Remedy
Before you read this you HAVE to read this: http://thinspiralnotebook.wordpress.com/2012/05/16/let-it-go-to-voice-mail/
Annoying specks of silver lint on the jacket of her black Armani pants suit distracted Millicent Stingley from her task. She picked the pieces and wiped in a tissue that she tossed in a dark green trash can by the bathroom. Three feet away, splayed over the middle of the hotel suite’s king sized bed, her poison victim became unconscious. A grey Walther p22 slipped from Pauley’s limp right hand. Confident she was safe from trouble, Millicent pulled back the syringe plunger and injected medicine into an intravenous tube hanging over the bed that would eventually find Pauley’s helpless left arm.
Millicent dropped the syringe in her Prada handbag. She pulled out a copy of Vogue and sat in a padded red and green chair crossing her long legs. Several minutes passed while she read an article on Kate Winslet. Pauley woke with a gasp. Millicent leaped toward the bed and pulled Pauley’s gun away from her flopping right hand.
“Calm down Pauley. The antidote acts smoother if you breathe in a relaxed fashion. You can use your gun in a couple of hours.”
Pauley’s glossy-eyed stare showed she was far from over her cyanide episode. Millicent placed the gun on top of her bag and sat back in the chair, determined to finish the Winslet profile. Pauley whispered to her peculiar nursemaid.
“Who are you?”
Millicent sighed and closed her magazine. She got up and checked the tube in Pauley’s arm. Her pinkish skin was turning back to a normal light beige.
“The sodium nitrite and thiosulfate cocktail I gave you is neutralizing the toxin. But, if I were you, I’d find a tanning salon to make your skin more presentable.”
Pauley furrowed her brow and craned her neck looking for her gun. Millicent rolled her eyes and extended her right hand.
“I’m Millicent Stingley. Your boss contacted me. You’re lucky I was in New York for a chemist’s conference or the glass of cyanide Merlot you drank would have killed you.”
*****blogger’s note****
This is a special event. My writing friend Tara, pronounced Tar rah, from Thin Spiral Notebook http://thinspiralnotebook.wordpress.com/ and I teamed up my serial killer “Cinnamon Girl” http://lancemyblogcanbeatupyourblog.wordpress.com/cinnamon-girl/ Millicent with her assassin Pauley. These posts are for Trifecta Writing’s “Trouble” prompt http://www.trifectawritingchallenge.com/
Today’s song is from Seether. Here’s the rockin’ Remedy:
100 Word Song – Revolution
I know every week I say that we’ve had the greatest, most creative, bestest one ever of all-time. But this time I really mean it. The entries for Tracy Chapman’s Telling Stories were tremendous. Marian, Cam, t, frelle, Tara, Vic, so many of you went above and beyond the pale with creative takes that required a lot of thought and editing. My favorite belonged to my longtime friend Barbara of The Purple Moose Gazette. She lives in another country, Alaska. Since she has to share space with Sarah Palin and she can see Russia from her house, writing is a heck of a great way to manage her stress. Barbara and I have been doing these 100 word deals with www.velvelverbosity.com for almost two years. Her writing is terrific. Her 100 word song : http://purplemoose.kenaiwriter.net/2012/05/09/telling-stories/ was cute, poignant and very deep. I couldn’t stop reading. I asked her to pick this week’s tune and since Barbara is a touch older than me, I wondered if we’d recognize the decade. She chose The Beatles’ Revolution. Our souls will be saved this week. Please go see The Purple Moose Gazette. It’s a great place.
Everything you need to know about 100 word song is located here: http://lancemyblogcanbeatupyourblog.wordpress.com/100-word-song/
You have seven days from right now to play Revolution. Another song will be posted at 7pm Atlanta, Georgia time next Tuesday.
We check in with Helene Troy for my 100.
A peanut butter bagel and two more aspirin staved off her hangover. Helene shuffled into the Soho loft flanked by her bandmates. She expected trouble after her drunkedn behavior the previous night.
“So, let me have it.”
The manager sat behind a small wooden desk studying his laptop. Helene could feel Sadie and Mara creep behind her like scared children. She chewed on her left cheek while approaching him. The manager grinned while handing a Village Voice newspaper to Helene.
“Read the headline.”
Helene’s sharp green eyes couldn’t contain her surprise.
“The Helene Troy Revolution Has Begun, Count Us In!”
Your 100 Word Song for this week is from Barbara at The Purple Moose Gazette. Here’s The Beatles’ Revolution:
Three Marlenas
I’ve been lying to all of you. I don’t have three daughters. I have six. My sixteen-year-old, eight-year-old and seven-year-old girls are two-faces, just like this guy, The Dark Knight’s Harvey Dent.
I met my wife four years ago, today, May 13, 2008. What followed over the next six months was a whirlwind in every sense of the word. We started a relationship immediately. My daughter met her two daughters. We told their three respective other families that we were getting married in November. Then we all started living together and created our blended family. It was the kids idea to not use the “step” word. The only steps in our house go upstairs to their bedrooms. While my wife and I expected after-school special like melodrama, what happened was something a lot more realistic. The girls adapted. They kind of settled whatever issues that were out there, on their own. As a result, they spun off completely separate personalities when they were with their other families and, as we’re being told, as their schools.
Our house, and how my wife and three daughters interact with each other, is an adventure. We’re loud, funny, obnoxious, caring, loving, dramatic, and talkative. Good grief do we talk. But when the girls are away from us, they seem to act different. My teenager is quiet, withdrawn, and extremely shy out of our sight. The middle girl, a tomboy, ass kicker, and get in the dirt fun-loving girl with us is borderline girly and much more reserved and sweet away from us. The youngest, a loud, funny, one of kind personality who basically runs our house with her attitude is sweet, demure, angelic when not in our company.
Getting the girls to talk about their lives away from us in an exercise in futility. They just prefer to keep that business away from our business. I brought our middle daughter home last Thursday after several days away. She was wearing pretty hairbows and a skirt. We quizzed her on what the heck she was doing in a skirt. She brushed us off and by the time she left us she had dirty fingernails, dirty socks, and her hair was flowing wildly waiting for her next good time.
Most of my the interaction my wife and I have with other blended families comes from the internets. I’m not sure if my girls two-face ways are normal. I do know they like it that way. Each of them frowns and gets very quiet when they leave us. I’m not sure if that’s their way of letting their mom and I know they’ll miss us or if its them going into survival mode personality to be with their others.
AS my wife and I negotiate how to recognize the day we met because it falls on Mother’s Day, a pay period that sees us broke, and while our kids have something school oriented everyday we have to be available for, I’m struck with wonder about how my girls feel about our four years together. I made sure the teenager had her newest flavored Doritos (why must they have 327 types? Is that necessary), my seven-year-old got to lay down with her mom at bedtime, and my wife was happy. I just hope that we continue to grow together. I’m anxious to hear how those of you in blended families deal with your kids’ attitudes and personalities.
I used to think Three Marlenas by The Wallflowers was about a guy in love with a bad girl who wouldn’t settle down. Then I started to interpret it as a girl who has three sides to her personality to get by in a complicated life. None of my daughters are named Marlena. But I bet they can relate to this song. Here’s The Wallflowers.
Woman
Your vow isn’t I do, it’s I am. You conquer me with a daily battle cry to be a superior lover, friend, and mother to our children. Woman, I’m awed by your allure.
****blogger’s note****
My wife, The Bobina, refuses to let me buy her a mother’s day card, so I wrote this instead. It isn’t gross or too much information so you all should be big boys and girls and get through it. I love you Bobina.
It’s only 33 words because today is trifextra day – http://www.trifectawritingchallenge.com/2012/05/trifecta-week-twenty-six.html If I don’t talk to you all tomorrow, werd to you and your mothers. This song rocks and its fitting to my bad ass wife. Break out your air guitars and have a good time. Here’s Wolfmother’s Woman -
Through Glass
Last time with Helene Troy: http://lancemyblogcanbeatupyourblog.wordpress.com/2012/05/09/100-word-song-telling-stories/
Narrow lanes of red and purple scrapes stretched over the knuckles on each of her fists. Tiny specks of asphalt crumbled out of her cupped hands as she moved her thumbs over her palms. Helene picked up the bottle of beer and swigged from its settled brew. She sat it down and turned to face Sadie. Morning sunlight bounced off the glass patio door. She blinked and caught her reflection through the glass then looked away feeling shame.
“Leney, I think you hurt your hands when you fell out of the cab. You were screaming at the guy to take you to Ramona’s. We wouldn’t let you. You threw your phone at me and Dawn then rolled out of the cab. I think you punched the cab too.”
Helene’s eyes moved back to her patio door reflection. She was twenty-four but looked older. Out of nowhere, Mara appeared in the door’s threshold holding the two gray and white kittens.
“Helene, I didn’t know you were a crazy cat lady! What are their names?”
Mara’s interruption caused Helene to turn around in her chair and resume drinking. Sadie took one of the kittens and the two women stood around Helene’s chair admiring them. Helene finished the beer.
“Tegan and Sara. The one with white on her belly is Tegan. I got them from the Bodega on the corner. They’re seven or eight weeks old.”
Helene put the empty bottle on the table and stood. Her knees buckled as she tried to steady herself. She clenched her fists and breathed through pain and dizziness.
“I’m sorry. I’m just so fucking sorry. I don’t know why I lost it last night. I could say Ramona’s a bitch. I could say I was nervous. But I think…..”
She stopped as the words made her gasp and start to cry. Large tears fell from her sharp green eyes. Her head pounded from her hangover. Sadie handed one of the kittens to Mara and extended her arms. The two women hugged. Helene cried into Sadie’s left shoulder. Mara walked back inside with the kittens and closed the patio door. Sadie patted Helene’s long brown hair.
“Leney, other than whatever’s going on with you and Ramona Gallery, I think you made it out of last night alright. Jackson punched Case in front of a bunch of reporters right after you got seriously drunk. The Golden Apples fucked up a lot more than you did last night.”
Helene couldn’t stop crying. Through sobs and sniffs she caught her reflection again. She grit her teeth and swallowed, hard.
“Sade, I look like shit. Let me get in the shower, take care of Tegan and Sara, then we’ll go see the manager and get paid. You and Mara can help me buy a new cell phone.”
Sadie smiled and touched Helene’s left shoulder as she walked back inside the apartment. Helene opened and closed the patio door but refused to look through the glass.
****blogger’s note****
This is a new story episode of The Ballad of Helene Troy. You can find the rest of the story, so far, here: http://lancemyblogcanbeatupyourblog.wordpress.com/the-ballad-of-helene-troy/ This is also patterned to the Write On Edge prompt for detail: http://writeonedge.com/2012/05/red-writing-hood-advancing-the-plot/
Today’s song just fits the story. It’s a little lame but there’s a point here. The lyrics are perfect. Here’s Stone Sour’s Through Glass.
100 Word Song – Telling Stories
There were some outstanding 100 word singers this week. Some of you made a Deadman’s Gun a metaphor for storms, real and imagined. Others put some muscle into thetheir and kicked some ass with the literal interpretations. I dug the testosterone-filled writing. As usual with 100 word song, we like to change course each week. After Cameron’s risque piece and subsequent song choice I went over to k and her humor mixed with tension mixed with drama of her Lillie story http://bloggitwrite.blogspot.com/2012/05/petersons-gun-lillie-and-100-word-song.html?spref=tw The interpretation of the song was perfect for the story and it’s emotional impact. k’s musical choices are a lot difefrent than mine so Leeroy and I were surprised at her excellent and quite versatile 100 word song pick – Tracy Chapman soulful “Telling Stories”. You 100 word singers should shine with this one.
Back to Helene for my 100:
Last time: http://lancemyblogcanbeatupyourblog.wordpress.com/2012/05/08/sour-girl/
Helene glared at Mara then turned and walked to the patio. She cringed while sliding the door open. Sadie followed.
“Leney, ignore Mara. Our manager wants to meet today so we can get paid for last night and talk about the next gig. I know you got me the job with Ramona. I don’t know what to say. Thank you.”
Helene sat in the white plastic chair. She yelped in pain opening the beer. It spewed over the concrete. She raised her bare feet onto the white plastic table.
“You’re welcome Sade. Now, why are my hands are killing me?”
Everything you need to know about 100 word song is located here: http://lancemyblogcanbeatupyourblog.wordpress.com/100-word-song/
I’ll see all of you through the week. Make sure you get your entries into Leeroy by next Tuesday at 7pm Atlanta, Georgia time. Here’s Tracy Chapman’s Telling Stories.
Sour Girl
Last time with Helene Troy: http://lancemyblogcanbeatupyourblog.wordpress.com/2012/05/07/hit-rock-bottom/
The room contained an unusual smell of cleanliness. The music equipment Helene owned but stored with her band, was now stacked in the middle of the living room floor. Helene looked at two electric guitars, one acoustic guitar, two amplifiers, microphones with stands, guitar stands, a power mixer, jacks and cables.
“Damn, I really am a solo artist, now.”
Walking to the refridgerator, she tried to remember the past several hours. She grabbed a beer then looked in a cabinet for aspirin to stave off her headache. The door to the apartment opened. Helene heard two familiar voices.
“Sadie! Mara! What the hell? I’m naked!”
Helene dropped the bottled beer and dove behind the kitchen counter to hide. The unopened beer rolled on the hardwood floor toward Sadie.
“Sorry Leney. We thought you were still sleeping. It’s just me and Mara. We brought your stuff over and then we decided we all need to talk.”
Determined to find some clothes and answers, she stood and used her right hand to motion her band mates to turn their backs. They responded with eye rolls.
“Leney, we’ve seen you naked. The bags with your clothes from last night are on your bed. Dawn brought them by earlier.”
Helene glared at them as she stomped to her bedroom. The dress Ramona loaned her was balled up on the bed next to the bags she took to her concert. She opened a bag put on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt then rejoined them.
“Jackson’s girlfriend was here?”
Mara stood against the closed front door looking away with her arms crossed. Sadie pulled her medium length, unwashed ginger hair back into a ponytail with an orange hairband. She handed Helene the aspirin and beer.
“Leney, Dawn’s quite the enigma. She’s really sweet and thinks the world of you. She helped us save your ass last night.”
Mara muttered.
“Sweet girl meets sour girl. That should be the opening track on your CD, Helene.”
****blogger’s note*****
This is a new story episode of The Ballad of Helene Troy. You can find the rest of the story, so far, here: http://lancemyblogcanbeatupyourblog.wordpress.com/the-ballad-of-helene-troy/ It’s also in response to Trifecta Writing “enigma in 333 words” prompt. http://www.trifectawritingchallenge.com/
Today’s song is from Stone Temple Pilots. It fits in feel, lyrical content, and style to this episode. Here’s Sour Girl.
Hit Rock Bottom
Last time with Helene Troy : http://lancemyblogcanbeatupyourblog.wordpress.com/2012/04/30/sex-on-fire/
Helene woke to the chill of the bathroom floor on her bare back and the tickle of little tongues on her damaged fingers. Her head ached from whatever happened over the past few hours. Throwing her cell phone and falling out of a cab were only flashes of recall. She pulled the grey and white kittens to her chest then placed them in front of their food bowl.
“Oh God, what did I do?”
Helene gagged from thoughts of what her thriftless drinking may have done. She pushed sore hands through matted hair and walked naked into the living room.
****blogger’s note****
This is a new story episode of The Ballad of Helene Troy. It’s back to where we left off as opposed to the reworked opening. You can find the rest of the story, so far, here: http://lancemyblogcanbeatupyourblog.wordpress.com/the-ballad-of-helene-troy/
My friend Velvet is back after a four month hiatus with her 100 word meme http://www.velvetverbosity.com/2012/05/06/100-words-treasure-hunting/ word is “thriftless”. I changed worthless to thriftless and rejoined my old stomping ground at vel’s place.
I’ve been wanting to use Dandy Warhols Hit Rock Bottom for a long time. When I wrote this weeks ago, I realized it would be perfect for first 100 words of this chapter.
Sure Shot
I can’t think of anything to write from a personal point of view. The reality is, my life is fiction. I know some of you click this page to read the serialized fiction I’ve invested so much of my time. While others tell me that they wait for that one personal post of the week where I detail some level of hijinks with my wife and three daughters. Well, right now those four women are a disappointment. They’ve been boring. They’re doing what they’re supposed to and being great people. How dare they NOT think of My Blog Can Beat Up Your Blog?
Adam “MCA” Yauch of the Beastie Boys died Friday after a three-year battle with cancer. He was two months shy of his 48th birthday. That makes him just six years older than I. Mortality in your forties is very daunting. Beastie Boys are my ninth favorite band of all-time but I was even more of a fan of Adam Yauch, the man. Yauch did something I’ve rarely seen among popular musicians. He aged gracefully. After introducing himself to the world as a beer swilling obnoxious gravel-voiced lout in 1986, he evolved. The man who died two days ago was a learned one. He studied eastern philosophy, became a Vegan Buddhist, married, and became a committed father.
Watching and hearing him perform was a lesson in adult artistry rather than a spectacle in suspended adolescence. I can’t stop listening to my favorite Beastie Boys albums, Paul’s Boutique and Ill Communication, their hip hop masterpiece and great rock record respectively.
Being my age, 41, comes with some rules. I don’t like rules, but I know they’re there. I can’t just leave a stressful day behind with booze or latenights or without obligation. My wife and daughters have me around for many reasons, and being an irresponsible jackass isn’t one. Adam Yauch’s early death and the precipice of finishing my first book have made me very introspective and, quite frankly, scared. I wonder if I can age gracefully and be the kind of man Yauch succeeded in being, someone comfortable in their own skin who gave as much as he received.
To nod to Yauch and his now Rock and Roll Hall of Famed inducted group, I’m “sure shot” about something. I won’t stop writing and it’s a pleasure to share this small corner of the internets with each of you who read.
The Denial Twist
Last time with Helene Troy: http://lancemyblogcanbeatupyourblog.wordpress.com/2012/04/26/animal-ive-become/
Helene and Sadie put down their guitars and walked under an eave to savor the small amount of shade on the building’s roof. Helene placed her black notepad filled with lyrics and chord changes on her lap. They pressed their backs against the air conditioning vents and exchanged “ahhhs” at the coolness. Sadie took her phone from her jeans.
“Darcy and Mara have been gone for almost an hour and a half. What do you think? Boys or weed?”
Helene closed her eyes so Sadie couldn’t see her anger seething.
“If I had any money, I’d bet they ran into boys with weed. At this point, if they bring back bottled waters and a contact high, I’d be satisfied enough to not kill them.”
Their laughter was interrupted when the large, heavy metal door connecting the stairs to the roof flew open. It sounded like thunder rolling over the top of the building. Darcy and Mara were giggling.
“Slipper Socks Medium is drinking its lunch and smoking its dessert!”
Helene rolled her eyes at Darcy’s behavior. She leaped to her feet and walked to her mischievous band mates.
“Lovely Lady Leney, this is yours!”
Darcy handed Helene a small bottle of Bushmills whiskey. It was the cheapest sold in New York City Bodegas. She shook her head, unscrewed the bottle and took a large drink. Mara reached inside her sleeveless vest and pulled a white marijuana joint from the inside pocket. She put her right hand on her hip and held the joint with pride in front of Helene.
“Here’s the inspiration Slipper Socks Medium needs to kick this practice’s ass and be ready for our gig Thursday night.”
Sadie picked up Helene’s notepad, stood and walked over to all three women.
“Leney and I worked on two songs while you two were getting high. We were already inspired.”
Helene extended her left arm and pushed away Mara’s distraction. The guilt she felt questioning the band’s future burned away in the summer heat.
This is a new story episode of The Ballad of Helene Troy. You can find the rest of the story, so far, here: http://lancemyblogcanbeatupyourblog.wordpress.com/the-ballad-of-helene-troy/ This more of the reworked opening chapters. I modeled this for an entry into Trifecta writing 33 word “thunder” prompt. http://www.trifectawritingchallenge.com/
Today’s song is perfect, thematically. The White Stripes The Denial Twist works lyrically here too. You’re seeing Helene’s realization that the band is a dying relationship. Here’s the great Jack White and The Denial Twist.
