GAINFULLY EMPLOYED AT GEORGIA’S ELITE
CHAPTER ONE: NEIGHBORHOOD WATCH : september 2020
CHAPTER TWO: PAYBACK
CHAPTER THREE: NAKED LUNCH
CHAPTER FOUR: SNOWBOOTS AND STILETTOS
CHAPTER FIVE: KILLING MICHAE(WITH AN UMLAUT)L WERTENBERG — SECOND ATTEMPT
***
CHAPTER ONE: NEIGHBORHOOD WATCH : september 2020
1 word story:
achoo
Mrs. J sitting on her front porch on a cool, crisp autumn morning. The smoke from the California wild fires is nearly gone.
“Most days, we have our battle born blue skies back. Sure do love this time of year.” (she talks to herself sometimes)
Neighbor girl Jessica rides up on her scooter. She drops it on the lawn and runs up this old driveway all torn to chunks by the cottonweed trees.
“Miss Jackson, you hear there’s going to be a slaughterhouse across the street? Won’t that be cool? It’s like a big Halloween store where you can get costumes, and masks, and there’s a haunted house.”
“I didn’t hear about that, Jessy. That sounds great. About time there’s something for you kids to do ‘round here.”
“I’m so excited,” Jessy answers. She takes off, skippin’ down the lawn to her scooter, headin’ for the soccer field behind the houses.
Pablo stops by with his Golden Retriever puppy, Dulce. He waves to mrs. j. and takes Dulce to her.
“come get your lovin’s, sweet pup.”
“How are you, Mrs. Jackson?”
“Fitter than a fiddle.”
“That’s good to hear. Do you want to come over for pizza tonight? Juana is making a veggie pizza from scratch with our harvest — we’ve got squash, tomatoes, garlic, onions . . . “
“Oh, honey. You know I love it. Can you put some bacon on my pizza? Just a touch.”
“Awh, awh, Mrs. Jackson, no one in the neighborhood is eating meat this month — you know — the protest?”
“Protest ‘gainst what?”
“Awh, awh . . .The Slaughterhouse.”
“Oh, you mean the Trick or Treat house across the highway? Jessy told me about it.”
I tell you, folks, Pablo one good-lookin’ Mexican man, tanned from working landscapin’ for near 20 years. The color just drained outta his face like the mercury in a old thermometer dropping from 30 celius to 30 farenheit.
“Awh, Mrs. Jackson. That’s not what it is. Maybe her daddy told her that, but it’s — it’s really a slaughterhouse. Animales salvajes. sacrificando.” He moves his index finger across his neck.
I can’t believe what I’m hearing. “We been in this neighborhood for goin’ on 60 years. Bought it when the houses was new.”
“I know, Mrs. Jack . . “
“Pablo, can you drive me cross the street to Georgia’s?”
“Por supuesto.”
CHAPTER TWO: PAYBACK
2 word stories
he knows.
he’s grinning.
he’s ready.
he’s willing.
mrs jackson enters the neighborhood bar, renamed tbilisi by the owners from georgia. the country, not the state.
next door is georgia’s elite, a spa. katie is gainfully employed there. she is a nail tech with a manifesto. she also works at the bar & grill that used to be owned by mustang sally, and at georgia’s elite in mound house as a maid. the year is 2022. a lot of folks have a lot of jobs cuz of the pandemic. katie sometimes has sniffles, achoo, but she’s fine and loves her customers at tbilisi.
her twin sister is carrie ann. she dog sits, cleans houses for ann g who lives en acapulco, manages georgia’s elite in mound house, (a legal, fictional brothel), and writes short stories for Martin French.
mrs. li is cooking meth. just kidding. that was ann’s client’s husband and walter (‘breaking bad’, no one the author personally knows). mrs. li never did drugs. she drank more than her fair share of umgapay, though. she was cooking at georgia’s elite ten years ago. madam georgia had to lay her off, cuz her spicy cooking, so popular with the working girls, the drivers, and the maids, made every one a little gassy.
mrs. li was rehired in 2021 during the pandemic to cook take away schewaun. she is keeping the business alive.
Photo by Hamza Inayat on Unsplash
katie welcomes Mrs. J into the dark pub, walks her to a booth by the kitchen instead of the bar, so that she can sit comfortably and smell the fragrance of jambalaya wafting in from ruby’s kitchen.
“oh, i love that smell.” (note : mrs. jackson is talking about the smell of jambalaya. not the smell of the neighborhood on the other side of the carson river.)
published in ‘two minutes alone’.
katie offers to bring a menu.
“no, sweetie, no need to. i know exac’ly what i want. bring me a big bowl of that jambalaya.”
“you got it, mrs. j.”
“do i know you, sweetie?”
“no, but i know you,” katie says with a sly wink.
momentarily confused, mrs. jackson asks, “is ruby tuesday cooking here?”
“no, honey (not her real name). she is living in acapulco. a lot of the girls are there.”
“really? what happened?”
“ . . .corona.”
“that’s a awful beer . . .”
“covid, mrs. j. georgia had to close down because the governor doesn’t consider legal prostitution to be an ‘essential business’.”
-next scene -
a strange man sitting in a corner booth. 40-ish, rather good looking, longish brown hair. tall, nice build, european nose. he could be french. he is wearing a kokopelli mask. his eyes are swollen and bloodshot. a laptop is open on the table in front of him. mrs. jackson is happy to be socially distanced from him, 30 feet away. katie goes to take his order. it’s not cold in the pub, but as she moves toward the man, she starts to shiver. he looks up from his laptop.
“I’m sorry, sir, i didn’t see you come in.”
“i teleported here. i needed to bring some kale and cranberries to a friend.” and some highlighter for my cousin. do you shop at costco?”
smiling nervously, a bit confused by his answer. who wouldn’t be? “of course. what can i get you?”
“i’ll have an english muffin, medium toasted.”
“would you like our organic neighborhood honey or jelly? we have raspberry, gooseberry — “
“fish.”
“excuse me.”
“something to drink?”
“tea.”
“iced tea? hot tea?”
“hot, scalding, black tea.”
music comes on juke box — (“jump” by van halen)
katie walks away thinking about seven pounds of flesh. and what the hell kinda jelly is going to look like jelly fish? would georgia even want this weird dude in her pub? of course, she would. okay, okay. she scans the row of jellies in ruby’s pantry. picks apple jelly. after the tea is ready, katie serves mike. as she sets down the plate of medium toasted english muffins with apple jelly . . .
“free falling” by tom petty comes on the juke box.
katie’s mind is whirling. is mike going to be okay with these morbid-in-her-mind songs? a lot of people jumped from bridges in the 70’s. tom petty died within a week of the mass shooting in vegas.
she hurries to the juke box. brings up you tube and plays a bob seger song. she sees steve at his table. how’d he get in here without me seeing him? cuz i’m too busy with a new customer to notice my bestest friend in the whole world. she quickly lines up the next six you tube videos for steve. naked ride home by jackson browne, i want you to dance naked by john mellenkamp, it wasn’t me by shaggy and rick rock, cuando los angeles lloran by maná, i am a patriot by jackson browne . . .hold on a minute, those are Smillew Rahcuef’s favorite songs and Alan Asnen’s. . . it has to be since alan won’t leave the country, not even to live in ireland with martín and his fourth wife and the boy or in italy. cuz they don’t speak english. what a snob.
estoy confudido. FOCUS, KATIE. STEVE IS GOING TO BE FINE WITH SMILLEW’S PICKS. and anything by jackson browne. isn’t that the generation that was s’posed to revive the earth? why do our kids and grandkids have to do it?
katie glances back at mike. he’s sipping his tea. a cat is in his lap. a beautiful tabby. and she thinks of ziggy, her six-year-old labx. he was stoned yesterday. he had to have a tooth extracted. a good thing martín sent $1200 via oops, a new wireless keyboard via fed ex and a new car from https://www.instagram.com/holawalterlee/. idiota, he could just direct deposit it for her. the cash, not the car. the car is in the garage waiting to be fitted with an all electric engine. men, can’t live with them. can’t kill them with icycles.
“hi, steve, how are you doll?”
“never better.”
“your usual?”
“thanks, katie.” he says with a wink.
yeah, a lot of people wink. it’s expressive, it’s popular, cuz with half your smile a frown, or an upside down frown covered by a mask, your eyes, all three of them tell others your mood/life story. katie slips on the floor that was waxing philosophical yesterday.
“green eggs and ham” -
“hold the pickle” -
“cocktail onions, jarlesberg and brie” -
“hard and soft cheese” -
“sourdough and rye” -
“you’re saying i’m old?” -
“and have a wicked sense of humor, yes”
“a glass of portuguese merlot.” -
“of course.”
(to be cont’d)
©annjames2022