Entry from Cecie Martins dream journal, October
26, 2159:
A dark, warm place...silk whispers against silk...scents
like roses and lilies and
musk...
Image: a lily lying on rich, black satin sheets,
a lily torn down the side,
weeping tears of blood instead of nectar...
* * * * * *
Cecie opened her eyes
to the plain white ceiling of her room. She sat up and
looked around her. Morning. A paper copy of Bram Stoker's 'Dracula'
lay on the
sheets beside her. The dreams she had after reading...Phila would accuse her of
asking for such things,
what with THAT kind of reading. She closed the book and
threw back the comforter. She arched her back, getting the sleep
out of her
spine as she cupped the callused soles of her feet in her hands.
* * * * * *
An hour and a half
later, she stood in the usual morning line to the milk bar on
the corner of 12th Avenue and Main Boulevarde, watching
the scattering of
passersby. Rain had fallen in the night, leaving puddles in the worn patches in
the pavement. The
daylight dulled the neon to pallid ghosts of its former
brilliance, disrobing the dingy gray structures of the buildings
beneath. Where
it lacked any pretense of moral hygiene, the City maintained a high level of
public cleanliness: as
in keeping the streets free of trash -- the usual papers and
bottles and plastic cups, as well as the occasional used
needles and condoms -- but
they couldnt keep the facades of the buildings free of grime. Cecie swore the
dinge came
from all the raging Orga hormones, which congealed like smoke on the
chimney of an old-fashioned oil lamp.
She got her quart of milk -- thankfully no knives
in it! -- and went back home.
She got the Broadsheet from her mailbox and
read it over her breakfast. One of
Hal's photos had made the front page:
Third Mecha Destroyed; Security Suspect Serialist.
She paged through the paper to the credits box,
buried on the same page as the
op-ed section:
Francis J.X. Sweitz, junior reporter
Halloran McIver, junior photographer
She paged through the rest. In the business
section, she found a prominent
announcement:
"Per order Destiny Rohrschact, City Manager
and the Rouge City Board of
Commerce, Sexual Commerce Division, all male Mecha sex workers are to conduct
their business
in pairs in a effort to curtail further economic and commercial
losses to the city..." She had floaters of Alex getting
paired with Joe, perhaps
because Alex seemed to get a jag out of annoying Joe, especially by offering
himself to her
in front of Joe. She couldnt help praying that Joe would get a
partner more to his preference.
She spent the day writing late winter travel
brochures. She often had a hard
time getting into the seasons as they came, since she'd already gotten the
spirit
several months too soon. This would make choosing her Halloween costume
difficult. Here it was Thursday the 26th and she
still didnt have a definite
idea what to dress as.
She went out again late that afternoon to send
off her files and do a little
Halloween shopping.
In a gift shop, she found three electric candles
and bought them. No one was
doing much mourning for the fallen Mechas -- except a few sodden businesswomen
shed seen
in the bar at the Graceley the night before -- but she would do her
part. Phila would be livid if she knew, but it had
to be done.
She roved the tamer sections of a seasonal costume
shop set up in an empty
storefront on the Lower Deck. She gravitated to the gothic section of the store:
black and
maroon simulsilk and simulvelvet gowns with décolletage and built in
corseting. She never went for the Victorian drag,
preferring a more techno look.
And the décolletage wasn't 'her', mostly from principle, but also -- even if she
didnt
have the principles -- because she didn't have anything to show for it.
Nobody knew, but she sometimes strapped her bosom
in place under her blouse with
duct tape: finding the right bra size for her scrawniness was nightmarish too
often.
And she didnt need the corseting either: despite her leanness, she had a
good figure with a naturally slender waist and
wide hips.
She settled on a maroon-black simulvelvet Empire
gown with black and forest
green draperies and opera length black half gloves. Add a mask with iridescent
black feathers
she had and a few black roses, maybe tease up her dark hair and
gel it into place and she could be an enchantress.
She bought it and brought it home. She contemplated
stopping by the Langiers'
apartment, but she decided they needed arrest from her and she didnt want to
risk getting
into a confrontation with Phila about her costume ("It's immodest!"
she could hear Phila cry) and the candles..what kind
of argument would they torch
off?
"Why did you get those?"
"I'm mourning the Mechas that got destroyed."
"You cant do that: they don't have souls."
"They might have SOMETHING."
She wrapped her scarf more snugly around her
head and throat as she ascended to
the Upper Deck. The wind had died down during the day, but it had picked up
again,
not as strong as it had been, but no less frosty.
Rouge City had its own approach to the holidays,
including Halloween: she'd seen
some of the younger model female lover Mechas walking the streets wearing black
witch
hats or clad in pink ballerina costumes or schoolgirl outfits in the
manner of a teen singer named Brittany Spiers, from
early in the last century or
other cloyingly feminine Halloween costumes. The Vintage Theatre downstairs had
run a
month-long series of antique 2-D horror flicks including "Vertigo" and "Dark
City" from way back in 1998; the Cinema Erotique
not far from the Graceley had
run a month-long series of its own, mostly pornographically artistic and
artistically
pornographic vampire movies. She'd actually gone to one out of
sheer curiosity and found the more symbolic scenes more
erotic than the actual
sex scenes.
As she approached the Graceley, a familiar slim
shadow fell in step beside hers.
She looked up.
Joe walked alongside her, giving her a cheeky
smile clearly meant to get her
attention.
"Hey, Joe, whaddya know -- I thought you were
supposed to be doubling up?" she
asked.
"That protocol has been brought upon us: I was
about to rendezvous with my
colleague." He glanced past her. "Ah, he comes."
She looked behind her. From the door of the
casino emerged a small male figure
in a baggy violet blouse open at the neck tucked into black velour pants molded
close
to his legs. He peered about him with almost birdlike movements, then
approached them. She glanced at Joe, whose smile
had taken on a roguish twist.
"Is that your friend?" she asked.
"It is he," Joe replied, slyly.
The neon caught on the newcomer's bushy dark
brown hair, a little too nicely
arranged to make a really credible tousle, and his too-glossy olive-tinted skin.
"Hey, Julien, where've you been?" Joe asked
the rhyme did not work, but that had
more to do with Joe's accent than anything else.
The small Mecha looked around and quickened
his pace, approaching them, his eyes
lighting on her.
"Hey, Joe, what do you know?" he responded with
a slight French accent.
"Did Miss Ironwood make her usual demands?"
Joe asked.
Julien spread his arms and tilted his head back
to one side. "Alas, mon ami, she
did. Such is our life. She must have her share of delight. We are only the
kneeling
ones at the mercy of les maitresses humane." Cecie detected a note of
delicate angst in his voice; she knew she'd seen
him elsewhere in the city.
"Perhaps if you stood up to her a trifle, she
would find another, more
interesting form of delight," Joe twitted.
Julien rolled his eyes as he looked up at Joe.
He was probably the same height
as Hal, but he was slightly heavier. He had a stockier build, but he was slim in
a
soft way. "You perhaps could stand up to her more swiftly than I, ma cher
Anglais: you are taller."
"But we are being rude. Cecie, in your perambulations,
have you met Julien
before?"
"Ive seen him from a distance," she admitted
"And you, Julien, have often heard me speak
of the goddess of the datascriber,
Miss Cecie Martin."
Cecie let Julien take her hand. He turned it
over and kneeling, covered it with
light kisses. He rolled back the cuff of her coat sleeve to start on her wrist,
but
she gracefully retracted her hand and reached down to lift him to his feet.
"Thanks, but you needn't kneel to me," she said.
"If you are un diesse de datascriber, I must
acknowledge your divinity with my
being," Julien said, bowing his head and spreading his hands as he arose.
"I meant this as but a term of endearment,"
Joe said, slightly bantering.
Julien made a harassed noise. "Oh, the crassness
of these hommes Anglais."
"You know as well as I that we were both built
in Pennsylvania," Joe twitted, a
gleam in his eye.
"Pfui! Hear how he scoffs at his own kind!"
Julien cried. Eying her, he added,
"Your family name is Martin; are you une Francaise?"
"Not really: I'm three quarters Irish, one part
French, one part English, one
part Native American," Cecie replied, trying not to smile at this exchange.
"Ah, Mam'zelle s'amuse. You find the abuse this
Anglais homme-putain heaps upon
me a well of amusement?"
"I'm afraid I can't help it," Cecie admitted.
"It sounds like youre fighting
over me."
The two Mechas looked at each other without
turning. Then they looked at her,
both slightly bemused, but Joes face betrayed amusement.
"I shouldnt keep you: I've got writing to do
tomorrow, so I'd better turn in."
"Must you take your departure so soon?" Joe
asked.
"Your abuse of me has annoyed her, M'sieu' le
Pest," Julien retorted, jabbing
one elbow at Joe.
"No, really; besides, you have your business
to attend to, your conquests to
make."
"But would you not wish to have a pair of arms
to shield you from the cold of
this night? It could turn you to a maiden of ice," Julien asked.
Joe leaned closer to Julien's ear. "She chooses
to sleep alone of nights, no
matter how cold." His eyes danced mischievously.
"Perhaps some night you will choose otherwise,
ma cherie?" Julien said, a slight
Gallic lift to one eyebrow.
"That's hardly likely to happen," Cecie said.
But she gave him her hand again,
though she tensed it and drew it away before he could start again on her wrist.
He
thrust out his lightly gathered lips as she did so; she could almost hear his
processors forming the words: you have a
block of ice where your heart should
be, ma cherie.
"You take care of Julien," Cecie said to Joe,
her hand on his wrist. "Better
yet, set your DAS on high, just to be on the safe side."
"So you advise the Anglais and not me?" Julien
snipped.
Joe ignored his colleague. "Because you refuse
it, I shall heed it." He caressed
Cecie's palms with his thumbs.
"You'd say that to any woman who'd think to
tell you that," she teased.
"Not many women have had the concern to think
of advising me," he replied.
She slid her hands up his arms and drew his
face close to hers, her cheek
against his, nearly as soft and smooth as her own, but warmer. "You keep
yourself out
of the shadows tonight and every night until they find out who's
doing this." She pulled away, her lips parted, and let
him move in on them.
Behind them, Julien let out a rude noise
of disgust. Even that didn't break Joe's
concentration on her.
They released each other slowly.
"I shall return to you whole and sound with
the morning," Joe promised.
"Dont make promises you may not be able to keep,"
Cecie warned.
Julien interrupted. "Et moi?"
Cecie made a shooing gesture at him. "Off with
you! You're just a gigolo."
Julien recoiled as hed been struck with an electric
bolt. He wrinkled his nose
and thrust out his pursed lips, eyes wide. He drew himself up to his full
height, which
brought the top of his head level with her nose, and turning away,
he strutted off in high dudgeon.
Good riddance, she said.
Joe glanced after the retreating Julien. Perhaps,
on your recommendations, I
should request to Mr. Flyte that he should pair me with another?
No, you'd get paired off with Alex, and you
know I can't STAND him. He'd cause you trouble.
He winked at her knowingly. "And yet you have
concern for me."
A dark-skinned girl with her hair bleached platinum
blonde passed by them.
Theres gotta be someone who can walk me through
the shadows," she said in a
come-hither voice loaded with double entendres.
Duty calls; perhaps I can keep one eye on her
and the other on the shadows,
Joe said and followed the dark girl into the dusk.
Cecie went up to her room pretending the pain
in her chest came from the cold
night air shed been breathing.
* * * * * *
The boss had appreciated
his work and had rewarded him well -- a little too well,
perhaps: he still sensed sharp aches at the pain memory of it
* * * * * *
Hes gonna get himself
caught; he didnt rip out the neural cubes; if youre
gonna kill a Mecha and do it cleanly, you gotta rip out the cube,
or else some
experts gonna scan the memory banks and theyll see your mug...
* * * * * *
Late the next afternoon,
Cecie went to the Library on the Lower Deck to check
out a few printed copies of the horror novels of a late 20th century
writer
whose work was just coming back into repute.
She was scanning the list of newly acquired
e-books added to the collection
(Despite the Citys repute as the red light district of the Eastern Seaboard,
the library
had a respectable collectionif not always respectable in a moral
sense) when she heard movement nearby.
Now whats a nice girl like you doing in a shithole
of a place like this?
asked a grating male voice at her elbow.
She turned to find Hal at her side. I was about
to say the same about you -- in
much less salty terms, she replied.
He chuckled deep in his throat, a jagged metallic
sound with a razor edge of
humor. You got spirit, girl. If I werent already falling for someone else, Id
take a shine
for you, go a little upscale, though were really in the same
profession. Professional liars get more respect than those
who tell the truth.
Only sort of in the same profession: I work
chiefly in words.
And how you do, he mused. You thinkin of writin
a perspective on all these
Mecha destructions?
She wagged her head. Ive got other ideas cooking
right now, but I might get a
minute to toss something off for the Broadsheet.
Eh, we could use some action on the op-ed page.
Maybe I could get Fink to let
you write a guest column.
Thanks, but where do you come in calling Finkelsteen
Fink?
Dont let him know I call m that behind his fat
ass. He cant seem to get my
name right. Hes called me McIvers, McGyver, Maguire, you name it. Cant get my
name right
in the credits either, dammit.
I noticed.
Hal shrugged one shoulder, an almost imperceptible
movement under his coat,
which bagged on his frame like a slack teepee around a very short tent pole.
So what brings you to the Library? I figured
youd be out enjoying the night
life.
Research. Readin old archives on other serial
destructions, like the Chainsaw
Massacree here a few years back.
I was there: Joe and I almost got it that night.
Thank the fates y both survived, or wed have
lost a good writer and a good
looker at one fell swoop. I see hes had company the past couple days. Whos the
frog
Frenchman?
Thats Julien.
You thinkin a jumpin the Channel in yer tastes?
Had enough crumpets, now yer
lookin to try a baguette?
He isnt my type, too arrogant and feisty.
So you like em sensitive and lordly, eh? How
far you scored with m?
I dont keep score and I dont try to. Joe and
I are just very good friends.
Hall waved one pointer finger in midair. Youre
forgetting Ive got eyes,
Cecie. One pictures worth a thousand words of protesting. Your eyes tell a
different story
entirely.
Lets say my heart and my head are at sixes and
sevens.
"Or is it sixes and nines?" Hal insinuated,
his gravelly voice pitched to heighten
the innuendo. Cecie ignored this remark, but something in her eye or her face
must
have tipped him off.
So you DO get itchy, like the rest of us. I
didnt think you were made of
marble. Joe ever scratch them itches?
Its none of your darn business.
Informations my business: Who, What, Where,
Why, When, How?
All right, if youll stop prying: Who: Joe and
I; What: have a platonic
relationship; Why: because it isnt in my principles to take it any further.
Hows he take that?
He takes it gracefully: hes said his work isnt
always about sex, anyway.
Must be a first for this town. That would make
quite a headline: Rouge City
Woman Maintains Platonic Relations with Sex Mecha.
I bet it would, but Im already notorious.
A metallic twitter peeped from somewhere in
Hals coat. He patted his pockets,
then opened his coat and reached for his jacket lapel, where a round pager had
been
clipped.
The heroic reporters calling me upstairs. Breaking
news about a knife fight in
a casino off Courtesan Plaza. If you see Joe before I do, tell m I said hello.
Drop dead, Hal, Cecie said, taking Franks tack
of half-bantering, half in
earnest abuse.
Dont worry: at the sight of him I just might,
though it would take just one
lick to revive me.
When Hal had sidled out, she let herself bristle
as she hadnt dared in front of
Hal: it would gratify him too much. She had an understanding of men of that
bent. She
could even relate to it while not quite condoning it: she liked guys;
she liked guys so much she could see why one guy
would have it bad for another
guy. But people of Hals ilk just made her nauseous. He was a consumer, the sort
who
drains dry whatever he grasps and tosses it aside.
She checked out her selections and headed out,
heading home.
* * * * *
In a nook formed by three concrete pilings,
a group of homeless men had lit a
fire in a barrel to warm themselves. One of them, a ruined accountant she knew
only
as Vincenzi, glanced her way as she passed them. His companion nearest him
nudged him none to gently.
Hey, Vinz, heres yer gal.
Shut up, Rufus, shes Joe the Mechas gal, Vincenzi
snapped back. Hey,
Cecie.
Hiya, Vincenzi. How are you holding up?
Same as always: hanging by my thumbs.
We were gonna get us a handout by sending Vinz
over t Camden come Halloween
night: hes so small hed look like a kid, and with them rags on his back, whod
know? Rufus
said.
You know it wouldnt work, Vincenzi said. To
Cecie, he added, You following
the destructions?
Yeah, have you heard anything?
Word here on the streets is some Orga man-whore
is doing it to thin out the
competition.
I say someone from the Flesh Fair is doin it,
Rufus put in.
Nah, that was the Chainsaw Massacree a few years
back, said the third guy.
You must know the Mechas are going two and two?
Vincenzi asked.
Yeah, I met Joes partner yesterday.
Ooh, a double delight, eh? Rufus teased.
No, the other one isnt my type.
Besides, shes gone on you, Vinzie, the third
guy added.
Dont be ridiculous, Vincenzi retorted.
You gonna pay up for the news bite with some
spare change? Rufus asked.
Cecie reached into her satchel. I dont have
any spare change, but I got some
spare food, she said. She pulled out some foil packs of freeze-dried cheese and
bacon
sandwiches.
Aw, not that freeze-dried s---, the third guy
groaned.
Hey, dont look a gift horse in the mouth, Rufus
retorted.
Besides, shes a good person, Vincenzi said.
So was my ex-wife, the third guy grumbled, but
he took the foil pack anyway.
You run along before that weird guy comes this
way, Vincenzi said.
Dont worry, Ive been keeping an eye out for
him, Cecie said. You guys stay
together.
We will, were all we got, Rufus said.
Further up the corridor, Cecie heard voices
nearby, singing, male voices, one
higher and lighter than the other, singing alternating lines, the lighter voice
first:
Just a gigolo, evrywhere I go
People know
the part Im playing, replied the darker voice.
She looked back. Two shadows, a tall graceful
one and a shorter, stockier one,
approached her out of the darkness between the old-fashioned klieg lights high
up
on the pilings: the taller shadow danced slow circles around the shorter one.
Paid for every dance
Selling each romance
Then together an octave apart, Evry night some
heart betraying.
As they stepped into the pool of light under
the next lamp, the light fell on
two familiar sheening faces, one with green-gold eyes, the other with black. Joe
and
JulienHere comes the Jay-team, she thought, smiling.
There will come a day
Youth will pass away
Then
what will they say about me?
When the end comes I know
Theyll say Just a gigolo
As life goes on without me.
She applauded as they reached the spot where
she stood. Bravo! You both got
good harmony, she said.
Would that our working conditions were so harmonious,
Joe said.
Why, is this whippersnapper taking the tricks
from you? Cecie asked.
If only they would step down from their high
horses, they could find that good
things often come with small packages, Julien said, standing straighter and
taller
as if to say, I count you among these high and mighty ladies.
Joe smirked at Julien, who retorted with his
face crinkled in derision.
Have you seen anything suspicious? she asked.
I have seen nothing you might consider suspicious,
Joe said. Not in a sense
of danger.
Only those who suspect our virtue, Julien added.
Well, I just want to give you both the heads
up on someone else; you take note
especially, Joe: Hal McGeever has it bad for you, so if you see him around, just
keep
walking.
Joe took this with an innocuous smile. He must
be told I am not optimized for
his tastes.
Hes struck me as the sort who doesnt care if
you are or not, thats why Im
warning you.
And who is this voracious Meester Mac-GEE-vair?
Julien asked.
He is a most disagreeable and unpleasant little
man with an appetite too large
for his small frame, Joe said.
Perhaps, if you would come down from your high
horse, Mamzelle Martin we could
return the favour and guard you on your way back to your hotel?
Well, thanks, she said. She let Joe take her
arm, but she kept the other close
to her side.
If you will not let me take your arm, will you
not let me carry your satchel?
Julien asked, his eyes on her bag.
O-kay, Msieu' Pesk-ee, she said, mimicking his
accent, even as she let him
take her bag.
As they stepped out onto the street, a jagged
vibration of sound entered their
ears, just rippling the quiet of the side street. As they headed along, the
sound
grew louder, resolving into voices. Two voices yattered and screeched at
each other in a ground floor apartment up ahead,
an older womans screech and a
young mans holler.
Joe slowed down, then led Cecie across the street
as they passed the apartment,
keeping himself between her and the street, Julien at their heels.
The apartment door crashed open; a gangly young
man stormed out, banging the
door shut behind him.
A woman in a faded housecoat pushed open the
door.
Jake, where are you going now? she quavered.
Go to fucking hell, bitch! the young man roared
back. The old hag went back
in, banging the door shut.
He kicked the front tire of a cruiser parked
on the sidewalk. He punched in the
window glass, then keyed the door open, shoving it back as it opened. He dropped
into
the front seat, yanked the door shut and keyed the engine.
The tires screeched, sending a cloud of litter
and gravel flying as the cruiser
trundled up the street.
God help them, Cecie murmured.
We cant go this way, Joe said. His hand on her
arm tightened slightly. He led
them down an alleyway, along a labyrinth of passageways to the Hub.
How beautifully the Orgas treat their offspring!
They must not wonder that
their youngsters seek the consolations we Mecha offer! Julien cried.
I know, its like the young folks cant do anything
right for the older
generation, Cecie said. They scream their heads off at us, and then when we
take irrational turns,
they wonder why.
Perhaps we Mechas could say the same, Joe mused.
I wouldnt argue that, Cecie agreed.
They got to the escalator hub and ascended without
incident, the cold breeze
didnt bite as cruelly as it had on the way down; Joe cut the wind for her by
standing on
the step above her, facing her. Julien, on the step below her,
hedged in close to her, but kept a respectful distance.
Still, she caught him
eyeing her bosom appraisingly, not lecherously, oddly like a little boy eyeing
the jars of sweets
in a candy store window.
May we see you to your door? Joe asked.
Thus the voracious Meester Ma-GEE-vair shall
not devour you, Julien added.
Gosh, having both you guys around is like having
an entourage, she said.
Thanks, fellas.
To further confuse Hal or anyone else who might
be trying to trail them, they
took a less direct route, up Broad Way to where it crossed 12th Street at Harlot
Square.
A crowd had gathered there, close to the wall
of a nightclub, where an
all-too-familiar group of guards and techs had gathered. Cecie tried to avoid
the crowd;
Joe led them away from the press. But the crowd parted, letting
Stanger and a couple other guards through.
Cecie Martin? he asked. We got something we
want you to take a look at.
Joe tried to draw her away, but she drew her
hand free of his arm. She followed
Stang into the midst of the now whispering throng.
A grey-clad body lay sprawled on its side on
the ground, its straw blonde hair
matted with dirt and something damp. Her insides tightened with anticipated
horror.
It was -- it had been Alex.
Didnt you once say you wouldnt mind seeing this
Mecha destroyed? Stanger
asked.
I said something like I wouldnt mind seeing
him go, but that was after he
tried pinning me to a wall, Cecie said. But I didn't mean destroyed. Besides,
that was
years ago when I first moved here.
Oh, it only took you that long to finally get
fed up and take care of him
yourself, Stanger said.
I just got hereI didnt kill him.
Whoever had done it had all but hacked Alex
apart: his left arm had torn from the
sockets of the servos, the wires and connectors snapped. One eye had been
gouged
out, the shell torn loose, the gray receptor underneath cracked. The mouth hung
open, the flesh of the cheek
cut, exposing the teeth and cut through to the
metal understructure behind the mouth cavity.
Thats what they all say, Stanger said, as a
female guard took Cecies wrists
and strapped them together behind her back with an orange plastic strap.
Sirrah, you cannot arrest her, Joe tried to
interpose himself.
We arent arresting her: were taking her into
custody until further notice,
the female guard said.
Merde! You call yourselves the guardians of
justice and order! Julien cried,
with a toss of his head.
Cecie heard the wing-click of a camera shutter;
she looked up.
Hal stood over the body, snapping photos of
it. He turned suddenly; without
removing the camera from his eye and before she could bend her head, Hals
finger twitched
on the shutter button.
Across the crowd, Frank was interviewing one
of the techs, but at the moment the
shutter button clicked, he looked over in Cecies direction. In the flash of
light,
his irises seemed to white out for a split second.
For the love of God, McGeever, let the poor
girl have her dignity! Frank
shouted.
As the guards led her away, she saw Julien brandish
one hand in an obscene
gesture. Joes face, looking at her from the crowd that moved between them, had
gone blank with
something like abject horror.
* * * * *
His shoulder pulsed
where the last one had tried to wrench his arm from the
socket. Hed returned the favor in kind, but his pain neurons fired
madly,
sending needle-stabs of pain up his neural cord. Well, the boss had him take
on something as feisty as that;
he should have known something like this would
happen. Let him be the one to patch up the damage...
To be
continued...
Literary Easter Eggs:
The lilies in Cecies dream -- My dad discovered
an Easter lily in our yard which
decided to bloom a second time this season, so he brought it into the house for
us
to enjoy, so thats kinda where this came from.
Milk with knives in it -- a reference to A Clockwork
Orange, the setting of which
is second cousin to Rouge Cityminus the Mechas (They also appear in films by
Stanley
Kubrick); Ive never actually been able to figure out what the knives
are supposed be: my guess is some kind of kickapoo
go-go drug.
hangin by my thumbs -- Borrowed from the sign-off
of the two classic radio
comedians Bob and Ray (Bob Elliot and Ray Gould): This is Ray Gould reminding
you to write
us if it works; Bob Elliot reminding you to hang by your thumbs.
Joe and Juliens little song and dance bit --
I modeled the choreography after a
song and dance number by Frank Sinatra and Gene Kelly in
I-dont-remember-which-Hollywood-movie-musical
where Sinatra couldnt keep up
with Kelly to save his life (Oh well, he could sing better than Kelly).
Juliens pronunciation of Hals last name -- Another
bit from another Hollywood
musical, An American in Paris, where an irritated Leslie Caron keeps calling the
Gene Kelly
character Meester Moo-lee-gahn
The domestic disturbance -- Art draws upon life:
the night I drafted this chapter,
I went for a walk in the moonlight, up my street and along a side street, when I
nearly
walked in on a domestic disturbance very like the one I described here.
Id gone out into the dark hoping to find some
inspiration to bring a darker
quality into this story. I guess I got it.
