Thursday, July 14, 2011

THE NARRAGANSSET SOCIAL CLUB ~ As Absolutely*Kate tells the tale of THE VILLAGE SMITHY {Lucky Epic*sode 7}

The Narragansett Social Club

{ Just ahead of back-in-time with

~ As regaled by Absolutely*Kate

Wish you were here! 

Liza scratched the trite right off the back of her postal card hastening for the morning's mail. Greetings! Wish you were here!   "What was I thinking George? He'll never receive it. Will he? How could he? But George, tell me true, don't hold back. ~ WILL he?"

"Lizzie gal, stop blustering your wondering and start believing. I made a deathbed vow to your darlin' mother I'd finish your training, and that I will . . . but honestly Toots, we're going to run right out of time if time after time you rail on against the the Why and How of things timely. Must you perpetually pester?! These things simply, thus strongly, are'Why ask Why?' I always bellow to recalcitrant deckhands, as well as reminding them at watch . . . 'HOW will always present itself to the watchful.' Now come on girl. Get a hurry on it. Scrawl your way through that picture post card like you understand what somersaults to the heart are all about -- Yes, yes - don't protest the obvious. I see when your horizons get all moony there's a male involved.  Now Lizzie, I'll meet you in the lobby. And post haste young lady. Fore and aft in forty minutes! Oh, and prissy yourself up right fancy tonight, too. Have I a swell surprise for you!"
Salty the chuckle that rumbled the echoes along the long hallway of the seaside inn. Sultry the sigh that spiraled the space of the well-appointed suite where red velvet cascaded past a bygone village green presence to the ocean view's blue today. Today though, was gold fringe embellishing ten years off yesterday, which she understood, but wondered honestly how her new friend back in Essex, the village smithy, really would . . . or could. Could he? And was he as old as that day or this day and does wisdom stretch or just catch up to you? Oh bother, at times, traveling time boggles the mind, but at times -- the times one does not dull in over-ponder, smooth arrivals become discoveries which tumble anew to old remembered rewards. 
But now ~ here and now and back to then ~ What to say, what to say? The solid comfort of Captain George Horatio Bennigan, tall, dark and not at all gruesome, (as many claim who fear him), fit the stalwart finery she'd always intuited a doting 'adopted uncle' would be and had been. Funny that, for the last time she'd seen him, touched tentative fingers tenderly up his face, cried tears in tandem to the hollow of his eyes  . . . was the morning in May of Mother's funeral; then each subsequent anniversary, for nearly a quarter of a century. For a five year old though, that mountain of a day was arduous to climb. Still, Uncle George had lifted her, her spirits, and her sensibilites that time and many times. He held her tight, pressed to charcoal grey lapels with not only the suitable charm a gentle giant of a rogue unexpectedly doles out to his cherished ones. More in keeping to his brooding nature though, his own pain surged like a sea at storm and railed out dauntless urgings, whispered fast and fierce to tiny ears. This man among men could manifest. He wished big things into those tiny ears. He told little Liza and later, lady Liza that they would meet again and again and yet again then, when time and timing came best to be. He also told her wishing him, should make him appear.

That had been her wish, to counter the cunning she'd encountered from the cocksure Candlestick Maker's flaming dare back in the village of Essex, where she had begun the beguine of a better, less battered new life to be. To be free from what could still come at her, no matter which huff-and-a-puff matter of a steam train through time she traversed. A life of plentiful possibilities  molding strong, molding sure as -- sure as the plenishing hammer upon the anvil of the mighty village smithy. 
Liza was aware yesterday how the customary speed of light sparks flew and her accompanying whirring whoooosh resonated in new frequencies to those left behind, in time. She heard harrrumphing gasps chopped out of the Butcher's routine day, and next door, her mind's eye saw the scene near the village green which startled the Baker stubbornly stacking sticky buns into a precarious pyramid for his pungent window display. When several toppled to the tiled floor, a small boy elbowed a larger boy and the twosome dared to make delicious their day. Her day though, was yesterday impacting tomorrow. The past's future, Mother admonished, shall show you how far you've come.  Best take the whereabouts-of-inner-knowing in the back front pocket nearest you.
So many tucked in thoughts of her funny laughing Mother who embraced life and its magic with purpose.  Mother seldom bought into the common thread of not tangling history. "History was made to be remade! History's a tapestry of multi-threads, colours, hues, layers, intricate textures too. Why Liza, what your skill does with it compounds the finer perceptions interweave! It's alright, darling daughter. History presents itself better that way. Someday you'll see. Just give it your all. Remember though, never turn your back three times in a row to shortchange time. Time presents itself midst its own best aplomb."  Yes Mother's voice came close, so close. It always did when Trouble presented itself.
When she materialized her arrival, stating her purpose, George calmly countered the cocksure Candlestick Maker to be trouble incarnate. Over her single gimlet and his several gins in the main lounge of The Narragansett Social Club where he summered, nearer his vessel, the Incorrigible, safe-harboured in Newport,  her mother's dearest friend recounted on one hand and then the other that he knew the curmudgeon from several guises back and two a century away. He had always been and will be bothersome he warned, arching his bushier eyebrow, the right one. That was his second, first and third natures. Happens everytime a human-plus feels he or she has been slighted of what they deem their inner right. Though that premise holds no promise with the shadows of the Chadwick clan, known prevaricators and scumbags of scurrilous scumbuckets. Such was, is, will be their lousy lineage. Bad grudges fan flames.

~ ~ ~ 

Liza hurried her pen, but said instead what she didn't know how to say ~
Will ~ The ocean is delightful and the only place July should be staying at. I'm here with family and so enjoyed your  family last night at the delicious dinner of stew I was invited to by you. You saw, I'm quite sure, my bowl gobbled clean at both helpings. You've wonderful sisters William, and they look out for their younger brother with ----  Damn! Out of space and out of time with her mind's inky ramble. George was going to soon show her the secret staircase to the casino lounge behind the gold numerals 33, by pressing the pine panel in the upstairs parlour. She'd known this future deal when she was younger still, but . . . you always go along to see how time can take another wriggle if you can shimmy it right. 

Best finish off writing this card today to see if the good morrow's mailing made ahead go back to yesterday. She rallied for coherency. She championed charm. She closed with aplomb ~

I must dash for a refreshing afternoon splash! 

~ Cordially,
~ L. Chronoss 

She'd deal with the chicanery
of the cocksure Candlestick Maker
tomorrow when she returned to yesterday.

He wouldn't know 
what blew into his pretentious powers
when she got through smoking him out.

Absolutely. No sirree for you Bub!
Best though now, don those fancy flapper duds,
fling on a gay string of creamy poils. 

Make pretty with the night,
and Uncle George's gambling plight.

Liza lived to make entrances,
long remembered after . . . this long day.

{ Pity Liza's fine  flapper frock was sleeveless.
She might've done well to tuck in an extra Ace.}

As regaled by ~ Absolutely*Kate  


Click here for  Epic*sode 6 ~ "Make a Wish. I Dare You."
© 2011 ~ Author Absolutely*Kate
 in a small-town large state of mind
currently on ~ shore leave  

Virile Village Smithy ala Wolfrage
Luscious Lady Ace ala Signnetwork

Photo representation of the former Narragansett Social Club of the roaring 20's
is currently where Absolutely*Kate is presiding for "shore leave".
It is now dubbed the Ocean Rose Inn and sits proudly at the helm of Ocean Road
keeping a good watch on the sea.





Or . . . is it?



Author said...

And so it continues. Nice interlude, liking the backstory. Your style is poetry, I love it.

ratatouille's archives said...

Hi! Absolutely*Kate...
So, the [The Village Smithy and Liza] saga continues...Once again, a story that "held" my attention as I go back and read part 6...a slow computer and life kept me away from part 6...
Thanks, for sharing!
deedee ;-D

Kate Pilarcik ~ absolutely said...

JOOLS ~ You genuinely delight my senses and sensibilities when you "get it" . . . so splendidly well.

My hearty thanks, talented Author of GONE BAD and more. Glad am I to know you as colleague and of course, 'pally'.

~ Absolutely*Kate

Does art imitate Life or spur it on?
( Rhetorical that, eh? )

Kate Pilarcik ~ absolutely said...

DEE DEE, you mistress of NOIR and all things notoriously mysterious ~ To hold your attention is to hold wonder incarnate . . . Ever have I admired the swift twists and turns of your own mind and the amazing presentations you bring forth at your site (please respond back and plug yourself thoroughly -- AT THE BIJOU readers and authors are made in the shade to sneak or waltz into all your grand shadowy doorways)

~ Absolutely*Kate (still smiling)

-- And ... GET THIS --
The regional manager of The Narragansett Social Club (now the Ocean Rose Inn) is showing me the secret passageways and tunnel down to the seawall tomorrow . . . Smuggle that into your vast though-processes -- WATCH FOR THE FULL-FLEDGED NOVEL

KjM said...

"...simply, thus strongly..."

Now, where have I read that before! :)

"...and prissy yourself up right fancy tonight..."

Note "pretty", but "prissy". How I love your heroines. They have spice and style.

Nice tapestry you're weaving here, Ma'am *Kate.

Harry said...

Good Sunday Morning Katie*Girl! I see At The Bijou is back! Looks like having a drink and ignoring it worked! Glad to see it!

Kevin Michaels said...

Great flow - like riding a smooth wave of prose with a couple of stylistic kicks.

Blaze McRob said...

Wonderful once more, my friend. In the eighties I wrote a novel where time travel was an integral part of the paradox of conceptual manipulation of events. Today the paradoxes remain but the science of thought has brought us to the different multiverses and what-might-becomes.

I look forward to your next installment.


Helen A. Howell said...

ah time travelling can be a challenge, yet I like that "She'd deal with the chicanery of the cocksure Candlestick Makertomorrow when she returned to yesterday."

As always captivating!

Helen from