story

                                  ECHOES

 

'Marybella, where are you?'  Her voice could have been heard while Niagara Falls fell. Three times she called me, three times I ignored her. The fourth time my anger escaped, became nasty, rude.  Her bellowing, would stop, if only she wouldn't call me Mary bella. In at least five of my 13 years, I've begged her to call me to dinner, call me to take a bath, but don't call me Marybella.

 

The last call had her usual threat, 'Daddy will put his strop to your rear, Child, if you don't show me respect.' I couldn't let her nagging get to me again. I answered her call,' Mean Machine, leave me alone. ' I hurried down the stairs with her right behind me. 'Careful Old Lady. Your knobby legs are showing,' and I escaped again. Outside I made an ugly face to her and ran like the wind, slipping a little on the snow that was just starting.

 

Daddy told me yesterday that we were having company for lunch today and I should behave myself. 'Who? Who?' I asked. 'Wait and see. They're family you never met. You'll love them. Wear a nice outfit, comb your hair, be polite.' That was a lot for him to ask me to do but I promised–if he would tell Momma not to call me Marybella.

 

At 11:30 a.m. the little bell over our front door tinkled and Daddy headed down the steps to see if family was waiting. I was right behind him. Everyone shook hands...except me. I got patted on my blond curly head. Momma had taken off her apron,  put on too much lipstick. Daddy introduced my cousin Alan to me. 'Alan,'this is our Marybella. She is tall for her age, isn't she? She must take after you.' Momma winked at Alan. I fell in love.

 

Darn, I was angry. 'Cousin Alan, 'Momma calls me Marybella and I hate it. Tell her to stop.' Alan  just waited while his beautiful wife came in. She had been in the bathroom taking off her black leather galoshes that had black fur around the top and high heels. She had to be a movie star. In comparison to Momma,  Momma was a witch. My cousin Alan looked at me, smiled, patted me on the head and did the 'no no'. 'Marybella, what grade are you in?' If I were a bit older and a lot taller I might have clipped him. Instead I stared at his gorgeous wife and her goulashes.  My snow boots had metal clamps that cut into my skin when I had to buckle them. If only I had real goulashes. Stop dreaming,' I told myself.

 

Cousin Alan introduced me to his new wife. 'Marbella, this is Valereigh. She is from France and doesn't know too many American words.' Then he whispered in my ear, 'I'm teaching her. I saw you  looking at her goulashes. Do you have any like hers?' I wanted to say I had two pairs but couldn't lie. 'No, Cousin.'

 

'Valereeee? Spell it for me please. I never heard that name before. It is so much nicer than what Momma calls me. Alan brought a folding chair into the living room and motioned to his wife to sit down. As soon as she did, he removed her goulashes and put them on me. Oh, my lord, I felt tall and beautiful and French. Valereeee still had her black furry hat on.  Something odd came over fourteen year old me. My name was going to be changed. 'Announcement, announcement!' I said loudly as soon as Alan and Valereee left. 'My name is now changed. It is Valeere and if you do not call me that from now on, I will neither see nor hear you. First thing the next Monday I told my friends, my teachers , that unless they called me Valeere, I would not not speak to them. Oh, how they laughed at me–but I stood straight and determined. Finally my parents gave in. They often stuttered, stopped on Mary–.

 

I fought the world. I loved my new name and gradually I won, reached eighteen and had my name officially changed at the Court House.

 

It became Zel Valeere Bass, then Zel Valeere Magee. So now you know that determination, desire, CAN work. I close, suggesting you not do as I did. It was tough going just to get my way and made too many people miserable.

 

I still don't have goulashes with fur on them.

#3

                               NEW WAYS- NO WAY

Joseph, whose Mom still insists on calling him, Yussel, unlocked his office door as usual the same way he did the other six days of the week- 9 a.m.-promptly 9 a.m. His portfolio tucked safely under his arm, he was anxious and ready to get the day moving. In his bones he was sure this would be the beginning of an upswing.

Wrong! Aging ungracefully, Miss Gladys was not at her desk. A guttural gasp shook him into shock. The desk top was helter skelter. Framed photos of grown children and her grandchildren were lying on the floor. Shards of glass almost sparkled when sunlight came thru the office windows. Miss Gladys' swivel ladder back chair was over-turned. Its attached pillows held on tightly. The phone was on the floor, silence filled the room, except for Joseph's heaving, wringing his hands.

 

In a turmoil he wept out loud, spouting words to Miss Gladys he had never dared say. 'Where are you? Where are you? I need you. You  are everything to me, my right hand, my very life.'

 

Trying to clear his mind, he reached to lift Miss Gladys' chair and pulled back. Mumbled words dropped from his lips. 'Stupid man. Don't touch anything. Call the police.' He pulled his perfectly folded handkerchief from his back pocket and lifted the phone, set it straight on the messed up desk  and got a dial tone. 411 answered at once and he babbled out what he could. Sirens sounded quickly. Kerchief still in his hand, he opened the office door and let the Captain in first. What seemed like a mob of officers followed the white hat. Each had his own notebook, pens and pencils in their jacket pockets. Captain Belmore assigned each man a small section and the two women officers were to classify the desk area.

 

My god, Jussel mumbled. 'Captain, Captain, my right hand is missing!' He bellowed. 'Gladys, Gladys, where are you?' His tears could not be held back.
The brilliant Captain looked at Joseph and declared Joseph's hand was ok, still attached to his arm. 

 

No one laughed when the Captain hit the floor.

 

 

DONE

                                      RED READY

I clenched my teeth and growled, 'Stupido!' at myself. Griped further, 'your tongue is bleeding!' From my purse I pulled out a small stack of crumpled pink Kleenex. It looked germy. With some hesitation I dabbed at the red spots. My tongue was really bleeding more than I expected it might. Yet, I was absolutely unable to swallow the blood. Being somewhat of a health nut, I spit on the pavement, endangering others and then I realized my cell phone wasn't in my purse. In the ladies room at 'Croix d' Glamour' I pulled out all the rest of the pink Kleenex, my make-up, my wallet, an old red lipstick I hadn't even missed, a few loose coins, sun glasses and keys. My purse was absolutely empty. 

My tongue may have still hurt but it was no longer important. Where can my cell phone be? The only logical place was back in my car. Hep, ho, with my stiletto shoes not yet fully broken in, I hurried back to my car and mysteriously knew already, my cell was not going to be in there. After a thorough search, three times, plus 4 in the empty trunk, I gave up.

My bleeding tongue was forgotten, the corned beef sandwich I meant to get at the deli for my light supper became unimportant. My head was swimming. Who do I call to report my cell missing?I needed a tonic…something to get me out of my funk.  Ahhh – the window of Sal Chasseure was just about glowing as I nearly passed it in haste.  I literally walked backwards to take a long look at some of the most mouthwatering stilettos known to man.  Louboutins…ruby red from toes to heels to soles. I heard them whisper my mother's name. 'Clarissa.' 

I heaved open the heavy Victorian door and entered the Louboutin sanctuary, aware of a lingering stare from a tall, handsome salesman in the middle of the store.  'And what can I do for you today, my beautiful?' said Mr. Gorgeous Italian god almost salivating with sexuality. He held in his hand a new slipper not yet on the deluxe turning display. Its beauty took my breath away. I wanted it, wanted it badly.

'I would like to try on the new Cirrus stiletto. It is my dream shoe, 5 1/2 narrow, please.' His arms were behind his back and as he turned towards me he showed me another surprise. His fly was bulging, about to unzip itself.

He lead me to a soft luxurious red sofa in an alcove I had never seen. As we approached it, a red velvet curtain enveloped us mechanically. My semi-worn, slightly scuffed shoes fell unaided to the floor. His hand slipped under my dress. My lacy red panties  evaporated. His investment paid off and so did mine.

I smiled as he handed me two pairs of  5 1/2 narrow redder than red, stiletto sandals. Two strong hands re-opened the red velvet curtain. One motioned to my handsome lover to get the hell out of there as he, Monsieur Louboutin,  entered.

Back with you ???

                                   OWL PLAY

 

Barry had to raise his head, lift his chin a little to kiss Amelia. She was not very cooperative as she turned slightly away. Her clumsiness did not stop Barry. His muscled arm slid easily around her waist as he pulled her closer, then closer still. When she kicked off her stilettos  heeled shoes, he was taller than willing Amelia and he was right in her face. The softness of her breasts on his chest aroused him. His left arm around her waist, his right hand holding hers, they walked down the paved park path to the unlit gazebo. The night was cool but Barry was sweating.

A little scurrying noise made his conquest jump in fear. 'It was probably a squirrel. Don't be afraid!' She snapped at him, 'Maybe it's a rat!  Let's get out of here!' Sounding very much like whatever it was, destroyed Barry's thoughts and hopes. Compared to other possibilities Barry had no fear, other than, Amelia might evaporate.

High above them, shiny black eyes stared at them, disappeared and suddenly re-appeared. Amelia let out a scream, was sure a real Boogie Man was out there someplace. Barry ridiculed her and got a punch in his belly for it.  'You ARE stupid, Girl, it's only an owl. Didn't you know an owl can turn it's head around half way and see its back?' Amelia  laughed like a silly child, glanced downward. Barry asked, 'What's so funny?'  Her voice dropped an octave as her eyes glanced at Barry's trousers. He looked at his pants too, thought for the moment he had brambles on stuck to his front.

By then her voice could barely be heard. 'Can owls really do that, Barry? We don't even look at ourselves sometimes, don't realize how we look to other people. Right? Her eyes wandered down his body and stopped at when his masculinity could not be disguised. With a new lilt in her voice she asked, 'What do you know, Lover boy? Want to use that thing?' She purred. He unzipped and the owl hooted at just the right moment.