Orange Pulp

ORANGE PULP


Tucked into an alleyway in downtown Kent, Ohio was a small independent bookstore that catered to small, no, make that micro press publications. Its owner, a poet and publisher herself, wanted to offer as much as she could of what Barnes & Noble and their ilk would not. You know, underground literature .. non-mainstream-same-story-different-characters fluff on the Best Seller lists. Yeah, you got it, the real guts of real writing.
The store was in a small split-level section of a building that had once been the town’s funeral parlor. It was old and full of character. The entrance had flower boxes and a small garden area that surrounded a small deck set with small chairs for outside reading. The two windows were draped in short, floppy earth tones. The shelves inside were handmade and envious. Floor to ceiling, wall to wall. Crammed tight with counterculture delights. It was perfect for everything Claire MacPherson had dreamed of. And life was good. Until today.



CHAPTER JUAN

It was an overcast day. The sun, like a teenage erection in Sex Ed, remained concealed but was quite obviously there. Claire, a tallish, svelte redhead, arrove to open her bookstore for business. Once inside she hurried to ready it for customers; feed the cat, put all his knocked-over displays and books back in place, make coffee, then turn on the lights. It was near time for the last step when the door blasted open and a woman, looking like the star of a Cronheim movie, burst in ... gasping for air.
“Do you have a used copy of The Kiss by Ron Androla? Her eyes wide, fixed and dilated, darted about the place in a pseudo “Refer Madness” parody. She was crazed, that was for sure.
“I don’t think that’s available anymore. It’s been out of print for years.” Claire, nonplussed, informed the still panting patron and started to turn on the lights.
“Oh please! No! Leave them off until I have left.” The woman peeked out the door as if being hounded by the paparazzi. “Here, take my card and please, call me if a copy ever comes in.” She handed Claire a business card that had seen one grocery store bulletin board too many.
“OK, I will.” Claire told the woman who held the door ajar as she peered into the uncertain future of exiting the store.
“Oh, and please, don’t tell anyone I’ve been here.” was her last plea as she snuck out of the bookstore like a drained cock that swore it wouldn’t cum inside you.
Claire stood staring at the woman’s departure, wondering at the oddity of what had just transpired. She looked at the woman’s card again, ‘Louise Alice Yates, psychic to the dead’... “Don’t call us, we’ll call you.” and indeed, there was no phone number, no address, no e-mail on it. Claire pondered the word play. Was Louise a gateway to, or a specialty from the dead? How did the woman expect Claire to call her if she left no number to do so? Staring at the card, contemplating the possibilities, she dropped it when another customer coming in startled her. It was a man, a very tall, well-built man. He was dressed like you would expect him to be after a woman like Louise left. His loose fitting Bermuda shirt was mostly open over his disco-stud-haired chest. Long muscular legs balanced out from his khaki safari shorts. She noticed his well pedicured toes wrapped in his Birkenstock sandals as he knelt to pick up the card she had dropped. He handed the card to her.
“Sorry to have startled you. Are you open?” He glanced about at the darkened shelves of books, not really looking at her at all.
“Yes, yes I am, I just haven’t had a chance to....” Claire started to answer before he interrupted her.
“Do you by chance have a used copy of The Kiss by Ron Androla I could buy?” The tall, well-built and oddly dressed man asked Claire, again without looking at her.
“Ummm, why no, I don’t. You know, it’s funny the woman who20just...”
Claire stopped herself before finishing, hearing the echo of Louise’s last plea before departing the premises. “No, no, I’m sure that I don’t have it here.” She told the tall, well-built man who she then noticed look tremendously like her heartthrob, Sam Elliot.
“It sure is a hard one to find.” He shook his head, looking down at Kerouac who had now come to check out all the commotion and was rubbing against his leg. As he bent to pet the cat, a cigar fell out from his shirt pocket. Kerouac grabbed what he thought was a toy and began to bat it about the bookstore.
“Kerouac, no! That’s not yours.” Claire made a move to retrieve the cigar from her cat but was stopped by the tall, well-built man’s voice.
“That’s fine. He can have it. I don’t smoke anyway.” He finally looked Claire in the eyes. Actually, he dove into them and she welcomed him there. His were such a soothing, warm shade of brown. Claire saw so many fireplace and hot chai settings in them. She felt a slight dizziness and weakness in her knees she hadn’t felt since she sniffed butane fluid in high school.
The man stood for a brief moment, as if striking a pose, and then turned to leave. “I’ll check again with you later.” He told her, like “I’ll call you.” or “We should do this again, soon.” and then he walked out her door.
Claire stood in the still dark bookstore, dazed and aroused. She looked again at the card Louise had left her, only now, it wasn’t Louise’s card at all. Now it was her own business card. She flinched. How did it? Where did? Did he? Claire felt a tremor of fear sliver down her spine like chugging a quart of pickle juice. She leaned against her counter, the back of her hand against her forehead in an unintended Scarlet O’Hara impersonation. Only this wasn’t Tara, that wasn’t Rhett and somehow, she just knew that man really gave a damn.
Kerouac batted his gift of a cigar into Claire’s shoe and she knelt down to pick it up. She sometimes enjoyed the smell of unsmoked cigar tobacco. Holding it close to her nose, she noticed some writing on the side. “Made in Cuba” was embossed in bright gold lamination. “Oh My God!!!!” Claire began to sweat. She knew it was illegal to have Cuban cigars in America and here she was, holding one in her very own hands. She scurried to the bathroom to flush the incrimination down the toilet. “Wait.” She cried aloud to herself. “Evidence.” She nodded her head in a spy-finding-the-right-clue nod. She looked about for a place to conceal the contraband she had been so mysteriously bestowed with. She opened her medicine cabinet and immediately remembered how she used to sneak nickel bags into school for lunch hour and tucked the cigar in her plastic tampon holder. Perfect fit.
There was no time to decipher the morning’s scenario just yet. She had a store to open and was now already 5 minutes late in doing so. Claire turned on her lights and pulled down her open sign. Somewhat shaken, she felt like she had just awoken from a dream that just had to have something to do with the suppressed resentment of her unloving mother. She poured herself a cup of coffee to calm her nerves and sat in one of her over stuffed reading chairs to give Kerouac his daily petting fix and settle herself.
Claire began to replay the events that left her feeling like another Wylie Coyote mishap attempt to get the Roadrunner. Staring into nothing, she tried to remember anything that might make some sense of the jigsaw puzzle her day was becoming. She pictured the woman first. Louise was a slight, disheveled, mousey brown-haired woman who looked to be in her late 40’s. Everything about her had a 6 kids, 3 dogs, 4 cats, an aquarium of fish and a lazy city worker husband look to it. A psychic to the dead who needed a copy of The Kiss ...and needed it badly. A woman on the run and always in the wrong shoes.
Claire wondered just who or what Louise was trying to avoid. It appeared to be a life or death run for her. Who was she running from? Was it Sam Elliot? And what about him? So strange that he showed up almost immediately after Louise left and then asked for the same exact book. What’s the connection? What’s their impetus?
A long, quiet ten minutes passed before another customer walked through the door. A somewhat pudgy, somewhat balding, mostly homely man with hideous taste in golf shirts and those even uglier jeans usually only worn by men needing assistance getting off a toilet. This time, she knew the face by name.
“Hey Charlie, how are you today?” Claire set her coffee down and began to rise, still holding a quite content Kerouac.
“Don’t get up. I’m just going to look awhile.” Charlie told her, holding his hand up like a school bus guard who took his job seriously. “What’s new, anyway?”
“Got in some new zines and a couple titles from Re/Search, but UPS hasn’t been here yet today. May get some more stuff if he delivers.” Claire took another sip of her coffee and leaned back into her chair. Kerouac set back into a resonating purr.
Charlie was one of Claire’s regular customers. He was a once a week guy who generally did more browsing than buying. Claire didn’t mind. His kind kept the place at least looking like it had a somewhat steady clientele. Charlie got himself a cup of freebie coffee and continued with his browsing.
“Hey Charlie, you ever read Androla’s The Kiss?” Claire decided she might as well start trying to place pieces together to see if anything fit.
“Yeah. Read that one back in college.” Charlie answered, looking off into that same nothing that had her so transfixed earlier. “It’s probably one of my favorites.” He added.
“Do you remember anything special about it that would put it in a high demand now?” Claire began her probing.
“Nothing that I can think of, other than it’s small print run makes it a rare find nowadays.” Charlie answered after gulping his coffee and then tipping a spill onto her carpet.
“Do you still have your copy?” Claire asked as hopeful as a Trick or Treater with a bag full of apples.
“Don’t know. I could check.” Charlie picked up a copy of Popsmear and began flipping though it after setting his cup of coffee precariously on the magazine rack’s edge.
“Yeah. Check for me, would you?” Claire felt a glimmer of excited anticipation, like having a new boyfriend fumble for her bra strap after 15 minutes of face-sucking in his parent’s car.
“Okay, I’ll call my mom when I get home. Most of my older books are still in her basement. She has nothing else to do. She won’t mind the mission.” Charlie replied, but was busy eyeballing the topless woman inserted in a group photograph on page 11.
“Mission?” The word snapped in Claire’s head like a wet towel across her ass in the high school gym locker. (What ever happened to Miss Ray, anyway?)
“Huh?” Charlie was looking at her, eyebrows knitted into what looked like an wooly bear caterpillar forecasting one helluva winter.
“Oh, sorry.. Nothing.” Claire smiled, shook her head and got up, letting Kerouac flop to the floor, and went to rinse out her coffee cup.
None of the other customers that came in had even heard of Ron Androla, so Claire had to settle with what clues she already had in play. She did some internet book searches, but had no luck there. Had the circumstances not been so queer, she would have left it at that and been done with it. But for some reason, she was impelled to find that book. For some reason, she knew she had to.
At closing time, much was routine and robotic. It was a slow day, so she had little to do before leaving. As she walked to her vehicle after locking the doors, she heard the sounds of sirens and saw a police car fly by her on South Water Street. She drove the opposite way home, but still saw that it had stopped at the next intersection north of her.
Crazy college kids was all that she thought.



CHAPTER DOO

The next morning, Claire walked up her alley, picked up the daily Record Hurrier off her deck and found a picture of Louise Alice Yates plastered across its front page. She wondered why someone would go to the trouble to paste it there and more so, why on her copy? Beneath the picture were the typewritten words “Have You Seen Me?” She took the paper into her shop and laid it on the counter. Kerouac was tapping at her leg for a hello pat and the answering machine was blinking at her to retrieve the messages it saved for her.
Claire picked up Kerouac, stroking him as she pressed the play button on her machine. The first message was a typical Steven rant. Steven was a local schizophrenic who had designs on Claire. (he brought them in on occasion to show her. Lovely things, but she preferred having the head she was born with, and really, felt that just one of them was suffice.) Steven went on about the voices in his TV trying to steal his art ideas and how they “Had better find another puppet because he was cutting the strings” and ending with his signature sign off “So, how are you Claire?” The next message inquired about an upcoming poetry reading and the third, well, let’s just say it was no charm. A sinister voice cackled in a muffled tone that he or she, (hard to tell with all the cackling going on,) knows “You have the book and it would behoove you to leave it between the doors tonight if you want your bookstore still standing tomorrow.” Claire stumbled back from the phone and bumped into... her UPS man.
“I heard that message, Claire, what does it mean?” Rick asked her, handing her his manifest to sign for the package he was delivering.
“Hell if I know.” Claire responded, rattled twicely from the message and Rick sneaking up on her like that. “There’s been a lot of strangeness going on here lately.”
“That’s normal for this place” Rick smirked “Got any coffee ready yet?” and plopped himself in a chair.
“I’ll get it going now. Can you wait?” Claire began getting the coffee going as Rick tore open the package he delivered and pulled out the books it contained. “Damn, no nudies!” His face was sadly staring into the near empty box. “Got anything to eat?” He set the box aside and made his way upstairs. Claire kept a small hotel room sized refrigerator stocked with eats and drinks for favorite customers, friends and Rick, who had been mooching food and beers for years. He also had a key to her store, in case he had to make deliveries when she was out to lunch or sick. She knew he’d been there after hours, but at least he rinsed out his cans and bottles before tossing them into the recycling.
“Claire, you’re down to 3 Twinkies, can I have them?” Rick yelled down at her from the top of the steps, already halfway through with one of them.
Claire started to check the order against the invoice. “Of course. Yes.” she responded without even thinking, still checking the invoice. Holding one last unchecked book in hand, she was stopped short of a visual when...
“Excuse me.....” Someone meekly spoke behind her.
Claire turned to see a police officer standing in her entryway. “I haven’t even turned on the fuckin’ lights yet.” she mumbled to herself and put the book on the coffee stand before turning to face the officer.
“Miss MacPherson?” The officer took a step towards her and tripped over Kerouac, who in his door-greeting duty was already under foot and wrapping his tail around him. “Shit!” He fell forward into a card rack and sent the greetings and his hat flying, but stopped his fall with a shelf of pharmacopeia publications. His black shoe-polish-dyed curly toupee shifted, looking now like misplaced pubic hair sloping towards his nose.
“Oh, I’m so sorry.” Claire rushed over to, what? help the policeman stand up? She stopped herself mid step, stifling a guffaw. “My cat, he greets everyone. You couldn’t see in here yet without the lights on. I’m so sorry’” She flicked on the switches and turned back towards him. “Are you OK?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.” He said, putting his hair and hat back on. “I’m sorry about the mess. Can I help you clean this up?” He started to pick some of the cards up when his radio fell out of its holder.
“Damn it!” He grabbed the radio, looking for damage.” If I break one more of these fuckers.” Then looked at Claire with shock on his face. “Oh Shit!” then “Dammit!” then “Aw fer cryin’ out loud!” before almost actually crying out loud “I’m sorry! My gutter mouth.”
“This is a bookstore. Words are not offensive here.” She held out her hand to shake his. “What can I do for you officer?”
“Berkowitz. It’s Detective John Berkowitz.” He met her hand with his own before telling her “I’m here about a murder and we think you might be involved.”


CHAPTER TREE

Rick walked down the steps with a Twinkie halfway down his throat and a copy of Bondage Fairies in his hands, giggling at the20comic nudity. Seeing the ashen look on Claire’s face and the cop standing before her, he began to choke on the unstuffed half of Twinkie. It flew out of his mouth and landed at Berkowitz’s feet. No one else noticed it but Rick.
Claire had her hand to her chest and mouth agape. “What?” She squeaked out. “What the fucking Hell are you saying?” She slumped backwards into the chair Kerouac was already occupying. In simultaneous screams, they both jumped up and out of the chair, bumping the coffee stand and knocking the book, that book, thee book to the floor.
“Maybe that sounded too rash.” Berkowitz offered “You may have some information that may help us in solving a murder.” and pulled out some papers from a large envelope he somehow managed not to drop when he tipped over the card rack.
“Hey, I’ll be back for that coffee later, Claire.” Rick said as he headed towards the door and out it, squishing the coughed-up-half-eaten Twinkie into the carpet en route to getting the Hell out of there.
“We found this in the victim’s hand.” Berkowitz handed over a sales receipt from Claire’s store. It was dated yesterday. “The time on it is just 20 minutes before we found her.”
“Her? Who her?” Claire asked, feeling a wave of nausea surging like getting caught with her high school math teacher in the maintenance closet during 6th period study hall. Or was that the teacher’s lounge with the track coach? Or was it ....?
“We don’t know who she is. That’s what we’re hoping maybe you can tell us.” Berkowitz handed her a photo of a rather dead looking woman who very much resembled Louise Alice Yates. “She was found hanging from an adopt-a-spot tree on Main Street. Rather ballsy act if it wasn’t a suicide, I must say. Hell, ballsy even if it was.”
“Well, she does look like a woman who was in here yesterday.” Claire told him, without looking away from the photo. “She gave me her card.” She was transfixed by the picture. Something didn’t look right. Something was wrong. Something besides Louise looking dead. Something in the eyes. Louise’s unclosed eyes. Something she couldn’t quite put a finger on...yet.


CHAPTER FLOOR

“Do you still have that card?” Berkowitz asked Claire, snapping her out of her daze much like her mom did after Claire ate all those mushrooms. 1972. That was a very good year.
“Uh, yeah. Oh. NO! No I don’t.” Now she was really atwitter. She promised Louise she wouldn’t tell anyone. But she’s dead now and probably won’t care anymore .. or will she? How could she explain her crazed search
for the book. That book. Thee book? And then how would she explain Sam Elliot? Does she even want to? Wouldn’t that put a crimp on their fireplace and hot chai evening? Oh, what to do, what to do?
“Miss MacPherson? Do you have that card?” Damn him for interrupting her daze again.
“No. I’m sorry. I did, but I think I threw it out or something.” Claire tried to hurry an alibi in. This was waaay to cloak and dagger for first thing in the morning for her. Usually unflappable, this really was really getting her flapped.
“You think you did?” Berkowitz leaned slightly towards her with implied guilt. His eyebrows raised and almost meeting his still not totally back in place toupee.
“Well, I’m not sure.... You see I, ... I, umm, I can’t find it. No, I can’t find it.” Maybe that will work.. she hoped. Her eyes widened and veered a tad askance.
“Well, can I, .. we look around? Maybe you just misplaced it here somewhere.” Berkowitz already started a pendulum ransacking of her store with his head. He had a beefy head. A beefy bad toupee head. A beefy bad toupee just get the fuck out of my store and my life head. A beefy bad toupee just get the fuck out of my store and my life head that unfortunately had a somewhat upper hand in this unbelievable scenario. A beefy.. oh forget it.
“Sure, sure.. You look around.” Claire felt relatively safe in telling him. She knew her Sammie had it stowed in his Bermuda shirt..or his khaki shorts.. or, Hell, who knows where. But it was assuredly not here.
Claire lifted up the card rack from the floor and was putting cards back in when she noticed Berkowitz heading towards the bathroom and it hit her like a shot of adrenaline after a heroin overdose. THE CIGAR!
Claire knew the delegated shade of orange given to prisoners was not flattering to her specific red hair and there’s no way anyone would take in a idiosyncratic cat like Kerouac. She slid on one of the cards in her mad dash to beat the detective to the bathroom. “If you don’t mind... All this excitement... I really have to use the little girls room.” She caught herself and sashayed in front of him, heading him off at the pass “I’ll just be a minute.” and locked the door behind her.
Claire quietly opened her bathroom cabinet and then the tampon holder to get the illegal cigar out and was shocked to find a rolled up piece of paper where the cigar had been. It uncurled itself as she pulled it out, revealing a handwritten note that began “My Precious Little Claire,”



CHAPTER CHAI

My Precious Little Claire,

Please forgive all this silly “Mystery, She Wrote” fiction. It’s all mute as far as what I wish to explain to you. Would you kindly meet me after you close your store for some coffee or maybe a spiced chai at the Wild Goats Cafe?

Until we meet again,
Elliot Samuels

Claire felt like it was her heart being flushed down the toilet instead of nothing to insinuate a usage. She tucked the note into the toe of her clog before coming out to face Detective Berkowitz, who was then riffling through her computer desk drawer.
“Any luck yet?” She sheepishly asked him, feeling the jab of paper against her big toe.
“No. Nothing yet.” Berkowitz was looking at an invoice of books from Last Gasp Of San Francisco Distributors. “You sure get some interesting reading in here.” he said before laying down the list of counterculture books that also graced her shelves.
“It’s a college town.” Claire offered. “I give them what they ask for.” She folded her arms in front of her in an, already-went-through-this-shit-pose.
“Alrighty.” Berkowitz retorted, eyebrows raised and smirking.
“By the way, it should be obvious the business card would not be attached to an invoice, so perhaps you should refocus your search?” Claire felt a perturbing invasion of privacy encroaching on her already tweaked out day.
“Yeah. Right. What about in your drawers?” Berkowitz pulled out the drawer in her computer desk only to find a plethora of pens, stick-ems, paperclips and kitty treats, but no business card. “Hmmm. Not here.”
“You said she was hung from a tree on Main Street. Where at? In front of what building?” Everything else seemed it could be some sort of clue, why wouldn’t that be one too?
“In front of Spinmore Records. Why? Do you know something?” Berkowitz squinted an insinuation her way.
“Well, now I know where she was hung.” Claire adeptly deflected his interrogating volley and tried to reason its location into the evolution of things.
“You know, Berkowitz, I’m sure I don’t have her card. I didn’t have it long enough to put it anywhere other than on the counter when she was here, so I would have to assume it was blown out the door when she left because I assuredly did not have time to do anything else with it, nor did I sweep it off the floor when I closed up.” Claire turned her back to the detective to finish picking up the greeting cards.
“Hmm, well, OK, I guess you’d know.” And it was obvious he felt she didn’t. “I’ll go back to the station and see if they have anything new there. Call me if you find or think of anything that might help.”
Berkowitz headed towards the door to leave “I’ll just leave you my card here on your counter.” and opened it just as a breeze came through and serendipitously blew his card out onto the front steps. “Well, lookee there.” He said before he stepped outside to actually do so.
Claire smirked as she went outside to where Berkowitz was tromping through her flower beds, breaking over her valerian and headless poppies in his clumsy search for redemption.
“Please be careful. Those plants your crushing are rather costly.” She scolded the uniformed oaf that had just smashed her Jack Frost Brunnera to the ground.
“Oh, so sorry.” The oaf offered, but she wasn’t convinced.
“I don’t see any other card here but mine.” Berkowitz frowned as he stepped out of her garden patch “But I guess it could have blown off to anywhere by now.” and looked down the alleyway. “And you don’t remember the name on it?” He turned back to Claire.
“No. Sorry, I don’t. Didn’t have time to really even look at it. I was just in the process of opening my store.” Claire lied in an easy, I’m a pro at this manner.
“OK then. Call if you think of anything that might...” Just then Berkowitz’s radio went off.
“Berkowitz. We need you back at the station ASAP. The Main Street corpse has disappeared.” squeaked out and added yet another incredible twist is this dance of the macabre.
Berkowitz looked at Claire with the same Stymied eyes she was looking at him with “I guess I better go.” and trotted up the alleyway towards his cruiser talking into his radio. “What the fuck do you mean, it disappeared?”


CHAPTER SEX

Claire stepped back into her store, closed the door and strode over to the comfort of her chair to compose herself. Luckily, this time Kerouac was not already there. She sat in a familiar numb daze and stared into the nothingness of befuddlement. The sound of Kerouac licking the remnants of a squashed Twinkie from the carpet reminded her she still needed to check in the order Rick delivered.
The rest of her day was a blur of faces and conversations with customers she could not recall and sales she hoped she registered. Before she realized it, it was time to close up and head on home again. As she stepped out from behind the cash register counter, she felt a stabbing in her shoe.. and then remembered.. she had a date with Sam Elliot.
Claire closed down everything and fussed over her appearance while deciding whether to walk or drive to the cafe. Wild Goats Cafe was just 2 blocks away, but she decided to drive in the safety of her Jeep and locked the door behind her before doing so. Thinking of meeting her Sammie had her already near orgasmic, amplified by the vibration of the brick road as she drove over to meet him.
Claire pulled into the cafe’s parking lot and noticed a rather dark and clunky WV van parked in a back corner. It seemed as tho someone ducked down in the front seat just as she pulled into her parking space. Someone who, for just a fleeting second, looked very much like Louise Alice Yates. The live one, that is.
Claire looked again at the vehicle before deciding that what was inside the cafe had much more appeal than what might be lurking inside the van and got out to go in.
Seated in a back corner booth was the man who was causing quite a stir in Claire’s lower regions. Her nipples, pointing the way, led her to the seat across from that which held the best looking thing she’s seen since, well, Sam Elliot.
“Hello Claire. I’m so glad you decided to meet me.” He said in a melting chocolate voice while leaning over to take her hands in his own “I hope I’m not taking you away from anything else you might have to do.” and staring so deeply into her eyes her twat twitched.
“No.... Nothing... mmmm.” Claire’s eyes nearly closed as his fingers moved ever so slightly across her wrists.
“Wonderful.” Elliot moved back and away from her. “I have so much to tell you, so much to explain.”
A cute, doe-eyed waitress came to their table and asked if they would like anything to drink while looking over theie menus. Claire ordered her favorite, spiced chai and Elliot ordered a cup of the house coffee. The waitress had no sooner turned away than Elliot began.
“Where to begin, where to begin...” His smile had both a sexual and cynical allusion to it as he started to explain the chaos of his quest for the book. That book. Thee book. “I guess from the start. It’s only fair.” And he began.
“I’m a poet, Claire, a struggling, as yet undiscovered poet who had just penned the next “Howl” and then lost it when my ex-wife threw out all my belongings from our once happy home. I had put it in Androla’s book..only fitting as he’s inspired me so much over the years..and left it there to be typed up later for submission to Gargoyle Magazine. I went to a poetry reading later that same night and was sitting there with another woman when my wife walked in. She accused me of having an affair with the woman, who, honestly, I had only met that night and only because she had the only empty seat left next to her. My wife caused a scene and left, screaming my belongings would be on the curb when I got home. I had so little that I didn’t really care and stayed for the rest of the reading. It was an awesome gathering; Ron Androla, Bart Solarczyk, Mark Weber, Cheryl Townsend.. The Poets From Hell, they were called. Mike Basinski from the Buffalo University Library Archive Department hosted it. It was being taped for a TV show. But I digress. When I got home, there was nothing on the curb and I assumed she had calmed down once she got back. I, most unfortunately, was so very, very wrong. She was gone. Everything was gone. She took it all with her and left me nothing to go on to find her or my possessions. I was certain she would not have taken my poetry collection, as it meant nothing to her and everything to me, but I was again so very, very wrong. Most devastatingly wrong. She took my potential fame with her, tucked in The Kiss, and there I was, without the ability to recall even a single line of that masterpiece. So, dear lady, that’s why I’m so adamant about finding that book. Why I need to find it so badly. You’re a poet, Claire, you know the importance of that one quintessential life-altering poem. It’s the one, the signature to my life. I have to find it.”
Elliot was almost nose to nose with Claire when he finished his soliloquy and it startled her to find him that close. “OH.” Claire jerked back as if shocked by a slipper-slide on carpet jolt.
The waitress had also just returned with their drinks and was placing them on the table when Elliot surprised them both by asking if it would be too much of a bother to get their drinks to go?
“Where are we going?” Claire asked, titillated and worried and hoping somewhere with a fireplace.
“I need to be alone with you. I can’t explain it. Please come with me.” Elliot pulled her hands towards him, placing one on his chest. “Can you feel how strongly my heart is beating for you?” And indeed, it was a rather vibrant thump, thump, thumpity-thump against her palm.
“But where are we going? Where are you taking me?” She repeated, this time less stressed and more adamant. Questioning herself silently as to just how far up she shaved that morning.
“Back to your store.” He stood as the waitress set their to-go cups on the table and threw down a fiver before taking Claire’s elbow to assist her in standing.
“Such a gentleman.” she thought. “Such a gentleman.” thought the waitress. “Such a con man” thought the woman looking through the window and ducking back from view as they walked towards the door.
Outside the door, Elliot pulled Claire into an embrace that made her swoon (It had to be a swoon, this is a rather old-fashioned, Harlequinesque cling going on here!) and breathed “I want to make poetry with you tonight.” into her ear before he kissed her just below it.
Thankful he was holding her up, Claire fell into him totally and dropped her to go cup of spiced chai onto the sidewalk. Its lid popped off and exploded the contents up the calf of a woman that was skirting around them going into the cafe.
“Shit!” said the woman who tried to just jump to the left and then step to the right to avoid what was already soaking into her canvas shoes. “Get a room!” She snorted before going through the cafe door.
“Excellent suggestion.” Elliot smirked before laying a kiss on Claire’s forehead instead of her puckered and waiting lips. “Shall we go?” He slowly backed away from her just enough to take her arm and lead her towards the street.
“Oh, I drove here.” Claire remembered. “My car’s just over there.” She pointed towards her Jeep without looking, still dreamily locked on Elliot.
“It’s a beautiful evening. Let’s just walk. Maybe we can even go along the River?” He was teasing her now, she was sure. She was aching for him. She wanted her bodice ripped and her heaving pillows ravaged by his hungry, savage lips, his thirsty tongue, his kneading hands. She wanted her hair fisted as he bit her into neck and ran a hand down her downy skin towards her delta of delight. She had no idea why she was thinking so Ninishly other than she was horny as Hell and wanted to do something immediately about it. Gentleman, BAH! She needed a knave, and she was determined to get one.
“A River walk? Lovely.” Claire already knew just where she would let him take her. Where she’d allow him to know of her flesh. Let him fill her with his desire. Let him slip her his big beef injection, ride her like a bucking bronco, slam into her like a Sumo wrestler, do the do, slip the slide, hang it in....... ahhh.
He took the wrong side down.



CHAPTER SEVERED

Claire felt the estrus wane with every step they took towards a boring, wide open lane along the crooked Cuyahoga River. Elliot kept talking, but she quit listening. She was too busy chiding herself for being such a romantic. For always expecting rip-roaring sex every time some guy nibbled on her ear. Ah well, she sighed.. Ah well.
“...and that’s what led me to your store.” Elliot had continued on with his saga, totally unaware that Claire had mentally left him about 10 minutes prior.
“Sure, sure.” She responded with disdain as evident as the other man now standing just 8 feet in front of them with a glittering item in his hand. Elliot stopped their walk and moved to Claire’s front, to shield her from harm’s way.
“What do you want?” Elliot bellowed towards the man who was now lobbing the glittery item left to right, right to left, left to right, right.. you get the picture.
“Your money’s a good start.” The man laughed, then made an “S” shape in the open air with his now obvious knife.
“And if I say go fuck yourself instead?” Elliot‘s bravado took a step towards the man who instantly stopped his “S”ing around. He was as shocked as Claire at Elliot’s total disregard to the weapon.
“Then I cut your nuts off before the pretty lady there gets a go with them and toss ‘em into the river.” He flashed the knife again “Then I’ll slice your throat.” and made the motion across his own for emphasis.
“That’s all relevant to your capabilities against mine.” Elliot had taken 3 more steps towards the man, closing in the gap considerably and leaving Claire behind to watch.
“Oh, a brave one, eh? Haven’t had one of you in a while.” The man started towards Elliot, snarling with his knife pointing outward towards Elliot who was also still moving forward.
“What’s with all this macho shit?” Claire cried out a second before the two men met in a watusi step that evolved into several more dances before the man fell to the ground with a “Mother-fucker” hissing out of his grimacing mouth.
Elliot turned and began to walk back towards Claire, brushing the entanglement from himself and looking rather smug. “Shall we continue with our evening, my dear?” He reached for her hand and turned her from the direction of the now crying crumble behind them.
“Shouldn’t we call the police? Is he going to die? Are you all right?” Claire blurted, looking back at the now sitting man. Elliot shook his head and laughed. “All is fine, darling, all is fine.” He placed his arm around her waist “We have a date, do we not?” and pulled her along with him as they distanced themselves from the man who was now running in the opposite direction.
“Oh Elliot. My Hero!” Claire looked up into his moon glow face and stopped him. She pulled his face towards her own and gave him a kiss that so totally turned the table he was on his knees almost immediately, clutching her ass and vowing his love to her left thigh. Claire slid down to him and again kissed him into total subservience.
This is where we break to the full moon shining on the flowing Cuyahoga river. The sounds of water splashing over the rocks that cover the river bed and banks. The gentle swish-swoosh of branches and their leaves being toyed with by the breeze. The occasional bird chirp - My, that was quick!
Claire and Elliot lay on the river bank, holding hands and watching the clouds cover the moon, occasionally rolling on one side to kiss each other.
“Who would have thought? Who would have thought?” Elliot murmured, his head rocking gently side to side.
“Thought what?” Claire squeezed his hand and rolled completely over, looking down on Elliot looking up at her.
“That I’d come here looking for one thing and find something so remarkably different.” He smiled at her. “That I’d find love.”
“Oh Elliot, ... That was just sex.” She kissed him lightly “Fan-fuckingtastic sex, but just sex just the same. We don’t even know each other. I’d only just met you the other day.” and laid her head across his chest so as not see his reaction to her flippant response.
“Perhaps for you it was just sex, but for me.. Ahh, Claire, it was everything.” He pulled her face up to his and kissed her back flat on her back again before making us cut to another watery scene.
Visualize how the stars reflect on the river like diamonds on a billowing black silk scarf. How the spent blooms of Black-eyed Susan scratch against the bark of a Sycamore. How a squirrel scurries through the unmowed grass, how a robin sweetly calls to another. Imagine the smells of earth and water and lush greenery. Try to feel the - Ahh. Here we go.


CHAPTER ATE

“I’m hungry. How about you?” Claire sat up. Her hair was enmeshed with leaves, grass and a couple twigs.
“I do believe I am as well. Where shall we go?” Elliot got up shakily, leaned against the tree that concealed them and offered his hand to assist Claire. They were both in a quite disheveled state and began to brush the debris off of each other when Elliot roughly pushed her against the tree, lifted her dress and we get yet another view of the lovely Cuyahoga River under a full moon.
The two finally left the River Walk and made their way to the Zephyr. It was one of the few dining places around one could go to in their present state of appearance and look like nearly everyone else there.
“You still have a memento in your hair, allow me.” Elliot reached to take a twig from Claire’s hair just as an ambulance raced by outside the window they now sat inside of.
“Do you think it’s for that man?” Claire asked, worried now as to their own criminal implications.
“I sincerely doubt it. I didn’t hurt him in the least, but merely disarmed him.” Elliot tucked the twig in his shirt pocket “I shall keep this with me always.” and patted it for emphasis.
“You’re silly.” Claire giggled and stroked the side of his face.
The Zephyr was filled with assorted diners who all sat waiting to be noticed. A waitress finally came to their table and took their order with a sneer. She was brusk and indifferent and appeared quite put out by their very existence. She was Claire's favorite.
They both ordered a cheese dip and bread sampler to share with hot cups of Guatemalan coffee. “You know, the first couple of times that I came here, I thought they said ‘watermelon coffee’ and would never order any.” Claire confessed with a laugh.
“Oh, I thought that’s what we got.” Elliot bemused and they both laughed together.
“Where are you staying?” Claire asked, not remembering if he had told her when they first met.
“I’m afraid I am not. I have to continue my search for the book, wherever it may take me.” He looked at Claire with such sorry eyes she almost laughed even more, but smartly refrained.
“Where you going to go?”
“Out there.”
“How will you live?0
“Day by day.”
“When are you leaving? Will I ever see you again?” Claire lamented that she’d never even get that fireplace scene in.
“I’ll be leaving after we finish dinner.” Elliot looked pained as he said it. But that could have just been the bubbling hot cheese dip he’d just put into his mouth.
“So soon? So sad.” Claire dipped a piece of bread into her cheese dip and left it to take his hand in her own. “I really had a nice time this evening. I hope I didn’t scare you off with my views on sex and love.”
“Of course not.” Elliot patted her hand on his hand with his other hand. “I have to find that book. It is essential to my future. I know you understand.” He squeezed her hand holding his hand with his other hand.
“Yes. Certainly. I do.” Claire smiled at him putting her other hand over his hand that was now no longer squeezing her hand holding his hand. “But will I ever see you again?”
“Who can say?” Elliot pulled both hands away from her hands so that neither of them were holding any hands but their own. “Anything is possible. Anything is possible.”
The rest of their meal was pretty uneventful. No more holding of any hands. No more meaningful looks or innuendoes, not that there were really any before. These are two pretty straight forward people we’ve got here.
They stood outside the Zephyr to say goodbye. (Have you ever been to the Zephyr? Have you ever seen that second doorway tucked just slightly in from the sidewalk and mostly obscured when evening descends?)
My, isn’t that a beautiful sky? Look, I think I see a shooting star....



CHAPTER NONE

Claire made her way back to Wild Goats to get her Jeep alone. Her gait was slightly off due to the distance she was now allowing between her raw thighs to prevent any further chaffing. No pain, unlain!
The cafe had closed hours ago and hers was the only vehicle left in their parking lot. Well, hers and that VW van in the back corner with someone ducking down as she walked into the lot. Claire hurriedly got into her Jeep and power-locked the doors. She started it up and flipped on her headlights and then noticed the post-em stuck to her windshield. The message faced in and read “When’s my turn?”
Claire looked towards the VW van, but whomever ducked down just moments ago was not poking their head up again now. “Turn at what?” she asked herself before putting the Jeep into gear and driving out of the parking lot and away from the VW van that now had an entire upper torso looking out the front windshield at her as she headed west on Main Street.
When Claire got home, she had the distinct feeling she was being watched. She hoped it was Elliot, maybe rethinking his need to leave so soon and contemplating a little more time between her thighs. She decided that’s who she would believe to be watching her as she unlocked her front door, went in, then relocked the door again behind her. Watched or not, she knew she would sleep quite well tonight.
Doing a security check in every closet, behind every curtain, under every bed, and double checking every lock, Claire began to feel an ease settle over her and she stripped down before climbing into her triple-fat-pillow-top bed. The days intensity soon had her drift off into an exhausted sleep. But wait, that’s not all.
Claire awoke to the sound of banging on her front door. She looked over at the clock on her night stand to see it illuminating that it was only 3:45 am. Claire knew nothing good could come out of a 3:45 am door banging but got out of her cozy bed just the same. She pulled back on the clothes she so happily discarded and flipped on every light switch on her way to find out just who was so adamantly attacking her front door. “I’m coming, hold the fuck on. It’s 3-fucking-45 in the damned morning you inconsiderate moron.”
Claire flipped on the outside light and peeped through her peep hole to see Louise Yates standing on her front step, peeping back in at her.
“What do you want, Louise?” Claire angrily asked through her door.
“I need to talk to you. Please, it’s very important.” Louise held her hands in a prayer plea and bent her knees as if she was going to kneel right there and beg.
“Can’t this wait until a more reasonable time, like 10 am?” Claire responded in a most unpleasant tone, still through the door.
“Please! It’s extremely important. It’s, it’s about Elliot.” The last words were almost a whisper. A stage whisper, but essentially more subdued than her initial pleading.
“Elliot? What about Elliot? Is he OK?” A new tone of concern came through the door as Claire reached to unlock it and let the crazed woman who was dead just a few hours ago into her home.
“Elliot is fine, but you may not be.” Louise slithered inside like a shadow and faced Claire with a motherly look pasted on her face.
“I’m fine. There’s nothing wrong with me.” She told Louise with an indignation that any other mother would have justified a smack upside the head for. “Besides, aren’t you dead?”
“I had to fake my death to be able to do what I have to do. No one is to know that I am still alive.” Louise was really creeping Claire out now and she was really wishing she had stayed in her cozy bed and ignored that no-good 3:45 am door banging.
“Don’t you think people will wonder why or how your body disappeared from the morgue?” Claire nastily shot back, her arms crossed and her toe tapping.
“Probably, but I was pronounced dead. They won’t think I had anything to do with it.” Louise was still plastered against the wall as if she were a bad piece of wallpaper and finally asked “Can we sit down inside somewhere? I’m so tired and I have so much to tell you.”
“Oh, all right.” Claire resigned “Come on into the kitchen. I’ll make us some tea.” and led Louise into her kitchen where she pulled her out a chair and set into making the tea.
“It all started when I had a whim to win the lottery. I’ve always been dreaming of hitting it and getting the big one. I don’t have a lot of money, so extra dollars for such frivolity are few and far between, but I found a buck in a plastic bag I picked up to recycle and decided that it must be an omen to play it on the lottery. I played random numbers and every one of them hit.” Louise paused for effect. Waiting for a reaction from Claire that didn’t come. She decided to just go on.
“I won 24 million dollars. Well, I would have won 24 million dollars had I not stuck the ticket inside a book for safe keeping until I could take it in to redeem. You have to wait on these things. Contact lawyers, family, friends. Disconnect your phone. Find a new home. Order the Hell out of those buy-now-pay-later deals. Preliminaries. Well, I put it in the book.. the Ron Androla book I asked you about and wasn’t aware that I had with me when I returned some other books to the library. It was dropped into the overnight bin and never seen again. It was a few days before I realized that’s where the ticket must have gone. The library said it was probably put in the annual book sale there and most likely, already bought by someone. No one else has turned in that ticket yet and my time to find it and do so myself is running out. I have to find that book.” Louise began to sob “I have to get my ticket.” and then she started to wail.
“I’m sorry, but what does this have to do with Elliot?” Claire brusquely asked the sobbing, wailing woman who now had a hot cup of tea in front of her.
“Elliot is my ex-husband. He knows about the ticket. He wants the money for himself.” Louise just sucker-punched Claire without lifting a finger. “He’ll do anything, anything to get it.” It was now quite obvious both women knew at least one of20the anything’s Elliot was willing to do.
“Damn it.” Claire shook her head in exasperation as she replayed the wonderful evening with Elliot and nature she had just had so shortly ago. She dropped her face into her hands and kept repeating “Damn it. Damn it. Damn it.” as if words alone could eradicate the emotions she was currently dealing with.
“I’m so sorry you had to find out. I know you two had such a nice night together. I’m sorry he’s such a cad.” Louise looked over at Claire who lifted her face from her hands to look at Louise who was looking at her lifting her face from her hands.
“It doesn’t matter. None of it mattered. It was just sex...for me.” Claire confided to Louise in a nonplussed tone. “It was just amazingly good sex. That’s all. Sex.” Claire began to mumble and Louise could no longer understand her, no matter how hard she strained to listen.
“Are you OK, dear?” Louise asked with what sounded like genuine concern.
“Yes. I’m fine. Quite fine. Happy. Spiffy. Content. Sated. Well-fucked. Oye!” Claire again dropped her face into her hands and shook her head left to right, right to left, left to right and so on.
“I thought you had a right to know.. after all...” Louise offered in an alliance tone. “I do hope you’ll be OK.”
“I”M FINE, DAMN YOU! I ALREADY SAID I’M FINE. HOW MANY DAMNED TIMES DO I HAVE TO TELL YOU I’M FINE? HE WAS JUST A FUCK. JUST A NICE PIECE OF ASS. JUST SOME LONG-NEEDED GOOD SEX. JUST A NICE End to a rather crazy day.. Oh.” CLAIRE WAS Standing (sorry, guess I got carried away in that tone of rage there.. won’t happen again.) and looking at a rather scared looking woman who was holding a very hot cup of tea in her hands without even realizing she was holding a very hot cup of tea in her hands but finally did so with a small “ouch” before she stood up and started as if to leave.
“I should leave. I’ve already ruined your night’s sleep. I’m so sorry.”
Louise turned to go back out the kitchen the way she had been led in and stopped, turned and added one more departing line “He really is a poet tho. He didn’t lie about that.” and then she took herself the rest of the way out of Claire’s home and back into the night that brought her there. Claire watched her leave and then again locked her door for the night.
Wide awake and in an agitated tone of thought, Claire opted to soothe her nerves with some Ben & Jerry’s Dublin Mudslide ice cream. She went back into the kitchen, put Louise’s half-full tea cup in the sink and turned to open the freezer when she remembered her own newly acquired copy of Androla’s The Kiss. Why was it sent to her with such a cryptic return address? Why was it sent at all? She did not remember ordering it. She couldn’t recall any other customer requesting it before Louise and Elliot barged into her life in hot pursuit of it.
“I shan’t worry about it today. I’ll worry about it tomorrow.” Claire opened the freezer to find it void of any ice cream. It was void of anything at all. She let the door swing back shut and then turned off every light switch on her way back to her cozy bed. Tossing her robe to the floor and then lifting herself onto the mattress, she was reminded of the slight muscle ache and chaffing of her inner thighs “Fuck it. It was worth every second of it.” before she turned off the last light and drifted off into a blissful night’s sleep.



CHAPTER ZEN

The alarm clock radio blasted midway through the latest Black Keys release and roused Claire from an epilogue to her incredible evening. She dreamed a surreal macabre that barely rivaled the reality she had just endured, an almost continuum where everything was resolved. Everyone’s mission was accomplished. Everyone’s questions were answered. She just couldn’t remember any of it.
Claire rolled off her bed and went into a series of yoga stretches before going into the kitchen to start her coffee. She was still naked as she ground the coffee beans and filled the brewer with water. She pushed the start button and turned to go for a shower. She had an intense feeling she was being watched....again.
Claire locked her bathroom door before starting her shower. She saw Psycho, she wasn’t taking any chances. The shower door slid shut behind her and she lifted her head to the flow. The water was hot and hard against her yielding flesh. It splashed over her, down her. She began to wash herself, gliding soapy hands across her breasts and abdomen and... She reached for the detachable pulsating shower head, turned the dial to her favorite setting and brought it down to where we have to show you the wonderful color scheme of her tiled floor and wallpaper. See how the towels bring out the peach in the trim work?
Claire cracked opened a steamy door and reached for her April-fresh Downy-softened towel before turning the water off and heard her phone ringing. “Of course!” she muttered and listened for a response to her machine’s intro. She was not happy to hear the caller identify himself as Detective Berkowitz. She closed the shower door before hearing any more, leaving the towel where it hung, and proceeded to enjoy an double shower-header.
Once finally out of the bathroom, Claire had to decide whether to meditate before or after listening to what Berkowitz had to tell her. Assuming whatever he had to say would be anything but relaxing, she opted for pre-med and went into her living room, lit some Shoyeido incense, rolled out her mat and plopped down for a fifteen minute mental cleanse.
Five minutes into tranquility, Claire realized she forgot to unplug the phone when it broke her trance and started its ramble. It was Berkowitz again. Someone had broken into her store over night and it appeared Kerouac was missing, as there was a ransom note left on the counter and could she call his cell as soon as she got this message, unless she was already on the way in.
“Enough!” Claire grunted as she arose, rolling up her mat and flinging it into the wrong corner. She was slightly dizzy from the rapid rise and leaned against her couch for support, lowering her head to ease the spin and noticed a piece of plastic under the edge of the couch. Being a meticulous neat freak, she bent to retrieve it for the trash when she discerned it was a piece of wrapper, one she was already familiar with. Someone had had a Cuban cigar in her home.



CHAPTER HEAVEN

Claire got to her store in time to see two uniformed officers walk out with Berkowitz and head up the alley to their cars. She tooted her horn to let them know she was now there and they turned back to meet her.
Nothing could have prepared Claire for what awaited her entrance to her store. She was used to Kerouac knocking things over and leaving his toys strewn about, but this... THIS was devastation. The entire poetry section had erupted across one half of the floor with the pharmacopeia section butting up against them. Whoever did this cross-referenced Androla pretty well. Her file cabinet was ransacked and invoices were flung all over and her computer was left on. With a tremendous suck of air, Claire turned to the men in blue.
“You say they took Kerouac?”
~~~~
Berkowitz was helping Claire pick things up, hoping for clues when she flopped to the floor like a dropped tea bag.
“Beer bottles threw my windows, flowers ripped from their boxes, graffiti on the back walls... I expect all that in an alley between bars. But this is too much. Why my cat?”
Berkowitz reached down to pat Claire on the shoulder when he saw what might be his first substantial clue. A shoe print on one of the invoices. Partial, but clear...it was, indeed, a clue.
“Look! There’s a shoe print on that invoice!” He called for a baggie to put the evidence in and furtively looked for more. “Take that to the station for analysis. See if they can figure out the type of shoe it came from.” He handed it off to another detective who then left the bookstore to walk the block to the station.
“Miss MacPherson, I’m really sorry this happened. We’ve actually been patrolling this alley pretty heavy with all that’s been happening lately. I don’t know how they could have gotten in her so undetected.” He again extended his hand to her, but this time to help her up. “Why don’t we let the detectives continue their search for clues and I’ll buy you some coffee or tea somewhere.” He placed his hand just above her elbow and slightly squeezed. Claire rose elegantly and stood zombiesque.
“I probably should let them look...and this is much too depressing to take in all at once. Can they tell the customers that might come by where I’ll be?” Claire stared blankly at the floor, as if an illicit affair had just been found out and the screaming were about to begin. They left the store and walked to Wild Goats Cafe without another word spoken.
Berkowitz ordered two house blends and blueberry scones after sitting in the same back booth she had shared with Elliott. “I have the ransom letter with me. Are you ready to read it yet?” He reached down to his suit pocket for the vile vessel of evil.
“After the coffee, please. Let me just settle from one shock before getting another.” She wrapped both hands around the warm cup and stared at it, as if maybe there really could be clouds in her coffee.
Berkowitz patted her hand and jostled the coffee a bit, causing some to spill over onto her hands and slightly onto his own. “Shit! If I were any more of an oaf, I’d be in a zoo.” He reached for a napkin.
“You’re funny.” Claire looked up at him. His goofy toupee, that outdated and badly fitting suit jacket made him look like a caricature. A Pooh Bear in costume with dirty grass on his head. It made her giggle. Then it made her laugh.
“Ahh. I’m glad I’m no longer threatening.” He leaned back into the booth and smiled broadly at her.
“You were never threatening. I’d describe you as more tight. Wound. You’re a watch that’s about to uncoil.” Claire managed an empathetic glance at him before staring off into the nothing that had kidnapped her closest companion for the past 8 years. There was a demolition of theories, solvings, and revenge crashing around in her head with a caffeine-fueled perplexion.
“They better not hurt him!” Her eyes met back with Berkowitz’s which had a new intention behind them.
“That cat means a lot to you, doesn’t it?” Maybe it was sincerity she saw, maybe pity.
“Yes. Yes he does indeed.” Claire’s pathetic almost smile barely concealed the obvious bawling she was fighting to contain.
“You settle for a minute, I’m going to give the station a quick call.” Berkowitz allowed her the privacy to cry if she needed to and walked outside the cafe.