

I am half mad lately. Such weird things in the dreams thst I just can’t will myself back into sleep 

“What happened first?” 

Oh….  it is Jörn’s voice.

It is present. I am confused. 

“What?” I say 

“The time with the ….the time you had your first episode as a child,” he says now with a soft and most reluctant sigh

but even thst feels ….

    as if it belongs to some other life …. who was that little girl? where did she go? no, she just disappeared, don’t think about her anymore …. sometimes I know it is wrong. We ought to honor her. But she just couldn’t stay. And was just not tough enough. I guess we don’t like her for that. But we keep the guard anyhow. 

“What time?—oh—the buckle scar?— I was five …. “ unconsciously I put up my hand to where it hit and wonder why it matters to Jörn to ask me this—is it twisted in the codes of the hidden medallion?

Jörn walks back and worth in front of me.

He says,

“Duva ….” and it is his voice 

You see. It catches me off guard. He kneels down to where I am sat watching the black forest night view behind the piano. I watch into the void through thst two story plate glass window. Even as I know what he plays…. as he stops and steps away …. I still see the shadows on the wall of those bats as I hear hear him play those familiar keys 

   it lulls my mind back ….

          there

His voice is up against my ear but I am drowning because I know what he is going to say,

“think….when did he stop coming? Before or after the incident?”

it is like a rush of golden white light.

“After.”

And the clear. The clouds break away.

He says,

“but not right away,”

“No…. no…. It was much later ….it was because of what happened ….”

but I cannot speak. I try. I go cold. 

He says,

“that’s enough for now….” he lifts me and carries me from the floor 

press the button and hesitate

 

….i wasn’t like them…. !   I was nothing like them! I never understood how I landed there. They talked about the most mind numbing things ….

Neimen Marcus ….Macys…. white sales; pot roast recipes, latkas and dry cleaning 

when engrossed in politics I was…. equality…. Philosophy…. spirituality ….they thought I was some kind of freak at home and ….you know, that just …. made no sense in …. the living room after some …person—cousin?—‘s …. bar mitzvah and slouched into the velvet seat of the chair cringing ….dying….aunt ida—someone ….they were speaking alien to me

fish market remarks 

my mind on weird concepts of humanity

where did that even come from ….?

“….DNA memory” 

  [voice in background]Dr Rothschild said

The tumbling emotions crash; (jmmuse)

“There’s always been rumor I exist,” I shrug now after a deep breath. 

Identity?

I get up and walk around the room….strange to be back here again ….back at the barn house in our old bedroom. 

“You get used to hiding ….” I glance up at Jörn sideways to see if he is looking at me and he is 

I turn my back a bit. Take a deep breath ….

“one day —I was a teenager in Holland ….it was this one day in Amsterdam. I stepped away from my family —the Calvestraat…. I got approached by an Italian fashion photographer —well known then, he gave me his card and said they were searching for a new face— he told me he could make me famous—that I had an itgirl face and that I would be the next face of Clinique ….” I laugh now 

shrug

“It is just as well but ….of course it was forbidden!” 

The card shredded up. I could never stand out. It was law. I am nobody. I don’t exist. 

It is hard to always process the road blocks intentionally put in my may to destroy me ….it can make me crazy if I let myself really comprehend the masterminds involved 

You learn to hide ….all the very things I desired were roadblocks against me. I didn’t understand as a young person. I blamed myself. I never knew what it was; why …. it was me; something cursed ….i just didn’t get it until the sessions with Dr. Rothschild ….

“No RADA for me,” I say laughing at myself 

Electra’s dictionary JM muse chronicles; Cover her face

“It was when I came across an old photo of him,” Jörn tells me, “without the mustache as when he was at university ….I got chills….you are the spit of him.”

“So?”

“The signature hair cut,” he says looking at me, “whose idea?”

I smile up at him and shrug,

“so what of it?” 

Because I know what he is saying,

“she used to tweeze my eye brows. Remove the arch….yes….but could you blame her?”

“Identity,” Jörn says like a headmaster reminder for a quiz 

I shut him out. I squeeze my eyes tight. I cover my ears and my eyes….let the weight of my hair tumble forward ….

“I learned how to hide in plain sight….” I say 

But add,

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore. She did what she had to do…. I don’t exist. I don’t matter ….”

The lost tape; Electra’s dictionary, film noir (jmmuse)The newly found Dr. Rothschild Tape

 

‘The ladies on the bus all gossiped. They worked at the homes of the folks where the bus stopped at. The bus stop on the street with the yellow house and the dog that always bit me and chewed up my toys as my ‘father’ said, “good dog!” would stop at the house next door. Anna-Marie lived on the corner, the Poland’s next door; Mimi, Marc and David— and the bus stopped right at the very spot the Poland’s left their trash cans ….one day I kicked a can but didn’t realize till it flew up in the air that —it had remnants of cheap beer….till it emptied upon me….i stank of it after and had to vomit…. men covered in green tattoos always stepped off the bus….one man I saw from mommy’s window every day….a damp cigar hanging always from his loose lips….but this day ….i got on with Annie. I trusted her. She was different from ….Mattie….who said things she thought I was too young to understand, as if I were even deaf….those ladies worked as maids on the blocks by where we lived ….pastel painted Miami homes….i got on the bus with Annie. She took my hand, we took seats behind the driver on the left…. ‘is that the little princess of the cats? She got no place now, pass for white anyhow with that creamy skin….pass for white, but she ain’t nothing but a mulatto and will never belong anywhere—wrong side of the blanket, too bad as that king didn’t do nothing for us folk, we still serving the master and she jus bastard pass for white trash….” 

but what did it mean? 

Why did she hate me? 

How did she know me….know who I was ….when nobody at home ever even saw me ….or knew I was even there ….i was invisible ….after he never ….came to see me again.’

JM chronicles Film noir /Electra’s dictionary:the flood of memories in regressive therapy

Those things that come to you when the mind is like a giant volcano full of mad heat and chaotic chemistry ….i suddenly remembered what it was but not just the insult it was more than that 

Jörn is like a proud giant stallion when he fucks, like a flying Pegasus ninja or dragon, like ….a Viking and it was this sudden image that came to me because it was the thought of the shield 

I saw it from my dream memory as ….it was happening and the sun flashing on the metal made me see —the memory of the medallion….

….you see? It was the motion …. I don’t know why it changed from Jörn to him but —it was the position and the memory of the belt as it hit me as a child —how the buckle hit my spine at the neck ….he said it! And it was about my true father because….He told me he turned him in and what he’d done….

Electra’s dictionary JM chronicles/Back at the Barn;sexual healing

Electra—How is it that I am able to think so much clearer now….i had not expected to feel this; I feel different….much different….I feel alive again ….and the world less terrible somehow….it is not just knowing that I am lusted for and desirable, that is part of it I suppose but no, it is the act itself of getting lost in someone else; their energy…. their heat….their smell, their savage rhythm….all focused on me….but utterly caught up in them ….and so sore now, can hardly walk, three times in one night, I don’t need a work out for sure but perhaps sleep ….

I think this has opened a memory in me….a past life memory but something else —something like I remember now what it was that I have been blocking….it came to me during intercourse as he was trying something different with me I’d not ever done and it was because of the act itself that the memory just came to me

….I know what it is now ….but I must not ever say it aloud —Jörn must never know

I must talk to Gerald, I think 

it is easier to just settle for what is there 

Electra’s dictionary & film noir/Driving back to the Barn House;hosting a fugue of sound and mind

 

….so 

  We were last at Latitude 44 Bistro —weren’t we? Talking to Jörn …. 

well, I don’t know what happened….

    Sometimes …. well, so long ago now …. there was this thing that happened to me 

as a child. It —would ….just suddenly come upon me. It’s shameful. To speak of. Like, it’s crazy. But—as a child I’d fall into a trance. I’d feel it happen. I could not move. I was frozen. I just was ….stunned.

Later when I studied for my psychology degree —I read the label for what they call this but—I’d rather not say. Anyway. It seems to be that the event that first triggered this as a child all surrounded this big secret I grew up living 

but it was the cruelty and violence and actual inflicted harm to me by that psycho dad with his belts. He insulted me too. Called me filthy names. He made me wish I never lived nor ever breathed. He made me want to die. And it was because of something I am still trying to remember ….it was about my real dad.and it seemed to be too terrible for me to believe that I just went blank; like white out; I couldn’t move ….i was literally catatonic. I tried later to snap out of it but it seemed something kept me from talking. And the family freaked out. They didn’t know how to get me back 

I learned to outgrow it. But this was something that later happened over and over. A trance I couldn’t shake. Well….as a scholar I understand how this could happen to a child. Intellectually, I know what was the matter. The umbrella term is “dissociative disorder”

but

  I know why I had to. So their dumb DSMV book isn’t worth the label on me. I needed that to survive. It was not wrong. I found how to escape myself. I found the cell inside. I found the Celf. So it’s just a Darwin thing

But sometimes it still happens inconveniently 

And I must have blanked

 ….and when next I open my eyes it is to the view from within the interior of Jörn’s Volvo as he slows to the entrance to ….the old Barn House 

I sit up fast, bolt upright and rub my eyes behind my glasses as if to rub out a dream ….but now, he is pulling down the drive to the two story barn house with the two story picture window and a glimpse of Jörn’s white Steinway grand piano that I swear I can almost hear 

I turn my head slowly to look at him,

“what the fuck am I doing here?” 

But then as we reach the front of the house, I see Josef! stepping out the front door! and ….Elsa too…. 

I sigh heavily because I sense a plot —and that marriage contract we did actually go through with but….until this moment assumed it was in name only and they all got from me what they wanted ….

“What’s going on?” I keep looking from Josef through the car windows and then back to Jörn’s profile —as he is clenching his jaw 

“Just—don’t get how you get,” he looks at me in that appealing way he usually reserves for lady operatic ‘Mama’ 

“What does that mean?”

And now Josef (have we forgotten that I outed him as the Interpol director?) is reaching to open my door! 

But no, I want an explanation first, not another ambush 

I realize Jörn has not released the lock on the door. 

I realize this is for me. 

So I look at him and wait. 

I raise my eye brows to gently prompt him with forthcoming intel asap 

“Papa is retiring,” Jörn says 

Three words. Succinct. They say more. 

No, his eyes say more 

It’s like slow mo—I start to notice there are quite a lot of cars parked by the house. And also note the strong constitution of Swedes as Elsa stands outside in —an evening gown; aka, a fancy and expensive garment meant for hosting or going to ….

I look at Jörn again from that alarming image 

He says,

“By the way, you passed out—but, it saved time because ….”

“Let me guess, am I going to a party?”

“No duva —you are hosting one.”

Back into the Deep Morass; (jm muse chronicles) Electra’s dictionary film noir/The medallion factor

 

I find myself utterly lost in thought. 

I am sitting there. I even forget ….where. For a moment. And…. well I don’t know if it’s ….the puzzle itself that has my mind going 

     I like puzzles; labyrinths ….knots, I’m like a cat but I’m a fox but I’m like a cat this way —curiosity —you know the saying 

Anyway I convince myself that it’s the need for intellectual connection that I realize I 

    don’t suddenly want to go home 

or do I? it’s confusing 

Haile Selassie….because it sets off the memory button in me —I cannot let him sense the wire he’s tripped. Trigger. 

I melt into the seat. 

Try not to hyperventilate 

He was given a medallion by the Emperor of Ethiopia. So many photos of him wearing it. But then it was stolen. Disappeared

I catch my breath and cover my face because I feel the blood drain from my head. I’m so dizzy. 

If Jörn knows the source of my code methodology ….?

I now look up as he had gone outside to take a call and he walks in from the snow like a Viking. He does not feel cold. He’s Swedish. He brushes off the snow from his open trench coat and glances at me as he re-ties his hair back and sits back down in the seat before me. 

He studies me without saying anything.   

Openly. 

How is it that we can go months without seeing each other but as soon as he’s near me ….i forgive him everything….? no—not this time 

I got caught in the Nordic kryptonite that can be as cold as that sea, so cold, like ice and I do not like to freeze 

“What are you thinking?” he finally says as the waiter places down two coffees 

“I thought we were going,” I say 

“Going?” Jörn asks as the waiter disappears “going where?”

“What has Gerald been saying about my nightmares?” I finally ask

Jörn leans back and stretches his long arms and holds his head from behind as he slumps low in the seat casually looking at me; shrugs; scratches his head; reaches for coffee ….

Says,

“you know Gerald…. he’s all about ‘eternal soul’ and all that ….”

“Well what does he say?”

yes, the nightmares have been horrible lately. Worse than ever

“No—well….” Jörn is openly uncomfortable now. He looks right at me and reaches for my hand, “Duva …. some omen or what do you call it—a vision —he got or concern for your wellbeing and it’s not really my field but he mentioned —he mentioned Retnuh Nivek and —his timing to tell me coincided with his reappearance on our radar so…. it caught my attention, let’s say, he’s been helpful on some of my other cases, by the way….”

But I hardly hear that last part….

Still lurking out there. Free as a bird 

I shudder. Slide my arms inside my coat that I’d shrugged out of in my seat after the first shot warmed me up now over an hour ago ….it feels I’ve hiked a mountain and think 

We never get closure in life. 

And ….that is what this is about ….what’s been haunting me all my life and …. I realize ….that is what is on the tape —my session with Dr Rothschild. I remember parts of her regressing me ….because the memories flooded later —past —and— present lives. Sometimes as if mixed as one but about memories of my father —my real father ….memories I was told never happened 

That is what has been haunting me. Because we talked about becoming a family, out there on the beach …. so many times…. it was the three of us ….the restaurant on the water where I fell asleep that time too. On the seat. The window overlooked the bay where his boat was parked; memories I could not have invented and within the snug interiors of his boat which I always fell asleep on….we planned memories together, the three of us, he carried me on his shoulders—no one else ever did that; I didn’t imagine those days which were later full scale denied; torn up in a diary like tiny snow flakes falling …. a hope lost and replaced by an unexplained emptiness where once was the escape from that horrible life in the yellow house ….with the man with the set of Baly leather belts ….but in the eggshell mind she once was, it was always going to happen and she never stopped waiting….but then it ….never did….ever happen so I think that chip got stuck in my brain; in my mind there is a part of me, still there….like actually still waiting for him to come like he’d promised and 

If this is a key

to that part of mycelf —my key

it must be valuable for someone like one of Jörn’s terrorists. And as none of it was solved really, so much covered up—why do I think the lost medallion Halle Selassie gave him is somehow ….

I’m staring into my coffee cup as if it were tea leaves

“He wants you to wear this Buddhist medallion—“he holds up a chain with a pendant that dangles 

“What?” I look up when I hear medallion as he says this at the very moment I think of the missing one

But if this is a key to the breadcrumb trail back I may have to go into the deep morass 

JM muse chronicles/Electra’s dictionary and film noir;cracking the dawn

 

“Do you know who Haile Selassie was?” 

“Of course.”

“‘Of course?’— no, not many know whom he was,” Jörn says 

And do we find ourselves at the usual impasse 

The Mexican standoff as gramps used to say 

There is one part of me that wishes to get up, run and not look back. 

I hate emotions 

“So, I know whom he was….?” and I know this is some kind of hitch to cause me to suddenly blab but I’m bored. I’m bored with his game. It’s not hostility. Just bored. Instead I want to throw rocks so I say, “what has this really got to do with terrorism? Just tell me, Jörn I’m really so not in the mood for a quiz, ok? I mean…. that was Jamaica and Rasta mostly or ….”

“Ethiopia,” he says simply 

“No, I know that. I know he was considered the messiah to his Christian followers,” and outwardly …. I shrug. Outwardly I pretend it means nothing. 

Only inwardly do I analyze 

We are still at the bistro 

“How is this to do with terrorism?” I ask again 

He gives me an exaggerated indulgent sigh,

“try,” he says 

I think. Ethiopian messiah. And ….my biological father…. I want to be bored of this game

I give him my pat answer,

“If I were a terrorist I don’t think that’s the figure I’d pick.”

“But that’s the code.”

I look at his eyes now. He looks right through me 

Shit.

Jörn. 

You have cracked me.

    after all…. 

 …..one part of me finds this is strangely a turn-on

I didn’t think even he was that clever

…..to be continued 

JM muse Chronicles & film noir more code/ & the dancing bin men

 

“For the longest time I felt I could not be myself…. And it feels like I wandered away from who I am—or was ….but can I go back to the me I was before? I….wish I could. I want to. But —I can’t find her….” I look at him now to see if my words have any impact 

I cannot tell

I say,

“do you know how strange it is to forget what are the things you do between sleep and awake? Not hounded every second, censured thoughts ….. and end up like you feel like you have becomea zombie …. a stranger to ….myself ….you don’t know what I mean; I can see that by how you are looking at me —it’s like, even the books I once loved feel …. I’ve lost all connection ….i cannot find my safety inside.it feels —I am empty inside, a shell shock soldier and…. I’m trying so hard to …. find my —or any footing …. that feels real or solid or safe. What is safety to me? When everyone, people I think I can trust all ….turn out to be frauds and ….it all is so ….terrifyingly random and I am tired of dodging bullets.”

“Come home,” he says 

Those two words are incongruent 

…. you know, I mean in particular to whom who says this to me

How dare he?

“And where is that exactly?” I ask with some leap of an invitation he might be privy to information I’ve not myself come across

Home?

“Last I checked….” I open my purse and take out my driver’s license, “look, says here I’ve got one of those —so …. thanks!”

“You know what I mean….” he says and —when I look at him sat hunched over a cup of hot coffee I notice how small his tallness makes everything around him seem as his large fingered hand cups the little mug

then, I notice that furtive glance around he does 

“Is this really home, duva?” and looks around again 

“It’s honest. No strings attached. No overhead manipulations or euphemism expressions that demand acts —like empty trades for shelter—I’ve been trapped by enough of you predators ….” but I say this much more quietly and stare out the window, “really, what the fuck do you want?”

“You,” he says, “and your conversation—I miss your thoughts …. you thought I wasn’t listening but I was —and ….”

but I know better.

“Than why not say? Why not let me know? What purpose is it to listen only and not be willing to be as part in the experience of knowing the whole of all I am? I cannot believe anymore and that is —too bad. But it is not possible to will a feeling you don’t have and it is not possible to put faith into something that is a fraud.”

just using all  the lines, I was not born yesterday. Tell me, what does it all mean? I’ve lost the will to believe 

“Wasn’t there a code you mentioned?” I shake my head, “you are so full of shit. My conversation?” but I use the distraction of my phone to escape his conversation and happen upon a funny thing on YouTube 

Jörn pulls away my phone in annoyance and forces me to look at him, holding my face by the jaw,

“yes— you are witty and clever and a brilliant artist and some men —one I mean— who really are worth your time can see that,” but I avoid looking up into the bolts of kryptonite

I agreed to meet at somewhere public. There is a nice cuisine down the road from me called Latitude 44 Bistro so ….I agree to meet 

the drape from the window …..winter in the mountains; it is a horizon of cartoon Frozen and polar and fleeing geese which harkens its limp Charlie Brown appeal; the swell in my heart expands. As…. I nearly choke with its joy.

But it’s me. Like consider it is only just a mood, like how I worry for the world but by now I see, it’s not really needing that; it is a habit I must break. it is not my war. and allow what has thrown a dark cloud upon me to will it to go away. I must stop caring so much. Stop feeling. Stop searching for things that are simply not there and never were

“I do recognize and value there is so much more to you than —oh, I don’t know, some kind of a —sexbot,” he says this and drops his head down and says, “unlike—who is that guy you know —why do you?—you should know he is screwing his married coworker!” he tells me

I feel smarted as if by some blow

but I am confused 

“What are you talking about?” I suddenly feel that vertigo and cover my face and from inside my hands I say,

“Jörn, what …. Are you insinuating you are monitoring my calls?”

Spies

they dig up and throw in your face. I shake my head and look at him. Did he really come all this way just to …. to ….hurt me? in this state of frenzy I reach for reasons for such a motive—what reason ?

“No—but why are you here? You do realize the Barn house and old farm house are about twenty minutes from here?” Jörn now tells me 

Is it? 

well, maybe by car 

He hired a car to bring me to Latitude 44 Bistro

I feel like I want to go home 

     and once again I feel that chill because I don’t know what Home is. What or where. Bereft of whatever props that requires 

“Another?” the waiter stops by to ask as he takes my empty glass 

Home?

After the waiter evaporates I say,

“you know, I should have known you’d reappear—pop right back into my life when I saw that article about a Swedish airplane hybrid being tested at my local airport here—it’s like—you had to be behind it! Some excuse to disrupt my life again!”

Jörn looks over his shoulder. A habit. Because the restaurant is empty behind him. 

But then he says,

“yes, because I know the nightmares have returned for you —and—yes, there’s a code only you can crack because ….” and here he seems almost in physical anguish before he says, “there’s a taped session of you that just surfaced….its from one of the sessions you did with Dr. Risa Rothschild which only they seem to have possession of and —this code was created as use for what we consider terrorist purposes.”

But I laugh. Only not at first. I keep replaying what he said. About the fifth time I laugh. 

But stop. Because I replay part of what he said again.

“How do you know about the nightmares?”

I notice the snow has started again. 

Slowly, I raise my eyes to him. 

I get a chill. Like I know before he says it.

“Because Gerald has been in touch with me. He’s worried.”

Worried?

Now I say,

“can you Venmo me money to Uber home now?”

“No—wait….I should tell you ….I was sent part of the tape so—I know what it is about.”

That sick taste. It rises up. And I feel sick. 

I look at him and search his face and wait but —I feel as if I already know 



Side street mystery; Post haste

It is at the post office where Pierre Reaux bumps into Faun

He looks almost comically awkward when all his papers go flying, so, taking pity, Faun runs to help him and when she gathers his papers he begrudgingly smiles. He wears a black hat. Somewhat fedora you might say, but on him it becomes another article entirely. 

Awkwardly he says,

“we might ‘ave got off to a bad start, Mam—mad—rrr—Mizzz—“

“Just Faun is fine,” she coolly asserts the papers under his coat covered armpit like a friendly jab, “there you are, all sorted.”

She starts to step away but he follows her,

“excuse me—Mzz—Faun, madamme— I just wondered if I may talk to you for just one moment of your time?”

Faun pauses just a step to look at him but then continues to the yellow Volvo anyway, 

“Is there something you want, Monsieur Reaux?”

“Well….as you know my jurisdiction is only as far as the Canadian border—“

“Yet we find you here so frequently,” Faun stopped to smile now 

“Yes well…. You ‘ave the Sam’s Club and the Walmart….” he scratches his jaw thoughtfully as he tries to seem casual 

“You come here to shop at Walmart?” she looks at how he is dressed. Three piece suit and that trench coat was far from Columbo 

He is inspecting his nails as he smiles looking back up at her,

“not me, Mz Faun—but most of ze characters I must investigate do tend to frequent such places.”

He says all this with his heavy French Canadian accent whilst twisting his mustache absently 

“So how can I help you today?” she asks now 

“You are still running ze bookshop for ze Bishops?”

She waits a moment to reply. She looks at his expression to read him. 

“I am. The chief of police over there could have told you whatever you’d like to know,” she watches his face.

“Have you remained in contact wiz Monsieur Grant?”

Faun had sensed this must be about him somehow 

“Why do you ask?”

“Because it seems he may need your help.”

 

in bed with a wolf

It was somewhere after passing out and waking to get up in search of the toilet to vomit in and feeling miserable after when she noted the unfamiliar surroundings. Then remembered ….Greg….what was he said about the morning ….? 

But her head was just pounding too hard to contemplate anything in any great depth and it’s funny how the mind goes to familiar things when in a moment of abject misery ….Imogene always kept sodium bicarbonate in the bathroom medicine cabinet next to a handy glass. 

“Aha!” Diandra found it 

Then it was ….two —what do they call them here? In the drawer next to the first aid kit.

After that she got into the shower and sat on the floor of it and let the water beat down on her until the danger red finally went away. 

It must have been after that when she dropped back onto the bed Greg had hours before dumped her in, her hair spilled out in twisted, mad, wet, ringlets and her skin scrubbed to a flush, she fell naked back asleep. 

But as the sunlight later came spilling in with the morning when she opened her eyes 

….there was Greg at the foot of the bed 

who do you want next to you when your world falls apart

across the tracks again

It was long past, shoved within a tight carriage of the train, it happened 

  it was like the first time, now so very long ago when she looked up from placing her gloves inside her pockets 

as the other train was going the other way 

he looked up at that very moment from within his train’s carriage and—like before they saw each other 

it was a breath away and then gone 

without a trace —just the heat of breath evaporating on the window 

“I won’t come out, you must come in to see me”*

*the lords and the new creatures; jdmorrison 

side street baskerville a party for tea

 

But by the end of the day, Faun did not want to reflect upon the meeting with the two authorities which, mostly was tedious and all about the fact that Monsieur Pierre Reaux was not kept abreast of the ongoing details of the case. It was a wasted hour of listening to and watching him exclaim and strut over the documents and the paper trail of how Sullivan and she and third party had left him in the dust. 

It just buried Faun under more stupid nonsense. 

Sheila did not see Faun again until after closing time when she handed Faun the cash till,

“What did Inspector Clouseau have to say?—sheeze —you look like you’ve not see daylight in a year! Did you even eat anything all day?”

Faun took the till and quietly started counting the drawer down 

Sheila cleared her throat,

“hello?”

Faun looked up in mid count,

“thirty-seven….” her eyes focused on Sheila and for a second or two it seemed she seemed to go blank. Then she said, “I’m sorry …. yeah—Clouseau needs a clue—I don’t want to get into it, he’s an idiot —but, it’s just more stuff they need—paperwork—total waste of my time….sorry…. I can’t believe it’s so late—I never even saw the sun today….sorry I left you out there on the floor all day.”

“It was your day off, and I wasn’t alone, the girls took a shift today —so, the change might be off—“

Faun dropped the pennies back in the coin slot and looked at Sheila—six foot two black trans beauty wearing one of her usual imaginative ensembles, this one involving a red tartan kilt with a matching hat 

“Oh…. I didn’t realize ….” Faun again looked blank 

“Ill do the till— sweetie, why don’t you go home?”

After about a minute of considering and nervously rearranging the objects of the desk in front of her Faun sighed in defeat,

“yeah….” and stood up and reached without looking for her hand bag and coat but paused by the office door. She looked into the office and back at Sheila, “King Leopold?”

“Oh! We have him—I meant to tell you, can we drop him off tomorrow? Gary and he seemed to have hit it off—“

“So, who dropped him off? Who was the guy?”

“Guy,” Sheila said, “his name —that’s his name—“

“But—“ and yet as Faun wished to press for more info on this little mystery her phone alerted with the dismal tone of Pierre Reaux —asking her to fetch yet one more piece of paperwork —this one from Arthur’s office.

It was awhile before Faun finally arrived back at her place in the freezing cold, fumbling for her key hardly noticing any of her surroundings except for the cold and all the snow and so it was with a start that she looked up from removing her boots inside the entrance via her kitchen, by the door that she noticed ….Grant standing there looking at her —still inside the partition between her place and the other side that lead out to ….the other kitchen and —to salmon sofas

“What….” the words seemed not to come to Faun as she stared up at him 

He looked ….terrible ….it was clear he had been traveling but it was not just a look of travel weary, it was something deeper. 

He stared at her. His dark hair and face were groomed as usual but something was obviously wrong; he appeared slightly crumpled in his woolen pullover and gray trousers 

“Something’s —wrong….” Faun said it looking at him as she carefully approached him in her stocking feet 

Slowly his eyes met hers; red veined and tired but it made the green of one of them almost brilliant 

“Don’t ask me,” he said and just stared at her. His eyes took a deadly serious look. “Don’t ask,” he said again 

Faun took a step back and started to turn away,

“all ri—“ but he reached for her as she started to move away. Faun stumbled and let him steady her as she looked again up at him. She stared into his eyes and said again, “all right ….” as she took a deep breath, “would you like tea?”

a royal Reaux side street mystery

Faun arrived on foot before the sun and found her way to the cash office without having to flip any lights. She focused on the neat list in her head of all the tasks of the day…. but what about King Leopold? 

It had not crossed Faun’s mind once to believe the king could be anywhere but with Grant 

and since Grant was nowhere to be found, it seemed a moot topic until she found Sheila’s handwritten yellow post-it note laying stuck to—right on top of the shop’s electric bill: “almost forgot to tell you—Guy called saying he is dropping off King Leopold”

which threw a wrench in her plot to stay focused on her to-do list and not get distracted 

Nevermind the donation boxes of books cluttering up the path to the public bathrooms that needed to be inventoried and shelved or tossed, not a safety hazard but —by early mid- morning even this was to be evaded by a surprise policeman visit 

Sullivan and Pierre Reaux both arriving through the shop’s front doors and one glaring her down as Faun dealt with a line of people whose only literary interest was reading the price out of their expected lattes

Out of nowhere, Sheila arrived too, appearing from the stacks and saying,

“I’ll take care of the line, why don’t you take Mr and Mrs Smith over there?”

“You have great timing,” Faun looked up and without argument stepped away from the counter and headed out to the floor over to the ‘Smiths’

“Can I help you with something?” Faun glanced first at officer Sullivan and then at the French Canadian 

“Perhapz ve can ‘av a word in a more private eh—rroom, nes pas?”

Faun glanced at Sheila who waved with a wink and then looked over at Sullivan whose eyes looked serious 

“Great,” Faun said

An alley way called Dawn off the side street

She felt differently she realized, staring out over the street in front of her, watching the coats of snow melt under the pummel of the constant rain which replaced the days of snow storms 

She had felt differently for awhile.

The tone of life had cast a new altered scheme of shades ….and it was so gradual, this change …. it was not possible to pin point any exact moment of the shift 

but there was a shift …. 

Faun looked down at her chapped hands— now softened ….but they still slightly stung, if she noticed ….

why had she come here….? and why had Grant been able to distract her from ….distract her from what is reality. But the change began when it was still present 

   and the events —a few shocking deaths between other

events …. smeared what remained of the dreams 

What world did those dreams belong in?

Sheila had no other message from Grant— so, it seems ….he forgot her, and now having shut up this part of the house Faun turned away from the window. She kept her eyes away from the salmon colored couches and focused on the door through which would close out these recent memories ….

and once through that door….Shut….with a click….she leaned against it and stared ahead at the interior of her little kitchen ….her bald reality glared back as she wondered how it was possible that he had achieved this ability to distract her from reality —that reality ….

And now with everything back in order at the shop and the bills sorted out and replied to whatever it was that Pierre Reaux needed (copies of the mud print photos) now done 

Faun faced the empty place ignoring the mockery of cheap fixes that existed for dates and fake friends —how did he distract her from that? she slid down the door and sat on the floor ….not a flashy red carpet promise, it was just—the ease that existed when he was around; a calm in which to think and breathe— was it illusion ….?something she had conjured up and blindly had believed in—her fault—so….it should be easy to conjure again, right? for herself ….

Faun reminded herself that he would have to contact her eventually about the book shop 

wouldn’t he? 

It suddenly occurred to her why Grant was able to distract her from the brutalities of life 

how walls talk

but we are different now

Tango for ‘tea’ down the wrong side a side street

In the end, Faun did wind up in Grant’s….

 it’s best not to get ahead of things, certainly, but, with the amount of chaos two teenaged girls can create and having to unknot the damage —an overcharge that was fixed with a refund for six thousand dollars; a complaint from someone in Berlin Germany for a phone call about a book they didn’t order that woke them in the middle of the night (Jennifer was still not getting the dialing sequence must be cleared by hanging up the receiver, not by pushing the red light) —and a few confusing issues they seemed to be having with ….money—as in the physical kind. So, their total disregard for safe keeping the cash went right over their heads. Several times Faun had found the cash register drawer left open so….

By the time the mothers —Paula and Pamela of Jessica and Jennifer (respectively) came to collect the girls (Jessica at 6:03, Jennifer at 6:07) 

when Grant found Faun in the cash office counting down the drawer—and having problems making it balance with the estimated cash deposite ….

he found her looking disheveled with the frustration of the task in front of her; her glasses askew on her face and her hair standing up in places where it looked like she had pulled at it in a kind of frustrated fit, juxtaposing the teal colored tweed skirt and matching suit jacket otherwise smart ensemble, contrasted by a cream colored satin blouse that had a long ribboned tie and pearl buttons. 

Her little ballet pumps with the big buttons, he noticed, were kicked off by feet, outlined in opaque black tights 

“You look like you could use a drink,” Grant said as he, after the fact, tapped lightly in the door as if meant as a knock 

Faun looked up,

“Oh do you have one?” as she looked hopefully for this possibility 

Grant laughed,

“I know where Arthur hid his sherry but I was thinking more along the lines of going somewhere—would you eat fish? There’s a place I read about….”

Faun stared at him for a moment. She was still adding and subtracting in her mind. 

And wasn’t there something she was supposed to …. make him suffer for …. a little longer?

“Ummm—but—oh! My wall!” as it hit her just then what it was she had meant to be asking about 

Grant went over to the desk where she was, took all the cash and put it in an envelope—

“No wait—that’s not the deposit—that has the base fund; I can’t make it balance—“ she was saying as he was still removing the cash from her fingers

“You need to get out of here, I think,” he said this as he placed the cash and the till into the antique safe and quickly shut it.

He turned and looked for her coat, recognizing the dark green adirondak coat,

“Let’s go,” he said slipping a hand under each of her arm pits, and while holding her coat, pulled her up from the chair, “the deposit can wait—I’ll clear it with the boss, so, don’t worry.”

The sea food place Grant had read about seemed to be very good; it had a waiting cue. But Grant insisted they wait and order drinks. Faun would be willing to swear it was a margarita. At least the first one was. And she would be willing to swear the seafood was probably amazing.

What were they talking about?

The Bishops….the shop….his childhood, where he grew up….he made her laugh at things he talked about….

It was just a bit hazy. Except for his eyes—as she could not look at anything else as they sat at the table….and what he said….everything he said….and for the first time in forever, she forgot to be self conscious and relaxed next to him

There was that moment after the paying of the check when Grant was helping her on with her coat

“Oh no….” Grant suddenly had said as they headed out towards the door to go and now —watching how often Faun paused to study the textures of the wallpaper 

“Hmmm….?” she was, at that point running her fingers over the velvety texture as she walked and humming to herself 

“You can’t drive,” he said 

His meaning wasn’t clear until they were outside.

“It’s so hazy out,” but she was squinting and then dropped the car keys in the little snow drift by the car door. “Shit.” And fell down on top of the drift. 

It was when she decided she felt comfortable there that when Grant leaned over her and said,

“give me the keys,” the other thing he said finally made sense 

After that 

It was awhile in the car. How long was she staring at the glove compartment? And still in the restaurant’s parking lot.

Finally she thought to look at Grant. He seemed to be having a personal conversation with himself. The tequila was making it harder for her to grasp most of it—or was it the translation? 

“Key…”he said under his breath and looked from the key to the areas of the antiquated steering wheel and dashboard. He tapped the spot when he located it with the key—but was not in a hurry to insert it. He let out a breath. “Right side….” he said aloud. Then looked at the key again. Another deep breath. “Two lanes —yellow lines….how do you turn right?”

“It’s two left turns,” Faun suddenly said

“Sorry?”

“Going back,” she clarified, “I mean from here.”

“Oh….that’s even better….”

But Faun did not remember the journey back.   

There was a moment she heard that terrifying sound of car horns being blown as they drove by some cars and someone yelled something that sounded like,

“pick a fucking lane—your other left asshole!!”

but it made sense with her dream somehow—so,

 it wasn’t until she was dumped actually into his bed       —quite similar as she had been the last time, as a matter of fact 

Side street bookshop girls first day scene cont

Sheila reappeared, emerging from the the stacks from her favorite genre,

“Well you told him,” she said watching Faun's face

“Huh?—who?” Faun asked her

Sheila rolled her eyes,

“mister artful dodger, isn’t he the nephew?”

Faun felt her face burn and stared mutely back at her

Finally Sheila said,

“Oh, don’t play dumb—I’ve been watching you guys for weeks but, don’t let me interrupt your orientation with our new employees—this should be interesting. Well, if you need me, you know where to find me.”

Deciding not to give much pause over that, Faun marched in the direction of the cafe 

~a bit later on~

Seeing as they had conquered the espresso machine, Faun decided after a store tour— that it was the right time for a few basics.

She waved Jessica and Jennifer to follow her behind the cash register area

“So,” Faun looked at both of them, “pop quiz—can either of you tell me what this is?”

The two girls, dressed similarly to each other wearing the latest trend in jeans with retro 90’s band name sweatshirts 

“Uhhh….” Jennifer stared 

Faun was pointing to the store phone 

“Oh! I know—my grandmother has one of those! It’s an adding machine—right?—no wait—I mean a calculator! See these are the numbers you press….” Jessica stopped  herself now wondering why there was no screen

“Actually, that is the store’s phone which you will be answering and so let me demonstrate,” Faun took her mobile phone out from where she had placed it in the cash area desk drawer, “I’ll call the store and one of you answer— ok?”

The two girls looked at each other as though they were terrified 

“What do you press?” Jennifer asked as it started to ring 

and it was about then when Faun realized that it would be awhile before they got to books.

Especially when, soon after this part of the training session someone came in with a donation of a complete set of the encyclopedia Britannia; copyright 1928 in mint condition

Jessica said,

“I’ve seen these before at the library—they’re like a Wikipedia but it’s on paper.”

So for a moment Jennifer just stared at the volumes where they had been placed neatly on the counter where the donator had dropped them off

“But—how does it update?” Jennifer finally asked 

This was about when Grant reappeared looking that way he looked when he woke up with that sleepy face. A much needed interruption from the time warp generation gap. The way he looked now made her remember their night together and caused her body to react from the memory 

“how are things going?”

“Well….” she shrugged “well….”

“So—was that a yes before about sharing my bed?” he asked, leaning to say this into her ear, “to be neighborly and all —I promise, like before—a perfect gentleman,” he said 

But it was because the shop’s phone rang, and with a look from Faun to the girls, it was Jennifer who picked up the receiver,

“Uhhh…hello….?”

Faun cleared her thrust, glanced up at Grant,

“I’ll get back to you—excuse me,” as she reached for the phone receiver from Jennifer’s hand, and said into the mouthpiece, “Side Street Book Shop.”

if walls could talk or text down a Side street

 

Faun didn’t have the chance to properly reply to Grant because Jessica and Jennifer arrived, bursting through the bookshop’s glass-windowed doors with excited enthusiasm. 

“Uhh….”was all Faun could say, glancing up at Grant and ….it was at that moment that froze for awhile between them then ….when ….he noticed that glimmer of helpless terror fleetingly cross her face—what was that? he wondered….because it was quickly gone with a quick, perhaps —forced— laugh as she said under her breath, instead to Grant, as if to make light of the moment, “remind me not to give them sugar and maybe we should skip the coffee today!”

“Too late,” Grant then said as he nodded towards where they made for, like a bee-line as—already they had the espresso machine going 

“Shit!” she whispered and without another pause ran over, “wait! let me teach you first how it works!” 

But clearly, they had watched her plenty of times by now that —Faun noticed they knew what to do so, then just shrugged and let them. 

“Quick studies,” Grant said as he had by now caught up with her and placed one hand on her arm, “well, I’ll let you get to it, then—I’ve got work in Arthur’s office—I’ll meet you after….”he started to turn as if to go just then but paused, “I’d meant to call but—it was rude of me not to, I’m sorry and there’s no excuse except that between the building renovation to repair your wall —and the funerals and the law….”

“Wait, did you say—repair my wall?” Faun asked, even as she slowly rewound his other words and weighed it in her mind whether or not to forgive him so easily or make him suffer but—the Bishops’ faces loomed in her mind, guilting her thoughts 

“Oh—yeah—right—you don’t know ….”he winced just then and scratched his sable-brown, bearded chin thoughtfully and looked around to see who was nearby. 

There were a few shoppers in the next section looking at the shop’s packaged signature coffee and gossiping about the shop owners’ mysterious deaths. 

Their voices carried over as one said, “I heard it was carbon monoxide!”

Grant absently touched her elbow through the grey cashmere turtle neck she wore, as he thought over what to say,

“erm—whilst it was not just the alarms that had to be installed —as it turned out ….well—it is almost complete and it’s a good thing that it was taken care of straight away —“

Most of what he said she could not understand because he was speaking rather fast —as he was trying to decide on how to tell her….

“What are you talking about?”Faun asked him finding herself lost 

“I’ll tell you later—“ he started to leave and walk away but she grabbed hold of his coat sleeve, and the sheer force of her action caused her to swing into him, as he caught her from colliding into him headfirst

“No—wait—so, does that mean I still have to stay at the inn?”she asked looking up at him and trying not to let herself be ….drawn in by his lush, spring meadow eyes and ….so she forced herself to just —hold her breath —as he caught her from colliding into him headfirst

with hardly a beat, he said,

“I’m told it’s to be completed by tomorrow but—there is more than enough room in my bed, perhaps I should have said so before….” and for half a second it looked as if he was about to kiss her. So close was his face to hers. 

Until the sound of breaking ceramic from the cafe area broke the mood  

“I think you may have your hands full here,” Grant winked at Faun and did a slight wave, “I’ll see you later.”

“But —what happened to my ….wall?” she asked more to herself as he was by now, too far from her to hear 

looking for a Side Street Sign

 

faun had been staying at the local inn; the cops put her up there while they investigated her bedroom and then ….they’d spoken to Grant about installing an alarm system 

Grant. 

Well, who else could the cops think to ask as he was the nearest thing to a relative or a legal responsible party. 

Anyway, that had been their last conversation and it was in front of the cops. And. Hardly romantic. 

There was a lot to do, anyway. So, every time she felt that heavy sense of loss, something came up. 

The inn helped; another impersonal place to be; a great escape from the self. That is the best part of leaving any place, the best part of finding somewhere else to go that has zero memories attached to it. 

At the shop there were so many customers. Or they were mostly curious about what happened to the Bishops. It even caused the local tv station news show to turn up and do an impromptu interview with Faun on the spot. But she had done that before anyway, for previous jobs, so, it was like automatic pilot for her on what to say….at least about politics and books….suspicious deaths of the well known local shop owners? Who were the suspects? Good thing she went with the somber black turtle neck and the serious long grey skirt with high boots that day.

Of course Pierre Reaux made another appearance. Officer Sullivan called him when they were dusting her bedroom.

****

And now standing in the middle of the bookshop’s first floor behind the cash register area, gazing out towards the windows that were the views of the street side. The shop, you see, was off a side street of the Main Street of town. So, often there were people passing by; kids going to or leaving from school; some people walking dogs, or there would be the postal delivery person; passing cars or trucks would go by intermittently 

It had been several days at the inn. And the impersonal sense forced her to go about her days like a robot. When she got to the shop, each day had been a day of catch up—and with the excitement of the town being so present every day there, she was so busy occupied talking to curious people that the moments in between she had to straighten the books; put things away; clean the shop and balance the daily funds (the owners deaths were very profitable for their shop) before running to drop the deposit in the evening…. 

So by the time it was time to drive herself towards the inn ….and wonder when she last ate….and what there was to find to eat anywhere ….each night became an exhausted affair of sunflower seed butter and apples, as she soaked in the bathtub listening to Buddhist meditational music from her phone, before crawling into one of the two giant beds the impersonal but beautiful room the inn was furnished with. And the slick warm colored walls (ochre with a few abstract paintings) echoed. 

The girls (Jessica snd Jennifer) would be on their way soon, Faun noted the time on her watch, aware of how the sun light was dimming on the street. The girls’ mothers had signed the consent forms and both came in at separate times to drop off the slips, as the two mothers seemed to not like the other but the two were both almost indistinguishable from the other. 

Already exhausted as it was Friday, now of a long month of this— so, Faun was looking forward to the idea of having the girls to take the pressure off her feet—and do some catch up with her own life…. at least for a day and a half ….finally one day to do laundry; something to look forward to ….

So, as she stood there, she thought about this ….and decided she needed another day off.

It took less than five minutes to get the sign set up once she found something to write it on. She wrote “New Shop Hours: Monday-Saturday 10-6, closed Sunday”

But she only had it up about less than five seconds when someone came walking in and tore it off the door where she had stuck it

“Now, that’s not happening!” the culprit exclaimed 

“Sheila!” Faun gasped 

“I’m sorry, Faun, but you cannot be closed on Sunday—any other day, but not Sunday!”

Sheila was a regular. A six foot two lovely and striking trans woman who had an astrological clientele that often met her at the shop. By now, Faun had noticed that Sheila was practically a fixture at the shop; the back table was where Sheila conducted her business, and obviously considered/assumed Sheila’s domain as she was so often planted there among piles of astrology books and papers —and usually left neatly behind awaiting her pending return.

But Faun was at this point just too worn out to take her on and could only limply shrug,

“I have the girls starting tonight, and tomorrow—but it’s just me every other day here —I just need another day off, Sheila!” she tried to appeal reasonably

“Sunday is the only day when Gary leaves me the car—well, besides Saturday but Saturday is mostly shopping—but Sunday is my only day! You can’t do this to me, Faun!”

That was when ….she looked up and saw Grant walking across the street. Looking smart in his winter coat ….

“What?” she whispered looking up at Sheila

“You can’t close on Sunday’s!”

Faun moved to turn away from the door so as not to seem to notice ….as she did notice ….that he was walking to the shop’s door 

Why now? Where had he been all week? Why had he not said hello since the last message she left him days ago….

“I just need that day to be able to come here and not have to worry about meeting Gary when he comes to pick me up here—I mean….”

Sheila glanced at the man who walked in and then back at Faun,

“so—here’s an idea, why don’t I work your Sundays from now on?”

That was the moment Grant stood in front of Faun with the cash register counter between them with Shiela leaning on the counter casually watching the both of them 

Grant—with the decency to look sheepish— looked from Sheila to Faun and then smiled,

“I think that’s an excellent idea —then I could ask you to see a film with me Sunday—erm— unless Saturday works better.”

hit and run down a side st

 

She found that his silences made her sad

she had not heard from him since the other day —the day after ….and a lot of things had happened that day —but….

and she berated herself for feeling this way….how his silences made her sad….this was just something she never encountered before that sense of loss of —being locked out; ostracized and why should she care? who was he to her anyway? and it served her right that she learned the same lesson again for ….falling for all the things he claimed to promise ….she was exhausted of being a dumb pawn object to some guy who really didn’t care about her

it felt like a rock in her stomach ….the sad feeling of betrayal ….why didn’t he call?—send a message? after everything, she deserved some acknowledgment ….but as the busy days at the shop followed, 

   And the new strange evidence that they had missed due to witches brew 

What strange evidence, indeed. As it had happened Faun had said that next morning, rushing to get ready for the shop, leaving his bed,

“how embarrassing! I’m sure you and our cop friend had a good laugh over how my bedroom looked? All my underwear everywhere—I was in such a hurry!—I overslept, you see—so that’s why my clothes are all over the floor like that! I usually make my bed too.”

Grant had looked at her blankly for a moment. 

As she noticed that his morning sleepy face was so appealing; his bed head hair a sexy mess that it made her want to ignore facing the day outside and just stay here in bed with him. 

“What?” she had missed what he said—was it the accent or her thoughts?

“I said, don’t be silly— that your room looks very tidy—the bed was made, as it happens, it looked like a hotel, to be honest—that’s what Officer Sullivan said anyway.”

“What?” she just had her arms back through the burgundy dress to go back downstairs and then back up to her own room next door to get ready for a day at the shop 

Grant looked blankly back at her,

“which part?”

“I didn’t make my bed,” she said this like someone trying to reassure the other person that they were not insane 

“What?—you….but no—we saw—it was—because it even had the hotel edges—that’s why he commented, we were impressed at your bed making skills.”

“Shut up!” she blurted this out. It was just insane what he was saying. Clearly he was teasing, ‘having her on’ as he’d say ….she looked at him sideways, “are you teasing me?”

“About….?”

With arms still half pulled through the dress, she systematically collected her strewn belongings as she walked to and through his bedroom door, down the stairs, through the kitchen doorway(still left ajar) and then up her stairs to her bedroom.

She stood outside her bedroom door. She stared into the room. After a few moments she walked to her antique and battered up Victorian dresser with the layers of paint peeling away; now pink; now blue; now gold; now white….and in three neat stacks done with professionally laundry style attention to care, were all the clothes she had left in rejected piles on the floor!

She remembered this vividly ….and she didn’t know how to fold that way …..

Someone had been there

If that didn’t give it away, who was there decided to leave a calling card —across the pillow lay one of her camisoles; this one black lace with tiny satin ribbons 

a private investigation exploration Undercover on the side st

Suffice it to say—something did happen between them. 

King Leopold soon craved his bone and left them, eventually settled by the door of Grant’s bedroom and fell asleep there. 

And maybe it was the warmth of the room or the sudden absence of warmth from the departure of the regal canine’s chaperoning body —she moved toward Grant in sleep, seeking his warm body, and then, so close against him there, her back spooning up against him, she fall back asleep. In her sleep she was dreaming about being tangled in a giant spider web and turned instinctively into the curve of his arms as she slept. And because it felt so good, eventually she turned to face him while she was sleeping ….it seemed in a hazy, round about place in her mind about then that she might be over dressed in her burgundy dress, as it caught her up in it tangling her legs and trapped her so when he said,

“here, let me help you,” against her ear

in her sleepy mind, it was perfect timing to be rescued ….and after the zip down, he pulled it all over her head in one vast move, released her, “here, and this,” he said releasing the hooks behind her

In her sleepy mind, it slowly dawned upon her, 

            this part wasn’t the dream….

moving into the warmth of him —and it was some time after dawn when this private investigation, exploration was momentarily satisfied 

dog eared comic sutra

 

He had promised to be a gentleman. 

And for a moment he did think about having said this even as he was confident of his ability to withstand any great and off-limits temptations ….but this was not really the issue at the moment as ….as Halloween drew to a close with the departure of Aunt Fiona and Arthur ….here he found himself a stranger in a strange land and having to figure out what should happen next with all the legal details ….that Faun was there —it seemed something the Bishops might have done —getting themselves killed even if it got them together ….Aunt Fiona secretly loved her romance novels —he’d recently found her secret horde of Barbara Cartlands and there had been one she had beside her on the bedside table when he —found her

This was hardly a bad incidental outcome and he thought about how Faun looked earlier that day as he was watching her at the shop. 

So….no. The idea of being alone on a creepy night —with ….someone ….who just happened to be the person who had caught his eye ….days before they had met, actually—was not a bad unexpected development. He had seen her from Arthur’s window as she was leaving after an afternoon tea with Fiona. He had been with Arthur in his office, going over ledgers and ….computer files ….but who was she —?had been on his mind just days before they met. And they had told him about her when he finally got to ask—which was only the day before ….the carbon monoxide poisoning 

The gruesome memory of finding his aunt —now made it clear why …. why should this attraction be so strong now with events going on now?—the connection he felt with her; their odd timing —how they always did things at the exact same times —or spoke, sometimes it was like they’d identify too close to the other’s move ending up walking into the other, like senses hyper aware of the other’s….every move

But she lay at present, like dead weight. Staring up into space. As though utterly spaced out. As if the mattress had sucked her into it. Her limbs felt they weighed a ton. The ceiling …..

“The constellations ….” she said looking up at the slanted ceiling and above where she now recognized the plastic pieces that were green, phosphorescent and star-shaped were all grouped like the Milky Way which had to be another Grant trademark thing that —made her at war with her now tangled burgundy dress because this new exposed detail about him made her body crave him more than ever, and so she pressed herself to him as she moved over him to press herself to him there

He said,

“yes.” 

But to what was he answering?

And moving her into a better angle whilst solving the dress malfunction, he bit her neck and said into her ear,

“I keep my word ….just to cuddle—as a gentleman….” even as his hand pressed the backside of her burgundy dress, and flattened his hand as he moved it lower, suggesting otherwise, “or king Leopold will have me sent to the dungeons….”

And that is why another, with perfect timing, by the namesake, made his presence known 

with a round of invading barks and an unceremonious and very clumsy, earth-quaking jump onto the bed