~ AT THE BIJOU ~

"ENCORE" ~ By Christina Vincent ... The Shadows of Our Noir ~ AT THE BIJOU

2012-01-25T20:08:00.002-05:00

E N C O R E

By ~ Christina Vincent

Jimmy had half of his face covered with his hand, and whenhe turned around I knew he was trying not to laugh at me. Seeing him do thatwas my trouble, honey, not anything I mighta done or not done. When the bullscame into my crummy little apartment in New York years ago, I was just sittingthere with a butt and a glass of bourbon in one hand and my little Remingtonderringer in the other, and Mr. No Good Two-Timer all spread out on the bedwith all that blood staining the pillowcases. Didn’t even take my smile offwhen they threw me in the cooler.

But whenJimmy was trying to hide how hard he was laughing at me? Yeah, that spellstrouble for a girl, especially when there’s some private dick on the couchacross the way asking about another dead body. I licked my lips and gave him mystage smile.

“Sweetie,you’re just gonna have to stop messing around and tell me.”

“We foundhim dead, Miss Dietrich. His wife saw him leave for work this morning, and thenwe find him out back behind the newspaper office tonight.”

I made myeyes real wide, and Jimmy had to turn around again. Nobody made Jimmy laughlike me, and I kinda like that. “Oh, goodness, that’s just… gosh. How awful!What happened?”

“I washoping you could tell me that, Miss Dietrich.”

“I don’tsee how she possibly could,” Jimmy said, face all serious again, that sweetaccent of his filling up the room. I don’t know what it is about English guys.They never really did it for me until Jimmy. Now I could sit here listening tohim read the paper for hours, watching him run those long piano fingers throughhair the same color a Hershey kiss left on your fingers if you held it withoutthe foil, not to mention those eyes. You look straight at them, and they’re thepalest shade of something in the middle of blue and gray, but you look at himfrom the side while he’s looking straight ahead, and they’re gold, I ain’tkidding. Jimmy reached for the deck of Luckies on the table and pulled one out.“She was with me all afternoon.”

“Doingwhat, if I may ask, Mr. Sangster?”

There wasthat smile again, lips all closed and one eyebrow going up. Jimmy was tryingnot to laugh, and I just couldn’t take it anymore. I had to pretend to take adrink of bourbon before I started in. “Now, Detective, that isn’t a terriblyappropriate conversation.”

The coplooked back at me, but I was real busy inspecting the inside of my glass andtrying to stop grinning. “All day, Mr. Sangster?”

“Hannah’squite a woman,” he said, all calm and cool and British, and I set the glassdown on the table.

“Any otherquestions, sweetie?” I crossed my legs at the knees, and the hem of my dressmight’ve gone up just a little bit. I saw him staring at my ankles, and Irotated one foot in a circle. He cleared his throat and looked back at me, nokidding around this time.

“Are thereany other witnesses who’ll swear you were here all day, Miss Dietrich?”

I put theciggy to my lips and had a nice, long smoke. “No, sweetie, I ain’t that kindagirl.”

The cop wasgetting awful red by now, and Jimmy was watching me the way a cat looks at abird through a window. I was gonna get it, and I didn’t care one little bit.“What brought you to Los Angeles, Miss Dietrich?”

“What girldoesn’t wanna see Los Angeles?”

“You see,that’s what I’d like to know.” The detective leaned back against the cushions,all kinds of comfortable now. “There aren’t any records of you, Hannah. Not asingle one.”

“It’s MissDietrich,” I said smoothly, tilting my head to one side. He’d done somedigging, that was pretty damn clear.

“Is it?See, I don’t think that you’re really Hannah Dietrich. I’m not convincedthere’s a Hannah Dietrich at all.”

“Ain’t thatsomething.” I tried not to look at Jimmy.

“I believeour time is up, Detective.” Jimmy handed me his ciggy and stood between me andthe man on the couch.

“I don’tthink we’re done here,” he said.

“I believethat we are.”

“No,because, see, I read this story about a dame in New York about fifteen yearsago. Real pretty thing, with nice blond hair like Miss Dietrich there, only shorter,and the prettiest green eyes, just like Miss Dietrich. Back in ’29. this dameshot her husband with a little Remington derringer, just like our stiff, andthen she just disappeared out of jail.”

“That’sfascinating.” Gosh, Jimmy could sound real, real cold when he wanted to. I wasshivering. I took a smoke off of his cigarette, just to taste him.

“The girl’sstage name was Hannah Clara Santa Barbara. She was a dancer. Frequented a lotof jazz clubs, speakeasies.”

“Ten yearsago, Detective?” Jimmy reached behind me for his ciggy. “Precisely how old wasthis girl at the time?” The way the smoke just curled out of Jimmy’s mouth, theway he stayed right between us… I needed another drink.

“She wasabout twenty, I’d say.”

Jimmyturned around, giving me that little closed-lipped smile. “That would make thispretty thing about thirty-five if that was the case, wouldn’t it? She doesn’tlook a day over twenty-one to me.”

Oh, Jimmy,you…

“It’s apity about the young man, but even if my darling girl was seeing him on theside, well… I’m certain you’ve never had any such indiscretions come to yournotice, hm? Seems to me that your victim had his fair share of… how shall I putthis delicately…”

“I see yourpoint, Mr. Sangster.”

“And it’dbe a horrible shame if your department were to come under investigation forharassing my darling girl.”

The copstood and nodded to me around Jimmy. “My apologies, Miss Dietrich.”

“I’ll showyou out, Detective.” Jimmy kept right behind the man until he was safely in thestreet, then locked the door and turned to me.

“Jimmy,honest to God…”

He finallylet the laughter go, those long needle fangs catching the light. “Hannah ClaraSanta Barbara, you are an absolute nightmare.”

“But youlove me anyway, honey,” I purred, hooking my fangs on the rim of the bourbonglass. He shook his head and smiled.

“Aye, love,I do.”

Cold crimes for "The Shadows of Our NOIR" ~ AT THE BIJOU

IMAGES: Ms Dietrich from The Scarlett Empress

CHRISTINA, whisper-shouting the past months in her vibrant worlds: "You guys wanna know a secret? C'mere real close... I'm gonna be featured AT THE BIJOU real soon. Keep an eyeball on me and AbsolutelyKate.

"Hey, callin' on all o' you swell fellas and classy dames... come meet me AT THE BIJOU for a little serving of THE SHADOWS OF OUR NOIR, where you will see yours truly giving my dear friend with the moxie, Ms. Absolutely*Kate, an EXCLUSIVE sneak peek at some of the characters in my novel-in-progress. You'll only be seeing this'un AT THE BIJOU!"

Absolutely*Kate ~ LASCIVIOUS LADIES and GENTEEL GENTS . . . You're in the enthusiastic joie de vivre of an up and comer where Authors go to soar ~ Ms Christina Vincent, whose name you shall all come to know the more!

CHRISTINA ~ "Thank you for everything that you do for people. You're a shining star, Kate, and you're glowing no matter what the cloud cover outside is like. We're lucky to have you."

A very, very happy new year to all. Here's hoping everyone is surrounded with love and joy this season, and that peace and creativity walk with you hand in hand through the quiet winter. Much affection to all of you wonderful theater-loving folks!

Absolutely*Kate sails with stars.

Will notify the spotlight guy that you are ready for your curtain calls, Lady sultry Stina. Much thanks for tellin' the worlds you dazzle in about your encore of ENCORE ... AT THE BIJOU.

CHRISTINA ~ Sultry, eh? Guess I'd better practice my jazz voice for the stage, huh? Prep the microphone. For Noir Night? I'm thinking poils. Goils love poils.

"Well, if these folks want to see my exclusives, they gotta get a ticket at your theater... because my characters are staying EXCLUSIVELY on your stage or in my library! (That's 'cause I love ya, schweet-haaaaaht.)"

"Naps in the Library will officially compensate Absolutely*Kate for any and all popcorn consumed by card-carrying library patrons."

Absolutely*Kate ~ Shy? Introverted? Not our gal 'Stina. Give the dame a hand folks ~ She's the voice who shouts out so many other authors in their own dances of acclaim to fame. She's a heart that 's bursting at every tip-tap-typing she attempts ... even when she goes scary, Christina's not contrary.

CHRISTINA ~ "Kate, ain't a dame this side of Casablanca that gives intro like you do. Hats off to ya, doll face. "

Christina Vincent

@StinaVincent Capital District, NY

Storyteller, lunatic, occasional human being. Currently working on a paranormal fiction novel entitled The Occult Consult.

THE NEXT BOOK!

Naps in the Library <------- click & go visit her wild crazy ride of a blogsite ... Shhhh, you're in a library, y'know

CHRISTINA ~ Well, Kate, like I told you backstage, I’ve been missin’ AT THE BIJOU something fierce, so I’m giving it my all now that I’ve come wandering out of my library and back on stage with the great gang here.

These fine folks can find me at Naps in the Library, where you’ll see everything from horror to paranormal fiction to downright comedic nonsense. I’m a gal of many talents. I used to be a supervillain way back in the day, and you can see some links to my work as Lady Unpleasantries up on the site. I’m hoping to eventually rewrite all of those pieces because, as you’ll see if you dare venture that way, my writing style has changed dramatically since then… but don’t we all do everything dramatically?

I’m hard at work on two novels right now. One of them is the finished first draft of The Occult Consult, which is a dark comedy about demons, ghosts, zombies in a liquor store, and home-cooked Italian cuisine all mixed up with a little magic and a cat named Snickers. The second thing I’m pouring my heart and soul into is a story about vampires, shape shifters, and a hefty dose of paranormal science. The working title is The Project, and the very same James Sangster and Hannah Clara Santa Barbara that schmoozed their way into my latest AT THE BIJOU performance are some of the upcoming cast of that little horror/drama. If you keep your eyes peeled, you might see more of my extra special characters popping into the theater to steal your popcorn.

A*K ~ Another of the gazillion reasons I find myself rather fond of Christina Vincent, is her sensational support of INDIE AUTHORS . . . and now . . . what goes around -- deservingly, comes around:

CHRISTINA YELPS SUCCESS!

C.V. ~ I won. I’m going to be published.

My short story Inferna won first place in the Bloody Parchment anthology competition, and will be published along with some amazing authors. Read all about it here. Release date to be announced.

As if I needed more reason to dance through the day, first place also means that the fabulous Nerine Dorman will be editing a novel-length work for me. Hm. We don’t know about any novels here, do we…?

This has been such an incredible morning. Waking up to Nerine’s email was unreal. I had to read it three times before I believed it, and then proceeded to flood inboxes and cell phones with excited, caps lock-ridden messages. It’s remarkable to think that it’s beginning. This is my dream becoming reality.

AND NOW I'M BACK ~ AT THE BIJOU ~ AGAIN. It's my encore with ENCORE, our luscious Absolutely*Kate stage-whispered me, before she swooshed me out in this fabulous spotlight of "The Shadows of Our Noir" show. What a cast! What a slew of a crew -- Hey Kate? You writing my dialogue on this paragraph?

Thank you all for being here to share it. I’m so grateful for all of you, my friends here AT THE BIJOU, and to the other writers that will be in this anthology. I’m not going to be able to wipe the smile off of my face for weeks, and I’ll probably be dancing periodically throughout the day.

Thanks be ours, sultry, excitable 'Stina,

We wish your soar the greatest heights!

~ Absolutely*Kate

and the ritzy crew

*AT THE BIJOU*

Where Writers' Raves are Readers' Faves

THE SHADOWS OF OUR NOIR

LINK delicious INFLUENCES of ~

OUR NOIR AUTHORS' "JUST DESSERTS" ~

LINKS TO OUR NOIR SO FAR ~

Kevin Michaels ... Graham Smith ... Julie Morrigan

Chris Rat-a-Tat Rhatigan ... Joe Grant ... AJ Hayes

Absolutely*Kate co-noveling with AJ Hayes

Paul Bishop ... Anthony Venutolo ... Eric Beetner

Matt Hilton . . . Jeanette Cheezum ... Nigel Bird

Zelda Martin . . . The GRIMM TALES Gang ...

Ian Ayris . . . Steve Miscandlon ... Helen Howell

Sal Buttaci . . . Kevin j Mackey

. . . and Absolutely*Kate so far . . . .

NOIRTORIOUS COMING ATTRACTIONS ~

Every-other-day or so, cold crimes . . . jump-jiving January's NEW NOIR

Paul Brazill ... Leon Jackson Davenport

BR Stateham ... Fiona Johnson ... Jack Bates

Luca Veste, on the record OFF THE RECORD

Julian Bramwell Slater ...

Charlie Wade ... Darren Sant ...

Lily Childs ... Walter Conley

Carrie Clevenger ... Daniel Stine ...

Thomas Pluck and the Lost Children benefit show

New Year's new NOIR-Publisher BLASTED HEATH

editor John Kenyon, publisher of GRIFT magazine

tempting telling tales of GRIMM TALES' fairytale crime-spree

Rex Pickett picks a surprise ...

plus . . . return of our pally, the great Randisi ...

AT THE BIJOU'S Harry B Sanderford ... Matthew Magda ...

intermittent intermissions by masters of the ceremonious ~

Kevin MadDog Michaels and Absolutely*Kate ...

Why ~ Who knows who's getting into the act? . . .

RAYMOND CHANDLER may be channeled!

ABSOLUTELY*KATE, BOGEY & PALLY PRODUCTIONS

THE SHADOWS OF OUR NOIR ~ AT THE BIJOU

TOMMYGUN MORALITY ~ By AJ Hayes . . . "NOIRETRY" AT THE BIJOU

2012-01-19T00:23:00.001-05:00

Lascivious Ladies and Genteel Gents,
we've just shown you

what NOIR-HAIKU looks like ... at

CRIME AT THE FIVE AND DIME

Now parley up a gander at what

noirtorious crime-guy writer 'round WebTowne,

AJ Hayes, calls "NOIRETRY".

I tell ya, the man's poetry in motion,

no matter what genre he's doin' the mess'around with.

This one though?

It's a sure shot ~

TOMMYGUN MORALITY

A L E S S O N
By ~ AJ Hayes

Powder stink and clinking brass.
Thompson gun is talking trash.
Tommy's speakin' high and right.
Pull down left, forget the sights.
Nicky Aces got the blues.
Forty-Fives are real bad news.

Nicky dancin' all Jack Flash
Falls flat forward. Breathes his last.
Thompson says what Nicky knew.
Just one thing that you don't do.
Just one line that you don't cross:
Ain't no stealin' from the boss.

Cold crimes for Jump-Jivin' January NOIR ~ AT THE BIJOU

IMAGES: "Tommy Gun's Garage" - Chicago Theatre Beat / J. Edgar Hoover - Newservice

Ms Veronica Lake playing at Dee Dee's Ténèbres à la Lumière

YEP. That's a tommy gun he's brandishing.

Here's lookin' at You,

hot-shot!

"There is no hunting like the hunting of man, and those who have hunted armed men long enough and liked it, never care for anything else thereafter."

"The world breaks everyone, and afterward, some are strong at the broken places."

And though I'm a Fitzgerald girl, one of my favourites from Papa Hemingway for our AJ ~

"The best way to find out if you can trust somebody is to trust them."

I trust the Fedora Fella and the shadows of Noir implicitly to catch us off guard. Sometimes, that's all it takes to tilt the measure of true class.

~ Absolutely*Kate

I'm gunning for that Hayes guy. We hear he's trouble.

"The cure for crime is not the electric chair,

but the high chair." ~ J. Edgar Hoover

AJ HAYES??

W A N T E D
for Entertaining Reasons

Yeah, we all kinda know this crime-writer, tough guy with a tender side he ain't gonna like me warblin' like a canary about out loud in public. He's the champion of all the authors we are. When I gotta glimpse of this piece featured in BLACK HEART MAGAZINE'S June, 2011 NOIR ISSUE, I couldn't resist the shared-promo heist. I jammed the roscoe in his button and said, 'Close your yap, bo, or I squirt metal.' Well, that wasn't exactly how it shook down, but AT THE BIJOU Noir-afficiandos, you got to share our Fedora Fella's mighty fine love for lingo and his debonair flair -- or is that flare -- of flingin' it.

During "THE SHADOWS OF OUR NOIR" swanky shows AT THE BIJOU, AJ's under the hot spotlights in BERTINO'S HEAD and a glimpse of our co-authoring novel, SPY-SIDE ECONOMICS. You'll dig him there, as you do this big lug all around WebTowne, playin' at the usual suspected joints: A Twist of Noir, Yellow Mama and Muse, Title Fights, Acorn Review, Flashshot, The Hard Nosed Sleuth, Shotgun Honey, Apollo’s Lyre and Black Heart Magazine’s Noir Issue.

PERFECT PIC from PERFECT PITCH OF DAZ

Recently, upcoming AT THE BIJOU's NoirStar Darren Sant's new knockout joint, NEAR TO THE KNUCKLE, featured our big Palooka's poem SURVIVING. I tell ya, it'd knock your socks off even if you were already barefoot. Click & See ~ you'll see.

Check out Black Heart Magazine when the Noir bug's nippin' atcha and you're dodgin' Chicago lightening. Rat-a-tat, rat-a-tat ~

Now kids . . .
slip into your ritzy BIJOU
red velvet seats
for a double feature
with a fave of your choosin'
from any of these
bright Brunos, Babes
and Boozehounds.

Here's lookin' atcha Bub.
You too, Toots.

THE SHADOWS OF OUR NOIR

Now playing ~

*AT THE BIJOU*

LINK delicious INFLUENCES of ~

OUR NOIR AUTHORS' "JUST DESSERTS" ~

LINKS TO OUR NOIR SO FAR ~

Kevin Michaels ... Graham Smith ... Julie Morrigan

Chris Rat-a-Tat Rhatigan ... Joe Grant ... AJ Hayes

Absolutely*Kate co-noveling with AJ Hayes

Paul Bishop ... Anthony Venutolo ... Eric Beetner

Matt Hilton . . . Jeanette Cheezum ... Nigel Bird

Zelda Martin . . . The GRIMM TALES Gang ...

Ian Ayris . . . Steve Miscandlon ... Helen Howell

Sal Buttaci . . . Kevin j Mackey

. . . and Absolutely*Kate so far . . . .

NOIRTORIOUS COMING ATTRACTIONS ~

Every-other-day or so, cold crimes . . . jump-jiving January's NEW NOIR

Paul Brazill ... Leon Jackson Davenport

BR Stateham ... Fiona Johnson ... Jack Bates

Luca Veste, on the record OFF THE RECORD

Julian Bramwell Slater ... Christina Vincent

Charlie Wade ... Darren Sant ...

Lily Childs ... Walter Conley

Carrie Clevenger ... Daniel Stine ...

Thomas Pluck and the Lost Children benefit show

New Year's new NOIR, Publisher BLASTED HEATH

editor John Kenyon, publisher of GRIFT magazine

with telling tales of GRIMM TALES' greats

Rex Pickett picks a surprise ...

plus . . . return of our pally, the great Randisi ...

AT THE BIJOU'S Harry B Sanderford ... Matthew Magda ...

intermittent intermissions by masters of the ceremonious ~

Kevin MadDog Michaels and Absolutely*Kate ...

Why ~ Who knows who's getting into the act? . . .

RAYMOND CHANDLER may be channeled!

ABSOLUTELY*KATE, BOGEY & PALLY PRODUCTIONS

Jump-Jivin' January's New Year, New NOIR ~ AT THE BIJOU

"CRIME AT THE FIVE AND DIME" ~ Noir Haiku by Author Kevin j Mackey ... AT THE BIJOU

2012-01-16T05:29:00.000-05:00

A star shines brightly / Lighting the darkness of noir / As Kevin scribbles:

CRIME AT THE FIVE AND DIME

A story told in Haiku-Noir

By ~ Kevin J Mackey

A dark Friday night
Lenny, looking for trouble
Didn't make it back

=========================

At the Five and Dime
Lenny - shakin' the place down
Word reaches the Boss

So Boss sends two goons
"I wanna talk to him - right?
Don't you kill him - yet"

------

They leave; she enters
"Sending guys? Send a woman"
She croons to the Boss

"If they don't work out
You go pick up the pieces"
He can hear her purr

------

The boys go in soft
Seems Lenny missed the memo
Unloads both barrels

"My turn now," she said
Lenny spun - he was too slow
He never saw her

------

The dame at the Dime?

It's a crime, mistaken late.

Sorry sisters' fate

"So, how'd it work out?"
She paces like a tiger
"Lenny? History"

"And that Five and Dime?"
"My sister," she said, "worked there
He did the wrong dame"

Cold crimes for Jump-Jivin' January NOIR ~ AT THE BIJOU

IMAGES: Vintage travel sign and 1940's Hairstyles

So one day, an author I admire tremendously mused how AT THE BIJOU shot out NOIR:

"Terrific post about Noir - I love the idea that it's a feeling rather than just a collection of words and scenes and characters.

As with all good writing, it's the sense of the place, the time, the situation that reaches the reader. And noir done well - well, what can I say that you ain't already heard?

Noir, here AT THE BIJOU - is how it's done."

I'm Absolutely*Kate and I challenged that lyrical Irishman, waxing eloquent in 'Frisco, to shadow his style to Our Noir.

He tendered me this note:

*Kate,

The idea of Noir Haiku seemed very odd to me, but I resolved to give it a . . . shot, as it were.

The first below came shortly after a 3-hour drive to the Russian River, and seemed like fun. So, maybe a few more of these Noir Haiku were possible.

And then . . . the idea that the first was but a story in summary and the rest . . . the rest . . . they could be the whole story, told a piece at a time, in Haiku.

At which point I went to bed. Don't be silly, Kevin!

Thanksgiving day - and the story presented itself. It doesn't have a title. In the finest of traditions, I'll leave that up to the publisher. I'm not calling the first a prologue, for that might mandate an epilogue! So, it remains a blurb, a summary, an intro to the unfolded story below it.

I hope you enjoy,

-KjM

I DO enjoy what Kevin Mackey created, more so due to the inner spark I sense he's lit. He's like that, that way. And I like that. A lot.

Our notes continued:

My dear *Kate,

I've been enjoying your NOIR festival AT THE BIJOU. You've assembled quite a set of writers. My noir haiku are fun and will be a novelty in mix - but the stories you've collected are really good. I'm glad to read ('hear' even, the voices are so clear) such noir. It assures the style hasn't gone out of…style.

My best to you. You are a gift to the writers you showcase.

- KjM

I know he's customarily kind. I smiled. He got to me. I wished to know more. Wouldn't you?

Mr Mackey, what's the best gift YOU ever received?

- KjM: A new group of, likely to be, lifelong friends almost two decades ago in the Midwest. That, for sure. And a second, if I may indulge, the memories conjured by the unexpected arrival of a re-published schoolbook, of poetry. I am fortunate in my siblings.

A*K: I believe many are fortunate, in the knowing of how you grace lives encountered. What then, good sir, is the best you ever gave?

- KjM: Perhaps best I not say

out loud in a crowded theatre.

A*K: Touche, man of depth and character. How then does one go about gifting KjM Writings for greater happiness in a world that needs more happiness gifted about?

- KjM: A story for children: At Amazon, Ribbon in the Darkness also available as a Barnes & Noble Nook book

Five short stories - not for children: At Amazon, Sins of the Father - and other stories or as a Barnes & Noble Nook book. Five short stories digging through the darker sides of relationships - and the far-reaching impact we can have on one another.

Poetry and Photographs, hopefully in harmony: Haiku - Through a Lens at Amazon, or as a Barnes & Noble Nook book. Those who follow my tweets, or have seen my Facebook page, know that I am fond of haiku. The small, beautiful, Japanese poetry style forms the vast bulk of my Twitter activity. From time to time I have included photos of the world around me, pairing them with haiku.

These fine books may be found internationally as well at Amazon sites in the UK, Germany, France, Spain and Italy.

Little by little some of my stories, and some of my poetry, have begun creeping out into the wider world. That they have done so is a source of great pleasure to me. That they bring pleasure to others, to readers, is an even greater source of pleasure.

The first of KjM's novels will be ready for the world in the first quarter of 2012. More to follow - news (and, perhaps, novels ... hmm, see below).

KjM - on the web

Writing keeps me awake - that's as much as one can ask

Other of my work can be found right here AT THE BIJOU and on the web at the links on my blog, KjM - on the web. My thanks to those who've been kind enough to feature my stories.

A*K: The following is a sneak preview co-authoring tour de force. I am fortunate to be writing with Mr Mackey a novel of social-political intrigue, spanning sensations of the deep South up to New York City's high life. Each chapter delights us the more as we listen to our characters, learning to decipher and discover their secrets...

THE 1976 SOCIETY

A Duet in the Key of C

~ By Absolutely*Kate and Kevin J. Mackey

A*K: Looking forward to chaptering our Carolina Beatrice Templeton character and her cohorts the more with you Kevin -- but you're centerstage AT THE BIJOU now. You're looking uptown downright dapper ~

Will you tell our red-velvet seated audience what you would like them to remember about the Author you see yourself being?

KjM: A storyteller, from a land filled with storytellers and storytelling, in whose stories readers could get lost - and find themselves.

A*K: Will you share something inside which you've never told a full-fledged audience of readers and fellow classy authors in a ritzy theatre, where the single spot holds you in a pool of light that just keeps glimmerin' . . .

KjM: Late at night, the time when all the big questions seem to get asked . . . sometimes there is an answer.

Absolutely*Kate: There seems ever an answer when we surround ourselves with those who truly take our minds the higher. Kevin Mackey and AT THE BIJOU Authors of the Shadows of Our Noir do raise spirits and the bar, where words speak soft and whisper loud their own brands of excellence. Grace o'my thanks readers, friends, colleagues.

~ Absolutely*Kate

My dear Ms. *Kate,

I don't know if you've ever run across this poem, or the poetry of Gerard Manley Hopkins, but my sister sent me a column of poetry (actually, they've - strangely enough - recently republished the poetry book we used in High School, and that's what she sent me.)

Looking through it, and fondly remembering how I immersed myself in it while in school (one of the few school books I took real time with back then) I ran across "The Windhover" by the above mentioned poet.

Reading it, I was reminded of your playfulness/power with/over language.

See if you recognize yourself in this link.

My best to you, with much affection,

- KjM

Oh Kevin, keep that breathless charm,

won't you please arrange it, for you recharge us?

~ Absolutely*Kate

and our ritzy staff

AT THE BIJOU

"Where Writers' Raves are Readers' Faves"

THE BIG SLEEP IS WIDE AWAKE AT THE BIJOU

BOGIE: Baby, tell the kids to stick around

BACALL: Stick around Kids.

BOGIE: I love when you mess around with the script.

BACALL: Imagination is the highest kite one can fly.

BOGIE: HERE'S LOOKIN' AT

NOIR, AT THE BIJOU

LINK delicious INFLUENCES of ~

OUR NOIR AUTHORS' "JUST DESSERTS" ~

LINKS TO OUR NOIR SO FAR ~

Kevin Michaels ... Graham Smith ... Julie Morrigan

Chris Rat-a-Tat Rhatigan ... Joe Grant ... AJ Hayes

Absolutely*Kate co-noveling with AJ Hayes

Paul Bishop ... Anthony Venutolo ... Eric Beetner

Matt Hilton . . . Jeanette Cheezum ... Nigel Bird

Zelda Martin . . . The GRIMM TALES Gang ...

Ian Ayris . . . Steve Miscandlon ... Helen Howell

Sal Buttaci . . . and Absolutely*Kate so far . . . .

NOIRTORIOUS COMING ATTRACTIONS ~

Every-few-days, cold crimes . . . jump-jiving January's NEW NOIR

Paul Brazill ... Leon Jackson Davenport

BR Stateham ... Fiona Johnson ... Jack Bates

Luca Veste, on the record OFF THE RECORD

Julian Bramwell Slater ... Christina Vincent

Charlie Wade ... Darren Sant ...

Lily Childs ... Walter Conley

Carrie Clevenger ... Daniel Stine ...

Thomas Pluck and the Lost Children benefit show

New Year's new NOIR, Publisher BLASTED HEATH

editor John Kenyon, publisher of GRIFT magazine

with telling tales of GRIMM TALES' greats

Rex Pickett picks a surprise ...

plus . . . return of our pally, the great Randisi ...

AT THE BIJOU'S Harry B Sanderford ... Matthew Magda ...

& intermittent intermission intermezzo by masters of the ceremonious ~

Kevin MadDog Michaels and Absolutely*Kate ...

Why ~ Who knows who's getting into the act? . . .

RAYMOND CHANDLER may be channeled!

ABSOLUTELY*KATE, BOGEY & PALLY PRODUCTIONS

Jump-Jivin' January's New Year, New NOIR ~ AT THE BIJOU

NOIR, AT THE BIJOU presents ~ "ONE FOR THE BOOKS" ~ By Salvatore Buttaci

2012-01-12T03:01:00.000-05:00

O N E F O R T H E B O O K S

By ~ Salvatore Buttaci

Trying to keep both my eyes private, I let the nightmare I’m riding whinny in the gray fields of Dream Town. Nostrils flaring––mine or the mare’s?––I toss and turn till the damn phone in the real world punches holes in my sleep.

“Yeah,” says my cotton mouth.

“Crane, sorry about the time.”

You’ve been sorry before, Hotcakes.

“Your winning ticket’s dead.”

“Booth?”

“Booth. Dead as the proverbial doornail. One nasty hole through the temple.”

I scratch my forehead. Yawn.

“Hawkins gonna pay you a visit. He’ll want to know what you know about your client Booth. Which is pretty much nothing, so get your pants on.”

Walter Johnson Booth. President of Booth Industries. “Name your price, Mr. Crane.” That Booth. Only a week ago in my office he came to me looking grim. Desperate. I thought to myself, Okay, the Brooklyn Dodgers won their first World Series yesterday and he’s one pissed-off Yankees fan. I frame the smiling, game-winning pitcher Johnny Podres in my head and together we both toss back a scotch for Brooklyn. Then I give a quick look around at my dingy office, dress down my face into a scowl of disgust. The pastel-green peeling wall, the chipped desk, the very un-Persian rug fraying at our feet.

I throw a glance at Hotcakes, Betty-Grable gams crossed, dictation pad on her kneecaps. My price? What the hell.

“Thirty Big Ones, as in $30K’s,” I tell him. Maybe it’s the drink I toasted with Podres making me dumb-headed.

He ups the ante. “Forty, Mr. Crane,” then offers his hand to shake on it. I wait for that same hand to sign the check.

Booth walks to the door. “Find her,” he says without unlocking his stone jaw.

A week beating the bushes uncovering not even a hint of a rattler’s hiss and feeling damn guilty about the easy 40K, I get this wake-up call Booth is dead. Mrs. Crane––Ava Dell Crane––was still missing. Maybe at large. For a short second I miss the old days in the 40’s when I was Horvath Blatsmore, a Woolworth’s Five-and-Dime store manager in Hackensack, New Jersey. Bored to the bone. Hungry for the fireworks of a life on the edge. The cold-steel feel against my palm. But it was 1955 and the twinge of nostalgia was just that––a twinge. Horvath Blatsmore and I wave a mental goodbye in the Woolworth’s parking lot.

When the phone rings again minutes later, I pick it up. “Crane here.” I can hear someone breathing. “Crane here,” I repeat, then do a little breathing of my own as I inhale and exhale on my seventh Chesterfield of the new day.

I keep the phone plastered at my ear. If a private eye is anything, he’s patient. I hang in and wait. I light another from a nearly empty pack when I hear a voice soft as morning fog say, “I didn’t kill my husband.”

“Ava Dell,” I say without a question mark, like we’re old school chums from Hackensack High.

Now Booth’s widow sniffles back tears. Patience, Crane. Patience. Finally, in spurts and pauses, she lets it all out. “Mr. Crane, I know my husband hired you to track me down. He said if I ever ran off…Mr. Crane, my husband was a dreadful man!” Pause.

“Dreadful how?” I say, yanking us free of silence.

“Oh, he had money. Rockefeller? Walter could buy and sell ten Rockefellers! But I never saw a Mercury-dime of it. He paid me in black-and-blue. Bruises. All over me except where neighbors could see and wonder. Longer pause. “But they’ll fade. Someday.”

The gumshoe in me flashes “MOTIVE” in huge neon lights. Ava gets rid of Walter. No more beatings. Goodbye fear. A pocketbook the size of Fort Knox to help her forget.

Jump in, Crane. The water’s fine.

“Okay, you leave him. He hires me to find you and bring you back home. No luck there. Instead, you find me. Is that right, Mrs. Booth?”

Silence. Maybe Ava nods.

“Now the blue boys want answers. Who put the bullet in Booth’s head? Who was most likely to gain from a Booth stone-cold dead? Now I pause, then add, “Afraid that’d be you, Ava Dell.”

I return the dead receiver to its cradle. Case closed. Now Hawkins at the precinct can work his investigative magic, track down the elusive widow with a gun and give justice its due.

What the hell… Another round of rings. This time I wait for Mrs. Booth or Hotcakes or Hawkins to lead off. A little silence from me.

“Mr. Crane?”

“Don’t hang up on me again, Mrs. Booth. Where are you?” In my head I’ve been asking that question for a week now. “Where are you, Ava Dell? Make it easy for yourself.”

Outside my flat the morning sun pokes its yellow in between the blinds. The Irish fruit-and-vegetable vendor stands beside his truck and greets the new day with a hollering roll- call brogue of the new day’s specials. “Watermelons, peaches, Concord grapes, potatoes.”

“He was having an affair,” Mrs. Booth says, twice sidestepping my question of her whereabouts. “A big-eyed blond who wanted all his money.”

“How’s that?”

“I was hiding from Walter, but from her too. Me, dead, she marries him. Then Walter, dead, she gets it all.”

I’m confused. Booth paid me $40 G’s to find her. Why? So he can kill her?

“He wanted you back,” I tell her. “Could it be he loved you? I mean he paid me a bundle to…”

Ava Dell practically growls out, “They wanted me dead!”

“So why was your husband murdered? What you’re saying don’t make sense. Only you as his widow stood to rake in his millions. No contracts out there to say different. Come up with a scenario I can believe in.”

Ava Dell isn’t done. Now the two of us are puffing cigs into our mouthpieces. And speaking of mouthpieces, this dame was gonna need a damn good one.

“Maybe Walter missed beating up women,” Ava says. “Maybe his new punching bag wasn’t up to taking it, money or not.”

I scratch my forehead again. Lame-brain Crane. Where the hell was Hawkins?

We stop the chit-chat this time with quick goodbyes.

The phone’s gonna ring again, I convince myself. I frown and smile when it does.

“Crane.”

“Hawkins.”

“Yeah, I got the news already. Big Bucks Booth’s dead. The widow’s been calling me a few times since five this morning. We shot the bull. Says she ain’t the gun.”

“She’s not. We got witnesses. How easy this gonna be, Crane?

So Ava Dell was on the up and up. Brooklyn’s 66th Precinct wonder boy Burt Hawkins cleared her. He had the real deal down at headquarters.

“Who?”

“The killer?” Hawkins asks.

I nod.

“Booth’s new squeeze. Big-busted blond named Chrissy Lincoln.”

Crap this crazy never happened at Woolworth‘s. First the Dodgers upset the odds and take the Series from New York. Then my phone makes a play for most phone calls on a single Thursday in October for the Guinness Book of Records 1955. Now for the crowning kabosh: Lincoln shoots Booth! What the hell was next?

At last a quiet moment. A Chesterfield clamped between my lips, I think of the Bahamas. Bronze beauties strutting their assets on the hot sand. I think, “Crane, Private Eye” stenciled on the glass door of my new triple-sized office.

I tap the butt of my .38 Special sitting snug in my shoulder holster. It’s there to save my life. Then I reach into my side jacket pocket and run my fingers over my bank book, more than $40 Grand fat, and visions of sugarplums dance in my head.

Cold crimes for Jump-Jivin' January NOIR ~ AT THE BIJOU

JUST WHO IS THIS JUBILANT SALVATORE,
AND WHY DO WE READ HIM?

Salvatore Amico M. Buttaci is a retired English teacher who has been writing since childhood. By his own jovial admission, Sal's an obsessive-compulsive writer, whose work continues to proliferate widely. His first published work, an essay entitled “Presidential Timber,” appeared in the Sunday New York News when he was sixteen. Since then his poems, letters, short stories, and articles have been widely published in The New York Times, Newsday, U.S.A. Today, The Writer, Writer's Digest, The National Enquirer, Christian Science Monitor, Cats Magazine, Thinking Ten, Pen 10, Six Sentences and elsewhere in America and overseas.

Buttaci is the former editor of New Worlds Unlimited, and of Poetidings, the newsletter of the New Jersey Poetry Society, Inc. Along those stanzas, Sal was the 2007 recipient of the $500 Cyber-Wit Poetry Award. He has lectured on Sicilian-American pride and conducts poetry workshops and readings. I salute Sal heartily as the finest 'Godfather of Authors' aboard the soon sailing HARBINGER*33, manifesting destinies. His spirit and encouragement is the stuff of legends and laughter. One can see the twinkle in Sal's eye come through just in how he scribes a note your way. Inspirationally, romantically and oh so enjoyably, our bountiful Buttaci lives in West Virginia with his sweetheart of a wife, Sharon.

Ms Sophia Loren
backstage AT THE BIJOU
when she heard her great
paison Salvatore was
selling books, sexy.

“I think the quality of sexiness comes from within. It is something that is in you or it isn't and it really doesn't have much to do with breasts or thighs or the pout of your lips.”

~ Sophia Loren, knowing sex sells

. . . wishing to soar Sal's sales

Not sure what you'll say, if you judge Sal's book by its cover but the bountiful Buttaci will come right up to you on the streetcorner and ask you, "Say, why haven't you bought my book yet?"

You can't have Sal's pride without having Sal's sensational successes with the manner words move soul:

Sal's latest collection of short-short fiction, 200 Shorts, is available in book and Kindle editions at Amazon.

In 2001, Pudding House Publications included his work in the Greatest Hits Series with his chapbook, Greatest Hits: 1970-2000. Buttaci's book, A Family of Sicilians … is available, where else?

At the ever enterprising Buttaci Publishing.

SAL'S INFLUENCES?

Three authors who made an impression on what he calls

The Buttaci Writing Style are ~

Ray Bradbury . . . Frederic Brown . . . Philip Jose Farmer

Ciao, grazie mille Salvatore!

Ti voglio bene ~

~ Absolutemente*Katrina

and our ritzy staff

AT THE BIJOU

"Where Writers' Raves are Readers' Faves"

THE BIG SLEEP IS WIDE AWAKE AT THE BIJOU

BOGIE: Baby, tell the kids to stick around

BACALL: Stick around Kids.

BOGIE: I love when you mess around with the script.

BACALL: Imagination is the highest kite one can fly.

BOGIE: HERE'S LOOKIN' AT

NOIR, AT THE BIJOU

LINK delicious INFLUENCES of ~

OUR NOIR AUTHORS' "JUST DESSERTS" ~

LINKS TO OUR NOIR SO FAR ~

Kevin Michaels ... Graham Smith ... Julie Morrigan

Chris Rat-a-Tat Rhatigan ... Joe Grant ... AJ Hayes

Absolutely*Kate co-noveling with AJ Hayes

Paul Bishop ... Anthony Venutolo ... Eric Beetner

Matt Hilton . . . Jeanette Cheezum ... Nigel Bird

Zelda Martin . . . The GRIMM TALES Gang ...

Ian Ayris . . . Steve Miscandlon ... Helen Howell

and Absolutely*Kate so far . . . .

NOIRTORIOUS COMING ATTRACTIONS ~

Every-other-day cold crimes . . . jump-jiving January's New*Year NEW NOIR

Paul Brazill ... Kevin J Mackey ... Leon Jackson Davenport

BR Stateham ... Fiona Johnson ... Jack Bates ...

Luca Veste, on the record OFF THE RECORD

Julian Bramwell Slater ... Christina Vincent ... Charlie Wade ...

Darren Sant ... Aidan Fritz ... Lily Childs ...

Thomas Pluck and the Lost Children benefit show

New Year, new NOIR, Publisher BLASTED HEATH

editor John Kenyon, publisher of GRIFT magazine

with telling tales of GRIMM TALES' greats

Rex Pickett picks a surprise ...

plus . . . return of our pally, the great Randisi ...

AT THE BIJOU'S Harry B Sanderford ... Matthew Magda ...

plus intermittent intermission pizazz by masters of the ceremonious ~

Kevin MadDog Michaels and Absolutely*Kate ...

Why ~ Who knows who's getting into the act? . . .

RAYMOND CHANDLER may be channeled!

ABSOLUTELY*KATE, BOGEY & PALLY PRODUCTIONS

Jump-Jivin' January's New Year, New NOIR AT THE BIJOU

New*Year, NEW NOIR ~ AT THE BIJOU presents ~ CALLING CARD, Helen Howell's Debut

2012-01-04T17:11:00.001-05:00

C A L L I N G C A R D

By ~ Helen A. Howell

I'd come down from New York to Chicago some weeks back. I had a score to settle with a certain thug. Not that he'd know me from a rotten apple. But I certainly knew him. He'd kicked in the face of my kid brother just because he didn't like his tone. Yeah, you could say I had a score to settle, but it wouldn't be easy. I swigged back my whiskey. It was the good stuff, sometimes hard to find in these Prohibition times. But the mobsters had it made, their clubs could supply it if you had the dough. Sharp prices but well, a fella's gotta drink hasn't he. I tapped out a cigarette and lit it. The waitress, as they liked to be known, a blond with large peaches, small hips and ruby red lips, hovered at my table.

"Can I get you anything honey?"

I took a drag on my butt and blew out a cloud of smoke as I eyed her up; had I time, was she worth it? Nah, I didn't need the distraction. "Just bring me a bottle of the good stuff doll."

She leaned down low, those peaches round smooth, heaved rhythmically with her breathing, and whispered in my ear, "Are you sure I can't offer you anything else?"

"Nice, but not now, just bring me the drink, maybe later." I slapped her on the rump, and she giggled as she walked away. These broads, read 'em like a book. The band in the corner were playing a Louis Armstrong number -- jazz was it right now and the Chocolate & Cream Club was one of the best known on the North side of Chicago.

The waitress came back carrying a bottle and a fresh glass. "Here's your drink big boy."

I threw some sugar on the table, she picked up the bills, pouted those full lips, winked and wiggled off back in the direction of the bar. Hookers . . . I lit another cigarette and poured myself another shot. I pushed the clean glass to one side while I waited for my meet to arrive.

I figured the only way I was going to get near my target was to join up with the mob. I tried to get into Capone's circle. That was where I really wanted to be, but Scarface was not easy to reach. I poured another shot and tossed it back. The heat hit my throat, so smooth, warm as it slid down. I clenched my teeth as I thought about Capone, stubbed out my butt and immediately lit up another. I'd heard that Al was worth around sixty million clams, made rich by the blood of others. Fucking Italian. The great Capone, the czar of Chicago, a finger in every pie; gambling, prostitution, bootlegging and still trying to take over everyone else, spreading like a cancer out of control. I never got a foot in the door, so my next choice had to be his rival Bugs Moran. The Irish might be tough but they were ready to recruit if they liked the look of you, and they liked the look of me.

I filled my glass again, checked my watch. Where is that sonofabitch? He's half an hour late already. Another ho stopped by; thin dress wrapped around her ample body, sheer enough to see through, tits worse for wear. "Buy me a drink honey? I can be nice."

I threw a bill in her direction, "Get lost doll." I'd need more than a bottle of this whiskey before I'd let her be nice to me.

"Screw you." She took the bill and wandered off.

Any other time I would have slapped her big mouth, but I didn't need the attention on me, not now, not till I had this job down. I spotted Moran's man coming across the room. I could tell who he was by his threads. He looked the cat's meow, with his two toned spats and silk suit. Fucking Irish, who are they kidding. He arrived at my table, pulled out a chair and sat down. I held the bottle of whiskey and nodded towards him, "Drink?"

"Sure." He pulled out a silver cigarette case, opened it and slipped a coffin nail between his lips, then snapped the case shut and placed it back in his pocket. I struck a match and held it out to him. He bent forward and sucked hard on his cigarette. Leaning back he blew out a stream of smoke and said, "Pour that fucking whiskey."

I did as he said and pushed the glass his way. He picked it up and swilled it down then pushed it back at me. I filled it again, slid it over to him, and poured myself one. I lit up another butt and leaned back in my chair. You have to show these thugs that you're not scared, if you can't do that, you're dead. I took a long slow drag on my cigarette as I waited for him to speak. He stared back at me. Maybe he was trying to see if I would falter in some way. Like I said, fucking Irish.

He picked up his drink, swallowed it in one go and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. "I'm Danny, but most know me as The Doctor on account of this 'ere." He reached down to his belt and pulled out a double bladed knife with a long brass handle.

"Nice." I carried on smoking.

"I'm showing you this, so you know that if you cross Bugs I'll be paying you a visit."

"I'll be sure to remember that."

"Let's get down to the business then. This is how it plays out. Tonight Capone is transporting a truck load of hooch. Bugs wants you and two others to hijack it. Capone uses drivers that don't carry, so the whole thing should be duck soup."

"Sounds like a piece of cake." I held his stare.

"The driver and the others are to be chilled, you understand?"

"Sure bump 'em off. I got it."

"You carrying heat?"

"I got a .38." I tapped my hip.

"The other two will have shot guns, maybe you should have one too."

"I prefer my 38." I screwed my cigarette into the tin ashtray and picked up my glass.

"O'Reilly and Doyle will pick you up outside here in another hour. You get this right and you're in. I'll be in touch."

"Oh I'll get it right, all right."

He held out his glass for another refill, I topped up both glasses. We nodded and downed our drinks. Then he pushed back the chair and strode out of the club. I had an hour to kill, I looked around for the blond, and signalled her over.

"Hi honey." Her shape was tantalising and those red lips so inviting.

"How much?"

"One hundred bucks."

"You'd better be special for that price."

"I can be anything you want." She took my hand and led me towards one of the back rooms.

An hour later standing outside, I waited for Moran's men. I didn't have to wait long. They pulled up in a Lincoln. I jumped in and the car sped off.

"I'm O'Reilly, this is Doyle." He indicated to the driver.

"Frank," I nodded at him.

"The Doctor filled you in?"

"Yep he did."

"Good."

We traveled the rest of the way in silence. The car drove off the road and pulled in among the trees. It was nearly midnight. O'Reilly and Doyle jumped out.

"Come on, we have to pull a log out into the road. How else will we get them to stop?" O'Reilly gestured with his head that I should follow. Together the three of us pulled out a fair sized log and laid it across the road.

Then Doyle went to the boot, opened it and lifted out two shot guns. Handing one to O'Reilly he looked at me. "You carrying?"

"Sure." I took out my .38 and waved it at him.

We didn't have to wait for long before the noise of the truck could be heard. It approached and pulled to a halt just before the log. The door opened and a man jumped down. O'Reilly sprung out followed by Doyle and myself.

"Hands up. You others get out of the cab if you know what's good for you." Doyle waved his shot gun at them. They scrambled down, hands raised.

"Don't shoot, we've no guns," called one of them.

"Shut your yap," yelled O'Reilly.

"You know who this shipment belongs to? You'd be crazy to take it."

"I said shut it. Capone won't know what hit him. But we can't leave no witnesses." O'Reilly's finger twitched on the trigger. I could see he was anxious to blow 'em away."

"That's right," I said, "no witnesses." I turned and fired my .38 into O'Rielly, then Doyle. They didn't know what hit 'em." Then I turned back to Capone's drivers. "You be sure to tell Mr. Capone who rubbed out Moran's men for him. The names Frank, Frank Tate. Now take him his hooch."

Those men hurriedly moved the log, scrambled back into the cab of the truck and took off so fast that smoke came off their tires. I figured that this was one calling card that Scarface couldn't ignore. Perhaps I would get close to him after all -- I still had that score to settle . . . .

Cold crimes for Jump-Jivin' January NOIR ~ AT THE BIJOU

"Now Helen, our good Miss Kate absolutely asked you a few questions a few weeks ago. My notes are crisp. My notes are cool. Your answers though - they show you're nobody's fool."

"Cary, Cary, Cary, Kate thought of absolutely everything to have YOU doing my interrogating. Remind me to bake her up something special for the New Year. Right now I'll feast on how delicious YOU are. Mmmmm, Mmmmmm."

HH Wait, you may be gorgeous and take my breath away, but Cary, Cary, Cary, if Kate has absolutely not shared us anything in promotional flair, it's to grab the gusto of a shameless plug when the spotlights are dancin' all over our glimmery Opening Nights *AT THE BIJOU*. My brain is working again, I want the folks I've been sitting with in our rowdy Noir audience to have a handy link to my writing blog ~ helen-scribbles . . . where I share snippets of my writings.

CG  "Ah, that's the old redhead, no bitterness, no recrimination, just a good swift left to the jaw. So Helen, what's the best holiday gift you ever received?"

HH  "Philadelphia Story? Oh, you're a teaser Mr G. One year though, there was a small emerald ring I had looked at in the jeweler's window lovingly, knowing it was just a dream— my son surprised me with it as a Christmas gift. What made it the best, is not that it was an emerald ring, but that he knew how much I liked it and got it for me."

CG   "He's quite sensitive about you - he's going to watch us like a hawk. What was the best you ever gave?"

HH   "Notorious? Is that where you re-swiped that line Mr gorgeous G? You know Kate absolutely calls that Nigel chap Noirtorious. But I think that's been 'cause he's changing cue cards around backstage. Oh, my answer -- That would have to be fun and laughter topped off with a large dollop of love, Cary."

CG   "What a ridiculous way to start a day. Well, I hope it doesn't get any worse. Just pulling your leg Helen. Our Absolutely*Kate dared me to sneak in as many of my good lines as I could whenever you waxed eloquent. I'm holding up just dapper, don't you think? What, where or how does one gift dazzlin' HELEN HOWELL Writings for greater happiness in a world that certainly needs it?"

HH    "Monkey Business? That was a tricky one. But you and the vast *AT THE BIJOU* audiences can find all my scribblings of Flash Fiction, Drabbles poems etc. at helenscribbles.com."

CG    "The last person who said that to me was Archie Leach just a week before he cut his throat. That one was a stretch, but you stretched two adept plugs into your site Helen. Good Girl. Now do your song and dance Toots. You're centerstage *AT THE BIJOU*. You're dressed rather splendid by the way. All that glitter. All that glam. Our director, Absolutely*Kate's introduced you and handed you the mike. Tell our red-velvet seated audience the one liner bio you wish them to remember about the author you see yourself being . . ."

HH     ✿•*¨`*• "She writes, she reads and she's versatile •*¨`*•✿ And was your last line from His Gal Friday???"

CG     "Very good Helen. You got another one correct. Who helps with your material, by the way? And, how does a girl like you get to be a girl like you?”

HH    "I never believed I could be a writer, let alone think that anyone would find my stories entertaining, compelling and worth reading. I hope I can continue to entertain you, Kate and our assembled audiences with my writing . . . . . . . . uh . . . North by Northwest?"

CG    "Well give the girl a cupie doll! And Helen, will you give a New*Year's wish prophecy to come true for all that are now reading you, oh lovely author whom *AT THE BIJOU* is lucky as loaded dice to know? Go right ahead little lady. Make our Katie prouder than she already is to know you. You can’t be a true person, or a true woman, Helen, until you have learned to have some regard for human frailty.”

HH     "I wish that words may flow freely into all your lives in such a way as to brighten your day, captivate your hearts and thrill or chill you to the bone — entertaining you in a way that only writing can. How'd I do Mr Grant? And -- Philadelphia Story again?"

CG    "Bingo! Now gal, let's scoot. Our pal Bogey is giving me menacing brow wriggles and hates to be upstaged. You did swell gal, just swell for your splendid debut *AT THE BIJOU*."

"Holy hot shot, Helen, I couldn't have put better words into Cary's spontaneous scripting if I tried. I'm smiling though. I can still remember you sneakin' back stage and tellin' me you'd have jitters comin' up on stage with all our regulars and other roustabout ringers. Darlin' tough broad. You wrote quite a tale for us all . . . AND showed your savvy in cinematic acclaim with any ol' movie star who walks in the BIJOU door. Harry though is a little miffed. Seems Cary took Harry's favorite chair. The next ruckus you hear could be testosterone . . . "

LINK delicious INFLUENCES of ~

OUR NOIR AUTHORS' "JUST DESSERTS" ~

LINKS TO OUR NOIR SO FAR ~

Kevin Michaels ... Graham Smith ... Julie Morrigan

Chris Rat-a-Tat Rhatigan ... Joe Grant ... AJ Hayes

Absolutely*Kate co-noveling with AJ Hayes

Paul Bishop ... Anthony Venutolo ... Eric Beetner

Matt Hilton . . . Jeanette Cheezum ... Nigel Bird

Zelda Martin . . . The GRIMM TALES Gang ...

Ian Ayris . . . Steve Miscandlon

and Absolutely*Kate so far . . . .

NOIRTORIOUS COMING ATTRACTIONS ~

Every-other-day cold crimes . . . jump-jiving January's New*Year NEW NOIR

Paul Brazill ... Kevin J Mackey ... Leon Jackson Davenport

BR Stateham ... Fiona Johnson ... Jack Bates ...

Luca Veste, on the record 'bout OFF THE RECORD

Sal Buttaci ... Julian Bramwell Slater ...

Christina Vincent ... Charlie Wade ...

Darren Sant ... Aidan Fritz ... Lily Childs ...

Thomas Pluck and the Lost Children benefit show

New Year, new NOIR, Publisher BLASTED HEATH

editor John Kenyon, publisher of GRIFT magazine

with stories of GRIMM TALES' greats

Rex Pickett picks a surprise ...

plus . . . return of our pally, the great Randisi ...

AT THE BIJOU'S Harry B Sanderford ... Matthew Magda ...

plus intermittent intermission pizazz by masters of the ceremonious ~

Kevin MadDog Michaels and Absolutely*Kate ...

Why ~ Who knows who's getting into the act? . . .

RAYMOND CHANDLER may be channeled!

ABSOLUTELY*KATE, BOGEY & PALLY PRODUCTIONS

Jump-Jivin' January's New Year, New NOIR AT THE BIJOU

~ AT THE BIJOU ~

"ENCORE" ~ By Christina Vincent ... *The Shadows of Our Noir* ~ AT THE BIJOU

Christina Vincent

TOMMYGUN MORALITY ~ By AJ Hayes . . . "NOIRETRY" AT THE BIJOU

"CRIME AT THE FIVE AND DIME" ~ Noir Haiku by Author Kevin j Mackey ... AT THE BIJOU

KjM - on the web

NOIR, AT THE BIJOU presents ~ "ONE FOR THE BOOKS" ~ By Salvatore Buttaci

New*Year, NEW NOIR ~ AT THE BIJOU presents ~ CALLING CARD, Helen Howell's Debut

"ENCORE" ~ By Christina Vincent ... The Shadows of Our Noir ~ AT THE BIJOU