May 7, 2014

"Not so difficult to play Sherlock Holmes when you are Dr. Watson" --- This is heaven (teaser)



It's getting worse, and there are no excuses. We had a completely unscheduled intermezzo with Taylor, one of Juliette friends, and now there's a knock on the door. For more context, please have a look at the previous teaser---John's cellphone has been active, with Maurice listening in on the other end of the line. 


There’s a knock on the door.

She has issues, but she’s obviously not an idiot, especially when it comes to two males with vacant expressions on their faces, oiled in sweat, one of them still buckling his belt, them having apparently spent quality time in 120 degrees Fahrenheit and the stench of an underserviced john. She looks us up and down. Bulge check.

(This is so subtle.)

___________________

“So the phone was still on when you introduced Taylor to the on-site facilities?”
“Yes.”
“Maurice still on the other end?”
“Yes.”
“Not so difficult to play Sherlock Holmes when you’re Dr. Watson.”
____________________


Erections are willful and can do their own thing, even after ejaculation. Taylor is utterly embarrassed. This will heal him of all homoerotic tendencies. I’m even more embarrassed. But I have my moments. So I say:
“Carnal knowledge outside marriage is illegal in the State of Georgia.”
“It’s not my fault,” she replies.
“You need to use the toilet?” I ask.

(It wasn't exactly like this) Artwork by Tony de Carlo


Her timing is more important than her answer. “Yes,” she says.

Some real macho-man would now say something like “Talk to you later, Professor,” or “Talk to you later, Barbette,” (not sure we’re on first-name basis), which I don’t dare to do. We just hurtle away, Taylor and I, heads half-dropped, we could be holding hands on the way to the gallows.

Whatever happens down there, up here, in our heads---most women would deny much is going on there, but anyhow---up here we males get back to normal very quickly. It’s an important reason for starting a hand job, and for finishing it, and it’s an important reason for divorces as well, I guess. We can’t just trot back together to the stand, ten minutes too late. “I need to see a man about a horse,” I say somewhat incoherently and point in the direction of the chemical toilets lined up erratically along the canal. “See you later.”

He’s getting the message. I will make sure that I’m not the first to arrive back at the stand, and if he’s smart---well, smart---he’ll make sure he’s not the first one either. I need to hide somewhere. I sit down on a long-suffering outdoor chair behind one of the trailers. Let’s hope Taylor is going to hide somewhere else.

The phone rings, my cell phone. No, it doesn’t. Plopping down I felt something in my pocket. Right, I hid it there so Maurice would be able follow our learned conversation about vampire trivia. It’s dead now, the phone, regrettably, somebody must have cut it off. I hit the call-back icon.
“Yes?” Maurice says.
“Maurice?” I say.
“I’m busy,” he says.
“Still working on the trivia?”
He doesn’t answer at first, it feels like he’s taking his time to digest a brilliant idea.

“Trivia, come to think of it. If you will call it that way.”
“Come on, Maurice, I’m sorry.”
“My trivia is very inspired, John. Pregnant of minimalism, of Dadaism even. I’ve already contacted The New Yorker. A new British poet subverting, nay, questioning, nay querying literary tradition. Unheard of. The New Yorker requires exclusive rights unfortunately, the festival will have to wait.”

Anne Robinson

“Come on, Maurice, I’m sorry.”
“Here goes: Question, spoken in the cadences of Anne Robinson,” (he says) “the hag from the Weakest Link, here goes: ‘Francis Ford Coppola, the auteur of Apocalypse Now and many other fine movies, Coppola directed and coproduced a Dracula-themed movie later on in his career. Which year saw his film brought into circulation?’ Answer: ‘Aaargghh.’”
“I’m sorry, Maurice.”
“Question: ‘The film carried a slightly unusual title; please name that title.’ Answer: ‘Aaargghh.’”
“I know, Maurice, I know.”
“No you don’t. Question: ‘Which fine actor played the character of Count Dracula is said film?’ Answer: ‘Ooohh-yeaahh.’”

There is a silence.

“You’re still there?” I ask.
“Yes,” he says.
“And Ben?”
“Ben is proof reading.”

I hear him talking to somebody. “Here, Ben, here, there’s a typo, isn’t it. Read it Ben, read it out aloud.” Ben seems a bit recalcitrant.

“Aaarghhh,” I hear a muted ebony voice.

There’s another silence, the line seems to die.
“You know, John, you know I what I feel for you. Or felt. One can go too far, you know,” Maurice says.

Don’t ask me how, but I’ve somehow made it across the field back to Alex’s market stand. He has seen me coming and I know it. He knows it, too. The vamp kids are gone.
“This is heaven, isn’t it,” he says.
“Do they go on strike in heaven?” I ask.
“On strike? So you forgot to switch it off, your cell phone?”
“Yes.”
“So the phone was still on when you introduced Taylor to the on-site facilities?”
“Yes.”
“Maurice still on the other end?”
“Yes.”
“Not so difficult to play Sherlock Holmes when you’re Dr. Watson.”


Are you still there? Then you'll possibly like the GREEN EYES. The first part is out now, available as Kindle book on Amazon, under this link:


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Go here for the previous teaser, here for the next one, and here for a choice of chapters of the Green Eyes. 

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