CHARLIE + MABEL ~ By Absolutely*Kate for a romantic mother

I wrote this for my loving and romantic mother several months after she lost her fella and I lost my father.  Less than two months later, I said farewell to her for the last time as well.

They're together again  . . . loving up where the stars know greater lights, 

but I thought I'd rerun it for her Mother's Day,

'cause givin' your Mom pleasure is such a darn good thing.

Here goes ~   

 CHARLIE 

  +  

MABEL

By ~ Absolutely*Kate

~~~~~~~~~~

Act One

~~~~~~~~~~

Charlie was a sailor when his ship came in. He whistled low his favorite tunes. He heaped high his fondest hopes, back and forth, forth and back on the  first dogwatch from 4 to 6 pm when land was sited. It had been a journey to remember, and he was on a journey to discover, a journey towards all the what nexts a man who revered life could reasonably shove into a navy blue duffle bag.

Charlie loved life, people and a real swell gal named Mabel . . . but he didn't know that yet. He didn't know Mabel yet. And Mabel thought she was in love with Tommy. Tommy however, was infatuated with his new Nash Rambler convertible and would be not at all pleased later that evening when Mabel's chocolate shake would dribble down chrome and sheen in an unfortunate A&W car hop delivery scene. As Mabel's sense and sensitivities were on a subconscious quest for a man of gumption who loved life to join up with as a forever loving wife, back home 'round about midnight, she would pick up a pen and cross Tommy and his materialism grumbles clean outtasite off her Mr Wonderful list.

But back to fathoming Charlie. Peering from the edge of the pier into a variegated dusk strata settling the aura of the western horizon, he passed his hand o'er dark waves upon waves of thick black hair, swiveling tall torso to advantage his best vantage back at the USS Constant. Charlie's instincts knew when it mattered to hold moment to memory, indelible as Dale Carnegie would someday reinforce the technique in him . . . but not yet. The trusty barnacled ship had been this first mate's fate for a pack of years, the formative ones, the ones that made a lanky boy from a small city a bigger man of his own reckoning. Charlie's inner barometer attuned genuine readings of sensational smiles and the solid gaze knowing eyes bespoke. The insight of his sight saw the best within ordinary folk. Even when they didn't see it, Charlie brought it out of them the more, from purposeful or chance encounters.

Mabel would be a chance encounter, that look-up-eyes-lock sparkanddazzle across a dance floor, but we're not hearing that music play . . . yet. A week or so of back pocket memories, while whistlin' Glenn Miller and hummin' Cole Porter, would transcend both their busy lives until a non-committal stroll on a lazy Sunday afternoon past a secluded portion of Perry Beach would open Charlie's wandering eyes to wonders smack dab before him. We haven't made it there yet either. Besides, Mabel had months to go, dating Roger next, a cultured college catch who had come a'courting. Roger was destined to become a pilot, a rich man and a happy Hawaiian home owner. Some destiny's distances are too far to travel for a close-to-home Midwest gal like Mabel, so, dreamer that she was, she'd still wave off Roger's hankerings with her best embroidered hanky, and they'd slowly part fast friends.

~~~~~~~~~~

    

Charlie turned from his reverie at sea to see how the night might beckon. Wilma Jean, a local siren who had taken an immediate liking to the profile she'd seen touseling, decided to beckon. With a tousel like that, there could be gobs of fun to his tussle too. A femme fatale with Look Ahead flashing signal lights to her peepers was willowy Wilma Jean, if you know what I mean. The night was a bambino and time was on her side. Sorry to say, fresh lines weren't.

"Hey Sailor, new in town?"  

No missed-opportunity jerk, Charlie turned with a smirk. He caught the condition her tossed grin was in, heard the sultry giggle accompanying her wriggle and formed a contention about her intention. Oooh boy though, did Wilma Jean wriggle. It was shimmy on parade, just standing there. It was a homer in the 9th with bases loaded and DiMaggio taunting. It was how contour tight-skirted a waist and how cleavage graced why gorgeous breastsare elevated.

"Is that an opportunity in your pocket, or are you just glad to see me?"

  

Charlie chuckled. This dame was a looker alright, but some of the other qualities his journey had him yearning for, like substance and grace, talking long into the night or being on the same wavelength that silently spoke cross currents . . . just weren't all on board. But the night was a bambino, and he was hungry. "Saaaay, you know where a guy can get a good spaghetti dinner in this ol' town?"
 
Wilma Jean led Charlie to DellaRosa's. Della herself warned Charlie as she served a magnificent antipasto and the best house straw-basket chianti, about fast girls on speedy nights. "You looka like'a nice'a boy. Why you messin' wit dat one? She's a'trouble I tell you. Find yourself a nice'a girl. Ask her to be your wife. Kiss her close and dance her tight. Care and share ~ la vita bella. You'll be a better kinda happy spending all your days in a bee-yoo-ti-ful life." When Wilma Jean returned from the Ladies room, Signora Rosa slopped a little sauce on the red and white checkered table cloth and Charlie's date swore like a . . . well, like a sailor.


There were plenty of sly come-hither stares and sidling up the sizzle on the walk back downtown, but Charlie didn't find a very profound need aroused for what her ancient pitch was proceeding her to leading him to. Back at the pier, his faraway look, across dark night waters lapping against the stalwart Constant, preceeded their farewell. 

 
Alone in his lumpy bunk, but with a full belly of molto bene spaghetti, Charlie buoyed up his boyish belief in what the probabilities of the next twenty thousand tomorrows would bring a persevering man. Perhaps another port, perhaps more adventurous strolls, why, maybe even a dance hall. Yeah, that's the ticket. Contentedly he sighed, rolled on his side and turned the knobs on the wooden Philco to let the music play into his tomorrows:

 

I'm making believe 
that you're in my arms 
though you're so far away.
 

Making believe
I'm talkin' to you; 

Wish you could hear what I say.

There's plenty more to mutter on how Mabel became available, but we wanted to get this written by the time Valentines' Day calendared up to wax eloquent. Mabel did dance her way into Charlie's heart, and never complained when he stepped on her toes. Their instinct knew they were so in sync that complaining wasn't how it goes. And many a beach knew their stroll, and the sun shined from their backyard upon their share and their care. They were so happy there, and there. Heavens, they were happy everywhere.

Alone on her plush mattress with the memory foam, the soft cotton sheets hung on the clothesline that day and the warm sky blue comforter, Mabel abled up her girlish dreams of what the propensity of the immensity of the last twenty thousand yesterdays had brought to a passionate, pleasured, laughing, loving woman. Always another home-cooked meal, cup of coffee poured, newpaper page turned, child's life shared would endear Charlie more the part of her. The best part, the heart part, that was always the easy part. Always she could feel the kiss to build their dreams on, dancing cheek to cheek, and only having eyes for him too. Yes, that's the winning ticket. Softly, she sighed, rolled on her side and turned the dial on the plastic Panasonic to let the music play over her yesterdays:

 

I'm making believe 
that you're in my arms
though you're so far away.
 

Making believe
I'm talkin' to you;
Wish you could hear what I say.

 
And here in the gloom 
of my lonely room
we're dancing like we used to do. 

Making believe is just another way of dreaming
so til my dreams come true  

I whisper goodnight, turn out the light,

and kiss my pillow 
making believe it's you.

         
 

~~~~~~~~~~

The auras of their horizons smile,

as auras and love constantly do.

Charlie + Mabel

is indelible as a moment of memory,

constant and alive in sailing its true.

(c) Valentines' Weekend, 2011
... Mother's Day weekend, 2012

~ Author Absolutely*Kate
for True Lovers everywhere 

~~~~~~~~~~

Bathing Beauty photo credit ~ UppityRib

Golden Hearts Entwined ~ Mamjodh 

"I'm Making Believe" song 

warbled well by Ella Fitzgerald and the Ink Spots,

Lyrics by Mack Gordon,  Music by James V. Monaco 

MABEL and her CHARLIE,
FRANNY and her PAUL ~

There comes special hunks of sparks of Life
when Love simply, thus strongly,
conquers all.


~ Happy Mother's Day
of always Loving, Mom


~ your Katie

NOVEMBER goes NOIR; AT THE BIJOU presents ~ LOVE STRUCK TROUBLE ~ By Kevin Michaels

LOVE STRUCK TROUBLE

~ By Kevin Michaels

You are the kind of guy who is not easily surprised.

She was trouble the first time you laid eyes on her and you knew it. Long legs that left nothing to the imagination, an hourglass figure with curves in all the right places, and deep, piercing blue eyes that cut through your heart like a stiletto. And then there was the way her long blonde hair dipped across her face before she flipped it back with a slight shake and twist of her head.

Everything about her made you want more.

You saw her turning heads as she walked through the smoke and shadows and made her way across the bar. On the radio at the end of the counter Mel Allen was calling the play by play from Shibe Park – DiMaggio was digging in at the plate against Robin Roberts in the tenth, but you suddenly lost all interest in game two of the World Series.

So did everyone else in Tony’s Bar and Grill.

She sat down on the barstool next to you and ordered a Mai Tai in a sultry, breathless voice. In a shot and beer neighborhood, culture and class were rare – knockout blondes even rarer. You turned your head to stare at her while the bartender fumbled to make the drink.

I’m told you’re someone who can get things done,” she said.

You turned to her and gave a half-hearted shrug. “Not sure how I got that reputation,” you replied.

“People talk,” she said. “They like to tell me things.”

You would have found it hard to stay quiet around her too.

“Mentioned that Frank McGovern was a man I could talk to about my situation,” she added. “They said you solve problems.”

You smiled. “I do that some times.”

You looked at the whiskey in your glass then back at her - there were warning signs but you sailed right past them.

“I need your help,” she said and you were hooked. 

~  ~    ~   ~ 

Her name was Madelyn and her problem wasn’t that unique. In your line of work it was something you came across more times than you could count. A beautiful but naïve young girl marries an older guy with tons of money and a bad reputation. The attraction lasts as long as it takes for a guy from the wrong side of the tracks to show up and win her affections without trying too hard. It was usually somebody named Rico, Raoul, or Juan – this time that guy’s name was Rico. It was just a matter of time before the husband found out about the affair and laid out a “him or me” ultimatum. No surprise about that.

“It’s not about the money,” she said but you knew that in most cases it had everything to do with the money. Money wins out over love every time.

“You know my husband,” Madelyn added. “Jimmy Lino.”

You nodded. Only you knew him as Jimmy the Horse. A tough guy out of Philly who wound up in Atlantic City after he took out another made man without permission. It was the kind of screw up that got him banished to the boardwalk to run numbers, shake down the local merchants, and provide a little muscle for the local family.

“Did some work for him a while back,” you said. “Seems he forgot I don’t work for free and we didn’t part ways on real friendly terms.”

“But you knew all that,” you said.

“Figured you would understand Jimmy a little better than most other guys,” she said. “Because of your history.”

“Wasn’t such a good history,” you said. “Tough to stay friendly with a guy when he owes you a couple grand and doesn’t make good.”

She batted those long eye lashes and pursed her lips. “So?” she said. “You said some things. He said some things. Things were said that neither one of you really meant.”

You remembered telling Jimmy that you were going to cut out his heart if he didn’t pay you the money he owed - you were positive you meant it.

“I just need you to go talk with Rico,” she said. “Explain to him that it’s over. He doesn’t know Jimmy like you and I do. Doesn’t understand how Jimmy looks at things.”

“Jimmy looks at things only one way,” you said.

“You do this for me and Jimmy, maybe Jimmy will look at things differently when it comes to paying you the money he owes,” she said.

“And you think Rico will listen to me?”

Her smile pulled you in that much deeper. “I’m told you can be very persuasive,” she said. “And I got a thousand dollars that says you’ll know just what to say.”

Against your better judgment, you agreed to do it. It wasn’t something you hadn’t done before and you knew the routine as well as you knew the path to your corner bar. There was a comfortable familiarity in that. You figured you would sit down with Rico, explain why being on the bad side of Jimmy the Horse wasn’t conducive to a long, happy life, and tell him to lose Madelyn’s number for good. Maybe let him see the thirty-eight inside your jacket for added effect.

Nothing different and no surprises.

Madelyn gave you an address and you told her you would be there promptly at six.

She said she heard you were always punctual.

~ ~    ~  ~ 

You had lived your life a certain way. You were always prepared for the unexpected in every situation but this was a job filled with surprises.

The biggest was when you showed up at the address Madelyn had given you and found the corpse of Jimmy the Horse face down on the floor. You knew he was dead because of the knife that was stuck in his back and the blood that had pooled around his body.

Madelyn sat on a leather couch and coolly lit a Kent. She blew a smoke ring and leaned back as you shook off October’s cold and stared at Jimmy’s body.

“Looks like things went a little south,” you said. “Guess this isn’t going to happen the way we planned.”

She shook her head and smiled. “No. This is exactly how we planned it.”

You didn’t see Rico step out of the shadows. By then he was already swinging the Louisville Slugger, and although you tried blocking the blow, it was too late. With the sounds of police sirens ringing in your ears, you dropped to the floor next to Jimmy’s corpse as the room went black.

~ ~    ~  ~ 

It was an open and shut case. With the history between you and Jimmy the Horse, and indisputable eye witness testimony from the grieving widow and her good friend Rico, nobody had any doubt that it was you who had plunged the knife between his shoulder blades. They swore you did it because he owed you money and the twelve men on the jury bought the story. They came back with a guilty verdict faster than DiMaggio’s tenth inning blast that had sealed the Phillies’ fate.

Now you’re out of appeals, out of time, and out of luck. You sit in a six by twelve foot cinderblock cell on death row in Trenton State Prison, waiting for the footsteps that will eventually come to lead you to the gas chamber.

No surprise in that either.

© 2011 ~  Author Kevin Michaels

another original ~ AT THE BIJOU
 Heartful photo - Seyed Mostafo Zomani 

AT THE BIJOU ~
"Writers' Raves are Readers' Faves"

Rock into another Kevin Michaels' 

stark classic ~

BETWEEN THE LINES

     

No surprise the distinctive voice of author Kevin Michaels is the first heard as NOVEMBER GOES NOIR ~ AT THE BIJOU. Second person narrative, impeccably expressed, first heard. Kevin's writing works and perhaps segments of Kevin's life are Noir-endowed. True, gritty, city-wise and chock full of insightful wrys. 

Kevin Michaels is everything New Jersey (attitude, edginess, and Bruce Springsteen..but not Bon Jovi). A writer and surfer who lives at the Jersey Shore, to me -- as colleague, pally and promotional conspirator, he's all that, but so much more:

 LIT WRIT BIO: 

Author of the novel LOST EXIT (available on Amazon Kindle, Nook, Sony Reader and Ipad), the Michaels' long legend includes short stories and flash fiction in a number of magazines and indie-zines: The Literary Review, Word Riot, Six Sentences, Dogzplot, The Foundling Review, Powder Burn Flash, A Twist of Noir, and Tuesday Shorts among many others. Other short stories have been included in the anthologies for Six Sentences (volumes II and III). 

Kevin has also published a number of non-fiction articles and stories in print publications ranging from the NYTimes.com and the Life/Style section of The Boston Globe to The Bergen News and Press Journal.

 VOICE IN WEB'TOWNE: 

I also post my fiction at A COLD RUSH OF AIR. I show up periodically at Six Sentences and Crimespace, as well as on my blog: SLIDING DOWN THE RAZOR'S EDGE to offer my opinion and POV on topics not too earth-shattering in size, scope, or detail. 

Absolutely*Kate would most likely get a grin mentioning I'm a well-loved regular at the goings on AT THE BIJOU, from our swinging RAT*PACK*REVUE, annual NOIRAMA and acclaimed author interviews with crime/western prolific living legend author Robert J Randisi and (upcoming) Paul Bishop (Take The Money and Run television creator/co-star). She's urging I put on a tux and tuck my surf board backstage to help her MC this kickass NOVEMBER GOES NOIR ~ AT THE BIJOU month of a show. (Yeah, Kate's smilin' ... and persuasive)

 B O O K S ~ 

Lost Exit Climbing

The Amazon Best Seller Charts

Not a misprint ... as of today, LOST EXIT is now #43 on Amazon's list of Best Selling Sports Fiction, ahead of books by greats like Dan Jenkins, Frank Deford, Peter Gent, and Don deLillo. It comes as a little bit of a surprise since I never considered LOST EXIT much of a sports book, even though the central theme revolves around basketball. For me it is more about a troubled kid coming of age, with a few mobsters, drugs, and dead bodies thrown in for good measure, along with a little sex and some more violence added to round out the good, wholesome fun......but I'm excited about the book's climb up the charts. ~ Author Kevin Michaels

 COMING ATTRACTIONS: 

The heralded HARBINGER*33, naturally . . . and NINE IN THE MORNING. Under current careful author scrutiny of details and design decisions, release of Kevin Michaels latest collection on the crime-side is looming . . . I feel the shaking shadows. Don't you?  ~ Promoter Absolutely*Kate

November

Goes

NOIR

 

AT THE BIJOU

NOTORIOUS NOIR AUTHORS

every other day that's NOVEMBER.

Be there

or be square Bub. 

Talkin to you too, Toots. 

Curtain 

rises on:

BIJOU Brit Debut of ~

GRAHAM SMITH

  

BIJOU Sweetheart ~

JULIE MORRIGAN

  

the Rat-A-Tat-Tat of

yet a new BIJOU Debut ~

CHRIS RHATIGAN

  

ABSOLUTELY*KATE, BOGEY & PALLY PRODUCTIONS

"NOVEMBER GOES NOIR, AT THE BIJOU"