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Little Black Book – Pt I

08 Thursday Feb 2024

Posted by webbywriter1 in Fiction, Jobs and the workplace, marriage, mystery, romance, South Korea

≈ 1 Comment

   Courtney Webb

There was a timid knock on the dark glass paneled door.

“Enter.”

The door opened slowly, and a young woman stuck her head around the corner.

Her boss, seated at his desk at the far end of his office, waved her in.

“Come in, Tracy.”

The young lady, about thirty years old, in a conservative navy-blue dress got herself around the door and entered. The room was a long, box-car affair with huge windows at the far end.  Korean farmland could be seen from these second story windows.

There was one round table, with chairs close to the door. All along both walls were stacks and stacks of brown paper envelopes tied with rubber bands and string. They were placed on top of each other in rows and were falling over on top of each other. A large bookshelf with textbooks was to one side.

She advanced slowly to the desk and stood. 

“You asked me to come see you, Professor?”

“Sit down please.”

She finally sat on a hard-industrial chair in front of his desk. She tried to keep emotion off her plain, ordinary face. She needed this job.

He looked at his computer screen.

“I see you have been having some problems with the language lab.”

“Problems?”

“Yes, one of your co-workers reported the problems to me.” The professor had cold blue eyes that seem magnified by thick glasses. They glinted at her.

“Co-worker?”

“Yes, don’t ask me who it is because I can’t tell you. One of your students, Young Jin Chin, apparently came to the lab and was completely confused about the directions you had given him.”

“Confused?”

“Yes, he got the assignment completely mixed up. Your coworker was required to spend a lot of time getting this student straightened out. He is your student, right?”

“Well, yes, but . . ..”

“This is unacceptable. You are going to have to make more effort to be understood by your students. You realize that they are not native-speakers, right?” A thin to lean man, he had a wide mouth, full of teeth. There was not a hint of a smile.

“Well, of course I do, Professor. I don’t really know how he  . ..”

“Well, there’s that.” He waved a large, boney hand dismissively. “I have also been having reports about your overusing the copier. We have limited quantities of paper and ink. This isn’t America, Tracy, we have budget constraints here. You will have to keep those in mind to make it at this school.”

“Well, yes sir. I will certainly keep those in mind. I  …”

“Fine. I hope I make myself clear and we understand each other. You can go now.”

“I . . .” Tracy closed her mouth, stood up, smoothed down her skirt. “Thank you, Professor.” Her face was red.

She turned and walked stiffly out of the office.  She quietly closed the door, her shadow could be seen for a moment behind the large, stenciled letters: Prof. Robert Towne, Department Head – English Language.

The professor turned back to his computer. He made some entries. ‘Advisement of new teacher Tracy on language lab and over consumption of paper.’ He hit the enter button and closed the app labelled “Black Book.”

There was another knock on the door.

“Enter.”

Another teacher showed up in the Professor’s office. Jack, an older teacher, Australian, a very Hail-fellow-well-met kind of guy.

“Prof, lunch? That new restaurant has some killer brews.”

“You buying?”

Jack winced. Those student loans are killing me, he thought. He swallowed.

“Sure, no problem. Just don’t drink too much!” He gave a hollow laugh.

“Okay, meet you downstairs in about ten. Your car, right?”

“Yup, my car.”

“Good, you know I still ride that bus every day. Got to save every penny.”

Jack made a little salute. “I’ll be out there.” He turned and left.

The professor closed down his computer. He pulled out a ring of keys and turned the locks on his drawers and then pulled at each one; double checking they were locked.

Satisfied, he got up and grabbed his jacket. A tall man, over 6’3”, he was easily one of the tallest people around campus. He got to his office door, locked the knob and pulled the door closed. He pulled on the handle to be sure it was locked. Looking up and down the hall first; he then stepped into the next office.

“Gina, lunch.” He waved at one of the secretaries and she nodded at him.

With that, he walked around the corner and took the stairs double-time down to the parking lot. He waved at Jack and folded himself in the little car. They were off.

                                                                        ###

It was a Saturday afternoon in the Asian fall, one of those breezy, slightly wind-swept days that make a person want to run outside and kick leaves.

High up in the deluxe three-bedroom, two bath apartment Shin was speaking to her husband.

“But, Robert, they asked specifically for you. They really would like you to come to the party.”

“Oh, I know it Shin, but look at this paperwork.”

Robert, the professor, picked up a stack of papers and dramatically let them fall through his fingers. A look of resignation on his face.

“But … “

“I just have to get this done, Hun. I’m sorry.”

Her arms akimbo, Shin shook her head. With an audible sigh she said, “I’ll just have to tell them you’re busy.”

She turned and went to gather up their two daughters, Min and Julie. The girls were hovering in the background, sweaters on and gifts tucked under arms. Silently they watched the conversation. They knew better than to say anything.

Disappointment on their faces, they followed their mother out. The door closed quietly behind Shin.

The professor could hear the elevator doing down. He fiddled at his computer a few more minutes then went and stood at the big glass window that faced out.

He could see puffy clouds chasing each other across the sky. Rain? He thought to himself.

He could see Shin downstairs hustling the girls into the hatch-back and checking that their seatbelts were on. Then, getting into the car, starting it up and carefully pulling out of the space and driving out of the driveway.

“Always such a safe driver,” he commented to the air.

Going back to the computer he entered a few keys and popped up a screen that said ‘Tracker.’ He turned it on, and a little red dot appeared. The dot moved and followed his wife’s progress down the street to the main road.

The professor had placed the GPS tracking device under the carriage of her car some months before. Handy, these things. Amazing what you can get on the Internet these days, he thought to himself.

With a satisfied smile, he watched until he knew she was well on her way. He restacked his papers, printed out a report that he had completed at the office the previous day and placed it on top of the stack.

Just in case she comes snooping around. He gave the stack a little pat and did a big stretch. Tall but very lean, he was like a big cat surveying his domain. He closed out the computer and put it on ‘shut down’ just in case curious fingers decided to go walking while he was away. Then, checking the closet, he got out a heavy rain jacket, a hat and some waders.

In the fridge he pulled out two beers, a bottle of water and put them in a small igloo container. Checking the apartment one last time, he decided to leave a note.

“Hun, got my report done and went to the gym. See you back at dinner time. Love, Robert.”

He took the stairs down to his car for exercise. In the parking garage, he opened the trunk to check all his fishing gear was there. It was neatly placed in the carry bag to include rod, reels, the tackle box with flies and a cushion. He was ready to go.

The professor got on the highway and went the opposite direction of his wife, to the marina. Their apartment complex was conveniently located halfway to the university where he worked, and the marina, where he kept his skiff.

Busan, South Korea, was known for its fishing and the professor had grown to love this location just for that. They had had a little argument when he wanted to buy the boat. Something about college funds.

“Shin, the girls are four and six. There will be plenty of time for that. Let’s enjoy today. They’ll love getting out on the water.”

And they had, the two times their father had taken them.

Hey! Foot-loose and fancy free, Robert thought to himself. No wife, no kids. The boat all to himself. This is the life!

At the dock, he stopped at his regular bait shop and got some fresh bait and some bim-bim-bap Asian rolls for lunch. He gave the owner 5,000 Won.

“No wife today, Bob Shi?” the owner asked with a wink.

“No, aniyo.” The Professor looked sad.

“Too bad, Bob Shi.” They both laughed like boys out of school.

Still chuckling, the Professor made his way down the creaky wooden ramp to his little skiff.

 It wasn’t much. But, still, way more than I would ever be able to afford in the States, he nodded to himself. Thinking about the prices in San Diego, he shook his head. His brother Bill kept him apprised of the cost of housing and everything else that was going up.

“Think I’ll be staying a little longer, Bro,” the professor had told him.

“Can’t blame you man, if I had the least amount of interest in teaching, I might do what you’re doing,” Bill replied.

“Well, different strokes buddy. Say hello to Mom for me.”

“Say hello yourself, asshole, why don’t you give her a call?”

“I will. Been busy, you now, all these employees, the wife, kids. . ..”

“Right guy, that and more, huh?” Bill chuckled.

“No idea what you’re talking about,” his brother answered with an indignant tone.

“Okay, okay, tiger. Keep your hair on,” Bill was quick to appease his older brother. “What she doesn’t know, won’t hurt her, huh? Call Mom, right?”

“Sure, talk to you later.” Robert hung up the phone.

They rang off. Robert did call his mother. On her birthday, three months later.

                                                                        ###

The professor was out on the water and the rain clouds, threatening earlier, had blown away. It was a little cool, but he liked that and anyway, he had his jacket.

He had finished off the bim-bim-bap and one beer and was starting on the second beer. He was hoping for a couple of carp or small sea bass. If he caught one, he would just tell Shin he had stopped at the store to get them for dinner. She’d never know.

The sun was starting to get a little lower in the sky and he was almost nodding off, leading back against one of the braces. He saw a flicker off the corner of the boat, a tail, something blue.

He came awake and sat up and readjusted his glasses. Was it just a reflection of something? No, definitely, there it was again, going the other direction. From the size of the tail fin it looked big. Shark? In this far? He didn’t think so.

Still, he pulled in his line and rebaited the hook with the last bit of chum out of his tackle box. He cast it out in the water. He stood up to get the line out as far as possible. Then he sat and waited. Starting to feel some excitement, he had never caught any really big fish.

Wow! There it was again, a flick of the tail and a little closer. He pulled the line taunt. There was a tiny tug. Whoa! He gripped the line tighter, yes, that was a definite pull. He pulled the line tighter and tried to pull it toward the boat. This fish was fighting. Jesus! It was a big one.

Back and forth they went for several minutes. The professor, a strong man, was starting to get sweaty and tired. Wait till I tell the guys back at school. They won’t believe it!

Suddenly, the line went completely slack. He waited and waited. The clock ticked by, twilight was just starting to settle. Finally, with a note of disgust, he pulled the line back into the boat. He looked at the hook. The chum was gone, and his nice hook was bent.

“Shit!” His favorite hook. He undid the tie and threw the damaged hook in the water. He started the outboard and was turning it around when there was a ‘splash’ sound off to the side. He turned and saw what looked to be a grouper come up to the top of the water, catch a fly and go down again.

He rubbed his eyes. One more time the fish came up to the surface, grabbed another insect.

“Ha, ha!” The fish was gone again.

Robert stared after the fish. Did he just hear laughing? He grabbed the bottle of beer and shook it. Empty. The other one too. He touched his forehead lightly.

“I’ll be damned.” He gunned the motor and headed for shore. “Son of a bitch.” He was planning the next time he would come back. He’d have a much bigger hook and larger bait. He was going to get that bastard.

Continued – Part II

Unrequited Part II

07 Wednesday Feb 2024

Posted by webbywriter1 in Uncategorized

≈ Comments Off on Unrequited Part II

Tags

books, dancing, drinking, jane-austen, movies, romance, short-story

Courtney Webb

(Jane, 29 years, working as a waitress and bartender, gets told by her doctor that she was a chronic gastric problem, probably aggravated by drinking. It is important she changes her lifestyle, so she does. She becomes the receptionist and then dance partner at an exclusive dance studio.)

That had been six months ago. Jane had made good on her promise to the doctor and had stuck to the diet plan and taken all the pills. The major change was the job. She realized there was no way she was going to be able to stay away from the booze and still work at Bistro 30. Too many temptations and too many crazy men always trying to buy her drinks, among other things.

It was okay, she had been doing the bar thing for years. Despite earning excellent money with tips, she lived in a junky apartment with a weird roommate and drove an old car. She had basically nothing to show for all the money she had earned. It was time for a change. She was ready.

She had applied for the job as a receptionist at the dance studio. She didn’t have strong office skills, but the wife of the owner assured her that ‘personality’ was what they wanted on the job.

“You will meet and greet the customers when they come in the door. Yes?” Lady G said. “It is important that they feel welcome and that we want them to be here. They are not just our customers, they are our guests. Very welcome guests, yes?”

Lady G was foreign and tended to repeat herself a lot. It was okay. Jane liked her. Lady G was older than Jane by about ten years. Funny, they even looked a little alike. Small and slim. Blue eyes, to Jane’s green and dark hair to Jane’s red. Yes, Jane liked her and liked the studio. It was in a good section of town and everything about it smelled fresh and new. Plus, it emanated a certain quality.

What was it? She thought to herself. Oh, yes. Money. Jane liked that. She like it a lot.

She accepted the job and went to work. Mr. G was in and out of the studio and she just caught glimpses of him. Very tall, slim, and older, but quite good looking when you got him in focus.

Larry Gee started staying later in the evenings to help her out with the desk. Jane found him to be sweet and kind.

 Not anything like the guys in the bar. They were loud, boorish, arrogant, and dominating. All those men were like cookie cutter dolls, Jane thought to herself. They only want to own me, like a thing, like a doll. Not a person. Not like Mr. G. There’s a guy who knows how to treat a lady like a lady.

So, Mr. G became Larry. He and Jane became working buddies. Larry ran the studio with his wife and gave private lessons to individuals and couples. After she had been at the studio a couple of months, Jane was able to save up some money for private lessons.

There were other instructors at the studio of course. The older guy with dyed hair, Fred. Fred was married and had been teaching dance lessons forever. Then, the Asian guy who was very slick and only did evenings. There was the older woman, Maude, who was very nice and kind to Jane. There were couple of twenty-somethings there too. A college girl and then Studly guy. Studly naturally would have been quite a catch.

But man, were the women all over him. He’s clearly not gay, and they can’t get enough of that! Too much competition for sure. Jane ruminated. Ah, none of them compared to Mr. G. He was the man, Jane sighed dreamily.

It was not long before Jane and Mr. G were doing privates in the evenings before he went home. Jane was in heaven. She could not remember any man ever making her feel quite this way. Ever. Except for that time at Bistro 30 with the owner …

                                                #

Stanley was a welder. He had been a welder most of his life. He started back when he was eighteen learning the trade at his uncle’s shop. Stanley was a big kid, even then, and took to the trade and learned it rapidly. Stan wasn’t much for school and books. He liked working with his hands.

That and the fact he had crooked teeth, warts and three fingers on one hand, he wasn’t a big hit with the ladies. He frequently kept his ‘bad’ hand in his pocket to avoid stares and jibes from the other guys. The deformity was genetic, so the doctors told his parents, and there was absolutely nothing they could do to fix it. Learning to live with it and being different from other people had been Stanley’s cross to bear.

He liked the shop. He got to know all the guys and did much of the work alone by himself, so he wasn’t in the public eye much. That was fine with him. The ‘bad’ hand was no problem in his work, and he could handle materials just like the next man. Eventually, he started to make good money doing welding. He started to buy the things his parents couldn’t afford when he was growing up. New clothes, a nice car. Eventually, he was even able to afford a little house.

With money in the bank, a new set of wheels and a house to call his own, Stanley became more of a catch. Eventually he attracted a woman at church who could look past the hand and the teeth. A year later they got married. Stanley remained happily married for over twenty years.

It came as a blow when Genene, his wife, developed ovarian cancer. Within two years she was gone and once again, Stanley was on his own. At fifty, the teeth were still crooked, the bad hand was still the same, but he had now developed a middle-age paunch from all of Genene’s good cooking. That, plus he had some sore joints from constantly lifting and pulling heavy objects at work.

Stan tried a number of activities that involved women. Nothing much worked. He was a complete wash-out at bars. Despite how much money he threw around, he couldn’t compete with the younger, good-looking guys. He still went to church, but the women there seemed to get older and dowdier by the year. He couldn’t bowl anymore because of his bad shoulder. So, he was delighted when he discovered the new dance studio. The staff were friendly and eager to help. They were happy to take his money for dance lessons and in return, treat him with respect. The staffers didn’t avoid him like some freak. He even made some friends and was starting to get comfortable. That is until they hired the new girl, Jane.

Stanley goggled at Jane. She was so beautiful. Small and petite. Big green eyes in a pixie face. Small but curvaceous body. It was love at first sight. And, on top of that, she was so friendly! She would call him by name when he came in the door and laugh and giggle when he spoke to her.

Was she flirting with him? His mind reeled at the thought. She would even step in when some of the instructors were busy and act as his dancing partner. She was small and light on her feet. Nothing like Genene who, although Stan loved his wife, he had to admit was as clumsy as all get out. His wife could bang into a barn door going through if she weren’t careful.

No, Stan had to admit, even Genene had never made him feel like this before. Was he in love? He didn’t know what to call it. But, when they were dancing, everyone else and everything else just faded away. It was just him and Jane floating along, and he wanted it to last forever.

                                                            #

Jane was running to work these days in eager anticipation. The days could be drag some as couple after dull, middle-aged couple came in for privates with their favorite instructor. Lessons for an upcoming weddings, anniversaries, reunions. Whatever, you name it. Jane had to laugh and giggle to herself.

“As if anything was going to put some zing! in their sex life,” she whispered in a low voice indicating the plump couple on the dance floor. They were going slowly over the steps with Madge, the older instructor.

Larry, sitting next to her at the front desk, snickered.

“More like two dancing hippos,” she whispered back at him. “Maybe we should get them matching tutus.”

This time Larry laughed so hard he had to put his head down. Red in the face, he recovered himself.

He pointed a finger at her, still smiling. “Don’t you ever…”

“I won’t! Trust me! What can I do that South Beach Diet couldn’t?” Innocently, she looked over the raised countertop at the couple.

Larry took a deep breath and got up. “See you at 7 PM?”

“Yep, I’ll be there. I think I’m getting this waltz thing.”

He patted her on the shoulder and went to do some glad-handing with another couple who just came in.

Stanley came in the front door and paused at the desk. He leaned a hand on the counter.

“Stanley, you’re here!” Jane chirped. “Afraid Maude won’t be done with that couple for another half hour.”

“Thanks, okay. I’m good,” he replied. “I’ll just wait.”

Jane nodded and smiled at him. She noticed the hand for the first time.

Does he only have three fingers? Uck! She thought but continued to smile at the man while he went to plant himself on a sofa. Euw, she thought, creepy! Glad I don’t have to dance with him much. The very thought of it sent a wave of revulsion through her body. She had to shake it off and refocus on what she was doing.

Later, she and Larry danced and laughed. Once again Jane felt restored, like she was in heaven and her life was perfect.

When they were finished, Jane sat taking off her dance shoes and putting on regular street shoes.

“Oh, Jane, you two dance so divinely.” It was one of the older women, a regular at the studio. “You look just like Lady G did when they danced years ago.” The woman smiled broadly at Jane. “Before she had all those kids of course.” The woman simpered.

Jane smoothed down her wavy hair and stuck her chin up. I bet we do look perfect together, she thought. She got up with her shoes and bag.

“Thank you so much,” she replied. “I’ve been working really hard.” Jane didn’t have any children. Generally, she didn’t mention the three abortions she had awhile back.

She stuck the bag behind the counter and hunted around for her purse and keys. Time to go. Maude and the young guys would lock the place up. Larry had already left. Jane waved a big goodbye to everyone and stepped out into the cool night air.

“We look perfect together, ma’am, because we are perfect together,” Jane breathed out into the night air. “In fact, we belong together, and I am just starting to realize that.” In the pink cotton candy cloud that Jane called her brain, she floated out to her used car and started it up for home.

                                                            #

The next day, Jane was back at her duty station, not only on time but a little early. She was very surprised to see Lady G at the studio. Jane glanced at the clock. Lady was usually never in this early. Didn’t she have work to do to the elementary school or something?

Jane plastered a smile on her face.

“Morning, Lady G. Good to see you!”

“Oh, Jane.” Lady looked up from her appointment book. “Yes, yes.” She tapped a pencil against her teeth. “Right. Weren’t you telling me, Jane, that you wanted to learn to be a dance instructor?”

Jane gaped a moment. Recovering, “Well, yes … In time, but …”

“Well, you won’t believe this. We are getting so busy; Maudie needs some help in the evenings. You could assist her. Learn the ropes kind of thing. What do you say to that?”

Jane was momentarily flattered. Things were happening so quickly!

“Well, yes, Lady, if you think so. If you think I’m ready.”

“Ready,” Lady laughed and smiled a very wide smile. “You are a natural.” Her eyes glinted. She smiled even more broadly. “So, that’s a yes?” her eyebrows went up.

“Ah, yes.” Jane was stumbling a little for words. “I’d be happy. The desk …”

“Pish-posh, the desk. Arron can always handle the desk. We need people on the floor.”

“Okay, it’s a yes then.” Jane was definite this time.

“Good, good.” Lady G tapped her teeth again and looked at her book. “I think…yes, tonight. I think you’ll start with Stanley. He’s pretty new and can really use some help.”

Jane’s stomach clutched. “Stanley?”

“Yes, Stanley, you know who he is, right?”

“Yeah, sure, I ….”

“Good, good. I’ll tell Maude.” She turned to go and turned back. “Oh, and another little thing. Since you will be helping Maude, Larry won’t be able to slot much time for those private lessons. You understand. Need him at home more and all that stuff.” Lady G smiled again and winked at Jane. Then she turned and went to help some dancers.

Jane gripped her hands together and sat down slowly on her swivel chair.

She knows, kept running through her brain. She knows!!!!

Jane stared into space for a good longwhile.

                                                #

The following weeks turned into a blur for Jane. She was running into work, doing housekeeping clean-up as usual, balancing the sheets at the front desk, and greeting the studio guests. She was no more done with that, than Maude would show up for lessons. Jane became the dance partner for the men while Maude watched and gave pointers.

Jane started out liking the dancing, now she was starting to feel like something out of The Red Shoes. She wasdancing her feet off and going home exhausted. And then, Stanley. Jesus! The man seemed to show up either every day or every other day. It seemed she was constantly stuck with him. He was always smiling that sickly-sweet smile at her. Then, he started to bring her little gifts. He wouldn’t just leave a card or note. He’d wait until she was away from the desk and slip it in when no one else could see. If she got one more box of chocolates she would scream. She began opening them up and letting ‘everyone share’. Lately, she was walking them into the staff room and dumping them in the trash.

God, she couldn’t stand that guy! And heaven forbid she said anything to anyone. He was a great paying customer and they loved that. To top it off, Larry was there less and less. They had not had a private lesson in over a month, and he kept scuttling out of the studio promptly at 6 pm.

“Got to get home to those kids, you know,” he’d say. Then, giving her a warm smile or a wink, boom, he was out the door and into the night. Just when it couldn’t get worse, Lady G seemed to be hovering around more than ever.

Reminds me of a pesky nat. Wish I could just swat her! Jane dunked her teabag into a cup of hot water with furious little jabs. Whether she wanted to admit it to herself, she was starting to hate her life and didn’t know what to do. She felt trapped.

It was that spring that the studio held its Spring Showcase of Talent. Many of the regulars from the studio were going to be in the show and all the instructors. Of course, Larry and Lady G, the professional dancers, would be performing. Jane considered throwing her hat in but honestly, was too tired to practice for some dumb show.

One evening, after a particularly grueling day, Jane found herself in the organic wine aisle looking at the bottles.

Hum, made naturally with only organic grapes in the heartland of California’s own wine country. “Well,” she told the air, “How bad can it be? It’s all organic.” She bought a bottle and took it home. The next day she had a headache and was surprised to find when she was in her kitchen looking for Tylenol, that a completely empty bottle was in the trash.

“Did I do that?” she said softly. She located the bottle of pills in the cupboard and forced open the bottle. She grabbed two pills and downed them with water. She was walking out of the kitchen when she looked at the wine bottle again. She stopped and shoved it further down in the trash.

Dancers were running in and out of the studio as the Showcase approached. Jane was delirious with constant lessons. Maude was shouting and yelling as more and more dancers practiced their routines for the show.

Jane was stopping at the grocery store on a nightly basis now to get her organic wine. She kept promising herself she would make the bottle last two nights, but it never did. She began to buy some small pints of vodka to get through the evening. Her unhappiness at work kept increasing.

It seemed like she rarely saw Larry these days, but Stanley kept appearing before her like some evil genie. She began to have bad dreams with Stanley in them. It always seemed like she was being forced into something, like some weird marriage ceremony with him. She woke up from these dreams sweating.

                                                #

It was a Friday night, and the Showcase was happening at 7 PM. All the staffers were frantic getting the studio cleaned up and ready for the performances and guests. Lady G was supervising the costumes on the costume racks which were pushed into both staff rooms. Jane got out the vacuum and vacuumed the floor three times. People kept dropped bits of food on the carpet. She was nearly exhausted but keyed up at the same time.

They all had to park their cars further away than usual to give the guests more places to park. This was really annoying for Jane. It meant she had to go farther to get to the trunk of her car. She kept a bottle of hot vodka there and would go out and take sips on break. She choose vodka because everyone said you couldn’t smell it.

By the time she had made three trips to her car, the show was about to start, and she was light-headed. She parked herself at the desk and pulled her swivel chair around to watch. One tedious performance followed another for an hour and a half. Jane felt like throwing up. She couldn’t tell if it was the vodka or watching the dancers.

The show was winding down to the last few numbers. Larry and Lady G had something planned. They danced the tango to a hot salsa beat then stopped and took a bow. An older woman came on the floor leading three young tow-headed children.

Larry grabbed the microphone. “Thanks so much for coming tonight, folks. Lady G and I both want to thank you so much and introduce our three kids!” There was a huge round of applause and then the kids with mom and dad did a short rendition of Chattanooga Choo Choo with bells and whistles, Larry rotating his arms like the wheels of a locomotive. The crowd went wild with shouts and applause.

Jane was struck dumb. She knew Larry had some kids, but three? And all blond and adorably cute? And they all sang together? She couldn’t stand it. Jane groped in the dark for her evening bag and keys. Crying hysterically, she stumbled out of the studio.

Why, why? Why did that bitch get the guy and the house, and the business and the kids and all the applause? She should have that. She worked hard; she deserved center stage. She was younger and better looking. It just wasn’t fair. Jane stumbled toward her car. All she could think about was getting her hands on that bottle of vodka. She’d probably stop at the store on the way home and get a much, much bigger bottle this time.

She was still clutching something in her hand. It was the letter opener from the desk. She had forgotten she was even carrying it. Oh shit. She wasn’t going back for this dumb thing now. Screw it.

“Jane, Jane. What’s wrong?”

Out of the darkness, Jane heard the dreaded voice of Stanley. She turned. The asshole had followed her out to her car.

“You look upset. What’s wrong? Let me help you.” His face was wrinkled up with concern and sympathy.

Sympathy, Jesus, of all the things in the world I don’t need right now, sympathy was number one.

Jane turned back and kept walking. She felt his hand on her shoulder, she turned around. The three fingered hand. “Get off me you horrible old freak!” she screamed. She staggered backward.

He lunged forward to catch her. That’s when she lashed out with the letter opener. It sank into Stanley’s juggler vein. Blood started to pump out of the vein and Stanley sank to the asphalt with one hand on the letter opener and a surprised look on his face.

Jane stood and stared in horror as Stanley was quickly covered in his own blood. She wanted to scream but no sound came out. In moments, it was over, and he was completely still, laying on the asphalt. She backed away from the body. First slowly, then quickly, then she was running. Running and stumbling as fast as she could, away.

Away, got to get away, was all she could think of. She jabbed the car key into the lock, wrenched the door open and jammed the key into the lock. She didn’t bother with the bottle in the trunk or even putting on her seat belt. She screamed out of the parking lot without another look back.

The next day, the cops were all over the parking lot after an early morning shopper found Stanley’s dead body. There was crime scene tape around the place and cops were busy talking to everyone they could find.

Unfortunately for the police, this little section of parking lot where the employees parked, was the darkest part of the lot. The camera range didn’t extend that far. There had been a lot of people at the Showcase but most of the businesses were closed at that time. At the time Stanley died, Larry and Lady G were busy accepted rounds of applause from the audience. No one could be exactly certain about who was or was not there.

The detective shook their heads and kept making notes in their little books. They promised to come back when most of the staff instructors were there to teach lessons.

It was probably mid-morning before Maude realized that Jane was not at work. Larry checked the answer machine; the studio still had an old fashioned one for backup. There was a wavery message from Jane saying she had a bad headache and would make it in the next day.

Larry told the detective who made a note of her address and phone.

“Ah, if she doesn’t come in soon, we’ll have to go to her place to talk to her. You understand.”

Larry nodded. He felt vaguely guilty and wasn’t exactly sure why.

When the cops finally left with promises to come back, he looked at Maude.

“Maude, you know Jane pretty well. She wouldn’t do something like this, would she?”

Maude shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know, Larry. She hasn’t been herself lately. But, to do something like this? This bad? Wow, I don’t know. This new generation, you know?”

Larry sort of knew but was going to have to let it go for a bit. His head was spinning.

                                                #

It was an anxious Larry Gee who reported in at the police station two days later. With his black clothing and pale skin, he looked a little out of place around the buff cops in their navy-blue uniforms and dark tans. Detective Martinez had asked that Mrs. Gee come too. Larry begged off and asked to be interviewed alone.

They were sitting in a private interview room now.

“She’s in Mexico,” Detective Martinez volunteered. “Miss Stanwell.”

“Oh,” Larry added.

“We got extradition laws with the State of Mexico. Lots of people don’t know that.”

“Oh,” Larry replied again. “So …”

“So, Mr. Gee, we wanted to know what you could tell us about this.” Martinez slid a slip of paper forward. It was in a clear plastic sleeve.

Larry read the note. His already pale skin blanched further and then started to turn pink.

“I, I don’t know,” he replied.

The detective pulled the note back, turned it around and read it. “I’ve gone forever. Tell Larry I’ll love him always. Jane.” There was a pregnant pause.

“Why would the young lady write such a note, Mr. Gee?”

Larry shook his head, numb.

“Was she, in fact, in love with you, Sir?”

Larry opened his mouth, and nothing came out.

The detective had a little black notebook and a short ink pen. “Why don’t you tell me about your relationship with the young lady. And, while we’re at it, why would she do such a thing as to stab a client like Mr. Stanley.”

“She, she was an employee. A good employee. She had only been with us a few months. I don’t …”

“Were you having an affair with the young lady, Sir?”

Larry blanched again. “No, no … no affair.”

“Okay, no affair.” Martinez made notes in his book and tapped his pen on the paper as he considered the man sitting across from him.

“No affair,” Martinez said slowly. He drew some little circles on the paper. “Then what?”

“What?” Larry looked confused.

“Yeah, what was it that was going on between you two?” Some more sharp taps of the pen.

“Jesus,” Larry sunk his head in his hands.

Now we’re getting somewhere, Detective Martinez thought to himself. He looked up at the two-way mirror and nodded at his partner who was standing on the other side, listening.

“It was nothing.” Larry finally pulled himself up and spoke.

“Nothing,” Martinez stopped tapping and looked at the man.

“Yes, it was nothing. A little flirting is all. Then, Jane, Miss Stanwell, asked for some private dance lessons. We arranged a discount price since she was an employee, and I gave her some lessons.”

“How private were the lessons?” Martinez had to force himself not to smile.

“They were all at the studio. Period. Definitely no hanky-panky, Detective. Believe me.”

Martinez nodded. “Go on.”

“Then, at some point, Lady G,” Larry paused, “my wife,” he said pointedly, “felt there was too much interaction between myself and the young woman. She took steps to change the schedule to get Jane doing other things. The privates came to an end.”

“I see,” Martinez said. “So, Lady G, your wife, was the one put a stop to the thing.”

Larry Gee crossed his arms across his chest. “Yes, she did.” He was managing to look a little offended.

“So, if your wife had not done this, then …”

“Nothing, Detective. Nothing at all. I am married for the last ten years with three young children. There was nothing going on between me and Miss Stanwell and there wasn’t going to be either.” Larry nodded up and down with some force.

“Okay, Mr. Gee. I get the picture. A little light flirting with the girl. Wife gets wind and changes the girl’s duties around. Is that when she began to partner with Mr. Stanley?”

“I believe so,” Larry added. “Miss Stanwell was being coached by one of our oldest teachers, Maude Adams. It was Maude who assigned her partners.”

“That would explain, I guess,” Martinez added, “how it was she even knew the deceased.”

Larry nodded. “I believe so.”

“What possible motive would the young lady have in stabbing Mr. Stanley, Sir? That you can think of?”

“I have no idea, Detective Martinez. I truly have no idea.”

A shaken Larry Gee left the station. Detective Martinez met with his partner back at their desks.

“So, what’s you think?”

“I think he’s a pretty boy dork, who almost had an affair. The wife found out and put a stop to it. Don’t think he’s involved. Scared of his own shadow that one.”

Martinez nodded his agreement.

“You looked at her picture? Stanwell?”

His partner nodded. “Yeah, she’s a looker for sure. Won’t do well in prison.”

“She might get manslaughter. Un-premeditated thing.”

“My guess too.” O’Reilly picked up his coffee cup and stared at the contents. He got up to get a fresh cup.

“So, Reilly, what’s you thinking ‘bout what happened here?” Martinez asked casually.

“Me?” O’Reilly tapped his cup. “Ah, if I was to hazard a guess, I’d say probably a case of unrequited love.” He started to walk away.

“Unre…. what?” Martinez spluttered.

“Ah, look it up partner. You got a dictionary that computer of yours. Unrequited.”

“Hey, pal. I been to college too, you know.”

“I do know, Martinez. And let me say the department is eternally grateful to online learning courses. But a word a day, Marti, a word a day.”

“You’re a pompous ass.”

“True, but I really do need another cup of coffee. Be back.” He slouched out of the room.

A few minutes later, refreshed, O’Reilly came back. He scooted his chair up to his partner’s desk.

“Okay, we got one very hot chick.” He pointed to Jane’s picture.

His partner nodded.

“Then, we got one older, fairly ugly dude,” he pointed to a picture of Stanley. “For whatever twisted reasons, Lady Gee, in a fit of pique …”

“What …?” His partner started to say.

“Aggravation call it. Puts the two of them together in this dancing thing.”

Martinez nodded.

“The hot chick here,” O’Reilly points, “falls for the handsome married guy,” he pointed to the printout labeled, Larry Gee. “He reciprocates just enough to get her cranked up and then pulls out. To use a phrase.” He grins at his partner.

“Ugly dude here,” he taps the picture of Stanley, “falls head over heels with beauty,” tapping the pix of Jane and tries real hard to make it work. “Ugly follows beauty to her car and tries something. God knows what. She sticks him and flees.”

Martinez held his chin with one hand. “Makes sense.”

“Plus, I think she was on something when this happened.”

“They didn’t serve liquor at that Showcase thing of theirs.”

“Yeah, I know they didn’t. But if you examine the record of your girl Jane, you’ll see she has two priors for drunk driving and one domestic assault charge. Maybe they weren’t serving liquor at the party, but I still think she was on something. We won’t know what it was ‘til we get her back here State side.”

“So, all fer love, huh? What an idiot.” Martinez shook his head.

‘Yeah, well: “The face is the mirror of the mind, and eyes without speaking confess the secrets of the heart,” O’Reilly quoted.

“Who said that? Don’t tell me it was you,” Martinez frowned.

“St. Jerome,” his partner said. “We’ll know more when we see her.”

“Still think she’s an idiot.”

“Ah, Martinez, you’re just not a true romantic.”

“Not a romantic at all. Thank God.”

“Well, there’s that. Lunch?’

“Yeah, I need some food after all this creepy romance stuff. Yuk.”

“Sounds like a Tommy’s burger then.”

“You on, pal.”

They both grabbed jackets and left the office.

The End.

The End.
             

Unrequited

07 Wednesday Feb 2024

Posted by webbywriter1 in Uncategorized

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Tags

books, jane-austen, writing

Some romances are more difficult than others.

Courtney Webb

She danced in his strong arms. They whirled around the parquet floor. Fairy lights twinkled above, and she could see flashes of herself in the floor to ceiling plate-glass mirrors.

The Strauss waltz played, and Jane threw her head back the way they had taught her. Her left hand on his shoulder, the right arm up and out to the side, almost rigid. His strong handsome features were above her. His salt and pepper hair glinted in the lights. She didn’t really need to look; she had his face memorized. Nearly seared into her brain, in truth. They spun around and around.

Her new dance shoes were holding up well. Her feet didn’t even hurt. The new dress was  gently used from the top-end resale shop in the area. When one of the girls told her about it. Jane jumped in her old Chevy and zipped down there as soon as possible. She was happy with the purchase. It was clean, fit and the little rhinestones glinted nicely in the semi-dim lights.

Larry, her dance partner, was dressed in his usual all black attire. That is all he ever wore. It suited him Jane decided. It showed off the silver in his hair and the icy blue of his eyes. She couldn’t look into those eyes without haven’t the physical sensation of falling backwards. Wow! He was something. Where had he been her whole life? Tall, strong, handsome, caring. Whew!

There were other people on the dance floor also dancing and others sitting on the cushy benches to the side of the floor. She didn’t care. She didn’t care about anything else in the world. While they were dancing everyone else ceased to exist.

Jane let out a happy sigh. His wife would never know.

Jane was very happy with her new job as a receptionist at the dance school. It was a definite step up from the waitressing she had been doing at the bar and grill. Not that Bistro 30 was a bad place really. The clientele was steady, and the tips were good. It was just…well, the drinking. As Jane sat at the desk sorting receipts she thought back.

                                                            #

Dr. P looked at her intently as she sat on the padded exam table. She shifted uncomfortably on the white paper cover. He stood leaning against the counter, her file in his hands, studying it again. There was a frown on his dark, tanned face. He looked up at her. The black eyes were kind.

Jane really hated that. The kindness. Fuck him! Rich Indian shit with your fancy schools. She called him Dr. P because that is what everyone called him. None of the Americans could start to pronounce the twelve-letter last name. It would have been better if he had been mean to her, harsh. She was used to that. Used to men talking down to her like she was a three-year-old. A stupid three-year-old. Just because she was slight of build and on the short side. With her huge green eyes, men couldn’t help talking to her like she was, what? A life-sized doll?

Jane braced herself. She didn’t like the look on Dr. P’s face. He had ordered an intense series of gastro tests on her. All of which she was sure were unnecessary. It was just a little upset stomach, that’s all. She had them all the time. Some Pepto-bismo and aspirin …

Dr. P coughed and cleared his throat. “So, Jane. We got the test results back. I told you it would take some days, right?”

She nodded. I’m not stupid. Get on with it already.

“It looks like what I thought. Gastritis.”

“Gas what?”

“Gastritis. It’s an inflammation of the stomach lining.”

“Well, so? Can’t you give me something for it and I’ll be on my way?” Jane started to inspect the posters on the wall.

“Ah, well. It’s not quite that simple. I think we discussed this is kind of unusual in a person your age.” He glanced at the file again. “Twenty-nine, I believe.”

She nodded with disinterest.

“Right,” he closed the file. “Also, we touched on the subject of alcohol and how that might be affecting the condition.”

She continued to stare off into middle distance.

The doctor sat down on the exam room chair. “I will have the nurse give you some pamphlets on proper care for you to read at home.” He paused and waited.

“Okay,” she finally said and looked at him. It was obvious he had something else to say.

“Jane, it is important you understand that what you have is not fatal, but it is chronic, and it will not go away on its own. With proper diet and staying completely away from alcohol …” his eyes flicked to her face, “you should see rapid improvement in your symptoms and should be well on your way to being your old self.”

“Okay,” was her monosyllabic response.

Dr. P glanced into the file again. “Ah, did we discuss the amount you have been drinking per day?”

“Yeah, we did. I don’t know for sure. Maybe a couple of beers a day at the bar.”

“Ah, couple of beers,” he studied the file again.

“Look, Dr. P.” Jane was starting to get defensive now. “I’ll follow your dumb plan. I can take the stuff or leave it alone. I’m not an alcoholic, for God’s sake!” She crossed her arms over her chest and frowned.

“Oh, no. No one is suggesting anything.” He smiled at her warmly. “We just want you to get better. Right?”

Jane uncrossed her arms and let them drop into her lap. “Yeah, okay. Right. You’re just trying to help.” She folded her hands together and head down, examined them.

“Exactly,” Dr. P reached out and gave her arm a little pat. “We don’t want this thing progressing into … something … more serious.”

She jerked her head up to look at him.

He smiled again, affably. “Nurse will be in to give you those pamphlets in a minute. I’m leaving a script for those antibiotics we talked about. See you in about two months?”

She nodded her head, face down toward her lap again.

“Fine. See you then.” Dr. P opened the door and closing it behind him, dropped the chart in the metal bin next to the door. He hit the button for the nurse and walked away shaking his head.

Continued Part II

Scarecrow

22 Monday Jan 2024

Posted by webbywriter1 in aging, exercise, dating, Fiction, romance

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Huge blue eyes, a shock of pure white hair tucked under a ball cap. Tall and gangly, you could tell by his profile he had been a very handsome man once. Sunburned by a thousand hot Fresno suns, he rode his bicycle over the streets of the town, scarecrow on the back of a bike.

“Bill, Bill, is that you?” The chubby elderly lady dressed in a mauve warm-up suit waved one hand out of her front door. “Oh, Bill, I have something for you. Just wait a sec and I’ll be right out.”

He paused in front of his apartment door, and turned to look down the hallway. Impatience clouded his face.  He decided to go in anyway, Phyllis would catch up. He unlocked the door and dumped his backpack on the heavy brown Barcalounger. Thankfully they had a nice bike rack downstairs so he could lock up his bike without having to bring it inside.

He started to flip through his mail. Whole Term Life, discounted, special for senior citizens! He threw it in the trash with a flick. Coupons, coupons, Green Dot Market coupons, he set those aside. More ads for cable TV, wireless phones, hearing aids. Funeral home specials.

 “Jesus!” He thought to himself. “I’m not dead yet!”

There was one card for a Latin dance club. Cumbiatron!!!!! In brilliant green, orange and black letters it announced salsa night at the club. He put that one to the side.

There was a knock on the door. “There you are, thought I had missed you!” Phyllis gushed with an aluminum covered pan in her hands.

“I wish,” Bill muttered to himself, holding the door open.

“I just happened to have some extra of this beef casserole and I know how much you like ground beef. No big pieces.” She smiled the big smile, a wonderful set of choppers showing.

“Oh, that is so nice of you Phyllis,” he oozed is his best nicey, nice voice. “You are so right, it is my favorite.” He yanked the glass dish out of her hands and placed it on the counter.

“I thought maybe you could join us downstairs later for some bridge.”

“Sorry Phyllis, I just can’t. Got some things I just have to get done. Maybe next time.” He was scooting her toward the door with his big, boney hands.

Her mouth formed a little disappointed frown. “Oh, I just thought…”

“No, no. You were right to ask. It’s just that I have had a long morning already and have to rest up for this evening. You understand.” He grinned at her. He had a nice set of choppers too.

Phyllis recovered. “Okay then. Well, enjoy your dinner and next time.”

Bill nodded vigorously and shut the door on her rear end.

“Now where is that blue silk shirt I used to have?” He kicked his shoes off and scooted his feet through the olive-green shag carpet he’d put down on the living room floor. He popped a cassette in the player and turned it on. In the bedroom he began to rummage through his closet. He wanted to make it to church tonight and see if that new gal was there.

“Lady, Linda,” he mused, “what was her name? Ah, here it is.” He slid the long sleeved shirt out of the closet and examined it. Being over twenty years old, it was not doing too badly.

“Like you, you old dog.” He winked at himself in the mirror. “Lady, I think the name was. Hot!”

He headed for the shower humming along with the music, Lady from Styx.

That evening, Bill arrived at Open Door Mission Church a little early and hustled over to get coffee and cookies before they were all gone.  The church crowd was starting to gather and mill around the room.  Bill worked the room saying hello and shaking hands. He was peering around looking to see if Lady had arrived yet. 

“Patience,” he mumbled to himself. “All things in God’s time; can’t rush it.”

“Bill, hey, you’re here!” Came the booming voice of the church pastor. Bill turned. Jimmy Smith, minister of Open Door was a paunchy guy with a friendly face and thin, balding blond hair. He extended his hand toward Bill.

They shook hands and exchanged pleasantries. After a few minutes, Jimmy shifted his over-tight belt around on his double-knit polyester tan pants. Bill wondered if they came from Wal-Mart. It would be the kind of tacky thing the pastor’s wife would buy.

“Bill, I need to discuss something with you for just a minute.” Jimmy was starting to sweat a little on the brow.  There was a pause while the man tried to collect his thoughts.

“You know that we at the church,” he waved his hand to indicate the congregation, “always appreciate the help you give us, volunteering and all.”

“I’m here to serve and help Jimmy, you know that,” Bill answered earnestly. “I’m just a humble servant of God.”

Jimmy paused for a moment, seemingly losing his train of thought.  “Ah, yeah. Right. That is sort of the thing Bill,” he paused again, “some of the parishioners, just a few mind you, have been complaining about the help you have been giving them.”

Bill managed to look shocked. “Whatever can you mean, Jimmy?”

“Well,” Jimmy was having a little trouble with the words, “some people feel you are a little, well, intense…yes, yes, that’s the word. A little too intense for their liking.”

“Jimmy, you know that I started out in seminary school, and I have been doing good works and carrying the message of the Lord for all these years. I am so sorry if people just aren’t interested…”

“Interested is not really the right word Bill, no, no. I wouldn’t use the word ‘interested’. No, it’s more like they feel like you come on too strong with them and the message and they feel…….” He was struggling again, “they feel, well, intimidated. Yes, that’s it. Intimidated.”

Bill shook his head back and forth, mystified.

“Well, Jimmy, whatever it is you want from me, you know you just have to ask. You know that don’t you, Jimmy?” He put a boney hand on Jimmy’s thick shoulder.

“Well, of course, Bill,” Jimmy was trying hard to maintain eye contact. “Tell you what. Maybe if you could just, tone things down a bit, for the time being. Let the newcomers sort of feel their way around here, maybe that would help.”

Bill was nodding with enthusiasm, “Absolutely, Jimmy, you’re the man in charge.”

Jimmy looked relieved; he could see his wife scowling at him from the kitchen area. “Well, actually, He’s the man in charge,” he pointed a finger upwards. “But still, so glad we could speak to each other like this. Again, thanks for all your work for the church. Enjoy the service.” He wiped his brow with a hand and scurried off to see what his wife wanted.

Bill smiled and turned back to the congregation and pews “Ass,” he thought to himself. “I was preaching when he was in diapers.”

Jimmy beat it over to his wife, double time.

“Did you talk to him?” she hissed at him.

“Yes, Susan, I talked to him. He seems very cooperative.”

“I hope so, I am so sick of him. The old moocher,” she shook her head in disgust.

The service was starting, Bill was forced to find a seat with the others. To his delight, Lady came in late through a side door and grab a seat a few rows ahead of him. He could lean sideways and get a glimpse of her stocking-clad legs over a well shod heel.  “Got to love it,” he mumbled a little. The short, dumpy lady sitting next to him shot him a suspicious look. He opened his pew book.

After the service, the church always served more coffee and refreshments and he raced the crowd back to the kitchen.  Lady wandered in and was talking to some other women. He moseyed over and hung onto the edges of the conversation, laughing when the others laughed.

Out in the parking lot; as the parishioners started to leave, he casually got his bike off the rack and wandered over to where Lady was getting in her car. “So, good to see you here tonight, we just love newcomers,” he told her.

She looked up a little startled and then pausing said “Ah, that is so sweet to hear you say. Thanks Bill, it feels great to be welcomed.”

“Don’t know if you’d ever like to go for coffee after the service,” he ventured.

She had gotten the car door opened and threw her purse in. She looked like she was considering his offer for a moment. “Oh, don’t think so, Bill. Thanks so much, I have to get home to my fiancée.”

His guts lurched at the word fiancée but he managed to keep the smile on his face. “Well, maybe invite him too sometime, why the heck not?”

She laughed and got into her car. “Maybe, sometime.” She started the engine and drove away. When she was well out of the parking lot she shook her blond head back and forth. “Men, amazing.”

Bill was pedaling like a madman back home to Happy House Village.  “She’s not that great,” he fumed furiously. “And that suit she was wearing. What’s that color, hot pink? Just another tart in a cheap suit.” He slammed his bike into the bike rack. Scuttling past the warm light of the club house he could see a group of people playing cards. Phyllis was there sitting next to some man he didn’t know. “Yucking it up, as always. Bunch of jerk-offs.” He stomped up the carpeted stairs not waiting for the elevator.

                                                                        #

Next night, Bill rode the bus, putting his bike on the front, and was able to find the Cumbiaton bar for the salsa dancing. Electro Latin Nights the billboard screamed. He was wearing his best blue silk shirt and some nice fitting white pants. He was so proud of himself he could still fit into all his old clothes. “That’s exercise for you.” Plus, he knew the light here would be very dim so that would help immensely.

Always a good dancer, he was eager to try these new steps. “Go Dog, go,” he encouraged himself. He asked many ladies to dance and they usually said yes and pretty soon the whole place was a riot of motion and energy. He was really having fun.

After the end of one exhausting set, he asked his little Latina partner “Drink?”

“Si, senor, Dos Equis, por favor.” Bill ran to get her drink.

As she sat sipping her drink, he fondled his coke. “Would you like to go out sometime?”

She laughed, a little tinkling laugh, and her black curls shook. “No man, you fun but you old enough to be my grandpa.” She giggled again and sipped her beer, her bright red nail polish brushing drops off the low-cut chiffon thing she was wearing.

Bill raised his glass. “Cheers, no problem,” he gave her a big smile, disco light glinting off his choppers.

Back home that night, he stared in the mirror. “What’s wrong with me?” he asked his reflection. “Girls  used to go wild over me. They must have no taste anymore.” Shaking his head sadly over the state of the world, he made his way to bed, carefully folding back the baby blue chenille cover.  

                                                                        #

Next night, he waited until it was bridge time and ambled downstairs to join the group. He balanced one skinny hip on a plush tan chair. The chair was color coordinated with the Italian styled plaster walls.

“So, Phyllis,” he asked casually, “still looking for that bridge partner?”

“Oh Bill, that is so sweet of you.” Phyllis gushed. “But, oh, here he is.” She waved at the entranceway. A dark haired man stood under the heavy crown molding entranceway. “Fred, Fred, over here honey!”

Fred sauntered over and plopped down in one of the folding chairs at the card table.

“Fred is my new bridge partner. Isn’t he just the cutest?” Fred, looking a bit like a carnival bear dressed in a shirt and tie, gave a curt nod in Bill’s general direction.

“So, we gonna play or what?” growled Sally, the unofficial bridge headmaster, a cigarette hanging out of her mouth. The others eagerly pulled their chairs up to the table waiting for their cards.

“Ah, yeah,” Bill mumbled to Phyllis who was already caught up in the game. He got off the chair and wandered out to the pool and laid down on one of the big white plastic loungers. The pool cleaner swept back and forth in the water producing little gurgling sounds.

He leaned back and stared up at the night sky and the bright, white stars. “What’s the world coming to Lord? What’s the world coming to?”

cew

Ditching Instagram

09 Saturday Dec 2023

Posted by webbywriter1 in Jobs and the workplace, stress

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So, my good friend sent me an Instagram to show me her new painting process. Which was great, except that I had not been on Instagram for some time and could never get the entire video to run. However, in the meantime, another Instagram video popped up where the guy was giving great instructions on how to ace the Internet and make money. I had to watch this same video over and over again trying to figure out how to get it off my dashboard. (I really had seen enough of this guy.) So, Saturday am, having not much else to do, I made it my job to finally get rid of this thing. Three YouTube videos later and two Google hacks, I learned I had to re-activate my Instagram account, re-install a password, change the password and then finally delete the entire system. Then two more hacks and I was able to finally (!!!) clear both videos off my dash. Whew!

This came close on the heels of trying to reopen 4 assignments for a student in one of my classes. After attempting to do it myself (three times) and failing (more piteous emails from the student), I had to contact the Tech Dept., give them detailed accounts about what had gone on and then (At last!!!) get the magic words (reopen the entire Module) and follow detailed instructions to get the job done. The whole process with emails back and forth lasted nearly one week.

That on the heels of having to learning yet another (Really Important!) app, that someone at the school felt we had to know!!!! Then, again, needing to contact another tech guy, set an appointment and painfully go through the steps, item by item, to get the app up and running. Now computers are supposed to make our lives easier right? I am starting to doubt that. In fact, I am pretty sure that the ‘improvements’ are sucking up enormous amounts of work time, for me and everyone else. Lets see what the people in Amsterdam have to say.

We are wasting up to 20% of our time on computer problems, says study June 29, 2023

by University of Copenhagen

tps://techxplore.com/news/2023-06-problems.html

Credit: Unsplash/CC0 Public Domain

Even though our computers are now better than 15 years ago, they still malfunction 11%–20% of the time, a new study from the University of Copenhagen and Roskilde University concludes. The researchers behind the study therefore find that there are major gains to be achieved for society by rethinking the systems and involving users more in their development.

An endlessly rotating beach ball, a program that crashes without saving data or systems that require illogical procedures or simply do not work: Unfortunately, struggling with computers is still a familiar situation for most of us. Tearing your hair out over computers that do not work remains very common among users, according to new Danish research.

In fact, so much that on average, we waste 11%–20% of our time in front of our computers on systems that do not work or that are so difficult to understand that we cannot perform the task we want to. And this is far from being good enough, says Professor Kasper Hornbæk, one of the researchers behind the study.

“It’s incredible that the figure is so high. However, most people experience frustration when using computers and can tell a horror story about an important PowerPoint presentation that was not saved or a system that crashed at a critical moment. Everyone knows that it is difficult to create IT systems that match people’s needs, but the figure should be much lower, and one thing that it shows is that ordinary people aren’t involved enough when the systems are developed,” he says.

Professor Morten Hertzum, the other researcher behind the study, emphasizes that most frustrations are experienced in connection with the performance of completely ordinary tasks.

“The frustrations are not due to people using their computers for something highly advanced, but because they experience problems in their performance of everyday tasks. This makes it easier to involve users in identifying problems. But it also means that problems that are not identified and solved will probably frustrate a large number of users,” says Morten Hertzum.

The problems are only too recognizable

To examine this issue, the researchers have been assisted by 234 participants who spend between six and eight hours in front of a computer in their day-to-day work.

During one hour, the researchers told them to report the situations in which the computer would not work properly, or where the participants were frustrated about not being able to perform the task they wanted.

The problems most often experienced by the participants included: “the system was slow,” “the system froze temporarily,” “the system crashed,” “it is difficult to find things.” The participants had backgrounds such as student, accountant, consultant, but several of them actually worked in the IT industry.

“A number of the participants in the survey were IT professionals, while most of the other participants were highly competent IT and computer users. Nevertheless, they encountered these problems, and it turns out that this involves some fundamental functions,” says Kasper Hornbæk.

The participants in the survey also responded that 84% of the episodes had occurred before and that 87% of the episodes could happen again. And, according to Kasper Hornbæk, we are having the same fundamental problems today that we had 15–20 years ago.

“The two biggest categories of problems are still about insufficient performance and lack of user-friendliness,” he says.

Morten Hertzum adds, “Our technology can do more today, and it has also become better, but at the same time, we expect more from it. Even though downloads are faster now, they are often still experienced as frustratingly slow. “

88% use a computer at work

According to Statistics Denmark, 88% of Danes used computers, laptops, smartphones, tablets or other mobile devices at work in 2018. In this context, the new study indicates that a half to a whole day of a normal working week may be wasted on computer problems.

“There is a lot of productivity lost in workplaces throughout Denmark because people are unable to perform their ordinary work because the computer is not running as it should. It also causes a lot of frustrations for the individual user,” says Kasper Hornbæk.

This means that there are major benefits to be gained for society if we experienced fewer problems in front of our computers. According to Kasper Hornbæk, the gains can, for example, be achieved if more resources are invested in rethinking how faults are presented to us on the computer.

“Part of the solution may be to shield us from knowing that the computer is working to solve a problem. In reality, there is no reason why we need to look at an incomprehensible box with commands or a frozen computer. The computer could easily solve the problems without displaying this, while it provided a back-up version of the system for us, so that we could continue to work with our tasks undisturbed,” says Kasper Hornbæk.

At the same time, IT developers should involve the users even more when designing the systems to make them as easy to use—and understand—as possible, because according to the researcher, there are no poor IT users, only poor systems.

“When we’re all surrounded by IT systems that we’re cursing, it’s very healthy to ascertain that it’s probably not the users that are the problem, but those who make the systems. The study clearly shows that there is still much room for improvement, and we therefore hope that it can create more focus on making more user-friendly systems in the future,” concludes Kasper Hornbæk.

More information: Morten Hertzum et al, Frustration: Still a Common User Experience, ACM Transactions on Computer-Human Interaction (2023). DOI: 10.1145/3582432

Provided by University of Copenhagen 

What Does it Feel Like to get Vetted by a Guy?

28 Tuesday Nov 2023

Posted by webbywriter1 in aging, exercise, dating, FRIENDSHIP, holidays

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Do guy ‘vet’ girls? Absolutely.

I was recently on a short vacation in my home state and went on a day’s tour of one of our famous national parks. It was fun. For me and all the other tourists! However, I had booked a tour van beforehand, so I didn’t have to drive and could enjoy the scenery.

I was the last one in the van and sat down by a very good-looking guy. I instantly saw that he was a lot younger than me, (oh, sigh!). Still, we spent a lot of the day together, chatting about our respective lives. He had recently broken up with his girlfriend and I concluded he was a) lonely b) slightly depressed and c) looking for someone new.

Anyway, we talked all day, and he told me a great deal about himself. I talked about myself a bit and my work, and we exchanged like stories. Although, certainly, at the end of the day, he had been to more places than I had been and quite certainly had a lot more money.

Here’s where it gets interesting. He spent most of the day either talking to me or following me around. Why? Because I’m fabulously attractive? Well, probably (for my age.) More like, he is lonely and likes to be around a woman. Was he interested? To an extent but he also certainly took note of the crow’s-feet and other wrinkles. He got my email to send me some park pictures, but, I doubt I’ll hear from him again.

It was fun. Was I being vetted? Yes, I was. Did I pass? No, too old. What about him? Cute, right? Very, and sexy. Hmm. But… This guy made his money building a CBD enterprise that was successfully and that he recently sold. How do I feel about that? Well…I’m totally opposed to all CBD products. I have been against marijuana forever and felt that the jury was out about how much real damage this ‘natural, and herbal remedy’ could do. Since I doubt my new friend reads all the health bulletins I read, he probably doesn’t know about the absolute crisis going on in the medical field with older patients using CBD products that combine poorly with their other medications. Patients are having severe adverse reactions to include heart problems, breathing and blood pressure issues. This is drop-dead kind of stuff. So…the data is trickling in as to the effects of this now legal drug.

Bottom line, what does this mean? It means that the two of us have some very significant and fundamental differences in our value systems. Is this important? Very. Men tend to have a very discerning radar for a woman’s beauty and almost any little thing can mar the package. Women tend to be much more sensitive to the man’s character flaws and less on beauty, although, that does matter.

So, seriously, how many relationships fail over beauty issues versus failure over character flaws? Do we  need to think about that one very hard?

So, girls…let me be the nineteenth person to tell you not to fall into bed with Mr. Wonderful after you first meet. The temptation can be very great. And, you may think I say that because you don’t want him to think you are ‘easy’. True, but there’s a lot more to it than that. The guy who pressured you into the sack may think you’re easy or maybe he’s not really all that interested. It can, curiously enough, be that he is very interested, doesn’t have a lot of self-confidence (for whatever reason). He wants you in the sack so you will think of him, not from the neck up, but from the waist down. Maybe he doesn’t feel so great about himself and doesn’t want you to spend a lot of time getting to know him, ‘cause, what will you think then? It is so important to get to know the guy before the fun stuff starts so you can form some kind of idea about who this guy really is.

I did like on my trip, and it was great getting all that male attention. Just as well that I didn’t pass the vetting test. I might have been forced to give him a piece of my mind about all that CBD crap. That wouldn’t have worked, would it?

CEW

P.S.: Final note, if you don’t hear back from the guy in three days, you won’t hear back from him. Oh, sigh.

Jeanine’s Art

15 Wednesday Nov 2023

Posted by webbywriter1 in Uncategorized

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Jeanine Colini Design Art

Jeanine’s Nativity watercolor has been selected for the 3rd Annual Creche Festival in Houston, Tx.

Call/text  213.507.5825

Email  jeanine@jcda.com

Shop  https://www.jcda.com/

Facebook http://www.facebook.com/JeanineColiniDesignArt

Instagram  http://instagram.com/jeaninecolini

Fr. Antoine Poidebard – Part II

05 Sunday Nov 2023

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Books and written work

Books: The Syrian Desert with Rene Moaterde and Le Limes de Chaleis. (The Limits of the Roman Empire.)

Poidebard and Felix Marie Charles Moatti collaborated on the influential archaeological and geographic work titled “La Piste Oubliee: A la recherche des tresors de l’Orient (The Forgotten Path: In Search of the Tresures of the East).” The book was published in 1934 and documents their joint aerial archaeological explorations in the Syrian Desert. Poidebard, the aviator, and Moatti, the photographer, used aerial surveys and photography to capture the landscapes and archaeological sites of the Syrian Desert.

This work, often referred to as “The Forgotten Path,” is known for its pioneering contributions to the field of aerial archaeology. Through their aerial photographs and surveys, Poidebard and Moatti documented ancient Roman roads, fortresses, and other archaeological features in the Syrian Desert. Their research shed light on the historical significance of this region and provided new insights into ancient civilizations that once inhabited it. (Retrieved Internet 2023.)

“The Forgotten Path” remains an important reference for scholars and researchers interested in the archaeology and history of the Middle East and the application of aerial techniques in archaeological exploration.

Theories

Poidebard made significant contributions by photographing a number of abandoned Roman forts in the area. His theory at the time was that these outposts of the Roman Empire were to hold back invaders. Although, modern thought has come to deviate from those ideas. (Retrieved Internet 2023.)

The exact timeline and reasons for the Roman withdrawal from regions within Iraq, Iran and Syria varied. In some cases, the Romans voluntarily withdrew to consolidate forces and focus on defending core territories. In other cases, they were gradually pushed out due to military defeats and external pressures. The decline and fall of the Western Roman Empire in the 5th century CE (common era) marked a significant turning point, leading to the eventual fragmentation of the empire’s territories in the Middle East and elsewhere. (Retrieved Internet 2023.)

Cold War satellite images reveal nearly 400 Roman forts in the Middle East

News

By Ben Turner  Live Science Magazine 10/23. https://www.livescience.com/archaeology/romans/cold-war-satellite-images-reveal-nearly-400-roman-forts-in-the-middle-east?utm_term=35FB7B5F-D6F0-4F8F-B

The photos, taken in the 1960s and 1970s by the first spy satellites, reveal that the eastern border of the Roman Empire was a place of vibrant trade.

Four roman forts captured in satellite photos by the U.S. military’s Corona project, which ran from 1960 to 1972. (Image credit: CORONA/Courtesy Jesse Casana/Antiquity Publications Ltd)

Declassified images from Cold War spy satellites have revealed hundreds of previously undiscovered Roman forts in Iraq and Syria — and their existence suggests the eastern border of the ancient empire wasn’t as violent as initially thought, a new study finds.

Researchers already knew about a series of forts — spanning roughly 116,000 square miles (300,000 square kilometers) from the Tigris River in modern-day Iraq to the plains of the Euphrates River in Syria — that were once thought to belong to a north-south border wall that separated the Romans from the rival empire of Persia. 

But the distribution, from east to west, of the newfound forts along with those previously known ones, hints that they were built to facilitate peaceful trade and travel. The new study, published Thursday (Oct. 26) in the journal Antiquity, refutes a 1934 hypothesis by the French archaeologist and Jesuit priest Antoine Poidebard that the eastern fortifications were built to repel invaders.

“Since the 1930s, historians and archaeologists have debated the strategic or political purpose of this system of fortifications,” lead study author Jesse Casana, a professor of anthropology at Dartmouth College, said in a statement. “But few scholars have questioned Poidebard’s basic observation that there was a line of forts defining the eastern Roman frontier.”

Stretching across the deserts of Iraq and Syria, Poidebard discovered 116 of the second and third century A.D. forts after taking aerial photographs in the 1920s and 1930s. Looking at their placement from his biplane, which he learned to fly during World War I, Poidebard hypothesized that the square-shaped strongholds created a north-south defensive line that drove back raids from Parthians and later the Sassanid Persians. 

Until now, Poidecard’s hypothesis was widely accepted by historians. But after analyzing high-resolution images of the region taken by spy satellites in the 1960s and 1970s, the researchers discovered 396 previously unknown forts or fort-like buildings that were sprinkled widely from east to west.

This suggests the border was more fluid than first thought, with the outposts existing not along the border but through it — protecting trade caravans as they ferried people and goods between Rome and the neighboring Parthian (later Sassanid Persian) Empire. The archaeologists say this raises an important question about the border: “Was it a wall or a road?”

The researchers say their study highlights the importance of declassified images in archaeological research — especially as many of the forts revealed in the photos have now been destroyed by agricultural expansion and urbanization. They expect more discoveries to accompany the declassification of other aerial images, such as those taken by U2 spy planes.

“Careful analysis of these powerful data holds enormous potential for future discoveries in the Near East and beyond,” Casana said.  Archaeologist Poidebard sorting shards ( Bak 1928).

AERIAL ARCHAEOLOGY

Antoine Poidebard- Archeologie.culture.FR (retrieved Internet 2023.)

Jesuit missionary and explorer, Antoine Poidebard (1878-1955) settled in Beirut in 1925. Charged with mapping missions by the French mandatory authorities, he realised the extraordinary potential of aerial reconnaissance for recording archaeological data.

From the shores of the Mediterranean to the skies of the Levant (Middle East)

Provided with logistical support by the French airforce, he clocked up thousands of flying hours, mainly over the desert steppes of Syria, but also along the Mediterranean coast as far as Algeria and Tunisia. A highly talented amateur, Poidebard developed innovative technical processes and used strict procedures, paving the way for aerial archaeology as a scientific method.

Using art and technology for archaeological research

Antoine Poidebard’s archives are conserved in the Oriental Library of Saint Joseph University , which presents some of them in its virtual exhibition. It reveals the surprising conjunction between the rigours of scientific research and the artistic scope of Poidebard’s photographs, combining photography, aeronautics and archaeology. (https://www.usj.edu.lb/search.php?q=antoine%20poidebard) Universite Saint-Joseph de Beyrouth.

“Archives collected in the desert sand” 2016-2017 at the Laténium

In 2016-2017, an exhibition devoted to Antoine Poidebard, called the “Archives collected in the desert sand, from Palmyra to Cartago” was organised by the Laténium (https://latenium.ch/en/press-and-archives/exhibition-archives-old/archives-des-sables-de-palmyre-a-carthage/) (Neuchatel, SUI) to shed light on the outstanding aerial photographs taken during the interwar period by Poidebard in the Near East.

Leaflet | © OpenStreetMap contributors

SCIENTIFIC DIRECTION

Marc-Antoine Kaeser (Laténium)(Switzerland) and Lévon Nordiguian (University of Beirut)

 

Fr. Antoine Poidebard and the Middle East

05 Sunday Nov 2023

Posted by webbywriter1 in Uncategorized

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Fr. Antoine Poidebard and the Middle-East.

Courtney Webb

Antoine Poidebard; Lyon, France 1878 to Beirut 1955, (77 years) was a Jesuit priest and member of the Society of Jesus.

He developed the art of aerial photography by flying over Iraq, Syria and Jordan in a biplane in the 20’s and 30’s. His numerous photographs have been used to this day and he was able to discern differences in vegetation to show abandoned Roman forts and roads.

How and why was he there? The Mandate for Syria and Lebanon was established in 1920. Under this mandate, France assumed administrative control of the territories of modern-day Syria and Lebanon. However, the actual implementation of the mandate was met with resistance from local nationalist movements and populations who sought independence.

The mandate had been granted by the League of Nations to France after World War I. The purpose was to establish governments in area previously ruled by the Ottoman Empire.

Later, Syria and Lebanon were both granted independence from France in 1943. Poidebard was financially supported by various institutions to do research, especially in Syria. One of the significant sources of funding for his work was the French government. His archaeological and aerial survey missions were often sponsored by the French Ministry of Foreign Affairs and the French Ministry of National Education. (Retrieved Internet 2023.) He received additional funding from the French Institute of Archaeology in Beirut and the French School of Athens.

 map of the Middle East area

 map of Beirut, Lebanon

The Aircraft

 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=927r7wHOef4  (video about Caudron G.3’s)

The Caudron G.3 was a French reconnaissance aircraft widely used during World War I. Poidebard flew the Caudron G.3 biplane for his aerial archaeological surveys in the 1920s and 1930s. The Caudron G.3 was a French reconnaissance aircraft widely used during World War I. He learned to fly during the war and then created a way to utilize the aircraft for aerial surveys of archaeological sites in Syria and parts of the Middle East, capturing valuable photographs of historical sites and landscapes from the air. His pioneering work in this area significantly contributed to the understanding of ancient civilizations in the region.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kr4e23CarYY (more videos about this aircraft.)

Aerial photographs of abandoned Roman forts in the Middle East.
Fr. Poidebard examing shards in the desert.

Bring back the WPA projects for the Homeless.

15 Sunday Oct 2023

Posted by webbywriter1 in Uncategorized

≈ Comments Off on Bring back the WPA projects for the Homeless.

In the days of increasing and increasing homelessness, most are lost for a clue as to what to do. Why not bring back the WPA projects as were done in the 30’s. In our area, numerous hiking trails into the hills were paved by the WPA who also built bridges and many stone walls. They stand as good as ever to this day. An idea.

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