The Namedroppers
Cornwallis and Lenny went to the same New Year’s Eve party every year at Doug’s house. They knew they could count on seeing a certain Ricardo Robbins in attendance. They knew Ricardo would be holding court, the center of attention of course, Mister six foot two and eyes of blue. Mister Namedropper. “So how long do you think it’ll take Ricardo to mention his buddy, Pat Sajak?” said Cornwallis to Lenny.
“Oh, if it’s anything like last year, probably ten minutes tops.”
“How about we make a little wager then?” said Cornwallis.
“I’m up for a bet,” replied Lenny. “You know me.”
“I’ll take the over if you’ll take the under,” said Cornwallis.
“Over ten minutes to mention Pat Sajak?” questioned Lenny. “No way. I’d be happy to take the under if you’ll stick with the over.”
“You’re on!” said Cornwallis. “Loser does the dishes for the week.”
After the wager was agreed upon, into Doug’s house went the boys. Sure enough, they found Ricardo Robbins lingering near the shrimp bowl, casually popping one shrimp after another into his perfectly squared jaw. There he was, in all his six foot two glory, regaling two young lovelies about his days at sea. Cornwallis and Lenny were sickened. They didn’t come to Doug’s party to listen to Ricardo prattle on about responsible tanning, flexing on the bow, or paying lip service to saving the environment. They wanted to throw around some names -- and they had a bet to settle.
The two lovelies were well-mannered indeed, allowing Cornwallis and Lenny to intrude upon their threesome. And after proper introductions were made, Cornwallis asked Ricardo if he was still working down at the depot. “Of course I am. Where else would a man want to work?”
“And I bet you even run into a few celebrities every now and then,” hinted Lenny.
“Oh, from time to time I suppose,” Ricardo admitted.
“Any in particular you’d care to mention?” continued Lenny.
“Not really,” said Ricardo. “We’re really quite busy most of the time. I hardly have a moment to notice such things.”
Lenny wasn’t buying it. “But if they happen to be on television most nights, surely you’d take notice -- just a little.”
“If Ricardo doesn’t remember, he doesn’t remember,” injected Cornwallis. “But perhaps his recall will improve after eight or nine minutes go by.”
“Say, what are you boys up to?” asked Ricardo. “Do you intend to make merry with me?”
“Heavens no,” said Lenny. “Cornwallis and I just thought your two friends here would be interested in the people with whom you associate. I know I would.”
“Yes, they might,” added Cornwallis, “but only after seven minutes or so.”
“I believe you do make merry with me,” said Ricardo. “But if you wish to know that I’ve entertained the likes of Pat Sajak, then I’m fine with that. I have nothing to hide. Why, Pat and I…”
“I win!” blurted Lenny. “I win! He namedropped Pat Sajak. You’re doing the dishes for a week, Cornwallis. Lather up, my little friend.”
“You win nothing,” Ricardo spat. “Nothing at all. You, Leonard, will never live as large as I. And do you know why? It’s because you have no class, no style or panache. Had a person of Pat Sajak’s esteem entered your establishment, you might well sell him a pack of gum, but then ask if he’d like to buy a vowel as well. As if he’d never heard that one before. And Leonard, I know for a fact that you crossed paths with Marilu Henner at a recent gala. And I know for a fact that after meeting Marilu Henner, you told her that you’d heard she was pretty smart in real life for a dame -- a dame?! Oh, I heard she was as gracious as you’d expect from someone on television, but then turned to her companion and asked if anyone knew who that rube was. And you, Cornwallis? Don’t look so imperious. I know that you’ve been bragging all over town about meeting not one but two cast members from tv’s Seventh Heaven. But you couldn’t let it end there, could you? I heard you started peppering them -- badgering them really -- with questions about Beverley Mitchell, what’s she really like and all that. They finally had to give you the brush off, saying in effect, Hey dude, we’re just actors, okay? Let it go. Have another drink. See, you two losers will never know what it’s like to be comfortable with celebrities, what it’s like to be on their level. What I did with Pat Sajak was simple. I would bottle it if I could. See, I run into him and all he gets out of me is a friendly head nod and a slight smile of recognition. After that, you know, a trust is developed. Soon we’re pals. But you guys, you fuck it all up. Pardon my French, but I can’t say it any different. You fuck it up. You’re fuck ups.”
“Okay,” said a dejected Lenny, “I can see we have different approaches. But tell us, Ricardo, what other celebrities have you seen lately?”
Ricardo thought it over, though this was mostly for effect. “Why, just the other day I made the acquaintance of one Juliette Lewis.”
“Juliette Lewis!” said an excited Cornwallis. “Wow. Did you ask her about DeNiro, Scorcese?”
“Did you not listen to anything I’ve told you?” asked Ricardo. “No, of course you didn‘t. But I tell you, I gave Juliette nothing more than I gave to Pat Sajak. But mark my words, the next time I check my e-mail the very first name I’ll see in my in-box will be…”
“Juliette Lewis!” cried Cornwallis and Lenny in unison.
“Exactly,” replied Ricardo. “Exactly.”
The end.
p.s. Parts of this story are actually true.
A Few of our Favorite Things: 2016
Books (Miki)
Brooklyn by Colm Toibin
Witch of Lime Street by David Jaher
Kitchens of the Great Midwest by J Ryan Stradel
The Girls by Emma Cline
Black Rabbit Hall by Eve Chase
Books (Pete)
The Heavenly Table by Donald Ray Pollack
A Man Lies Dreaming by Lavie Tidhar
Chronicles Vol. 1 by Bob Dylan
Swing by Philip Beard
A Man Called Ove by Fredrik Backman
Movies (We didn’t see many but we did like…)
Sing Street
Television (Miki)
This is Us
Television (Pete)
Anthony Bourdain ‘Parts Unknown’
Concert (Miki)
Norah Jones, Dixie Chicks
Concert (Pete)
Norah Jones
Music (Miki)
Nathanial Ratliff
Music (Pete)
Esmee Patterson’s ‘When We Were Wild’
Vacation highlight (Miki)
Magnolia Farms (Waco, Texas)
Vacation highlight (Pete)
Oregon beaches
Favorite event (both)
Going to the DMV. Wait, that wasn’t it at all. Our favorite event was the birth of our little Cordi. Despite a rather tumultuous year, we at the Schulte Sector have been truly blessed. We hope 2017 brings you all the best life has to offer. Happy New Year everyone!
Saturday, December 31, 2016
Thursday, December 22, 2016
A baby floating in the sky is not a Christmas miracle, it's just Gina. (A short story and some bonus photos)
It’s Alright, Ma (I’m Only Levitating)
Greg returned home after a long day at work to his wife, Alma, and their newborn daughter, Gina. Only Gina was nowhere to be found. A panicked Greg said to Alma, “Honey, where’s the baby?” Alma said nothing, but pointed up at the ceiling.
“What the?” said an aghast Greg as he gazed up at his diapered baby hovering gently near the ceiling.
“She’s been up there nearly an hour,” said Alva. “I can’t get her to come down. I think she’s actually sleeping.”
“Well,” said Greg, scratching his head, “sleeping or no sleeping, the ceiling is no place for a baby.”
“Hey,” said Alma, “I’ll feed the baby and I’ll change the baby, but I won’t be peeling her off the ceiling for you. That’ll be your job, buddy.”
“Fair enough,” replied Greg. “Fair enough. I’ll go fetch the ladder. You call Dr. Hobbs. This is all highly irregular.”
Greg carefully retrieved Gina from the ceiling, then all three raced to Dr. Hobbs’ office. Once inside, the doctor asked Greg and Alma why they’d brought little Gina in. Greg said nothing while Alma released the baby from her grasp. Rather than falling to the floor, Gina simply levitated at about eye level to the adults in the room.
“By golly you’ve got a floater!” said old Doc Hobbs. “Why I haven’t seen one of these in years,” he said while casually waving his hand beneath the levitating baby. “I’ll be darned…”
“But what do we do?” asked Greg.
“What do you do?” laughed the doctor. “What do you do? You don’t do anything is what you do. Enjoy the spectacle I guess.”
Dr. Hobbs inquired as to whether Greg and Alma were first time parents. They were. He then counseled them not to panic, that although floaters were a rarity for sure, they were not entirely unheard of. He informed the frightened parents that Gina was small and light even for a baby, and that gases had simply built up inside her and caused her to levitate. She would eventually burp and fart and return on her own to the safety of their arms. Dr. Hobbs relayed that he had seen some floaters in the past climb down the curtains themselves when they were hungry enough. “They always return to the boob, right Greg?” said the doctor with a wink in his eye. “Am I right?”
“What are you asking me for?” replied Greg. “I’ve never heard of such a thing.”
“Seriously,” said the doctor, “it’s nothing to worry about. Just make sure to keep her tethered if you take her outside, and keep watch for birds of prey. Otherwise, she’ll be fine. Fine I say. Why I once had a floater that made it clear over to Omaha before we got him back down to solid earth. Now that boy was some kind of floater, some kind of floater indeed. They don’t make them like that anymore.”
“Hey, I bet my Gina could make it past Omaha,” said Greg, proudly.
“Now you’re talking!” Doc Hobbs replied. “That’s the spirit I like to hear.”
In the end, Gina floated for two more seasons until she put some weight on her and never took that kind of flight again. But every now and then her parents keep one eye on the sky, and bid a sigh of relief every time a belch escapes from Gina’s tiny body.
The end.
Greg returned home after a long day at work to his wife, Alma, and their newborn daughter, Gina. Only Gina was nowhere to be found. A panicked Greg said to Alma, “Honey, where’s the baby?” Alma said nothing, but pointed up at the ceiling.
“What the?” said an aghast Greg as he gazed up at his diapered baby hovering gently near the ceiling.
“She’s been up there nearly an hour,” said Alva. “I can’t get her to come down. I think she’s actually sleeping.”
“Well,” said Greg, scratching his head, “sleeping or no sleeping, the ceiling is no place for a baby.”
“Hey,” said Alma, “I’ll feed the baby and I’ll change the baby, but I won’t be peeling her off the ceiling for you. That’ll be your job, buddy.”
“Fair enough,” replied Greg. “Fair enough. I’ll go fetch the ladder. You call Dr. Hobbs. This is all highly irregular.”
Greg carefully retrieved Gina from the ceiling, then all three raced to Dr. Hobbs’ office. Once inside, the doctor asked Greg and Alma why they’d brought little Gina in. Greg said nothing while Alma released the baby from her grasp. Rather than falling to the floor, Gina simply levitated at about eye level to the adults in the room.
“By golly you’ve got a floater!” said old Doc Hobbs. “Why I haven’t seen one of these in years,” he said while casually waving his hand beneath the levitating baby. “I’ll be darned…”
“But what do we do?” asked Greg.
“What do you do?” laughed the doctor. “What do you do? You don’t do anything is what you do. Enjoy the spectacle I guess.”
Dr. Hobbs inquired as to whether Greg and Alma were first time parents. They were. He then counseled them not to panic, that although floaters were a rarity for sure, they were not entirely unheard of. He informed the frightened parents that Gina was small and light even for a baby, and that gases had simply built up inside her and caused her to levitate. She would eventually burp and fart and return on her own to the safety of their arms. Dr. Hobbs relayed that he had seen some floaters in the past climb down the curtains themselves when they were hungry enough. “They always return to the boob, right Greg?” said the doctor with a wink in his eye. “Am I right?”
“What are you asking me for?” replied Greg. “I’ve never heard of such a thing.”
“Seriously,” said the doctor, “it’s nothing to worry about. Just make sure to keep her tethered if you take her outside, and keep watch for birds of prey. Otherwise, she’ll be fine. Fine I say. Why I once had a floater that made it clear over to Omaha before we got him back down to solid earth. Now that boy was some kind of floater, some kind of floater indeed. They don’t make them like that anymore.”
“Hey, I bet my Gina could make it past Omaha,” said Greg, proudly.
“Now you’re talking!” Doc Hobbs replied. “That’s the spirit I like to hear.”
In the end, Gina floated for two more seasons until she put some weight on her and never took that kind of flight again. But every now and then her parents keep one eye on the sky, and bid a sigh of relief every time a belch escapes from Gina’s tiny body.
The end.
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| Here comes Santa Claus! |
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| Red |
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| Manger scene |
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| Not much going on in the garden this time of year. |
Monday, December 12, 2016
Pete takes a break from diaper duty to pen a quick short story and add some holiday pictures...
The Last Chance Lover and the Kissing Bandit
Ramon, the dating expert, was doing his best to counsel Arturo, who sought help because his love life was a zero, had always been a zero. Ramon was under contract to provide for Arturo ten dates, one of which had to have at least some degree of success -- meaning at least a second date or a romantic encounter. Failing that, Arturo’s money was to be refunded. Thus far, nine dates had failed miserably and Arturo was down to his last one. Ramon had just one girl left for him, and this girl’s record as far as dating was concerned was no better than Arturo’s. Her name was Penelope, and Ramon described her to Arturo as thus: “She’s got some cans, man. This much I can tell you. Cans as big as…well…big cans.”
“Cans, really?” replied Arturo.
“And stems too,” added Ramon. “Stems, gams, whatever you want to call them.”
“Stems?” said Arturo. “She’s got stems?”
“Like a dancer, you know?” said Ramon. “A ballet dancer with the long legs. And I’ll tell you the best part…”
“It gets better?” asked Arturo, incredulously. “How can this be?”
“Of course it gets better,” said Ramon. “For my favorite client I get nothing but the best girls. Let me tell you something, Arturo, this girl…this girl…well, she’s got an ass that won’t quit. That’s the best part. That ass didn’t quit today, it won’t quit tomorrow, and it sure didn’t quit yesterday. That’s what I’m saying to you, my friend.”
“She’s got all this,” said Arturo, “and you think she’d go for a guy like me? Is this even possible?”
“A guy like you?” replied Ramon. “Hell yes, a guy like you. You are Arturo Romero and nothing can stop you. Nothing. You are a red hot fire cracker!”
“Me? You really think so?”
“You just need a little back story,” said Ramon. “Now work with me.”
Ramon advised Arturo that he needed to add an edge to his rather ordinary personality. He needed to learn to play a little hardball every once in a while, show everyone who was boss in this town. The ladies want that out of a man, Ramon counseled, they would respect his power and revel in his protection. By the end of their date he would have Penelope in the palm of his hand, he would have her cans in the palms of his hands. All he needed to do was to tell her this…
Arturo spied a girl sitting alone in a booth at the bar they’d agree upon for their date. She looked like a woman from a 1940’s movie. Her dress was vintage, her lips bright red. She wore a red scarf over her hair. Arturo extended a single red rose as he approached the booth. “Might you be Penelope?”
“I just might be,” she replied, taking the rose from his hand. “And are you the Latin lover I’m supposed to be meeting?”
“I certainly am,” said Arturo. “May I take a seat?”
“Please do.”
Arturo and Penelope shared pleasant small talk while enjoying drinks and appetizers. But Arturo had been this far along before, with nights like this ending with a simple handshake and some vague promises for a future date, which never materialized. It was time for him to play some hardball, just as Ramon had advised. “Before we go any further,“ said Arturo, “I have to come clean about something.”
“Uh-oh,” said Penelope, “here it comes.”
“Hey,” said Arturo, “I’m a hard guy and I have hard things to say.”
“Say, I’m no easy dame either,” Penelope replied. “Spill it.”
“It’s just that, well, I used to bang. In my past I used to bang a little. That’s the truth of it.”
“Bang on what?” asked Penelope. “Pots and pans on New Year’s Eve?”
“No, that wasn’t it.”
“Bang on what?” she continued. “The drums? Are you a drummer in a band?”
“No, not that at all.”
“Erasers?” asked Penelope. “Did you get detention and have to bang on erasers?”
“No,” said Arturo, “nothing even close to that.”
“Because that’s what they used to do, before the modern day.”
“I know that,” said Arturo, “I do know that. But that’s not what I’m talking about at all.”
“Well, what are you banging on then?”
“I was in a gang, okay?” said Arturo. “I was a gang member. I banged with a gang because I was a gang member. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
“What kind of gang are we talking about here? Did you steal horses? Were you in a horse thieving gang?”
“A horse thieving gang?” said Arturo. “Are you kidding me? What is this, 1875?”
“Well how am I supposed to know?” replied Penelope. “What’d you do in this gang?”
“You know what a gang is, don’t you?” asked Arturo. “You wear the certain colors, you stand on the corner and flash signs. That kind of stuff.”
“What kind of signs?” asked Penelope. “Peace signs?”
“No, not peace signs,” said Arturo. “Gang signs. With the fingers and the guns and the…”
“I like this one sign where aim your thumbs down and put your index fingers together. It makes a heart, see?”
“Oh brother,” sighed Arturo, “this isn’t working at all. This is awful. I should quit.”
“What’s the matter?”
“Who am I kidding?” said Arturo. “I wasn’t in a gang. That was just a ruse.”
“So you didn’t bang?
“No,” he admitted to her, “I didn’t bang. I was trying to play hardball with you. I was trying to get you interested in me. I meant no harm. I’m sorry.”
“That’s okay,” said Penelope. “That’s okay. So you didn’t bang. You’re still okay by me. But see, I have to come clean too. The truth is, though you may not have banged, I did.”
“You?” said Arturo, exasperated. “You’re telling me that you banged?”
“Well, just with myself. I was a gang of one.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” asked Arturo. “You can‘t call it a gang if you‘re all by yourself.”
“Well, I didn’t need anybody else,” said Penelope.
“What did you do?” said Arturo. “I won’t tell anyone. I‘m no snitch.”
“I robbed a bank. That’s what I did.”
“What!”
Penelope told Arturo of a hot summer day, a yellow dusty kind of day without a single breeze to stir up the air. She was poor, jobless, with really nothing left to lose. On impulse she disguised herself beneath a scarf and robbed the first bank she came upon. Penelope managed to escape back to her apartment okay, but a dye pack the bank had inserted in her money bag exploded, discoloring much of the loot she’d scored. With the money she was able to salvage, Penelope bought a tandem bicycle at a pawn shop. She’d never even ridden it, never had a partner to ride with. “They call me the Kissing Bandit,” she told Arturo, proudly. “I guess because of my bright red lipstick.”
“You’re the Kissing Bandit?” said Arturo. “I’ve heard of you. You’re wanted. Did you know that?”
“Of course I know that,” she replied. “But they probably don’t want me all that much. I hardly got anything.”
“Still, bank robbery is frowned upon.”
Penelope agreed. She then had an idea. “Say, Arturo, how’d you like a second date?”
“A second date?” he replied. “Wow, that’d be new territory for me.”
“Sure, a second date,” said Penelope. “I’ll break out my tandem bike. I’ll sit up front, and you can ride in the back and flash gang signs at all your friends.”
“I don’t think I’d get shot to death for doing that, but more like ridiculed to death. I don’t believe gang signs have ever been flashed from the back of a bicycle built for two.”
“You can sit up front then,” said Penelope. “I don’t mind. I tell you, we’ll have high times you and me. High times and big laughs.”
So began a quaint courtship and eventually a life of crime for Arturo and the Kissing Bandit, although Arturo wasn’t too impressed with the nickname the press had given to him. In bed, under the covers, he angrily shook the newspaper in his hands. “Do you know what they’re calling us?” he asked Penelope.
“Who’s calling us what?” said Penelope, absently filing her fingernails.
“Them, everyone, the police,” said Arturo.
“What are they calling us, dear?”
“The Kissing Bandit and the Oval-headed Guy.”
“So what’s wrong with that?” asked Penelope.
“Well, every adult is more or less oval-headed,” replied Arturo. “Is that the best description they could think of for me -- the only description?”
“Hey mister,“ said Penelope, reaching for him under the covers. “I don’t know about anybody else, but I like an oval-headed guy.”
“But don’t you understand that that isn’t unique? Don’t you get that?”
Penelope just laughed. Arturo wasn’t much to look at, but he had in his bed the Kissing Bandit, and she wasn’t going anywhere.
The end.
Postscript: The Kissing Bandit and the Oval-headed Guy are still on the loose. Who could ever arrest -- or even suspect -- a couple of hard core bank robbers on a bicycle built for two?
Ramon, the dating expert, was doing his best to counsel Arturo, who sought help because his love life was a zero, had always been a zero. Ramon was under contract to provide for Arturo ten dates, one of which had to have at least some degree of success -- meaning at least a second date or a romantic encounter. Failing that, Arturo’s money was to be refunded. Thus far, nine dates had failed miserably and Arturo was down to his last one. Ramon had just one girl left for him, and this girl’s record as far as dating was concerned was no better than Arturo’s. Her name was Penelope, and Ramon described her to Arturo as thus: “She’s got some cans, man. This much I can tell you. Cans as big as…well…big cans.”
“Cans, really?” replied Arturo.
“And stems too,” added Ramon. “Stems, gams, whatever you want to call them.”
“Stems?” said Arturo. “She’s got stems?”
“Like a dancer, you know?” said Ramon. “A ballet dancer with the long legs. And I’ll tell you the best part…”
“It gets better?” asked Arturo, incredulously. “How can this be?”
“Of course it gets better,” said Ramon. “For my favorite client I get nothing but the best girls. Let me tell you something, Arturo, this girl…this girl…well, she’s got an ass that won’t quit. That’s the best part. That ass didn’t quit today, it won’t quit tomorrow, and it sure didn’t quit yesterday. That’s what I’m saying to you, my friend.”
“She’s got all this,” said Arturo, “and you think she’d go for a guy like me? Is this even possible?”
“A guy like you?” replied Ramon. “Hell yes, a guy like you. You are Arturo Romero and nothing can stop you. Nothing. You are a red hot fire cracker!”
“Me? You really think so?”
“You just need a little back story,” said Ramon. “Now work with me.”
Ramon advised Arturo that he needed to add an edge to his rather ordinary personality. He needed to learn to play a little hardball every once in a while, show everyone who was boss in this town. The ladies want that out of a man, Ramon counseled, they would respect his power and revel in his protection. By the end of their date he would have Penelope in the palm of his hand, he would have her cans in the palms of his hands. All he needed to do was to tell her this…
Arturo spied a girl sitting alone in a booth at the bar they’d agree upon for their date. She looked like a woman from a 1940’s movie. Her dress was vintage, her lips bright red. She wore a red scarf over her hair. Arturo extended a single red rose as he approached the booth. “Might you be Penelope?”
“I just might be,” she replied, taking the rose from his hand. “And are you the Latin lover I’m supposed to be meeting?”
“I certainly am,” said Arturo. “May I take a seat?”
“Please do.”
Arturo and Penelope shared pleasant small talk while enjoying drinks and appetizers. But Arturo had been this far along before, with nights like this ending with a simple handshake and some vague promises for a future date, which never materialized. It was time for him to play some hardball, just as Ramon had advised. “Before we go any further,“ said Arturo, “I have to come clean about something.”
“Uh-oh,” said Penelope, “here it comes.”
“Hey,” said Arturo, “I’m a hard guy and I have hard things to say.”
“Say, I’m no easy dame either,” Penelope replied. “Spill it.”
“It’s just that, well, I used to bang. In my past I used to bang a little. That’s the truth of it.”
“Bang on what?” asked Penelope. “Pots and pans on New Year’s Eve?”
“No, that wasn’t it.”
“Bang on what?” she continued. “The drums? Are you a drummer in a band?”
“No, not that at all.”
“Erasers?” asked Penelope. “Did you get detention and have to bang on erasers?”
“No,” said Arturo, “nothing even close to that.”
“Because that’s what they used to do, before the modern day.”
“I know that,” said Arturo, “I do know that. But that’s not what I’m talking about at all.”
“Well, what are you banging on then?”
“I was in a gang, okay?” said Arturo. “I was a gang member. I banged with a gang because I was a gang member. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
“What kind of gang are we talking about here? Did you steal horses? Were you in a horse thieving gang?”
“A horse thieving gang?” said Arturo. “Are you kidding me? What is this, 1875?”
“Well how am I supposed to know?” replied Penelope. “What’d you do in this gang?”
“You know what a gang is, don’t you?” asked Arturo. “You wear the certain colors, you stand on the corner and flash signs. That kind of stuff.”
“What kind of signs?” asked Penelope. “Peace signs?”
“No, not peace signs,” said Arturo. “Gang signs. With the fingers and the guns and the…”
“I like this one sign where aim your thumbs down and put your index fingers together. It makes a heart, see?”
“Oh brother,” sighed Arturo, “this isn’t working at all. This is awful. I should quit.”
“What’s the matter?”
“Who am I kidding?” said Arturo. “I wasn’t in a gang. That was just a ruse.”
“So you didn’t bang?
“No,” he admitted to her, “I didn’t bang. I was trying to play hardball with you. I was trying to get you interested in me. I meant no harm. I’m sorry.”
“That’s okay,” said Penelope. “That’s okay. So you didn’t bang. You’re still okay by me. But see, I have to come clean too. The truth is, though you may not have banged, I did.”
“You?” said Arturo, exasperated. “You’re telling me that you banged?”
“Well, just with myself. I was a gang of one.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” asked Arturo. “You can‘t call it a gang if you‘re all by yourself.”
“Well, I didn’t need anybody else,” said Penelope.
“What did you do?” said Arturo. “I won’t tell anyone. I‘m no snitch.”
“I robbed a bank. That’s what I did.”
“What!”
Penelope told Arturo of a hot summer day, a yellow dusty kind of day without a single breeze to stir up the air. She was poor, jobless, with really nothing left to lose. On impulse she disguised herself beneath a scarf and robbed the first bank she came upon. Penelope managed to escape back to her apartment okay, but a dye pack the bank had inserted in her money bag exploded, discoloring much of the loot she’d scored. With the money she was able to salvage, Penelope bought a tandem bicycle at a pawn shop. She’d never even ridden it, never had a partner to ride with. “They call me the Kissing Bandit,” she told Arturo, proudly. “I guess because of my bright red lipstick.”
“You’re the Kissing Bandit?” said Arturo. “I’ve heard of you. You’re wanted. Did you know that?”
“Of course I know that,” she replied. “But they probably don’t want me all that much. I hardly got anything.”
“Still, bank robbery is frowned upon.”
Penelope agreed. She then had an idea. “Say, Arturo, how’d you like a second date?”
“A second date?” he replied. “Wow, that’d be new territory for me.”
“Sure, a second date,” said Penelope. “I’ll break out my tandem bike. I’ll sit up front, and you can ride in the back and flash gang signs at all your friends.”
“I don’t think I’d get shot to death for doing that, but more like ridiculed to death. I don’t believe gang signs have ever been flashed from the back of a bicycle built for two.”
“You can sit up front then,” said Penelope. “I don’t mind. I tell you, we’ll have high times you and me. High times and big laughs.”
So began a quaint courtship and eventually a life of crime for Arturo and the Kissing Bandit, although Arturo wasn’t too impressed with the nickname the press had given to him. In bed, under the covers, he angrily shook the newspaper in his hands. “Do you know what they’re calling us?” he asked Penelope.
“Who’s calling us what?” said Penelope, absently filing her fingernails.
“Them, everyone, the police,” said Arturo.
“What are they calling us, dear?”
“The Kissing Bandit and the Oval-headed Guy.”
“So what’s wrong with that?” asked Penelope.
“Well, every adult is more or less oval-headed,” replied Arturo. “Is that the best description they could think of for me -- the only description?”
“Hey mister,“ said Penelope, reaching for him under the covers. “I don’t know about anybody else, but I like an oval-headed guy.”
“But don’t you understand that that isn’t unique? Don’t you get that?”
Penelope just laughed. Arturo wasn’t much to look at, but he had in his bed the Kissing Bandit, and she wasn’t going anywhere.
The end.
Postscript: The Kissing Bandit and the Oval-headed Guy are still on the loose. Who could ever arrest -- or even suspect -- a couple of hard core bank robbers on a bicycle built for two?
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| Welcome Cordelia Katie Scarlett Schulte! |
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| art by Arlette Malivernier |
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| A Snowman's Christmas |
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