**********16
The Full Contact Poetry show on Saturday night was a roaring success. Both Thiel and Soren sold several chap books, and Bullwinkle managed to sell eleven CD’s at ten dollars a piece. Augie’s band Gojira headlined the gig to a packed house. Unfortunately, Duncan had to leave as soon as Bullwinkle came off the stage to get down to the bar, but all that would be over soon.
The next day, Master David arrived part way through the afternoon. He had been a close friend of Soren, Augie and Duncan for many years and used to live locally. Now relocated to Boston to be with his sweetie, he returned to his place of origins a couple times a year to visit. Thiel had not known him when he was still a local, but had since met and gotten to know him on his past several visits.
“Master David!” Soren exclaimed as he walked up onto the porch to give her one of his signature Big Hugs. “It’s great to see you.”
“It’s great to be seen. Could I get a little help unloading?”
Thiel and Duncan ran outside to help their friend unload his car. He had brought several drums and various pieces of electronic equipment along for his visit, all of which were taken to the basement.
“So,” Master David began, stretching out comfortably on the couch, “what’s this I hear about a cosmic moose? I’d like to give it a listen.”
Part way through the recording he exclaimed, “Wow. Not bad at all, though I think we could mix it down a little differently.”
“And record some drum tracks,” prodded Duncan.
“And record some drum tracks,” Master David agreed. “Good thing I came equipped. But first, the pancakes and scotch.”
Right up the street was one of their favorite restaurants. It was a family diner kind of place, the kind where one could get meatloaf, homemade pie and pancakes at all hours of the day and night. It had been established some fifty odd years ago and was still run by the original family. They had, in Master David’s opinion, the best pancakes in the world.
After an impromptu late breakfast, they returned home. Having thought ahead to their friend’s arrival, Duncan had already brought home a bottle of Master David’s favorite scotch from the bar since hard alcohol wasn’t sold on Sundays in the midwest. Happily sipping from an espresso cup on the couch with one hand while tapping out a tune with the other on his leg, Master David sat back and stretched.
“Aahh…it’s good to be back. So what the hell are you guys doing for a living these days?”
“Nothing that has anything to do with reality,” explained Duncan. “But at least we’re making decent money doing it.”
“And we get to work together,” added Soren.
“Cool. So what’s your schedule like for the next two weeks?”
“Hmm…let me think,” began Duncan. “Our schedules are pretty flexible, and since Soren has started to do most of the invoicing, that means she’s here most of the time. I’ve got some field work to do this week plus Thiel’s stores, but the only set in stone time that I have to be working is Wednesday morning—there’s been a new store added to the market that I have to go count with our boss for the first time. After that, I’m going to count Midtown Mart, then I’ll be home. I’m thinking that I can get most of it done by Thursday if I work long days at the beginning of the week. Soren will be bartending Wednesday night, and I’ve asked Michael to work most of nights for me for the next two weeks. Some time in there the transfer of ownership should be taking place.”
“Cool. Aren’t you starting school soon?”
“Next Monday, but that will only be for four hours in the evening twice a week—much less than my usual bar shifts. I’m going to try to get my work done as quickly as possible in the week so that I’m done after the new store on Wednesday. Augie is over at Constance’s place until probably later tonight, and Thiel is leaving tomorrow for San Francisco.” Thiel looked up sickly at Duncan from where he sat on the couch next to Master David.
“Congratulations. Soren mentioned the convention in her emails.”
“Yeah. Thanks.”
“He’s a little nervous,” explained Duncan.
“He’ll be back next weekend, though he’s already given permission to use any of the tracks that we recorded with him to do whatever with. What’s the master plan?” asked Duncan.
“There isn’t one, really. I’d like to mess around with the stuff you’ve got, and we’ll just see what else happens. I have a final project due in two weeks. They don’t exactly expect us to record and mix an entire album, but if I can manage it, that’s what I intend to do. I mean, why not? All hail Eris,” he saluted happily with his miniature mug and smiled.
The next day, Augie and Thiel left for the airport, Thiel still grumbling and shuffling his feet. Duncan went out bright and early to get his work out of the way while Soren and David hung out, catching up on what had been transpiring in each of their lives, the whole while Soren tapping away on her machine to keep it running.
“So you’re getting paid to sit around and talk to me on your couch?” inquired Master David.
“Yep. Not a bad deal.”
In the evenings, Duncan and Master David disappeared into the basement where all sorts of weird electronic and rhythmic sounds could be heard. By early Wednesday morning, they were happy with their first results. Soren only half woke as Duncan climbed into bed.
“Cosmic Moose is finally done, I think,” whispered Duncan.
“Cool. How different does it sound?”
“Oh, it’s different, all right. We’re thinking about brining it down to the Warehouse tonight and seeing if we can get Mike Dangers to play it on the dance floor. We’ll bring a bunch of copies in case anyone is interested, that is if you don’t mind keeping them behind the back bar while you’re working.”
“Not at all. Anything for the cause.”
Only a few hours later, Duncan disappeared to meet Duke for the new store. He had the address written down, but according to the street signs, this address appeared to be the middle of a parking lot. He drove back and forth, still not seeing any sign of either Duke or this new convenience store, which was supposedly called Quicky Quick. In the middle of the parking lot, he could see one of those old photo booths, so he decided to inquire there. Walking from his car, he could see a crudely painted sign covering the old photographic logo. The sign said Quicky Quick—The World’s Smallest Convenience Store Chain. This was it.
“Um,” he began, cautiously brandishing his authorization letter, “is this Quicky Quick?”
The large balding man in the window just looked at him. According to his name badge, this would be Clyde. “Yeah,” he finally grunted.
“I’m with BC Wilson, and I’ve been authorized to count your store monthly. We’re a statistical data collection agency…”
“You got the check?”
“Um, yes sir. It’s right here.” Duncan handed the check toward the window where it was snatched out of mid-air.
“All right then. Count away.”
Duncan looked through the window and attempted to assess the logistics of this invitation. Clyde easily took up two thirds of the space inside of the small booth.
“How do I…?”
Clyde sighed the sigh of the terminally weary. “The door’s around back.”
Duncan walked to the back of the booth, noticing the fading colors of the old photo booth logos. He turned the handle as the door swung forcefully outward, nearly knocking his ScanWand out of his hands.
“I’ll just get out of your way,” said Clyde, turning sideways to step through the small opening and lighting a large cigar. Duncan stepped inside and assessed the situation. For starters, he certainly wouldn’t need Duke’s help counting this store. From where he stood he could view all of the contents clearly. Condoms. Over the counter herbal speed. One roll of dusty one-ten film. A few bags of pork rinds. Some candy bars made by a company of which he had never heard. Flavored rolling papers. Ahh…shelf stable milk. It was a category that their company counted, but until now, he had never actually seen it sitting stabley on a shelf. Over in a dark corner was a large can wearing a label that said “oil.”
“That’s not for sale,” said Clyde quickly as Duncan looked at the can.
Thirty seconds later, Duncan had completed the count and saluted Clyde on his way back into the booth. He asked about invoices, but Clyde said there weren’t any. Getting ready to walk back to his car, he saw another man approaching, dragging a large cart with the words “Quicky Quick” painted crudely on the side. This must be the “chain” of which the original sign boasted. He wondered vaguely if he should scan the contents of the cart, or whether he even wanted to know what was in there. He turned to Clyde.
“So, would you consider the contents of this cart part of this store’s inventory, or is it considered a different store?”
Clyde looked at him blankly for nearly two minutes while the other man huffed and puffed, anchoring the cart to a hitch on the end of the booth. “Different store,” he finally said.
“All right then, sir. I’ll see you next month.”
Clyde grunted some kind of agreement as Duncan returned to his car. He had seen a pay phone somewhere along the plaza of which this parking lot was a part, so he zipped over to it and dialed Duke’s pager number, letting him know that the count was done and there was no reason for him to join him.
A half an hour later he was in Midtown Mart, one of his larger stores. There had been a candy delivery today, and for the first time he had the opportunity to meet the man known locally as Vince the Van Guy. He had entered invoices from Vince and had seen a representation of his haggard face stylized on the packages, but never before had they met. He saw the van parked out front, and met the man himself as he was stocking the candy personally, hanging bags of gummy bears, fruit runts, and red licorice onto the peg racks of aisle three. He was a grizzled older man who looked as though he had just come down from the mountain earlier that morning.
Apparently Vince was a repackager, meaning that he bought candy in bulk, scooped small amounts of it out into little bags, then stapled them to cardboard placards which could be hung on pegs. Each one sold retail for fifty-nine cents or two for a dollar. From where Duncan stood counting, he could see the inside of the van, left open as Vince unloaded it. It was full to bursting with hundreds and thousands of small, multi-colored bags and there was a barking hound dog happily wagging its tail from the front seat.
He held out his hand when Vince came back into the store with another arm load of candy. “Hi, I’m Duncan Conrad. You must be Vince.”
“Yep, I a’reckon,” he answered, hanging another three bags of candy lipsticks on a peg.
“So how do you like this line of work?”
“S’all right, I s’pose. It don’t take much—just some bags, some printed cardboard and some staples. And the van, o’course. Only one day a week, too. I could hire somebody to run the d’liveries for me, but my old lady says I get a bit loopy if I don’t get out once in a while. Rest of t’time I can spend with my old lady or working on my boat.”
“Your boat,” prodded Duncan.
“Yep, t’boat. She’s a beauty, all right. A real honest to gawd yacht. I should have ‘er done by this summer, then me and the old lady’s gonna cruise ourselves to the Bahamas. T’s all I ever wanted to do, so t’ats what I’m a’doin’.”
“Wow,” remarked Duncan, genuinely impressed, “how long have you been working on this?”
“Welp,” he said considering, “’bout the past eight years. See, up before then I had to work for a livin’, but then I retired. Got my pension and ever’ting so that ‘bout takes care of most stuff, so I’s been doin’ this to fund the boat. Boy, she sure is pretty. I’ve been studyin’ navigation since I was a young’en—my uncle was a seaman you know.”
“No, I didn’t know,” answered Duncan since Vince seemed to be waiting for a response.
“Yep. Sure was. Taught me ever’ting there is to know about the sea. Got to sail with him, too when I was younger, but then I had to go t’work in the factory and that was that. I promised the old lady the day I married her that we’d go a’sailin’ just as soon as I could build me that boat. So, there she is.”
“How long have you been married?” inquired Duncan.
“Oh…let me see…’bout forty years now, I s’pose.”
“So what are you going to do about your business while you’re gone?”
“Don’t rightly know yet,” Vince said concentrating. “We’ve got one boy, Bobby, but he’s a lawyer now an’s got no interest in the business. Don’t rightly know what I’m gonna do with it. I sure hate to give ‘er up since it works out so profitable and all. But,” he sighed “I can’t very well sail the open sea and package candy, so I guess that’ll be the end of Vince’s Fine Candies.” Seeming rather sad, he went back to hanging the candy lipsticks.
Duncan scanned for a few moment in silence, thinking very hard about the gameplans that he and Soren had been working out. Jump. Like a squirrel.
“Have you considered taking on a partner?” he inquired.
“A partner? Now where t’hell am I gonna find one o’those?” Vince squinted at him intently.
Duncan reached into his pocket and withdrew a card. “Here’s my number. If you want a partner in this, just give me a call. It would be a shame for you to go out of business—hell, every convenience store in this area carries your candy. Besides—my wife and I are always looking for things that we can work on together. Have you ever considered expanding the business? Going national with it?”
“Hot damn,” exclaimed Vince. “I like the way you talk. Yeah, I’ll be getting in touch with you here in the next few weeks. Summer is fast approachin’ and I’m getting’ the itch for the water like I do every year ‘bout this time. Let me talk it over with the old lady and we’ll see what we can do.”
“What’s your boat’s name, by the way?”
Vince stood back from the wall of candy, getting a far away look in his eyes. “I call ‘er ‘Madeline Goes to Paradise.’ Madeline’s my old lady, ya see.” He winked at Duncan.
“That’s a beautiful name. I wish you the best of luck on your journey.”
“And I wish you the same. We’ll be in touch…” Vince winked again, then walked through the exit door to the overwhelming glee of the hound in the front seat of the van.
Ahh the unpredictable forces of chaos. What would they come up with next?
Duke burst through the front doors of the convenience store, looking slightly more bedraggled than usual.
“Oh thank god you’re here,” he said seeing Duncan. “I overslept and then got caught in traffic and couldn’t make it to Quicky Quick. I got your message. There weren’t any problems there, I hope.”
“Nope. None at all.”
“Was it a bear to count by yourself,” asked Duke.
“Um, well, no. They only have six things.”
“What?!?” exclaimed Duke, which brought on a ferocious coughing fit. When the fit passed, he asked again more calmly. “What do you mean by ‘six things’?”
“I mean they only had six things.” He held up his ScanWand and pressed in the numbers to bring up the store file for Quicky Quick. “Look for yourself.”
Duke held the ScanWand in front of him, scanning from one screen to the next. Finally, he lowered it. “Unbelievable. Six things, eh? Well, what are you gonna do—we need independent stores in the sample, and these days they’re getting pretty hard to come by. If this independent store has six items, well, then we’ll count those six items. How are you doing here?”
“No problems,” answered Duncan, taking back his ScanWand and continuing to count. “I should have this one knocked out in another couple of hours.”
“Good, good,” he said absently. “Can I ask you a question? Kind of a personal question?”
“Sure,” answered Duncan cautiously.
“Do you think that a man at my age who’s been a bachelor for so long could actually settle down with one woman? I mean, can I really give up all the joys and freedom of bachelorhood for a commitment? I’m asking you since, hey, you’ve obviously figured out how to do it. Is it difficult to give all that up?”
Duncan laughed. “I think you’re talking to the wrong person. I don’t see being in a relationship with Soren as giving anything up. I lived alone for several years, and frankly the only thing I’m giving up is loneliness. There was never any question of giving up anything else.”
“Yeah,” continued Duke, “but is it difficult to stay with just one woman over a period of time? There are millions of them out there—don’t you ever ‘feel their call’ so to speak?”
“No,” said Duncan smiling as he continued to count. “Never. I had decided to live like a monk before I met Soren. I didn’t ‘feel their call’ when I was single, so I certainly don’t now. If I wasn’t with Soren, I would have just continued living like a monk for the rest of my life.” He shrugged. “That life was nice, but now I have somebody to share it all with, which makes it a hundred times nicer. I still do everything I used to do—now I just don’t have to do it alone.”
Duke seemed to be considering something. “So, it’s not all that bad, is what you’re saying?”
“It’s not just ‘not all that bad,’ it’s fantastic.”
“Hmm… Well, that gives me something to think about. Maybe you don’t have my problems anyway.” He leaned closer and dropped his voice. “I think it’s the ferra gnomes.”
“The ferra gnomes?” asked Duncan.
“Yeah. I think I smell different to women. They kind of give me a look sometimes, you know what I mean?”
Duncan didn’t.
“Anyway,” said Duke abruptly, standing back to his normal height, his voice regaining volume, “I guess if you’ve got this all under control here, I’ll go out and check on one of my problem children. That woman—she just has issues with authority. She plays all kinds of games, and sometimes I think she’s just trying to push me to see how much I’ll let her get away with. Now she’s claiming that she can’t get her work done because I changed her route around. As if she ever got it done in the first place.” He shook his head. “I don’t want to fire her if I can help it, but I swear I’m this close to canning her and saying the hell with it. But in a way, I feel sorry for her. She’s with that deadbeat who doesn’t have a job half the time. Taking care of her mother, taking care of the kids…I don’t want to be that bad guy who takes away her only stable income, but damn she gets on my last nerve. If she’d just do the work she says she’s going to do… But alas—I’m out of here. You take care and tell the rest of the Kabal I said howdy.”
“See you later,” said Duncan without looking up from the chips he was counting. He knew from experience that if he waited for Duke to finish a conversation to begin working, that the working would never begin or consequently end.
Finally finished with the stock in the front, Duncan went into the stock room and started to count flat after flat of twenty ounce Perka Cola bottles. A middle aged man walked through the stock room, absently saying hello on his way past as he went into the cooler. Vendors were in and out of stores all the time, so Duncan thought nothing of it until he emerged again a moment later with a twenty-four ounce can of Knudkeiser in one hand, popped the top, and drank it back in four long gulps.
“Want one?” asked the man, holding out his empty can.
Duncan shook his head.
“Suit yourself.” He stood for a moment, then disappeared into the cooler again. A moment later, he reemerged with another red and white can in hand, popped the top and drank it down exactly like the last.
After the fourth can of beer had disappeared, Duncan began to wonder if he should alert management. Who knows? This could just be some guy who wandered in off the street, found the cooler, and started drinking free beer. Just then, the manager sauntered into the back and ran into the beer drinking guy.
“Hey Luther,” said the manager, obviously recognizing him. “Done delivering the soup yet?”
“Yep,” he said, taking another big gulp then burping loudly. “Stocked the freezer all up.”
“Those frozen entrees of yours sell like mad. I think that most of the soccer moms who come in here just can’t bear the thought of fixing another meal after their five kids get done practicing whatever the hell sport they’re into. With the high school a block away, we get a lot of student and parent traffic through here. How’s the catering business?”
Luther burped again. “Going good, going good. Just did a huge wedding this past weekend. It’s outrageous what some people will pay to get married. Hell,” he said, tilting his head bad for another tremendous gulp, “a couple could buy a house for what some of these weddings cost. Whatever happened to the justice of the peace in your parents’ backyard?”
“I hear you, I hear you,” replied the manager. “I say pay the fifty bucks for the license and spend the rest on a nice vacation or a car or something. It’s ridiculous to spend a year’s income on one day. But, I guess that’s what folks these days expect.”
“Yeah, and I guess I shouldn’t complain. It’s keeping me in business.” Luther laughed, disappearing into the cooler as the manager returned out front. Duncan didn’t see him again—he wondered vaguely if he had curled up on a shelf of twelve packs and passed out.
Now entirely finished, Duncan made his way back home through rush hour traffic. Usually, he tried not to be on the road at this hour, but on occasion it was unavoidable. At least he was able to go home this early, he mused. At his last job, rush hour was always good and truly over by the time he left the office, so sitting in traffic every once in a while just didn’t seem like such a big deal.
Soren and Master David were eating stir-fry when he came through the front door, her machine still lying on the coffee table in front of her while she ate.
“Hi, sweetie!” she said excitedly as he entered. “We were just talking about you. You want some dinner?”
“Oh, yes, thank you. I’m starving.”
“Any wild and wacky adventures today at work?” inquired Master David.
Duncan told him about his amusing encounters for the day while crunching the pea pods and bok choy, enjoying particularly Soren’s reaction to meeting Vince.
“You met the Van Guy?” she asked excitedly. “Wow—he’s almost a local celebrity.”
“Yeah, and get this—you and I may be running Vince’s Fine Candies while he’s off sailing around on his home-built yacht this summer.”
“Get out,” she exclaimed. He explained the story to her, especially the part when the squirrel spoke to him.
“Well then,” she said, “you did the right thing. I’d be happy to spend one day a week stapling bags to pieces of cardboard. It has to be a fairly lucrative business if Vince has built a yacht out of the income. I mean, they carry his stuff in almost every convenience store in town.”
“I’m not sure what all the financial details will be, but I’m thinking that I could probably do deliveries at the same time I’m working for BC Wilson so that they would be paying the mileage. We’ll see…but it just seemed like too good of an opportunity to pass up.”
Master David was shaking his head. “You guys have a truly weird life. I love it. So when can we go down to the Warehouse and see if we can get this new CD on the air?”
Soren looked up at the clock. “We’ve got about three hours. How many CD’s did we get burned today?”
“About fifty. I figure that’s plenty for a first night out. If we sell them all we can always take orders.” Master David looked at Soren. “Get the cash up front.”
“Right-O,” she replied. “If we get there early, you guys can sweet talk Mike Dangers and let him hear it while I’m getting the bar set up. I’ll keep them behind the bar while you two go on your selling spree. It really sounds great, by the way.”
“Why thank you,” said Master David. “I think it’s pretty good too, if I do say so myself. Neat stuff you guys put together, by the way.”
“Yeah, but it’s all the better with real drums—Blinky just can’t play that way. And the mixing was fantastic.”
“I like the poetry samples,” said Soren. “I think you two are insane for mixing in samples of Full Contact Poetry, but it works. I sound so creepy…” she said with obvious glee.
“You are creepy, dear,” reminded Master David. “You’re just used to it.”
A few hours later, Soren, Duncan, Augie and Master David made their way down to the seedy part of town where the Warehouse stood looming in the night like a hollywood monolith. On the trip downtown, Augie recounted his trip to the airport with Thiel earlier that morning.
“I nearly had to physically carry him onto that plane,” explained Augie. “On the way there he started having these terrible fears about the plane crashing. Then he was afraid that he had given Lady Monster the wrong flight information. Then he was convinced that he had left his paper at home and wanted to come back and get it. Jeez—he was worse than a bachelor with cold feet.”
“So did he make his flight?” asked Soren. “You know we can always email his paper to him if he forgot it.”
“That’s what I told him,” continued Augie. “I swear that if I hadn’t been with him, he would have bailed. But, he got on the plane. I could see his terrified face surrounded by that mop of hair in the window near the wing.” He chuckled. “He’ll be fine once he gets there, and if I know Lady Monster, she won’t let him back out of it at the last minute.”
Soren laughed. “No fucking way. She’ll whip him up on stage with a cat-o-nine tails if she has to.”
The Warehouse was deserted other than the few employees who had arrived early as Tomm let them in the sheet metal coated front doors. It was amazing how ugly the place was with the lights on, but then again it explained the club’s motto—It Isn’t Very Pretty.
Soren went behind the front bar to start cutting up lemons and limes while the guys went in the back to find Mike Dangers. Dangers was an old friend of Soren’s—they had known each other since their mid-teens. He had a great sense of what people would and wouldn’t dance to, so she hoped that he would give Cosmic Moose a chance. A few minutes later, she heard the loud bass beat of the first song as the DJ cranked up the volume of the deafening sound system.
Soren smiled. It was weird and kind of nice to hear music produced in her house played in a venue like this. She had to admit—it sounded great. Unconsciously, she started to dance around behind the bar. It really was good music.
The CD played all the way through, and she was struck again by how different each song sounded from the other, though they all hung together as one project as well. Master David had rearranged the order of the songs so that one flowed flawlessly into the other, adding bits of beats here and there to tie the whole thing together. She giggled as she heard her own distorted voice roaring through the club, “I give more bang for the buck…”
Eventually the sound system powered down, and the boys appeared from the back with Mike Dangers in tow.
“Wow,” said Dangers as Soren handed him a Nickeltoe Light. “That sounds fantastic. I think I’m just going to let the whole CD play straight through.” He grinned. “That way I don’t have to mix for forty-five minutes. I’ll also announce who the band is and that the CD is available for sale at the front bar.” He took a swig from his beer and started laughing. “Cosmic Moose. If you guys come down here some night all dressed like Bullwinkle, I’ll eat my shoe.”
“Don’t tempt us,” warned Duncan. “Our boss has been trying to get all of us to do that for the past six months.”
“So all you guys are working for the nark?” he asked.
“He’s not a nark,” explained Soren, “he just looks like one. If you knew him better you’d never get that point confused.”
“You’re talking about a man who buys whippets on company time,” added Augie. “And has company meetings at Jugs in the middle of the afternoon.”
Dangers laughed. “Doesn’t sound like a bad way to spend an afternoon to me. You get paid, right? How about you, David. You’re not working there too, are you?”
“Nope. I’m just in town for a couple of weeks to work on some music stuff in their basement.”
“Well,” Dangers said, checking his watch, “it’s almost time for the masses to crash the gate. I better get up to the booth. I’ll wait until a little after eleven to pop in the CD so it’s over in time for the midnight pit.”
“Sounds good,” observed Duncan. “Wait for a bit of a crowd if you don’t mind. Thanks again for playing this.”
“No problem,” he said, finishing off the rest of the bottle and wiping his chin. He checked his watch again. “Gotta run. Talk to you guys later.”
The doors opened and the crowd rushed in as they always did on Wednesday nights. Black leather, black nylon, black latex, black, black, black. Soren popped the ear plugs into her ears and turned on the sound system at the front bar. It was dollar double night at the Warehouse, so she spent most of her hours serving alcohol that she wouldn’t have used to strip the paint on her car.
“Can I have a double vodka cranberry?”
“Give me a gin and tonic.”
“I’ll take a bourbon and soda.”
On and on the plastic bottles tipped back and forth, Soren smiling at the customers she loved to hate. Eleven came much sooner than she was expecting, and the first sound of the familiar music made her stomach seize up in butterflies. Was she nervous? She hadn’t expected this.
“This next bit of music is by a local group. They’re new, they’re hot, they’re Bullwinkle. You can buy their CD at the front bar. It’s time for a ride on the back of the Cosmic Moose….” Dangers’s voice trailed off into the ether as he turned up the volume knob on track number one. Before the first song had finished Soren had sold five CD’s at ten bucks a piece.
The bar manager, Tomm, looked at her wad of cash appreciatively. “Looks like you’re going to make more money on the CD than you will in tips. Maybe I’m in the wrong business.”
“You were in a band once, right?” asked Soren. Tomm had actually been one of her roommates many years previous and they had been good friends since way back when in the blurry days of her youth.
“Yeah—Rubber Fish. We were straight out punk. Mostly I just staggered around on stage sweating, screaming and throwing fish. It was great.” He grinned with the childlike grin which only Tomm could muster, completely sweet and innocent despite the fact that his head was shaved and his face pierced in several places. Tomm was perhaps the scariest looking teddy bear Soren had ever met.
In between track number two and three, Mike Dangers announced the band again, reminding the patrons who had been there and informing the ones newly arrived that the CD was for sale at the front bar. Within minutes, Soren had sold twelve more CD’s.
“Wow,” she exclaimed to Duncan when he approached her asking for a stack of CD’s. “These are selling better than cheap vodka. I hope we don’t run out.”
“I hope we do,” grinned Duncan back at her. He leaned across the bar, gave her a quick kiss, then turned toward the group of people who had followed him there to purchase Cosmic Moose. By the time the CD was done playing on the dance floor, they had sold all of the copies of the CD and had nine people pre-paid for a copy to be delivered. By the time the lights came up at two-thirty, the list had grown to twenty-seven.
“Not a bad haul,” mused Duncan counting the money at the end of the night. He pulled fifty bucks out of the stack and slipped it into the tip jar in the DJ booth. Doing the calculations in his head, he divvied up the cash between the other members of the project who were there, keeping aside a cut for Thiel and Tyim.
“I think this calls for a celebration. Who wants to go to The Anchor? Pancakes are on me,” said Master David exuberantly.
“Damn,” mentioned Augie on the way to the car. “This is more money than I’ve ever made at a live gig, and I didn’t even have to carry around a bunch of heavy equipment. I got paid to sit around drinking beer listening to cool music. This rocks.”
The Anchor was a piece of history stuck in time, splitting the difference between the pristine creepiness of a David Lynch diner and a greasier than average spoon. The neon sign in the window boasted “We May Doze But We Never Close” to anyone who would care to read it and it was true—they were always open. The inside of the restaurant was decorated in schizophrenic kitsch and sported the world-famous miniature band housed behind glass in the corner fronted by a garishly dressed Barbie doll. The band played and Barbie gyrated every time someone slipped another quarter into the juke box.
“I want to hear ‘Tiny Bubbles’ and any of the six Patsy Cline tunes,” announced Soren as she bounced happily on the seat of the red vinyl booth, her black vinyl dress noisily sticking and unsticking to it.
“Yeah, yeah,” said Duncan as he stood poised over the juke box quarters in hand. “I’m just trying to figure out what I want to play other than Was Not Was and REM.”
“What an odd selection,” noticed Master David sipping his tea. “Whoever picked out this music must have been smoking the same thing as the person who decorated it.”
An electronic ship rocked back and forth above their heads hypnotically while Barbie wiggled mechanically in the other corner. “I just love this place,” said Augie stretching out his legs and yawning. “And the most expensive thing on the menu costs less than five bucks. What is a ‘Teachers Special’ anyway?”
“No one knows,” answered Soren mysteriously. “Are you a teacher?”
“No.”
“Then it’s a secret. I asked once and that’s more or less what they told me.”
“Do you remember coming here with me many years ago, five years or so before we started dating?” asked Duncan. “That was the night that we stayed here until dawn after the bar closed, when Tomm’s girlfriend was so drunk that she passed out in the van leaving only the request that he bring her mashed potatoes when he was done eating."
“I remember.”
“I wrote down a quote from you that night in my notebook. It said ‘I knew a guy named Slim once who used to eat lard and ketchup sandwiches. He’s dead now.’”
Soren laughed. “If that isn’t a blast from the past. I think that was the same night that you made the mistake of lifting the astroturf patch in the weird display over in the corner.”
They all involuntarily glanced over to said corner to see the same display still standing there making no more sense than it ever had. It was a plastic ship surrounded by artificial daisies floating on a green see of synthetic grass.
“Whatever you do, don’t lift grass,” warned Duncan. “There are things in there no one should ever have to see.”
“Don’t you think that they’ve decomposed by now?” asked Soren.
“Hush, woman! There are people here who are planning to eat. It was also the night that I pointed out to the waitress that there was a cheeseburger on the floor under our table.”
Soren laughed. “Oh yes—and you know how ‘take no shit’ the waitresses are around here. She just glanced down and said ‘Yep. Sure is,’ then went on scribbling down our order.” Soren looked under her feet, making sure that she wasn’t standing on anyone else’s dinner. The coast was clear.
The food was decent enough, though, and as Augie so astutely pointed out, the prices were fantastic. Fat with food and cash, the friends eventually tottered back out onto the street, all of them exhausted after a long but very productive day.
Out in the parking lot, Soren gazed happily up at the stars. Not so long ago she had longed for this life—freedom, security, creativity—and now she was actually living it. Oh yes, life was good.
*************17
They all slept in the next day, resting happily after a job well done. Eventually, Augie and Duncan arose and went their separate ways to finish their stores while Master David and Soren hung around the house again, talking and discussing various projects they were working on. For the rest of the week, they spent the majority of their evenings in the basement making all sorts of random and weird noises on the dozens of musical instruments which were in the house.
Soren, who didn’t consider herself musically talented, nevertheless had a wonderful time playing with glass slides on the cello or imitating Miles Davis lines with a slide whistle. Master David played drums behind this menagerie, blending, mixing, and moving the music toward a state of irregular cohesiveness. The result was something that they agreed could only be called Tribal Jazz.
Thiel was due to arrive at the airport Sunday evening; Constance and Augie had agreed that they would go pick him up from the airport and bring him home. Walking through the door, he looked almost as anxious as he had before he left.
“Hey! How was the con?” Soren asked him after they had all said their hellos.
“Um, well, I think I need to discuss this with you guys anyway.” He gulped. “The Investigator was one of the publications which hosted the convention, and a few hours after I presented my paper, the editor approached me. I was at the bar—I needed a beer after that—and she asked if she could buy me a beer and sit down. Sure, I said. Well, then she starts talking about how my paper is the one everyone was talking about, and how she’s sure I’ve had a lot of offers, but would I consider coming aboard The Investigator. I nearly fell off my stool. I mean, that’s the most respected independent journalistic publication in the country. They’re one of the only ones which has actually made it big. I was floored.”
“So what happened?” asked Duncan excitedly. “There’s got to be more to this story than that.”
“To make a long story short, they’d like me to write for them. I can live wherever I want to, though they’d be flying me out to San Francisco periodically. They want to send me all over the place. Hell, they’re talking about sending me to Israel next month if I take the job.” Thiel gulped. “I don’t know what to do. I really feel out of my league.”
“Nonsense,” said Master David. “You’re a fabulous writer and San Francisco is a great place to visit regularly. It’s not like it’s LA or anything.”
“True enough,” agreed Thiel. “But shit—I’ve never been to Israel. Can I really do this?”
“Of course you can,” encouraged Constance, sitting down on Augie’s lap. “If you were out of your league they wouldn’t have offered you the job. Isn’t this exactly the kind of dream come true that journalists fantasize about all through school?”
“Well, yeah, I suppose, but I never really thought that it would happen. To me. Now.”
“So just consider yourself both lucky and talented,” suggested Soren. “Jump, man. Quick and random like a squirrel.”
Thiel thought about it for a minute before the smile washed over his face. “Oh my god. I’m really going to do this.” He continued smiling for a minute before he seemed to think of something. “But wait—what about my job? I don’t want to bail on you guys just a few months after I started. I’m probably going to get rid of a bunch of my stuff and I’d be happy to take the smaller room in the basement while I’m in town. I’m still happy to pay rent on the room, but I’m not hardly ever going to be here That’s kind of rude, isn’t it?”
“Nonsense,” chimed in Duncan. “We put this whole thing together so that we would all have the time and energy to pursue our dreams. This job isn’t the dream—it’s just the means to get there. So you happened to get there quickly—fantastic! This is exactly the kind of thing that we hoped we would see. You can keep your stuff here and stay whenever you’re in town—we’ll make sure that the rent is equitable.”
“But what about all the work I’ll be leaving? I mean, they want me to give them an answer this week, and they’d like to have me out there by the end of the month for orientation. Won’t you guys get stuck with a bunch of extra work if I go?”
“For one,” said Augie, “we can handle it. For another, it’s not like we don’t know ten other people who would jump at the chance to have a job like this. Justin, my old roommate, is looking for a job right now. He and I moved together into the last house with those other guys, only I got out and he hasn’t been able to yet. I’m sure he’d be happy to take over some of the rent, though I’d like dibs on Thiel’s old room.” Augie grinned. “It’s a really cool space. Anyway, Justin acts and does set design, which means that sometimes he works for two months then is broke for the next six. He’d love to have this job—he already told me so.”
“And it’s your turn to recommend someone,” pointed out Soren, “and get your big cash bonus. I figure it’s fair if we all take turns doing that.”
“I’m sure that Duke will go for it,” added Duncan. “We are, by far, the most productive employees he has. All of us are rated in the top two percentile in the nation in efficiency and productivity. We can even volunteer to train Justin so that Duke doesn’t have to. Nope, this won’t make things a problem at all.”
“Damn,” said Thiel smiling, “I just can’t think of any more reasons not to do it. So, I guess I will.” He sat there thinking for a minute, still smiling. “Kick ass. This is really cool. By the way—Lady Monster is interested in a job doing what we do out in San Francisco, and since I won’t be with the company very much longer, I though that I could get either Duncan or Soren to recommend her. Think of it as a sort of severance pay to y’all for giving me this opportunity.”
“No problem,” said Duncan. “I can fill out the referral sheet tomorrow and send it in.”
“So how were the poetry readings out there?” asked Soren.
“Oh yeah,” he said, his face brightening even more, “they were great. Here,” he added, reaching into his bag and pulling out a black binder with newspaper clippings in it, “these are some reviews. I had no idea that it was going to be THAT kind of poetry reading, but I’ve been yelling into a microphone for so long that I forgot all about the press being there and just read my stuff. It was a blast. Totally different scene than the midwest.”
“Wow,” exclaimed Soren, reading the clippings then passing them on around the room. “…hearing Thiel Sarentski’s poetry is like being kicked in the head with words. Not since Charles Bukowski has poetry had such a visceral impact upon the listener…” She handed the next clipping around. “Sounds like you were a hit.”
Thiel shrugged. “I just read my shit like always. People like it or they don’t.”
“Sounds like they liked it,” observed Master David handing the first clipping back to Thiel.
“I guess. Hey—what did you guys do with Cosmic Moose? I’ve been dying to hear it.”
Duncan clicked a button on the stereo and the bass growled out at them. Thiel’s eyes lit up. “Damn. That’s us?” he asked incredulously.
Duncan reached into his pocket and pulled out a wad of cash, stuffing it into Thiel’s surprised hand. “And that’s your cut of the CD’s we sold at the Warehouse.”
“This is the most money I’ve ever seen for my music at one time,” commented Thiel still staring at his hand.
“I think we’ve all had that reaction,” agreed Duncan. “And as Augie pointed out that evening, we didn’t even have to carry a bunch of crap to or from anywhere—we just showed up with a stack of CD’s. Master David has already been working on a web site to sell them online.” As well as being a Master Drummer, David was also quite fluent in many forms of technology.
Things happened quickly over the next few weeks and months. Master David mixed and produced not one, but two albums by Bullwinkle, both of which were unique, frenetic, creepy, and harmonious at the same time. The web site was established and sales began. They were slow at first, but after the promotional copies were sent to various record stores and DJ’s around the country, the sales picked up quickly. Duncan took care of burning the CD’s while Soren packaged them and sent them out. Needless to say, Master David passed his final project with flying colors.
Thiel, still looking a bit nervous, flew off to San Francisco for his orientation, then he was off to Israel.
Lady Monster was hired in San Francisco and Soren received another five hundred dollar bonus. Justin was hired and quickly moved into the basement, desperately happy to be out of his former household. The work was steady and the members of the household tore through it like a finely oiled machine. Duncan and Augie took turns training Justin, and he was on line and ready to work on his own in record time. Duke was thrilled and stunned at the same time, but since the Kabal seemed to be working so efficiently, he mostly just let them do what they wanted.
The sale of the bar was finally final, though Duncan still worked every once in a while when Michael needed a night off. He enjoyed being there a couple days a month to say hello to the people who hung out there, and Michael was turning it into a regular artists’ consortium. Duncan also continued to study with the Tibetans and was becoming more and more fluent in their language. School was also going very well for him. Always an intelligent and absorptive student, he aced every test while others around him floundered and dropped out, having had no idea that the anatomy and physiology were going to be so intellectually challenging.
In April, Vince called and got together with Duncan. It was decided that Duncan would be in charge of the business until such a time as Vince was done travelling, if that ever happened. They made a deal which was equitable to both of them, signed the appropriate contracts, then said good-bye as Vince and his wife sailed off into the sunset. One day a month, Soren and Duncan measured out candy, put it in bags, then stapled it to the famous cardboard cards with Vince’s smiling face on them. Duncan took care of deliveries, most of which were already on his route. He also sent samples to neighboring cities and spent one Friday each month delivering candy to a single location in each city which was then responsible for distribution in that area. The first month that Duncan was in charge, the profit margin more than doubled. Occasionally, they received happy postcards from all across the world—Vince had taken to calling Duncan his adopted nephew.
Now that the Vince’s candy business was up and running, Soren finally was able to quit her job bartending at the Warehouse. On one hand, she would miss the friends of hers who worked there, but on the other hand she could still visit them any time she wanted, only now she could leave when she felt like it. As much as she had grown to dislike the environment, she had grown used to seeing these people every week. There was a big good-bye party for her when she left, and she was astonished to find herself getting teary-eyed at the end.
The tears cleared as soon as she was out the door—she was free. She no longer needed to go Out There anymore to make her living, and she was overjoyed. She wrote with a passion and fervor now that she had never known, publishing short pieces under several pseudonyms, being now much more controversial and eccentric with her work. Never before had she known such happiness. Still, the screenplay daunted her.
Near the end of summer, Augie and Constance sat down with the rest of the household one Sunday afternoon. They apparently had something to say to everyone.
“We have something to say to everyone,” began Constance. She looked at Augie, both of them having a difficult time controlling their obvious and overwhelming happiness.
“We’ve decided to get married,” Augie finally said. “We’ve been talking about it for a couple of years now, but Constance was kind of afraid to commit to someone who had historically had such a difficult time holding down a job. Not to mention that even the other work I did was done sporadically. But this has all gone so well that she’s ready to take the jump and give it a try.”
Constance beamed, almost blushing. “I’m just so proud of him. I understand why he’s always hated most of the jobs he had, but part of me was afraid that he’d never find anything acceptable to do with his life. I watched my mother work her ass off for most of my life trying to support my step-father and three kids, and I just can’t go there. And,” she continued happily, “he sent out portfolios to ten different toy manufacturers and four of them wrote back and want to see his work.” She looked at him proudly. “I always knew he could do it if he would just try.” Leaning over, she kissed him gently on the cheek. A bright new sapphire ring glowed from her left hand.
Augie blushed. “I know she’s not exactly a traditional girl, but she’s always loved sapphires. It was her birthday yesterday, so I popped the question. What they hell—she said yes!”
Truly a happy event, Duncan called Michael to see if there was any champagne left down at the bar from the previous New Year’s Eve party. Retrieving the bottles while Soren made a feast for everyone, they celebrated the event they had all been eagerly waiting to see.
“One more thing,” added Constance after the champagne toast. “We’ve decided to go ahead and move in together to make sure that this is going to work. I don’t know how much notice you guys need, but Augie will be moving into my house as soon as it’s convenient to do so.”
“No problem,” said Duncan. “He’s free to go whenever he wants.”
“Does that mean that I inherit the big room upstairs?” asked Justin with glee. “I love that room. Hey Augie—I’ll make you a deal—I’ll help you box up your stuff later tonight if it means that I get your room. The basement room is nice, don’t get me wrong, but the attic is way cool.”
“You know,” added Duncan, “Duke mentioned that he’s going to need to hire someone else for the market.” He looked at Soren. “How would you feel about finally building that shed out back?”
Gulping down the last of her champagne she said “Sure. But what does that have to do with the price of eggs in China?”
“I was thinking…”
“Oh no…” said Soren sarcastically. “What nefarious plan have you come up with now?”
“Well, the weather is still plenty warm to do work like that outside, and it’s something we’ve been wanting to do anyway. Who do we know who’s looking for a job?” Soren said nothing, trying to think. “She’s reliable, dependable, and travels all over the place…”
“Gesa!” exclaimed Soren. “Oh yes—she’d be perfect. But what about her forge?” Gesa was a friend of theirs who had lived in their city but had moved up north to apprentice with a blacksmith. Now that she was making stuff on her own, she traveled all over the area selling her wares, sleeping here and there as she traveled. Occasionally she would pass their way and stay a day or two on their couch. She had been looking for a job and Soren had actually already recommended her, but where she currently lived was too far off the beaten path for it to qualify as being inside of any of the districts. Duke had already met and talked with her, telling her that if she ever came back to the area she would have a job waiting for her. It was perfect.
“But what about her blacksmithing?” asked Soren. “Doesn’t she need some kind of special equipment for that?”
“She has a portable forge,” explained Duncan. “She just needs a well-ventilated building in which to set it up. I’m thinking that that shed out back would be perfect. It’s something that we need to build anyway, you know.”
It was true. There were always things which needed to be stored, and since the attic and basement had been converted to living quarters, the storage space in the house had dwindled to almost nothing. They had discussed plans for a building in the back, but with all the excitement of the past few months, plans for the shed had taken a back burner. Now that they literally had tons of candy sitting in bags in their basement, it was time to create more space. Jump.
“Sounds great to me,” answered Soren finally. “How late are hardware stores open on Sunday?”
For the rest of the day, Duncan and Soren shopped for and ordered all kinds of lumber, roofing, and building materials, all to be delivered the next weekend while Constance, Augie, and Justin packed Augie’s belongings into boxes. Later that evening, Soren placed a call to Gesa on her cell phone since there was no telling in what part of the area she would be.
Telling her about the plan, Gesa was thrilled.
“I’ve just been going over my books,” she explained, “trying to figure out how the hell I’m going to pay my bills. I just can’t take a regular job and still do the blacksmithing, which is really all I want to do. However, demand for that comes and goes with the seasons. Christmas and mid-summer are always great times, but after the feast is always the famine. I’d be happy to bring my forge down, and I can always come back up here on weekends to work on big stuff if I have to. When do you want me?”
Soren paged Duke and worked out the details. She could start any time.
Since Gesa would be using the shed for her forge, she insisted on coming the next weekend to help with building. She already had a lot of construction experience—she had gotten used to taking all kinds of odd jobs over the past few years—and it would also mean that her first two months rent would be free. Justin, Augie and Constance also agreed to help, so with so many helpful hands, they raised the shed the following weekend.
“Wow,” said Duncan appreciatively. “This is just like a good old fashioned barn raising.”
“The Amish call this a folic, you know,” added Soren who also happened to be a linguistics buff.
“And it really is,” said Gesa happily. “This is the most fun I’ve ever had doing manual labor. And with the way this thing is constructed, you’ll never have a rodent or bug problem.”
Using a dolly and the available man power, the bags of candy were quickly hauled into the shed and emptied into clean air-tight containers and the scale hung above them. They had needed only simple wiring to hang lights, and a few good-sized ventilation fans to cool the area in summer. The fire of the forge would certainly keep it warm enough in the winter.
“Perfect,” admitted Soren upon completion of the project. “And to think that we just came up with this plan a week ago.” She winked at Duncan. “Our turn-around time is getting faster and faster.”
“That’s because of the company we keep,” he added, smiling at their friends.
“So when are the two of you finally going to get married?” asked Constance as she sipped a glass of iced tea on a stone bench in the shade of the back yard.
Soren and Duncan looked at each other smiling. “Funny you should ask that—we just talked about it again last night. We’re going to wait until I’m done with school, which will be near the end of next year. The following spring we’re going to take a month long trip out west and tie the knot in Vegas.”
“Vegas!” exclaimed Gesa. “How are we supposed to go to your wedding if it’s in Vegas?”
“We’ll have a party when we get back, don’t worry,” assured Soren. “But we think we’d like to take a long trip alone and just get married along the way. For us, the wedding itself is really just the institutional recognition of our relationship, which we’re having perfectly well in the meantime anyway. We’re not in that much of a hurry because, as far as we’re concerned, we’re already married. It’s just the matter of getting a piece of paper that says what we already know.”
“Aahh…you guys are just too sweet,” commented Gesa. “If you weren’t such cool people I might be a little nauseous right now.”
“And who knows…” added Duncan mysteriously, “we may never come back.”
************18
Gesa began training, and since Justin’s initiation had gone so smoothly, Duke was fine with allowing Augie and Duncan to train her. He had his hands full with his problem children anyway, as well as an apparently budding romantic life. Duncan had noticed large bouquets of flowers on the front counter of the Dairy Barn when he had gone in to do his weekly beer counts, and smiled when he noticed the prominently displayed cards on them signed by Duke.
Thiel was in and out of town, staying in the small bedroom when he was there. Once he got his feet wet in the kind of journalism he was meant for, he did exceedingly well. So used to getting up in front of people and telling them exactly what he though was a skill which came in handy for his new line of work. Journalism or poetry—either way, he hit people where they lived.
Soren was happy, content, and secure in a way she had always imagined but dared not hope for in real life. Her life was, in many ways, a dream come true. But still there remained the screenplay. As the days grew shorter and the leaves began to turn their beautiful evening party colors, that project returned to daunt her. It had, after all, been her musings about writing that screenplay which had started the whole ball rolling last fall, and here she was a year later, though much further down her life-path, still without a screenplay.
Constance had sent her the web address for a place which was sponsoring a contest for National Novel Writer’s Month, the object of which was to finish a fifty thousand plus manuscript entirely in the month of November. She wasn’t certain why, but this idea kept sticking in her head. Over the past year, she had practiced the screenplay format many times, using old short stories or making up short scenes between characters just to get the feel of the format. Perhaps she should just start with what she knew… But what to write about? Plot had always been her short-coming when it came to beginning a project of this length.
Write what you know, the books are always saying… Certainly, she must have learned something over the past year. Certainly life had changed dramatically.
Climbing back into her treehouse where it all began almost a year before, she watched again as the squirrels chased and ran from one branch to anther, never stopping, always trusting that there would be a branch to catch their fall. She had certainly learned an awful lot watching those squirrels—without them, she might still be paralyzed in her life, bemoaning the crushing feel of the world upon the creativity exploding within her. She picked up her new notebook and stared at the first page, glaring whiteness staring back at her, a void begging to be filled. She picked up her pen.
Jump.
There was a day. An afternoon to be exact. In Autumn. Today, perhaps. There was a notebook, and in the beginning there were the words……..
posted by fMom @ 3:57 PM
