Surreal continuing story: walking through doors and passageways

[dougie_monty]

“Leo—and while we’re at it, Pete and Loora.”
“Oh, I see what you mean. They went onstage and undid George’s trick. They seem to be quite skilled at sorcery.” I gently caress Alice’s breasts.

She squeezes my arm—and gently pushes it against a pulse point, a light one behind one ear.
“That’s it,” she answers. “Still, remember that Nicholas had plenty of time, before we put that big TV down there, to each any of the Sharp kids, or anyone else, this or that.”
I remember ruefully Andy Sharp’s makeup episode, and Artie Brown’s bug snack.

“It seems a shame George Sharp would be corrupted—I hadn’t known him to be obsessed with naked women like that.”
Alice and I cuddle, and kiss the tips of each other’s noses. I’m so close to her I can hear her heartbeat. I stroke her lush auburn hair.

She says, “I can’t help but wonder whether Anna is blameless here. She could have refused to participate in George’s trick.”
“Well, after Eloise bawled George out, Anna—fully dressed—came down to the seats and sat alone, looking rather angry,” Alice says. “Perhaps George misrepresented the matter to her.”
“I see what you mean, Alice,” I say.

Now our passion takes over. I get a big erection. Alice sees it and positions herself to accept it. I oblige and straddle her, pushing the erection into her vagina. She thrusts her hips upward and firmly wraps her arms around me, under the wings in back. I do likewise, but I continue to whet my passion by alternately kissing her on the lips and kneading one breast.
Our bodies press close together—and we howl with delight as we reach orgasm and I shoot my wad. And, as usual, we shed tears and express gratitude to each other.

But now we have other fish to fry. We slip off to the bathroom down the hall, wearing only huge beach towels. We shower and dry off, then return to the dressing room in other towels. We then put clean clothes on. Alice redons her “Audrey Hepburn beatnik” ensemble and ties her hair in a long ponytail in back; I wear sport shirt, jeans, and walking shoes.
We go into the lounge and get tea and crackers. Buster is there, having finished his meal and now gnawing on a leather cat toy. He acknowledges us.

At the table I begin commenting on recent events.
“That mangled Shakespeare quote may allude to Einstein and relativity,” I say.

“How’s that?” Alice asks.
“Well, we know all ‘stuff’ is made of atoms and atoms are made of various particles such as protons and electrons…”

“That means Einstein’s formula E=mc2.”
“That’s it.”

Now some others come into the lounge. First, it’s Grace and Gwen, who seem to have become fast friends and are engaged in a lengthy, and perhaps deeply philosophical, discussion about something or other. They may in fact be related; I don’t know…
A repentant George Sharp, with his parents, appears; he seems to take taken his medicine, since Jack and Eloise are not angry now.

Mary Blonda and Jeanette approach, in their usual ill-fitting clothing and modest manner. Mary hands me a final draft of the program and says that later she’ll want all of us to gather as she reads it aloud. And I plan to key it up on a computer and send copies, one to Harry Rudolph and one to the college’s community services office. Jeanette says the college has approved the other arrangements.

Pete and Loora Oranjeboom also come in. They sit nearby. We’ll want to discuss George’s hat trick, and Anna’s involvement, with them—and likely with Jeanette, as a relative of Anna’s.
Across the room I see little Georgie Blonda sitting quietly with his new “girlfriend,” Maria Oranjeboom. The older siblings, Katrina and Bobby, also sit together. Though both of them are twelve years old, Loora’s older daughter is visibly more mature than Mary’s older son, and they sure look like an odd couple to me. :rolleyes:

Now Salbert, dressed much like Roy Rogers or Rex Allen, comes in. We figure that a discussion of Nicholas’ possible contact with George Sharp would be in Salbert’s bailiwick—but, given Eloise’s anger at George’s gaffe, Alice and I agree the matter should be handled gingerly.
Jeanette tells her drummer Jerry Britton as much as she deems proper about us hearing the noise that apparently originated in the microwave oven in the Courier-Times building, without mentioning our mental telepathy.

He quips, “Maybe someone baked a potato using aluminum foil—it might have ‘foiled your hearing,’ Jeanette!”
We all wince at this pun. I recall a similar quip from an old friend named Germaine Ray, living in Hawthorne, near Los Angeles.

Now Alice, Jeanette, Eloise, Pete, Loora, Salbert, Mary, and I, go over the program, and we also take up the “hat trick,” the allusion to relativity, Anna, and the microwave, despite Jerry’s pun. I sense that some of the others have been bumping bellies, as Alice and I were doing.
Alice begins this discussion with her comments on the Shakespeare quote and relativity.

[dougie_monty]

two of the sentences in my last post need correcting.
One is, “…to teach any of the Sharp kids…”
The other is, “I say 'I can’t help but wonder…”

[NDP]

“I thought there might be a connect,” she states, “but I just remembered that Einstein came out with his theory of relativity in 1905. The inscriptions with the ‘misquoted’ Shakespeare all seemingly predate this.”

“Well, that kind of complicates my explanation,” I say. “Incidentally, whatever happened to that journal I found in the attack about how they trapped Red Nicholas in the sub-basement when the Morpheus was built?”

“I think Fred now has it,” answers Salbert. “He was going to review it with some the DXM superiors. It seems our bosses are very curious about what that journal says.”

“Do you think Fred will allow us to take a look at it?” inquires Alice.

“Not now,” Salbert replies. “Fred and the rest of DXM League are still in the middle of it. I’d ask him later.”

“Well, we’re going to have to speculate about what that quote means and wait for Fred and DXM League to finish going through that journal,” I state. “Right now, we’ve got to go over the program.”

“I guess we’ll have to,” says Alice with a bit of disappointment. “Do we know where Lorna’s set is going to fit in?”

At that second, Lorna walks in the room and says…

[dougie_monty]

“Right now I don’t know whether I can even perform at all.” I can tell why immediately. Her voice is hoarse—I can tell despite her heavy burr.
“I have a doctor’s appointment today to check my tonsils—I may have to have a tonsillectomy.”

Dr. Laura Clouse approaches and offers to examine Lorna herself. When she finishes, Dr. Clouse says, “Well, Lorna, you may have tonsillitis. But I can prescribe medication to relieve the symptoms until after the performance, if you like.” The physician writes out a “To Whom It May Concern” notice about her diagnosis. Of course, after a tonsillectomy, Lorna won’t be able to sing. Dr. Clouse adds, “Show this to your doctor.”
So Mary quickly pens an alternate schedule, just in case.

Now we discuss the ingot. How do we account for the Tempest misquote now?
“Well,” says Mary Blonda, who seems to know about all things scientific, “The modern concept of subatomic particles goes back to the end of the 19th Century, when Thomson and Rutherford made their discoveries about electrons.”

“It’d be nice if Nicholas could explain the inscription to us,” I comment. “If only we could tear him away from that damn TV. Otherwise we’d have to travel back in time.”
“Funny you should ask that,” says Louise Brown, standing with her husband Stan, who has his big arms wrapped closely around his petite wife. She wears new jeans and an old cardigan that looks as if her bust is trying to escape from it.

“You can travel through time?” Alice asks.
“Actually, Bob Blonda and I have ‘visions’ of a sort,” says Stan. “It’s much like the medium at a séance. We sit down and concentrate on an object. One of us has the vision and tells the other, who writes it down.”

“That’s a little easier than using H. G. Wells’ elaborate time machine or Christopher Lloyd’s DeLorean,” says Alice.
“Yes—you don’t have Morlocks and such interfering with your schedule,” says Louise.
“Tell us how you’d do this with the ingot,” I say.

“We would sit at a table like this one, Bob and I, with the ingot in front of us. We could gaze at it, as with a crystal ball, and home in on the time it was engraved.
“We’d know the date and see the scene and hear what’s going on.”

“Well, that wouldn’t necessarily tell us what the inscription meant,” says Alice.
“It could,” Bob continues. “But we’d want Leo to assist us. With his help one of us could communicate telepathically with a person at the scene to find out what the inscription meant.”

Stan and Bob sit together to show us how this works. Stan goes into something of a trance. Bob Blonda says, “Hand me your legal pad, Mary, honey.” Mary, clinging to Bob opposite from where Stan is sitting, sets her legal pad in front of her husband.
Then Stan stares at the pad. He and Bob link arms. Stan pauses for a moment. Every eye in the place—including Buster’s—is on him. And I sense Leo is in the room too. Stan says something I don’t understand, but which gets Alice’s immediate attention. Bob writes on his own small pad of paper. Stan and Bob finish their time-travel séance.

Bob says, “This legal pad was manufactured by the Mulford Paper Mills in Salem, Oregon, on Friday, May 25, 2001.”
We are all amazed.

“May I have your attention, please, everyone?” asks Leo.
We all turn to face him. Those who haven’t seen him before react for a moment.

“Yes, I am a ghost,” Leo says, for the benefit of Grace Tolliver and a few others. “Oh, Alice—you know what Stan was saying, don’t you?”
“Indeed I do,” she answers. “Stan was speaking in Cornish. Bob translated.” All of us are astonished except Alice, Stan himself, Louise, Bob, and Mary. I grip Alice’s hand snugly. Well, now I know what DXM powers Stan and Bob have…

Meanwhile, Lorna feels a bit better now, especially after Dr. Clouse’s examination and comments. Lorna wouldn’t have the tonsillectomy today anyway; the doctor she’ll visit today will just make the formal diagnosis, after conducting his own examination and reading Dr. Clouse’s message. (I’d sure like to see it myself.)
Alice, Stan, and Jack Sharp go to get the ingot. Stan and Jack trundle it into the conference room on a wheeled cart, and set it on the sturdy oak table.

I notice that Mary, still braless, seems to be poking more and more out of her worn blouse, as she watches Bob and Stan begin their time-travel séance with the ingot, and Bob’s small note pad, in front of them. Stan starts to speak, in Cornish. All the rest of us are watching; Alice clings to me.

Then Mary’s left breast suddenly pops out of the blouse. :eek: We all see this but say nothing so as not to break the men’s concentration.
Grace, however, thinks something in a rather sardonic tone, so to speak, about Mary’s sudden exposure. Although Mary quickly pushes the breast back into place, I telepathically read Grace’s unspoken comment:

[NDP]

“Attention whore.”

I realize Grace has a bitter side to her but her assessment is overly harsh. (Now, if it had been about Jeanette… )

My attention shifts back to Bob and Stan who are intensely concentrating on the silver ingot. Stan says something and Bob writes down a number on the pad: 1885.

“I think they’ve pinpointed the date of the inscription,” whispers Alice.

Stan mumbles something in Cornish and Bob writes some more things down on the pad.

“Stan’s saying something about two men–one of them Red Nicholas–watching a third man inscribe the altered Shakespearean quote in Latin on the silver ingots,” Alice quietly states.

“So they did this to more than one ingot?” I ask.

“Apparently so.”

Stan, whose voice is getting more inaudible, murmurs more Cornish words which Bob begins to write down a few seconds later. However, our seance is interrupted when Fred bursts into the room. It looks like he was in a rush to get here.

“You’re not conducting a seance to find out more about that inscription on the silver ingot are you?” he asks with a stern tone. “Because, if you are, I–on the authority of the DXM League–order it to end immediately.”

Fred’s command breaks the attention of Stan and Bob. Looking somewhat dazed, they look at Fred. We share their confusion.

“Oh, and Dr. Clouse, you are not to continue examining Red Nicholas,” Fred states.

“But my physical exam is incomplete,” explains Dr. Clouse, “I still have more tests to run and talk to him about some things.”

“I’m sorry,” Fred says, “but the DXM League has all the information it wants to know about Red and sees no futher need for you to do anything else.”

“What’s going on?” inquires Alice. “Is the DXM League no longer interested in Red Nicholas?”

“They’re still very interested in Nicholas,” Fred answers, “but, for reasons that were never stated to me, the DXM higher-ups now want all investigations of him to end. We’re just supposed to leave him alone in front of his plasma TV and keep him supplied with a steady stream of snacks.”

“Well, this new ‘know-nothing’ policy for the DXM is rather irritating,” Buster comments.

“I agree with you,” Fred replies, “I’m just as curious about the world of Red Nicholas as the rest of you and I am damned pissed off that the top brass can just come in and shut everything down without explaining why.”

“When did this order come down?” asks Stan.

“Less than an hour ago,” Fred answers. “I had been going over that journal ____ found in the Morpheus attic with the superiors when one of them asked to take a look at it. I handed it to him and he started scanning through the journal until he came to page toward the end of the book. I don’t know what was on the page but he seemed to turn white as a sheet when he read it. He then showed the page to the other superior and her face also lost color. They then excused themselves, went to the back of the room, made a quick cell phone call to one of the DXM’s ultra-higher-ups, and ran back to me saying that they had to keep the journal and that all inquiries involving Red Nicholas had to end. When I asked them why, they said that I wasn’t privy to the reason behind the decision.”

“Well, that’s rather arrogant of them,” Alice says.

“I felt that way too for a little while,” Fred continues, “but I saw those two DXM superior’s faces as they left and they were scared–like they just read something that shattered their whole world. By the way, what we’re talking about here doesn’t leave this room. Capice?”

We all silently look at each other and then back at Fred in agreement.

“I’m not sure I want to belong to an organization that pulls rank and feels the need to keep its own member in the dark,” Alice states.

“Look, the DXM League can be infuriating with their layers of secrets,” explains Fred to Alice specifically, “but I can tell you that it’s always done for a good reason. Which reminds me, some of the DXM higher-ups want to see you and _____.”

“Why would they want to see me?” I ask.

“Because they’re going to ask you to join them.”

I react to this news by…

[dougie_monty]

…rather awkwardly asking for specifics.
“‘Join’ them—do they mean they want us to be higher-ups ourselves? Or do they want us to travel to meet them for some purpose?” I’m clueless here.

Before Fred or anyone else can answer, Artie Brown appears in the doorway. Jock says something to Lorna; then she nods and kisses him and he leaves. Artie is standing with a man we’ve never met before; he looks something like Harrison Ford, about 1980. He motions for Fred Moreland to come and speak with him.
Fred and the visitor speak for a few minutes. Then Fred stands on a heavy stepstool and announces:

“All persons not affiliated with the DXM League please go to the lounge.”
Well, we know who we are. Grace Tolliver, Joanie Sharp (after a quick embrace with Andrew), the minors, and a few others leave the room.

The visitor now replaces Fred on the stepstool.
“My name is James Parker. I am a senior administrator with the League.”

We all give him our undivided attention, including Leo, Salbert, and Buster. Alice and I have our arms around each other’s waists.
“I have come to clarify, slightly, what you have been told about Red Nicholas, and the ingots, without going into specifics.

“In general terms, I shall state that if you pursue the issue of Red Nicholas, or maintain contact with him, at this point, or attempt further investigation into the inscriptions on the ingots or the gems, you are likely to provoke powerful evil entities which can torture or kill every one of you!

“Remember, Nicholas participated in Wiccan and Satanic rites. If any of you maintain close contact with him, or try to reach people he was in contact with, in the 19th Century, about the ingots and gems, you will be drawn into a web of depravity and murderous insanity from which you cannot escape—and you may even cause discomfiture, pain, and death for another person.

“If you need to maintain that television, or the other equipment in the Hellmouth, spend no more than one hour at a time down there and never more than an hour and a half! Otherwise the Stygian scene will be your grave.”
Parker had been quite stern and serious during this speech but now his severe expression fades. Alice and I understand this as a serious matter for which a stern warning was in order. But we’re still in the dark about why the warning was made, beyond the bare assertion that we could catch a tiger by the tail if we persist. And we’re not about to defy Parker or the League.

“We have prepared to sell some of the ingots and gems, as you may know, Mr. Parker,” says George Galloway.
“Then the inscriptions, if any, will be of no further interest to you,” Parker replies. Obviously the League has no objections to us selling the silver, the platinum, or the gems.

“I understand you are all participating in a benefit performance here,” Parker continues. “You should experience no further discomfiture from here on, with rehearsals, preparations, or the performance itself.” And, facing Alice and me, he concludes, “I will explain to you later in what way we want the two of you to ‘join’ us. At this point, anyway, we will not divert your attention from your work, your studies, your performance, or your efforts to assist in bringing the remaining minions of Henry Sikes-Potter to justice.”

He now leaves the room to tell the people in the lounge that they may come back into the conference room. With all of us together again, we settle at tables. Jock returns and Artie leaves; Jock, of course, sits with Lorna. The Sharps have arranged for a lunch, catered from De Caro’s. When Parker nods, Fred motions for Nunzio, Anna, Samantha, and Thalia to bring the food in and set the tables.

Parker won’t be with us for lunch. He does remain briefly, to speak privately to Alice, Fred, Mr. Galloway, and me, to give us more detail on what the League expects of us.

I also notice that Grace is talking with Dr. Clouse, Mary, and two younger ladies, who are early bloomers—the twelve-year-old Katrina Oranjeboom and the fifteen-year-old Susan Bradley, who are as fully developed physically as most grown women. Gwen joins the discussion. Alice comments to me that she would like to get an explanation from Grace about what she meant by the term “attention whore”—referring to the guileless, but sartorially clumsy, Mary Blonda.

So now we have a short conversation with Parker, before he leaves. We’re almost as mystified now as we were when he came in. (I sense a signal from the League confirming Parker’s warning, and I observe that the other DXM people present do too.)
And before we sit down to eat, I know Alice will want Grace Tolliver to explain herself. Knowing Alice, I’m sure she’ll be diplomatic about it.

[NDP]

“Grace, I was just wondering about Mary,” she begins. “She seems to be real awkward when it comes to her fashion sense.”

“Well, to be blunt, I sometimes wonder if that’s not part of her plan,” Grace answers.

“What to you mean by that?” Alice asks with a bit of shock.

“I sometimes think Mary craves attention–especially from men,” Grace states. “Oh sure, she may seem all innocent and ‘how did that happen?’ when her breast pops out of her blouse or something like that. But I believe that Grace secretly loves having this happen to her and might be at least sub-consciously ‘arranging’ for them to happen.”

“That’s a cynical assessment.”

“Hey, I’m a cynical woman. You should know that about me by now.”

I only listen to Alice’s and Grace’s conversation because I believe involving myself would only make things worse. I don’t want to believe Grace’s opinion about Mary but I think there might be a tiny possibility she could be on to something.

“Look,” Alice says with bit of irritation to Grace, “even if what you are saying about Mary is true (which I doubt), she’s certainly not the biggest offender.”

“You’re right,” Grace tartly replies, “that would be Jeanette.”

Right after she says Jeanette’s name, I see Grace roll her eyes.

“What was that?” Alice snaps.

“What was what?” Grace responds with feigned innocence.

“That expression on your face when you mentioned Jeanette. Do you have a problem with her?”

“Oh no, I like. I don’t really have a problem per se with her. It’s just…”

“Just what?”

Grace pauses and sighs. When she does this, we all know she’s about to say something less than positive about Jeanette. Trying to maintain a composed expression on her face she says…

[dougie_monty]

“She is a big, buxom woman who smokes cigars and wears dresses without underwear. And she admits sharing her bed with two men she is not married to. [At least Grace doesn’t mention Jeanette’s one-night stand with the married Phil Ramírez.]
I approach and speak to Alice and Grace, as cordially and politely as I can. “I must point out that I dated Jeanette for three years,” I say, as I sit next to Alice. “She always seemed to be well-mannered, articulate, and quite kind.”

“What does that have to do with her maintaining the bimbo stereotype?” asks Grace sharply.
(Incidentally, when Grace explained her appraisal of Mary, she meant to say, “But I believe that Mary secretly loves having this happen…”)

She glances at Jeanette, seated nearby with Johnny, Phil, and Jerry. Jeanette is now wearing a bright orange flannel dress with shiny white pumps and no underwear.
“Well, look at her yourself,” says Grace. “Don’t you think she maintains a stereotype of ‘hey-men-here-I-am-take-me-to-bed!’?”

“Bimbo is as bimbo does,” I say, knowing all present have seen Forrest Gump. “Jeanette’s band has performed for years in charity benefits—for victims of Lyme disease, blindness, deafness [here I think of Claudia Hart, seated some distance away with Susan and Doris Bradley],—and for support groups for victims of date rape; mastectomees; and battered women. And this may come as a shock to you, Ms. Tolliver—but Jeanette has been a dues-paying member of NOW for six years and in fact has periodically written pieces published in a NOW newsletter.”

I show Grace such an article, which I have with me because I wanted to discuss it with Jeanette herself, concerning equality in the workplace. Jeanette may not be an editor at Ms., but I wouldn’t want to tilt with this statuesque platinum blonde on the subject of women’s rights.
At this point Jerry has been telling a complicated joke at his table. Johnny, Phil, and Jeanette laugh; Jeanette has a loud laugh with that lusty contralto voice of hers.

“And—see what I mean?” says Grace. That bald guy tells dirty jokes about women and she laughs along with the other men!”
“Excuse me, Grace,” says Alice, who has sat close to me with her nondominant right arm linked with my left arm. “How do you know Jerry was telling a ‘dirty joke about women’? You didn’t hear what he said. And don’t you think it’s insensitive to call names like that?”

“Oh, all right—‘follistically challenged,’ if you prefer. And men always tell dirty jokes about women. They are all male chauvinist pigs.”
I glower at Grace for this remark. She and I have, for years, had long, elaborate arguments about various social issues, and I have never told her a “dirty joke” of any kind. She gets the message without me saying a word.

Suddenly I glance in the other direction. Laura Clouse is facing away from me; I see something out of place in her clothing. I tell Grace about this, knowing it’s proper for me to have another woman call Laura’s attention to it rather than to tell Laura myself.
“Excuse me, Grace—would you tell Dr. Clouse that two top buttons are undone on [the back of] her blouse?”

“Oh, certainly—thank you,” says Grace. She taps Laura Clouse on the shoulder and tells her what I said; Laura excuses herself and leaves the room, to make the adjustment unseen.
“Now do you see what I mean?” I ask.
“I read you,” she says.

Now Samantha and Thalia sit at our table. I’m sure a discussion of feminist topics between the outspoken Grace and the quietly effective Samantha—quite a feminist in her own right—would be interesting.

Then Professor Fields and Edmond Bartholomew come into the room, and with Fred and Mr. Galloway they pull chairs up at our table. It seems that the DXM people who forbade us to continue to investigate Nicholas or the inscriptions on the ingots, were a bit rash, according to the lawyers, who produce a small volume of the DXM League’s constitution, bylaws, and rules of conduct.

They explain themselves (they know DXM people do not lightly defy the administrators or the executive board); but I know we will also join in the discussion between Grace Tolliver and Samantha Hoffman about Mary, Jeanette, and women in general.

[NDP]

But, before they do, there is something I want clarified.

“Fred, when you said the DXM League wanted me to join them, want did you mean?” I ask.

“I meant that they wanted you to be an agent–along with Alice,” Fred answers.

“Well, I’m flattered,” I reply. “When’s the job interview?”

“It’s not really a job interview but you and Alice will get word soon enough and when and where to meet with some of the DXM superiors.”

“Congratulations,” Alice says, “not everybody is recruited by the DXM League.”

“Thanks,” I tell her, “but have you decided what you want to do?”

“I’m still mulling it over but hearing that they’ve asked you should make my decision easier,” she says with a sly grin.

“Okay, now that’s out of the way,” states Professor Fields, "can we now discuss…

[dougie_monty]

“…the ruling you were given about Nicholas and the inscriptions?”
Fields shows me a printed list of excerpts from the League’s rules. I read it thoroughly.

I tell Alice, “Simply put, it means that ‘higher-ups’ usually must give a thorough explanation to subordinates for such a ruling. It can’t be an ‘imperial ukase.’”
“Now the League has specific procedures for you to follow in this case,” adds Mr. Bartholomew. “You can’t simply say ‘We want to proceed with Nicholas and the ingots’ and overrule the superiors. We would take the case to the Executive Board—President, Vice President, and five senior administrators—James Parker is one of them.” (Parker, incidentally, has already left the Morpheus.)

I comment, “I just wish we didn’t have to deal with this when the dress rehearsals have started.”
Fields smiles. “Remember—Parker said you’ll have no further obstacles in the rehearsals or the performance. In fact I think the League executives themselves would like to attend the benefit.” Alice and I are impressed. Apparently the appeal to the League would be after the performance.

Alice speaks up. “Incidentally, I have noted that word gets around: Passersby have asked me from time to time have asked me when the ticket sales will start.”

I remember an episode of Dragnet involving the metaphoric use of the term “jungle drum” and contemplate momentarily just how effective Harry Rudolph’s efforts at publicity have been.
Fields says, “And I’ve had other lawyers, and faculty members, asking me about it.”

So have I, for that matter. Passersby; the postman; the Sharps’ cook Lupe; Señor Guzman… many people have asked me as well.
Now Fred Moreland gives me an address on Powell Street in San Francisco. It’s the home of senior League administrator Joan Breastly.

“She’ll show you data on the League’s functions and duties you would assume. What’s your major at the college?” I’m sorry, I never asked.”
“Law,” I say. Fields and Bartholomew smile.

“Well, actually, all novice agents start out pretty much the same way. But you may specialize after you’ve been in for a while, especially after you get your degree—J. D., isn’t it?”
“Yes.”

“You can meet the State Bar’s internship requirements with a program offered by the League’s legal office, which is a non-secret entity accredited by the Bar. You will earn your legal license, and can work full- or part-time for the DXM League in a legal capacity.”
“Sounds interesting…thanks very much, Fred!” Alice and I embrace. Fred gives me a phone number and an e-mail address to contact Ms. Breastly with.

Now Artie ushers in a process server—the same Alfred E. Neuman look-alike who served us papers at the Terwilligers’ house. He hands Alice and me subpoenas—for the retrial of Victor Lemoyne in the Superior Court in Stockton; this will be a few weeks from now, after the benefit.
“I sure hope Paul Newsome won’t be back for that,” I mutter.

Fields shows me an issue of the magazine California Lawyer. According to the article he points out, which I’ll want to read later thoroughly with Alice, Paul Newsome, Judge Bolivar Shagnasty, and prosecutor Jerome Goldberg have been disbarred and may face criminal charges.
“I guess there is justice in this world,” says Alice.

I also show Fields something I should have mentioned earlier. It’s a copy I made of the letter Nathaniel Nicholas wrote in 1901 to his son Richard “Red” Nicholas; the letter was noted in dougie_monty’s April 7 posting. The letter excuses any third party—here the main parties are “Red” Nicholas and his descendant Claudia Hart—from blame for any effort to release Nicholas from the Hellmouth.

We return to the stage are to continue the dress rehearsals. The first number is The Contralto Quartet singing the Jonathan & Darlene Edwards version of “I Am Woman.” Jeanette Strong, Jane Bradley, Sally Mears, and Amy Dolan, all in long white gowns, take the stage and Johnny Goss sits at the piano. The group begins the song, mimicking Jo Stafford’s deliberate stumbling through the lyrics and music written by Helen Reddy and Ray Burton:

*I am woman, hear me roar
In numbers too big to ignore
And I know too much to go back to pretend;
‘Cause—‘cause I’ve heard it all before
And I’ve been down on the floor
No one’s ever gonna keep me down again!
[Chorus] Yes I’m wise, but it’s wisdom born of pain
Yes, I paid the price, but look how much I gained
If I have to, I can do anything,
I am strong, I am invincible, I am woman…
[The women deliberately get out-of-sync here]

You can bend but never break me
‘Cause it only serves to make me
More determined to achieve my final goal;
And I come back even stronger
Not a novice any longer
‘Cause you’ve deepened the conviction in my soul!

Throughout this verse they sing almost continuously in the wrong part of the scale]
[Chorus]
I am woman, watch me grow
See me standing toe-to-toe
As I spread my lovin’ arms across the land;
But I’m still an embryo
With a long, long way to go
Until I make my brother understand!
[In this last verse they stumble wildly off-tempo]
[Chorus]*
The quartet ends the song with three off-key repetitions of “I am woman,” followed by Johnny Goss, in true Paul Weston fashion, closing the number with a clumsy, loud, dissonant bass chord.

Most of the small rehearsal audience, including Eloise, is convulsed with laughter. As for Grace…

[NDP]

she grins sardonically and says, “I’ve always hated that song.”

“The Jonathan & Darlene Edwards version or the Helen Reddy version?” I ask.

“All versions,” Grace replies. “The worst Joni Mitchell song is still far better than 'I Am Woman.”

“so you hate Joni Mitchell too?”

“No. Quite the contrary. That’s why I said her worst is better than “I Am Woman.” Still, I have to say the Contralto Quartet’s version gives the song the treatment it richly deserves.”

At that point, everyone in the theater hears a rumble and feels the ground shake for a few seconds.

“Earthquake?” I ask.

“Seems like it to me–but nothing too big,” Grace states. “I wonder if there are any fault lines running through this part of town.”

“Seemed kind of a shallow temblor,” mentions Mary. “Like it originated real close to the surface.”

“Maybe somebody around here knows,” Alice says. “Is there a geologist in the house?”

“I am,” exclaims a voice from the back of the auditorium. “And you’re right about it being a shallow quake.”

We turn around and see…

[dougie_monty]

Salbert, in a three-piece suit and with his sandy hair and beard well groomed.
Jeanette, her ample physique swiveling under her gown, steps down off the stage and approaches Salbert. “I didn’t know you were a geologist. I thought you were a prospector…”

“I can be both, and I am,” he answers. “After all, knowing about geological strata helps me locate veins of gold and silver and other ores—and I’ve been doing that for years. “Incidentally, there are no fault lines within miles of the Morpheus.”
Salbert switches on a small portable radio, to a local all-news station. We hear:

“A minor temblor has been felt through much of central California. A preliminary assessment at Caltech tentatively puts the epicenter in Placer County, about 25 miles northeast of Sacramento. [Quite a considerable distance from the Morpheus.] The magnitude has been estimated at 4.1 on the Richter scale, and no damage has been reported…”
Well, that’s good to know. I only wish we hadn’t been saddled with that “gag rule” concerning Nicholas; he would certainly know how the Morpheus has fared through temblors since 1980 (although Jack Sharp found little possible quake damage when he began restoration).

As if reading my mind, Salbert turns to Joe Bradley and Stan Brown, experienced construction people, and asks them to give a report on the Morpheus’ underpinnings; they’ll do so later today.
Joe says, “It’s highly unlikely a 4.1 quake would be a problem for this solid building.” He and Stan get to work.

Some of us leave the rehearsals and check out adjoining businesses—the Starbuck’s; the hairdresser’s, known as Kerrie’s Coifs; Guzman’s Body Shop; and the Courier-Times across the street. That’s where I go.
Myron Skagg III is the office manager there. He says a few knickknacks fell off a shelf in his office, and a large rotary press in the basement accidentally started up. That’s about it. (I later find that the situation was similar with other places on this block and nearby.)

While I’m there, he says he’d heard something else about the two guys who broke into the Morpheus in 1980, Mike Petty and Paul Rougeouvrier. I say, “Yes—whatever happened to them?”
Young Myron, who looks a lot like Jason Alexander, says that after the two burglars got out of jail they “turned weird,” as he puts it. “They started kidnapping young girls and tying them to a wheel to torture them. Funny thing—they did that for the last time about six months ago. They were prowling around on the property of an English family across town.”

The Terwilligers’.
“What’s ‘funny’ about that?” I ask.

“We got two reports on what happened: that they tore this teenage girl apart, and that she was rescued. In the latter account, they saw a skeleton suddenly sit up at a gravesite. Petty died on the street from a heart attack. Rougeouvrier is in a mental hospital and has been babbling insanely ever since.”
I remember that. Poor little April Blonda, as a near-victim of a cruel rift such as Alice warned me about. Well, obviously the second story young Mr. Skagg told me is the correct one, in terms of results. And now I know what happened to the bumbling burglars.

I return to the Morpheus. We’ll discuss the temblor, such as it was, in a little while, when Stan and Joe complete their inspection. I’ve lived in California for 50 years and I’ve lived through quite a few earthquakes, big and small. Same as millions of other Californians.
Back in the theater, Mary Blonda, as director, tells me my dress rehearsal for “Fer the Good Times” is coming up. I get ready; I go down and shower, and put on the outfit I chose for the performance, white slacks and a black-and-blue checked sport coat. I get on stage to sing Homer & Jethro’s version of Kristofferson’s song, as Ray Price recorded it.

*You look so bad, it’s really pathetic…
And once again you got the bed all full of crackers…

I’ll bury my head beneath my pillow; feel your cold and worn-out body close to mine…
I’ll bury my head beneath my pillow; feel your feet just like two icebergs up my spine…

And wish that I were single one more time…having Good Times!” *

Most of the audience laughs. Grace doesn’t laugh; she is rather pensive. And Alice doesn’t laugh. She has turned to face the six married couples (including Andy and Joanie Sharp; Stan and Joe have finished their inspection and returned), and the betrothed Jock and Lorna. Then she turns to look at me. She cries. I can tell she’s sentimental, not grieving or otherwise feeling a negative emotion. I approach and console her. I ask what’s wrong. She turns to look at the left hand of Eloise Sharp, sitting to her right, as if fixing her big brown eyes, now blurred with tears, at Mrs. Sharps’ wedding band. Then she wraps her arms around me and manages to stammer an explanation.

[dougie_monty]

*When I posted the comments about Salbert’s knowledge of seimsology, I did so with no knowledge of “depth” of earthquakes and the range of the temblor. (The famous 1906 earthquake, which registered about 7.8 on the Richter scale, was felt as far north as Coos Bay, Oregon; as far south as Los Angeles; and as far east as Winemucca, Nevada–all several hundred miles away.)
[In any case, the quake was felt in the Morpheus and the surrounding structures as a feeble shiver.]

[dougie_monty]

When I posted the comments about Salbert’s knowledge of seimsology, I did so with no knowledge of “depth” of earthquakes and the territorial range of temblors. (The famous 1906 earthquake, which registered about 7.8 on the Richter scale, was felt as far north as Coos Bay, Oregon; as far south as Los Angeles; and as far east as Winnemucca, Nevada–all several hundred miles away.)
[In any case, the May 28 quake was felt in the Morpheus and the surrounding structures as a feeble shiver.]

[NDP]

[Note to dougie_monty: don’t worry about it. It was just a potential avenue for the narrative to go down.

---

And now, back to our story…]

“It’s just envy,” she says with a wistful smile.

I don’t feel the need to ask what she means; I know what it is.

“Well, maybe you won’t have to feel so envious much longer,” I reply.

“Let’s hope it’s not too much longer,” Alice says as she wipes her eyes and chuckles. “I’m not getting any younger.”

She then grins broadly and kisses me on my lips.

“Hey, get a room you two!” a familiar voice says. It’s Daniel.

“Oh … hello,” I say as Alice and I break away from one another. “What brings you here?”

“Just something I found at Mum and Dad’s house that Alice (and maybe you) would be interested in,” Daniel answers. He has what looks like a shoebox under his arm.

“What is it?” asks Alice.

Daniel opens the box and, to our surprise, reveals…

[dougie_monty]

…envelopes very much like the one I found in the cupboard in Eda’s kitchen. Each has initials: P. T., E. T., A.T., W. T., H. T., and B. T.; and there’s another envelope, in a different size and color, and with different initials, written in another color of ink. I assume the envelopes are for Paul, Eda, Arthur, Winifred, Hermione, and even Buster. The different one must be for me. Before Alice and I train our ESP on the envelopes, we also see in the box:

*A golden dinosaur, about four inches from nose to tail tip, from a contest run in connection with the B. C. comic strip in the early 60s. (Alice would not have been born yet at the time of the contest; Arthur and Daniel would have been toddlers. So I figure it’s something an older relative acquired for the Terwilligers.)
*A photocopied page apparently from a preliminary draft of a will prepared by Alice’s great-uncle Matthew.

*Four £500 notes, with the initials A. P. T. written in pencil in the margin on the back.
*A diary dated 1998-2003; the dates are written on the front cover in Alice’s handwriting. (I take it out and hand it to Alice; she obviously regards it as something precious.)

*An open letter with a return address in the City of London.
*One floppy disk.

I’m bewildered by this stuff. Alice obviously isn’t. We turn our ESP on and find nothing wrong with any of the various contents.
Alice first tells me about the will page: Her Uncle Matthew owns a brokerage business in the London area and he apparently wanted one of Paul’s kids to take over the business someday.

The letter, Alice tells me telepathically—and she blushes—was written by Prince Philip at Buckingham Palace. Philip personally thanked Alice for certain efforts on her part in service to British intelligence.
“Do you stir or shake your martinis?” I quip.

Alice laughs and kisses me. “Only James Bond did that—but I have had martinis. I prefer to stir them. I use Beefeater Gin and a good grade of vermouth. And I always add the indispensable maraschino cherry.”
Now Jack Sharp and George Galloway approach. We’re done with the day’s rehearsals, and Jack asks if we’re ready to enter the tournaments at the House of Tracy, in a couple of days. Most of us say, “We are.” Susan Bradley signs to Claudia; she too is ready.

Alice also speaks to about a dozen women present, including Grace, Gwen, Amy, Lena, Eloise, and Dr. Clouse, about the bridal shower planned for Lorna. She’ll meet with them later today.

Again I embrace Alice. I ask Grace, “You’d go to a bridal shower?”
“Sure I would,” she answers. “Mary made a point to me about my five failed marriages.” Some other women express sympathy to Grace.

The mail comes. It includes Nicholas’ test results, addressed to Dr. Clouse at the Morpheus. There is also a letter addressed to Alice and me, from Professor Fields, concerning their appeal to the DXM executive board.
Now George Galloway produces a portfolio and hands out fancy envelopes to Alice, me, the married couples, The Cigar Band, Lena, Gwen, Amy, Dr. Clouse, Claudia, Jock, Lorna, and Daniel (and Hermione).

I open mine, which has my name printed on the front in elegant Spencerian script. The engraved card inside bears the message, in the same script:

You are invited to a dinner party at the home of Lord and Lady Astorbilt on Saturday, May 31, 2003
Burnished Oaks
Five-thirty p.m.
Formal attire required

We all read these. Some of us don’t own formal attire, but Eloise tells us about Zuckerman and Son, near her home; the place sells and rents formal clothing and has a huge inventory in all sizes. Len Zuckerman, Eloise says, is a master tailor. She’ll spring for the fancy duds.
Burnished Oaks is a few miles from the Terwilligers’ place. We’ll be there.

Mr. Galloway says, “Remember the names of the household staff. The butler is Jeeves; the chief maid is Mrs. Stanford; the chef is Louis.”
Now Alice and I go to the back row. We give Daniel a look that says “Leave us alone.” He gets the message.

Alice brings the box. I was mystified about the envelope I’d found in the cupboard with “D. T.” on it and the contents of this shoebox are just as puzzling.

I know Alice certainly has quite a few things on her mind now. We cuddle. I ask, “Tell me about the envelopes—and the other stuff in the box.” She kisses me, and deliberately undoes the top button on her cardigan, showing the very top of her cleavage, no more. She now explains the various items:

[NDP]

“Well, Arthur collects a lot of pop culture items and he got the golden dinosaur from Uncle Matthew for Christmas a couple years ago. I think Uncle Matthew said he picked it up in some rummage shop somewhere.”

“So why’s it still at your parents’ house?” I ask.

“I think Arthur forgot to take it home with him and my mum put it in the cupboard and forgot about it too,” Alice states.

I pick up the B.C. promotional toy and look it over. On the backside, I see a faint inscription inside a box. I rub my right index finger over the box and feel grooves–it’s a compartment.

“Alice, I think there’s something in the dinosaur,” I exclaim.

With big curious eyes, she peers at the toy as I pick at one of the grooves. After a few seconds, I open the compartment and, inside, find…

[dougie_monty]

…that it opens up like a Chinese ball puzzle. I slide the pieces apart, carefully so I’ll remember how to reassemble them. Alice takes notes.
Two of the pieces have flat surfaces on one side. I take out the jeweler’s loupe Merriwether gave me. On one I read the stamped message, “Winston Waldron, Goldsmith. 600 East Hartford Drive, Hayward, Calif.” On the other is a cryptic message: “698 Hennepin 94133.”

I hand them to Alice, who uses her loupe. “Do these mean anything to you?” I ask. She reads the inscriptions.
“I’ve heard of Waldron. I think he’s related to the Waldron in Loora’s building. I’ll call Mr. Merriwether.”

My guess is Arthur, or perhaps Paul, took the dinosaur to Waldron to have the inscriptions made. But why would he make the golden dinosaur into a Chinese puzzle?
“Six, nine, eight—that totals 23. We know a family in San Francisco named Hennepin—used to be neighbors of Dad’s in London.”

“I recognize the ZIP Code,” I say. “It’s by Beach and Hyde, the Cannery, and the Maritime Park.”
“The Cannery,” says Alice, reminiscing about the building restored and made into a modern shopping center as was Ghirardelli Square, two blocks away. “I’ve been to that bookstore there, Upstart Crow.”

This is another mystery we have to ponder. Why are the Hennepins mentioned? And there’s that ubiquitous “23” again. Perhaps Waldron, or Merriwether, could decipher this one…:rolleyes:
“What about the other things?” I ask.

“Well, the paper from Uncle Matthew refers to a real-estate business that has property listings all over the British Isles. It’s doing quite well.
“The £2000 is money I had saved from jobs I had in England, but I never managed to put into the bank.

“The diary is full of happy, and valuable, experiences of mine in the last five years.” She grips my hand snugly.
“Well, I told you about the letter sent by Prince Philip’s staff. And the floppy disk…”

Here Fred interrupts us. Buster scurries up from the front row and hops onto my lap.
Fred says, “According to Professor Fields, the DXM people I spoke to have relented—but only a little.”
“Go on,” Alice says.

“Well, it’s a combination of things: that Nicholas is essentially incommunicado; that persons outside the League [Merriwether and Fukushima] have examined the ingot; that Dr. Clouse has professional rights concerning physician-patient privilege of confidentiality, according to California law; and that there is a bond between the Nicholas family and the Luglio family and their kin, including Jeanette Strong.”

“What does that mean to us?” I ask, puzzled.
“It means, for one thing, that you may release Nicholas—just long enough for Dr. Clouse to complete her examination of him. But a senior DXM person is to be present. They’ll arrange that with Laura.

“Besides, Nicholas may answer questions from the rest of you—but only through Leo or Claudia. The League reserves the right to approve or disapprove all communications from Nicholas.
“As for that cryptic message on the ingot—and all 23 ingots have identical inscriptions—well, the League is still discussing the matter. They haven’t figured the message out yet, themselves.”

League censorship. “Well, it’s better than nothing,” says Alice. She and I sigh a little.
Buster says, “Well, it should be enough for your purposes.” Alice and I nod.

Alice and I decide it’s time for lunch. So does Buster, who trots ahead of us into the kitchen. We’re going to want to continue discussing the contents of the shoebox; Alice, after all, has said nothing to me about the initialed envelopes.
In the kitchen we see Gwen, with all the younger kids, including 7-year-old Jack Sharp II; Maria Oranjeboom and Georgie Blonda, both age 9; Bobby and Katrina; and Eloise’s youngest kids, Owen (13) and Nancy (14). Buster is chomping on crudely cut-up chunks of liver. Next to his plate on the floor is a small saucer of cream, slightly spilled. I figure Jack, or Georgie or Maria, served Buster. No other adults are present.

Alice and I prepare sandwiches and glasses of apple juice.
Claudia comes in, with Brian, Louise Brown’s second son, age 16; and Susan Bradley. Brian is attracted to the older Claudia but he doesn’t know ASL.

We sit opposite little Jack, Georgie, and Maria.
George asks, “Ms. Terwilliger, how come girls get pretty? Like my Mom [Mary], Maria [the little girl blushes], and you?”

Now Alice blushes. I gently clasp her hand.
“George, you should ask your mother about that,” says Alice.

Now Georgie blushes. Alice and I sense he’s too shy to bring this up to his mother; we have noticed that when Mary talks to Bobby and George, they stammer, blush, and fidget; maybe they feel more at ease discussing this with someone with whom they don’t have an emotional bond.

[NDP]

And who better than a castrated talking cat!

“You’re joking right?” Buster replies.

“Yes, you are joking?” Alice asks.

I say to them…

[dougie_monty]

I sigh and say, “All right, all right—I’ll answer the question.” Why louse things up by letting on to George Blonda that Buster can talk?
I say, “George, you know Mrs. Sharp, don’t you?”

Conveniently, Eloise, along with Andrew and Joanie, have just come into the room. They sit with little Jack II. George looks at Jack, and his dad Andrew and his grandmother Eloise, and apparently makes a logical conclusion.
“Oh, I understand, Mr. ______,” he says. “Thank you, sir.” He turns his attention back to little Maria; they share their lunch.

“Do you think he’ll want to use Eloise as a role model for courtship and marriage?” Alice asks.
“I hope not,” I answer in a voice soft enough so only Alice will hear me. “Eloise got married at age 16 and bore her kids nine months apart.”

“So she would have been pregnant about eleven years, almost solidly,” concludes Alice. “You probably gave her as an example to show where babies come from.”
Alice and I clasp hands firmly.

Now The Cigar Band comes in. Jerry starts to pull a six-pack of Budweiser from the refrigerator, but stops when Eloise says she doesn’t want anyone drinking beer in the room when children are present. He and Phil go over to the coffeemaker instead. Jeanette and Johnny get bottled water from the refrigerator.

Jeanette is wearing a light blue flannel dress, with underwear this time. Eloise sees her and sighs; the underwear lines show through the dress. However, the kids ignore Jeanette. She sits with her partners at our table. Phil brings sandwiches for the group.
“Fred Moreland told me they’d like to get me in touch with Red Nicholas again,” says Jeanette. “And I sense he’s getting bored with being a ‘vidiot’ as you called him.”

“How so?” I ask.
“Well, he started tuning in to PBS and PAX TV. He now watches Antiques Roadshow; This Old House; California’s Gold; Patt Morrison’s Bookshow, and such. And, believe it or not, he has actually switched the TV off from time to time and has had long talk sessions with his Hellmouth friends.”

“How did you find this out?” asks Alice.
“Al the Alien gave me a telepathic message,” she says. “According to Al, Nicholas has become more rational and less eccentric. And, so far as Al and the other critters can tell, Red hasn’t touched any kind of drug—he ingests nothing stronger than coffee, nachos, jalapeño dip…or wine coolers.”
We’ll have to discuss this with Fred, Alice tells me telepathically.

Georgie and Maria start to leave. He looks at Jeanette and thinks—and Alice and I can read his thoughts—“Wow, Ms. Strong. You sure are a pretty lady. And those guys [Jerry and Johnny] love you.” Jeanette is deeply touched by this; she blushes slightly, and she stands up and goes over to George and kisses him on the forehead. He blushes; Maria giggles. The rest of us laugh slightly; even Buster is amused.

---

Now all of us who don’t own formal clothes go, with Eloise, to the clothing emporium Zuckerman & Son to rent fancy suits and gowns. I pick a plain black suit with a bright blue tie and cummerbund. Alice goes to Kerrie’s Coifs to have her hair styled. When she’s finished, and pays Kerrie for the work, she meets me at the door. She’s had her straight hair done up in a becoming wave style.
I say, “Gosh, Ms. Terwilliger, you sure are a pretty lady.” She laughs at this, and we act like Georgie and Maria, skipping back to the private lot next to the Morpheus, to drive back to the Sharps’ place and prepare for the Astorbilts’ party.

The mansion is similar to the Sharps’. We all seem to arrive at the same time. Alice wears a dazzling “Alice blue gown” and an elegant pair of silver-gray pumps. Oh, she is lovely. The rest of our group is similarly dressed.
Jack and Eloise meet us just before we go in. After Jack tells us who is on duty back at the Morpheus, we meet butler Jeeves at the door. We all show our invitations, including Jack and Eloise, who are quite impressively caparisoned. But I note that Jeeves—and Lord and Lady Astorbilt themselves, a stereotyped older wealthy couple—keep their distance from Jack and Eloise.

Now George and Betty Galloway arrive, with Samantha and Thalia. (Alice, Thalia, Gwen, and Hermione wear gowns that reach up to the base of the neck in the back—and I remember that early on I sensed Thalia had wings herself.)
I ask Mr. Galloway, “Do you know why the Astorbilts shun Jack and Eloise?”
Galloway explains.