For The Romantically Inclined

Not long ago, the sublimely ethereal Jaypo, in a fit of whimsy – or possibly mimsy; I haven't inquired after her borogroves lately – made a list of spammer's names that she had lately been inflicted with:

E. Peggy Carmela
Jesus Boggs
Dirk Moon
Pagan Rhodes
Faith Mock
Benito Saunders
Polk McCracken
Reba Violet
Monique Ball
Brand.Beard.Hoffman

I read them; she read them – we both knew that these read like a casting call of the most filthy and degenerate kind.  This was literary gold.  And like two corrupt alchemists, we set about writing a story – a romance – that would spend freely of this debased currency.

These names are about to dance the tarantella across your reasoning; their stories are at the gate, and about to be set loose:  a band of whippets chasing after the frightened white rabbit that is your sanity.  These characters' thought processes will drag your sensibilities down to their knees.

Prepare to wave a fair linen handkerchief and bid your sense of decency farewell.  Prepare Calliope, Muse of Epic Poetry, for despair.  Prepare, my friends, to be beaten to a pulp:

"As Big As Balloons"

The sun was blazing.  Fiefld worker Dirk Moon, handsome and rough, unbuttoned his shirt, little knowing that young Faith Mock was watching him from her bedroom window. 

"Sweet Jesus!" she said, unable to take her eyes off him.

"That'd be me…"  Jesus Boggs said from her king-sized round mattress.

"Mr. Boggs," Faith mocked him, "I would expect greater discretion from my private gardener."

At the sound of voices coming from her adopted daughter's room, Reba Violet raised a hand to knock at Faith's – always locked – door.  Suddenly she ffelt a firm, masculine hand grip her elbow.  Benito Saunders whispered in her ear, "Leave them alone, babe – you knew it was only a matter of time."

Reba flashed violet eyes in his direction, then melted into the Roman hood of her magenta velour robe, covering her face and her eyes.  He wasn't supposed to see her like this, like a sneaking, cheap detective.  But Benito had a seventh sense, like the deadly sins, of what she was capable of, she who worked her fingers to the bone sending this ungrateful wild child to the best schools.  Reba despised that about Benito.

The one thing Faith never lived up to was her name.  Reba pulled her robe tighter around her body – a body whose curves broke every law.

"But you don't understand – she is my child!"  His grip  tightened, hurting her.

"She is adopted", he hissed, "you bought her; just as you tried to buy me!"

"I took you" – her voice trembled – "and I will continue to do so, until I tire of you – just as Monique Ball did before me!"

He released his grip; as she was about to smooth the wrinkled sleeve, she saw his raised palm.  Suddenly she was on the floor, cowering.

"You wouldn't dare!" she hissed.  "I know too much, way too much about you, you scum, you and Monique, you and that pitiful E. Peggy Farfalle …"

"…CARMELLA," Benito bellowed.  "E. PEGGY CARMELLA!!  You should know your own sister's name!  Or don't you believe me??"  He laughed loudly, crudely, his head tilted back like a hyena and she saw the roof of his mouth, a gaping maw of profanity spewing venemous howls of derision.

Suddenly the double bedroom doors swung open, spreading light into the dark corner where Reba seethed.  Faith stood still, silhouetted against the window of her room.

"Hey, baby, shut the door."  A voice from inside the room pleaded.  But Faith ignored the voice that on other days controlled her every movement and emotion.

"Peggy!" she cried.  "Is my Aunt Peg here?"

Reba got to her feet.  "I've told you, child.  Aunt Peggy left us, long ago."

"She didn't leave us!" Faith suddenly shrilled.  "You threw her out!  you called her vile names!  She was my only friend and you kicked her out of the house!"

Reba's fury could go all ways.  It was unpredictable, could attack anyone.  She suddenly spun around and dug her long nails into Benito's bearded face.  She smacked him, her hand coming back red with his blood.

"Don't you see?  He was the reason she had to leave!  She wouldn't leave him alone!  She was uncontrollable, she was a witch!"  She paused for breath, gasping, "I told her, "Take your spells and leave us!  Leave us!  Go out on your own and follow your pagan rhodes!"

There was a terrible silence.  There was the terrible silence of spent passions.

"Faith, honey, what's going on?"  The brawny silhouette of Jesus appeared beside her.

"Nothing, honey," she said, "C'mon, I wantcha to Polk McCracken one more time before I leave this hole for good."

Her eyes rested on Benito's slumped shoulders.  Her mother turned away from them all, slowly disappearing down the hallway.  Faith watched as the stairway swallowed Rreba's profile, suddenly, horribly, in one grandly flying, descending gulp.

Faith was about to go back into her room, when Benito took a step towards her.

"You smell nice."

She cringed.  "Follow my mother downstairs…complete your descent…"

His expression changed.  "I like it when the good girl tarts it up.  You smell cheap, but good – I think it'd suit your mother.  I'm sure it wasn't expensive – what brand?"

"'BEARD HOFFMAN!!!"

The shriek came from downstairs, from the gilded glass parlour.  Benito, Faith and Jesus Boggs – they made up one complete suit of clothes between them – rushed downstairs.

They saw Reba, against thte wall, trembling before a heavy-set man, seething and muscular, whose face was dominated by a long, black beard.

Benito and Jesus took one look and bolted from the house.  Reba looked like she was about to follow them

Only Faith took a step forward.

"Father!" she said.

 

THE END

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13 responses to “For The Romantically Inclined

  1. Interesting and beautiful! I love the photo you used at the end for a good effect too.

  2. A literary star is born. With this story sweet Aubery you are spoiling us.

  3. Painful laughter… "I wantcha to Polk McCracken one more time" Oh my.

  4. Aubrey, I feel so used. 🙂 Romance makes money. I love that photo at the end. Yummy!

    Lucy

  5. Wonderous.You, madame, have just pwnt the intarnetz."you and that pitiful E. Peggy Farfalle" is where I lost it, however. 😆

  6. LMAO! I wantcha to Polk McCracken kilt me ded. Ladies, I bow before your genius.

  7. We did good by our peeps, Aubrey. We did them proud.

  8. I bow to yours and Jaypo's mad genius. O.M.G.

  9. Utterly smut-erly. (gulp) I am pulp.

  10. Purplesque – I have found the time to think about this, and subsequently to be embarrassed by what we hath wrought.
    SHorse – the photo happens to be the sole redeeming feature of this story.
    Bobble – cake stands didn't have a place in this story. I tried to fit them in, though.
    Doug – oh, this work is painful, alright. Upsetting, too – as in upsetting how easily the paragraphs came to Jaypo and I.
    Lucy – I freely admit my shamelessness. First I looked at the purse, and so ignored the verse. For better of worse.
    My Qu33n – that is where I lost it, myself – that is Jaypo's line and it marked the point where the story began its decline into literary hellfire.
    IG – are you saying we should consider making this a series?
    JP – you know, my darling, that I can no longer hold my head high in this town again, don't you? The sneering, the finger-pointing…the accusations that these characters were based on real people…
    Do you have a good photo of yourself? Because the Weekly World News has been making inquiries…
    Suga' – Please. I don't even think I can let my parents read this.
    pyrit – I need to know. Do you still respect us?

  11. this story outgrabes : )

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