A white house overlooked the car-filled street near the beaches in Santa Monica. A ranch-style house, it was home to Travis and Rebecca Bentley, a husband and wife team whose lives had more ups and downs than a rollercoaster at Six Flags Magic Mountain.
Travis pulled into the driveway of the home. A record engineer in his mid-30s, he married his wife 11 years prior, after graduating from Cal State Fullerton and getting his first job at Capitol Records’ famous underground studios.
He got out of the car, pulling a briefcase and a pair of headphones out of the passenger seat. As he walked up the walkway to the front of the house, Rebecca opened the door and held the door open. He walked to the door and bent his head down to give her a kiss on the cheek. She sighed at this and walked in behind him.
“Everything okay, Rebecca? You don’t normally greet me at the door,” he asked, placing his bag and headphones on the table. He turned around to look at her and give her his full attention.
“We’ve been married for 11 years, Travis. I figured it was a time for a little spontaneity,” she said, turning her face away.
He looked at her and blinked for just a few seconds.
“You’re not usually bashful like this,” he said, trying to figure out things like she was a jigsaw puzzle, “Are you sure everything is going okay?”
She looked back at him with fake offense.
“I can’t greet my husband at the door? What kind of wife would I be if I didn’t do that once in a while?”
Travis smiled and shook his head. He walked to the kitchen and grabbed a glass bottle of Mountain Dew. He popped the top with his thumbs, shooting the cap into the air in an arc. The cap pirouetted across the room and into a giant highball glass full of bottle caps. He smiled with pride and walked to his wife. He led her to the living room, and sat her down on the couch.
“Now, Rebecca, what’s going on? I feel like I haven’t been observant of something.”
Rebecca looked down in her lap and smiled.
“Have you ever been to Australia?”
“No, I don’t think I ever have been.”
“Would you ever think about living there, or doing your work down there?”
“If I was offered a job down there, and the record company was willing to pay for our relocation, I think I would. Australia is a burgeoning musical market.”
Rebecca smiled at this revelation.
“Well, what if I told you that there were possible opportunities for both of us down there?”
Travis let his eyes drift into hers, and he tried to read her.
“Go on.”
“You always knew that I wanted to put my degree to good use. I applied to an opening at Monash University in Melbourne a few months ago, and had an interview with one of their folks when they were in town last month. They contacted me today, and they are interested in offering me an adjunct position that pays about the same as what you make right now.”
Travis face went from anticipation, to shock, and then spread to a grin.
“Why didn’t you tell me this last month?”
“I didn’t really think about it that much. I figured it would be a possible opportunity.”
He smiled.
“Do you want the job?”
“Honestly? Yeah. I would love to teach students the art of finances.”
“Would they pay to relocate both of us?”
“They said that they may be able to do that, but they would want you to find work down there within a year of arrival.”
“You remember that band America? Sister Golden Hair? Ventura Highway?”
Rebecca nodded, only realizing after a moment that he was talking about a world-class band. Her eyes went wide.
“Wait…YOU are the engineer for THEM?!”
Travis smiled.
“Just finished engineering the latest album. That’s why I’ve been a bit distant the last three months”
“And why you couldn’t tell me anything.”
“Yep. Their album will likely be a smash this time. But I know that I can find lots of work. Music studios need engineers, especially good ones.”
Rebecca smiled, as she lightly bounced up and down on the couch.
“That’s why I think that this move may be a good one. I just need to make a couple of calls to see if some studios down in Sydney or Melbourne would want to have me.”
Rebecca smiled, giving her husband a big hug. Travis stood up and walked back to the refrigerator.
“I think, Becks, that 1981 is going to be a great year for us. Let’s get ready for a new adventure down under, eh?”
Yeardley’s Club was a place for lovers to visit, to eat, and to spend time with their mates. The owner, Bill Yeardley, had a habit of saying that Yeardley’s “is the place where parents can be married again.” Night after night, the main dining room would be packed with the soft sounds of dinner being served, the light sounds of a jazz piano or jazz ensemble playing in the background while parents relaxed. No expense was spared when giving the parents a time to rest.
There were some nights when it was tense, with some parents that didn’t end up relaxing all that much and ended up in an escalating argument. For those times, Yeardley himself came out to the table and helped get them to a private table in a soundproof room where they could mediate their issues and still enjoy dinner. The atmosphere was still the same in these rooms, with microphones around the restaurant piping in the sound.
Most nights, however, were a delight for Yeardley and his staff of 25. They did all that they could do to make the patron’s experiences enjoyable. Not only would this get them to come back again, but it would continue to set their reputation as “the place to get away from the kids”.
This night, Yeardley sat back in a chair in a hidden area overlooking the restaurant floor. He would be able to see if there were any issues, and still enjoy his time. Since the staff were pretty well policed, he didn’t have to worry about major problems. About an hour into the Friday dinner “rush”, he decided to take a walk around the floor.
He walked around the tables, stopping every so often just to make sure that things were alright, and quickly moved on. As he was about to finish his walkaround, he heard the sounds of what appeared to be a couple in distress. He looked around and spotted the table. The closest waiter to him was summoned, and briefed him on what was going on.
“Alfonse, what’s going on at Table 15?”
“Looks like marital problem. I think it’s an affair from what I am understanding.”
“Get the special wine, do NOT charge them for it, and ready “the crystal”. I’ll go over and do the recon and see if we have to deploy.”
Alfonse did so, and Yeardley went over to the table to get more information.
“Good evening. I’m Bill Yeardley, the owner of the restaurant. Is everything going okay for you tonight?”
The young mother looked at him with a look of disgust on her face.
“We came out here to have a night away from the kids, and he decided to tell me he’s found someone new.”
The young father grumbled. Yeardley turned and looked at him with the usual kind eyes.
“Is that so?”
“It’s not that I found someone new, it’s that I’ve been contemplating it because we aren’t in love anymore.”
Yeardley chuckled at this. The young man did not look amused at the chuckling.
“My dear young man, one of the things to remember is that love isn’t a fleeting feeling. Sure, there’s the feeling of eros; the type of love that makes you all gooey inside and makes you put the wrong key in your door. That’s a form of love. But those who are married, and who have kids, it’s more than just that emotional and primal state of love.”
The young man just huffed at this notion, as Yeardley turned his eyes to the young woman.
“My dear lady, let me ask something. When you are at home because of the kids, and your husband walks through the door, what do you ask him first?”
She thought for a moment, and replied, “Can you help me with dinner?”
Yeardley looked at both of them, with a small bit of shock on his face at the obliviousness of the couple, and promptly snapped his fingers. Within seconds, Alfonse and two of the other waiters were at his hand.
“Deploy “the crystal”, Alfonse.”
“Right away, sir.”
Yeardley looked down at the couple, as Alfonse approached the stage.
“I want you to listen to the song that will be played first. Take the lyrics and apply it. I think you’ll understand things.”
Alfonse went up onto the stage, and smiled at everyone.
“If I may have your attention please! There are some points in time where live music is going to be necessary for increased ambiance. Sometimes, it is also for people to listen to something that may give them aid in issues that they may have. In these times, that is when we bring on a few of our better players to join in and play something for a certain couple who may need a little more assistance. For that, we bring on our resident jazz siren. Please welcome, Sugar Ruby!”
The applause from the people was strong, yet respectful as Sugar Ruby, the jazz/standards singer for the house, walked onto stage. With a count of four, her and the house band started into a nearly note for note rendition of Crystal Gayle’s 1978 classic “Don’t It Make My Brown Eyes Blue”.
As the couple listened to the song, the young man looked at his wife and sighed. He shook his head at himself, and he reached over to hold his wife’s hand. The wife looked at him and bowed his head slightly as she covered his hand with her other one.
Yeardley looked down at the couple again, and gave a satisfied smile. He waited back a ways from the table while they enjoyed the music.
After the song was complete, a couple of minutes of just plain, soft, piano music played as Ruby got herself some water.
Yeardley slid back over to the table and looked down.
“My good man, your wife loves you. Sometimes it may seem like there’s a lot to bear, being the man of the house. But remember something, she’s the one you’re supposed to protect. She’s your life. She isn’t disposable, and she loves you dearly. Try to work with her on things, and see how things can go.”
He looked back at the young woman.
“For you, young lady, the biggest thing that you can do for your husband when he comes home is to give him a kiss. It’s a small thing, and it may take two seconds, but instead of giving him a command that may turn him off, it’ll ignite his fire and maybe want to help you with cooking dinner.”
They both nodded at this.
“Your dinner for tonight is on the house. Stay as long as you like, order up a slice of “two-person cheesecake”. But promise me that when you get home, you’ll spend more time with each other.”
“We promise,” they said, in unison. They giggled as they looked at each other.
“And have a good night,” Yeardley finally said, completing his job for that time. As he walked from the table towards the kitchen, he looked at Alfonse, who was grinning from ear to ear at what he had seen.
“Al, this is what Yeardley’s is all about. Making sure that parents have a chance to get together, work whatever issues they have out, and to enjoy themselves while doing it. If I ever retire, I want you to remember that.”
“No chance I’ll forget, sir,” Alfonse replied, with a smile and a salute.
Yeardley laughed at the awkward pose, as he swung through the kitchen doors.
“Seems like the only thing I get recognized for around here is my screwups.”
To no one in particular, John Barrett uttered words that came from the deepest part of his heart. A bassist for the band Stickyfeet, he was the guy who kept the band going when the lead singer or the two guitarists had their fits and their temper tantrums. Sometimes things went well when they went off the rails. Other times, like this day, he was on the receiving end of blame for lousy concern ticket numbers coming out of the mouth of their manager, Buck Waignwright.
“Hey! You need to keep the other guys up and working. Our ticket sales went through the crapper for the last 4 shows!”
John just rolled his eyes as Buck railed him up and down for not doing the role of being the brother’s keeper.
“It’s not my fault Izzy and Travis get plastered before the concert and can’t keep themselves sitting up. I try to pour the coffee down their throats and keep my basslines neat, but I can’t do everything.”
“Well, maybe you should try just a little bit harder.”
“Or you could hire a roadie whose job would be to keep them from going into the sauce.”
Buck laughed, and coughed, then laughed some more.
“We have 5 dates left for the tour. Once that’s done, we’re going to do some re-evaluating. You better be ready, cause you might just have a place on the chopping block.”
John stood, flipped him off, then left.
He got in his car and drove to his “let off steam” spot, high above the city. He could see the people below, like ants they scurried about.
He sat for a long time, talking to no one in particular, but letting off steam.
“I’ve had to deal with all this crap for nearly 6 years,” he said, to the trees and the shrubs overlooking the city, “It’s easy to say what I did wrong and what I did right. I have never had a chance to truly go out and do something of my own.”
He looked up at the sky, laying on the hood of his car, watching clouds pass by quickly.
“That’s a pretty big pronouncement, John. How do you think you’ll do it?”
John turned over on the hood. He looked down at a pair of shiny black cowboy boots, a pair of long legs squeezed into a pair of jeans, a flannel shirt tied in the front, showing just enough to get a man interested, and finally a face that he would recognize from a long time back.
“So, how did you find me, Miss Eliza Chapman?”
“I knew this place from a long time ago, when you weren’t much of a bass player and more of an introspective poet.”
“Those days are long gone. Apparently, I’m only support staff now.”
Eliza chuckled.
“So, I guess this means you’re not interested in maybe joining a band as a lead man?”
John’s eyes perked up a bit, though he tried to hide it with indifference.
“Who’s looking?”
“Bright Star just lost their bassist and their lead singer. They need to fill both, but they are looking at changing their styles. I figured that you’re probably getting tired of being Izzy Larkin’s personal belch-boy, so I mentioned your name. They seem like they may be interested.”
John looked at her, and invited her up onto the hood of the car.
“Looking out at the city, what do you see?”
“I see a rich environment of people and potentially awesome shows.”
“Bright Star fired the lead singer for doing too many drugs. They want a straight edge for this next one.”
John looked at her and smiled.
“You’re the manager for them, right?”
“Of course, otherwise I wouldn’t be here.”
“I have 5 dates left to play, then I can be free to do what I want.”
“Gives us time to practice, it looks like. We’re going into the studio in about a month to cut the next record. Think you’d be up for moving some of your songs over?”
“Move? No way. I’ll create some new stuff. After these 5 days, I want a clean start. It’s the finality. Get the deal in writing, and we’ll work.”
“How about a preliminary agreement?”
“In what way?”
“The old fashioned way. Sealed with a kiss.”
John chuckled, until he was rolled over onto by Eliza. And given a big kiss.
“I ain’t gonna change my mind, Eliza. But understand, I’m now in business with you. No relationship stuff.”
Eliza smiled, as she sat up on the edge of the car. John looked out at the city, and smiled.
[Author’s Note: If you’re interested in reading the first two parts of this saga, you can click the link in parentheses for part 1 (I Will Wait For You), and THIS link for Part II (Guardian Angel)
Waiting For A Girl Like You
(aka I Will Wait For You, Part 3.)
by Miles Rost
So, when we last left me, it was about three months after my first meeting with a being I called my “future wife spirit”, who slowly became my “guardian wife spirit”. By now, some people have been wondering a bit about me, like my friend Paul. He was the first person to ask me what was wrong, especially the day when I called in sick to work after my second meeting with her. I gave him a cock and bull story about how I stayed up too late and was unhappy with how things were going. I suspect he knows something. But that’s beside any point right now.
Another three months passed by, and by this time I was pretty much feeling like I was going out of my mind. I went to my pastor again, and told him what happened and that I was not in a cult, like he thought the first time. This time, he actually went out of his way to understand what exactly was going on. And he pretty much told me, in no uncertain terms, to “get in the Bible, get reading, and get prepared. If this is going to happen, you need to be as well versed in things as you can.” Hence the long sessions where I got home from work, turned on my music, and started to read voraciously. Even if I didn’t want to, I read.
I know what you’re thinking: You shouldn’t have to. If you know God’s hand is in this, you should be able to trust your gut and do it. Well, for those who say such a thing, I recite the motto of the Boy Scouts: “Always be prepared.”
So, to count, we’re at 6 months after I first met my guardian wife spirit. After a few months more of preparation and feeling pumped, that’s when things started to go downhill again. I was laid off from my job for being a millstone, and found another position working at a local library. I couldn’t understand why I had to change careers and didn’t really think about things.
One Wednesday afternoon, I was at the end of a 10 hour shift of shelving books and sorting shelves where people misfiled their books after reading them. With about 10 minutes left before I was able to go, I was barely keeping my eyes on my cart or where I was going. I kept walking until I heard an “ow!” come from in front of me. And me, paying no attention whatsoever, just kept trying to move forward.
A few seconds later, I realized that I was pushing my cart into a young lady.
“I am so sorry, ma’am. I really am so sorry,” I said, without even looking at her. I picked up a book that fell in front of her feet, and opened my eyes.
This young lady wore deep dark blue pumps on her feet, which would not be fascinating in itself until I slowly looked upwards.
Her legs were cut pretty well, feminine yet still strong. She wore a blue skirt, which hid her thighs and other things I didn’t need to see at this time, and a green silk blouse. She was curvy, yet was not overly weighty. She definitely was on the high end of the pretty scale at this point, until she peered her head down my way. She looked down at me with bright blue eyes and shoulder length blue hair.
Wow, this one is quite the interesting person, was what went through my mind, among the obvious thoughts that she walked out of an anime or that she did knock me out and that this was merely a dream or a figment of my imagination.
It wasn’t.
“Don’t worry about it. I bump into people all the time,” she said, looking at me with a look that pretty much said, “Iiinteresting”.
“I’m close to being off of my shift, and I’ve been here a while today. So, look, I apologize for what just happened.”
“It’s okay. It’s not everyday someone attempts to run you over with a library cart,” she playfully replied, ending her sentence with a giggle.
That giggle!
For a moment, a sheer fraction of a moment, my thought drifted back to my “guardian wife spirit”, and the last time we met. I remembered how she giggled at my statement about how I thought she was just a figment of my imagination as a result of eating a pizza that I had not eaten since then.
And for that split second, I could have swore I saw her spirit make an appearance and say in a bright voice, “Hi!”
A split second after that, well…let’s just say bodies hit the floor. Namely mine.
I woke up two hours after taking a header into my library cart. I was laying on a couch in the back room, and I slowly awoke from unconsciousness. I felt a bit groggy, and looked around.
“Ugh, where am I?”
“You’re in the back room of the library,” I heard a familiar voice say.
I sat up, and saw her. The blue haired, cool-colored, remarkably beautiful woman that I nearly ran over was sitting at the end of the couch.
“I decided to sit and wait for you to wake up. I feel bad for what happened. So I waited,” she said, with a sweet yet mournful look on her face.
I looked at her, and just smiled.
“I’m sorry for causing more trouble. I…can’t explain it, I guess I may be clumsy.”
She giggled again, which basically confirmed it. This was who my guardian angel was.
“Look, uh…what’s your name?”
“Claudia. Claudia Hamilton.”
That’s quite a beautiful name, I thought to myself.
“Well, Claudia, I feel like I’ve caused you a lot of hassle and trouble. I am off my shift, and should have been home by now. But, would you mind if I bought you some dinner?”
Claudia was a slight bit flustered at this, from what I could tell. So, I decided to tell her the truth if she accepted my dinner date request.
“It would be a thank you for sticking next to me even though you didn’t have to.”
She smiled, and gave a polite bow.
“I accept. I don’t usually accept dinner dates, but I think now it may be a good idea.”
We got out of the library, and I was pretty good to drive. So we both took separate cars and met at a local diner spot near the library. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was close and the food would be good enough for both of us, especially with my head being a magnet for metal.
Both of us went in and we sat down. We made small talk, getting to know each other slowly as we waited for our pancakes and bacon. I found out that she was the traffic controller for a local radio station group who also loved watching anime. She also told me she was a believer, and that she was looking for good fiction to read when we met each other. She was also a big fan of the band Foreigner.
This sparked an idea in my head. Ohhhhhh…if this worked…
I told her to give me a moment, walked over to the jukebox in the corner, and picked what I thought would be an appropriate song for this occasion, done by her favorite band.
As I sat down, the opening strains of what I would hope to think was Claudia’s favorite song started to flow through the diner. That’s right, nothing like Thomas Dolby on keyboards to whet your appetite, or to bust open everything in the world. (For note, you can start the song here)
Now, remember, I said that if she accepted my date request, I’d tell her the truth. And with the opening drums and keys of the song, I basically laid it out for her.
“Claudia, do you believe that God has a plan for us?”
“Of course I do.”
“I am going to tell you something incredibly crazy, that you’re probably going to throw something in my face and walk out of here after I say it.”
Claudia raised one of her eyebrows, and gave a motion with her hands that said, “Proceed.”
“Claudia, I don’t think our meeting was by chance.”
She looked at me, still shocked and with her mouth agape.
“I was visited by a spirit. I didn’t know who she was, or what she was, but she said that she was waiting for me. And when you giggled, it was the same exact giggle she gave.”
Claudia shook her head and started blinking madly.
“So, let me get this straight. You’re telling me that my spirit came to you and told you to wait for me?”
“That’s about the way it is.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Because I made a promise that once I met you and confirmed it, I would be up front and honest about everything. And no matter how weird, I had to say it.”
Claudia’s eyes shifted to the right, and I could tell she was conflicted about things.
“The only reason I am even believing this right now is because of the dreams I’ve had. 7 months ago and four months ago, to be exact. I was told that I would find my future husband soon, but not in the way that I supposedly came to you.”
I breathed a sigh of relief. At least she believed me this far.
“So, what should we do about this?” I asked her.
Claudia snerked, and looked at me.
“I think we should eat, get to know each other, trade cell numbers and Facebook names, then part for the night.”
“That sounds good. So, let me start by asking: Why Foreigner? And what is with the blue hair?”
High school could be a cruel mistress sometimes. For many students, it was the epitome of social alienation and subjection to the whims of those who had the influence.
Kristy Parsons was one of these with influence, and even she fell victim to the whims of others.
It was a cool February afternoon, just after sixth period creative writing class. Kristy met her boyfriend in the hallway close to her classroom. 10 minutes between classes was enough time for her to get some “chest time” with her honey, where she would sidle up to him, lay her head against his chest, and release her stress. She saw him in his usual spot, and she quickly walked over.
He didn’t respond when she approached him. She knew that something was up.
“Well, hello there, Greg,” she purred, “Are you ready for some energy?”
“Not today, Kristy,” he said, flatly, “I’m breaking things off. You’re nice, but I just don’t want to be with you anymore.”
She was about to say something, but her throat could only give a small shocking “eep”.
Her day proceeded to get worse, and as she was walking down the stairs towards the exit, she heard the whispers of the others.
I hear her boyfriend dumped her for Gina Langston. No way, it wasn’t Gina Langston. She’s still going out with Mark Blank. It’s clearly Shannon, the head cheerleader.
Poor Kristy, she’ll have no one to take her to the dance tonight.
She quickly ran to her locker, grabbed her stuff, and proceeded to skip seventh period. She arrived home shortly after leaving school, and proceeded to her room to cry. She was not happy with things, and the night was not going to go well either. She was required to be at the dance that night, as she was the head of the design committee and the person for which all music selections went through.
Until an hour before the dance was to start, she cried. Her mom came to comfort her, to give her what she needed to get through the night.
“He wasn’t worth your time, Kristy. I have a feeling that you’ll find someone sooner than you think.”
Great, Mom, Kristi groaned to herself, Old Spinster me is going to emerge soon. I doubt it’ll happen.
She proceeded to get ready for the dance, wearing a beautiful peach-colored satin dress and dazzling up herself as best as she could. She was not looking forward to what was going to happen there at the dance, but she decided to do her best anyways. She could always be sad tomorrow.
She went to the dance, and entered the back entrance of the school. It was customary for those checking the designs and others to be in the back, so she was able to go in without much trouble. After informing the deejay about what he was supposed to play and what he wasn’t, she walked over to the main gym doors. She rapped on the doors twice, and proceeded over to a reserved table, where she sat. And continued sitting even after the first 30 minutes of the dance.
She looked at the people out on the floor, having fun and dancing. Tears slowly fell from her eyes, seeing the fun that she was supposed to be having with her now ex-boyfriend, and she started feeling a bit cold.
She looked behind her, and saw a young man that she never would have thought would even give her the time of day. She figured Brian Treadwell, the captain of the ice hockey team and the assistant editor-in-chief of the newspaper, would be pursuing one of the hockey girls.
Kristi seemed to do nothing as Brian’s warm hands transferred heat into her fingers, giving her new life.
“You, beside the dance floor, what are you crying for? Let’s live it up! What do you say?”
Kristi looked up at Brian. She looked deep into his blue-gray eyes and saw his heart. She knew he wasn’t joking.
“Which song should we dance to?”
“How about the one that’s about to come up?”
Kristi looked at him funny.
“How do you know what song is coming up”
Brian smiled, and snapped his open fingers.
“I know the deejay. He’s a friend of mine. And I told him to put it on when we go to the floor. Which should be now, as this song is ending.”
Brian squeezed her hand lightly and gave her a lift up onto her feet. She looked at him, and put her arm around his back. They walked out to the dance floor, and the deejay started to speak.
“Hey there, kids! Glad to have all of you on the floor. This one is a special request from a guy who thinks that there’s a wonderful girl that deserves better than what she had. Brian, buddy, this one is for you! Let’s live it up!”
With the last word, the song started up.
That night, Brian gave Kristy the night of her life. After having a good time at the dance and the after party, he dropped her off at home. By this time, she was grinning and forgetting all about her ex-boyfriend. This continues to the following Monday morning, when he drove to her house and picked her up for school. As they drove to school, Kristi opened her heart to ask a question.
“Brian, why did you come to me? You are the ice hockey captain, you could have anyone.”
Brian looked at her, and looked back at the road with a smile.
“I’ve been interested in getting to know you for a good while. You were on my screen since we both met up at freshman orientation. You just were busy with that other guy, and when you were down, I wanted to be the one to help pick you back up.”
She blushed.
“Besides, Ive seen your work. You’re worth your weight in gold. You’re pretty, you’re outgoing, and there should never be a reason for you to cry unless it’s a darn good one.”
She blushed even more furiously at that.
“I’ve had my eye on you for a good while, and I just felt like I needed to take charge and help you move on from this heartbreak. And quickly.”
She turned and looked at him, as they slowed down at a stoplight.
1980. It was a bad year for Labour, but a great year for my boys. I was a member of Parliament at the time, but I took a leave of absence in order to take care of my wife, Hilda. A lovely lady, she was staying with some of her cousins in Pittsburgh, and came down with something incredibly awful. Now if I could only remember what it was.
Anyhow, May of 1979 was a big time for my boys in blue. Or, rather, in this case, it was my boys and girls in blue. See, we just got off a major win taking over Westminster. 63 extra seats netted us 339 seats in total. This was excellent! Old Ed Heath couldn’t have done that if he was standing upside down, wearing a Donald Trump toupee and singing the Doctor Who theme song!
Anyhow, I just got back over in January so I could meet the new leader of our fair United Kingdom. I met her before, when she was merely an MP based out of Finchley. To see Margaret Thatcher, who I loved to call “Mags”, as the head of all of the British Commonwealth made my heart tickle. I happened to arrive at 10 Downing on a beautiful Friday morning.
I was just about to go into the residence, when I heard the most interesting sound coming from behind the door. I heard music. And not just any music, but music I was familiar with. And, sure enough, as I was let into the Prime Minister’s place, I heard music that I likely only would have found in Studio 54 back in New York.
Poor ol Denis was sitting at the table, slowly lowering and raising his head on the table, looking like he had lost his mind. And there was the Prime Minister, Maggie “Iron Skirt” Thatcher, enjoying her latest addition to her collection of music: Abba’s Greatest Hits, Volume 2.
“Oh, this is particularly delightful! I have not experienced such music in a good long time. Tis’ a shame it’s wasted on American youth, when the British should be getting into it as well!” she said, aloud, as she danced across the telly room. I recognized the song that she was listening to, with it’s popular refrain of “Gimme Gimme Gimme, a man after midnight.” Which she also happened to sing with an interesting lilt in her voice.
I cleared my throat and chuckled as she danced. She turned around and looked at me, and grinned a large grin that I had not seen from her in quite some time.
“Actually, my fair Prime Minister, it is currently #3 on the British charts. So our youth are, in fact, getting into it.”
“Well, that will be a wonderful note to add to my list. How is your wife, Prentice?”
“She’ll be alright, just a little confusion,” I told her, lying through my teeth, “She’ll be back in Birmingham in no-time”.
Maggie turned down the volume on the song, which was ending anyways, and looked at me with those stern eyes that would later stare down Mikhail Gorbechev.
“You, sir, are lying. What is going on with your wife?”
I sighed.
“Alzheimer’s. Early onset. She’ll be staying with my cousins in Pittsburgh. It means I’ll be making trips periodically. I may have to stand down at the next election.”
She looked at me with sad eyes. I will never forget what she would tell me next.
“Your wife will be a treasure even while you’re away. You will live long lives, no matter where you are.”
That was Maggie. She was someone I could admire, and someone who would always be there to give someone comfort. Even if some of the more ardent of folk didn’t care for her.
We talked for a good 20 minutes about the important things, which allowed her husband to gratefully go upstairs, change his clothes, and go out for a while. I’m thinking he found a hotel and took a nap, though I cannot be too sure.
After our 20 minute talk, she insisted that we listen to more music while working on the rest of the new developments that would impact my constituency in Birmingham. So we continued to listen to Abba’s Greatest Hits, volume 2. Everytime “Gimme Gimme Gimme” would come on, she would dance and laugh. It delighted me so, that even when I retired for the 1983 election, I still would remember that song and the look on the old dame’s face.
I went to live in the States after 1983. And, as I sit here and watch the world pass me by in my chair looking out over the business that is Pittsburgh, PA, I remember Maggie Thatcher very vividly. An old Tory warhorse, now reunited in heaven with her companions. Here’s a pint to you, Iron Lady.
* This was a fictional account. No one actually knew IF she actually danced to ABBA, but we figure that it would be quite awesome if she did. RIP Margaret Thatcher.
Little Vincent was known for being an explorer. He was rambunctious, raucous, and any other “r” word you could come up with. He was the town runner, as he would run everywhere in the no-name, no-reputation town that he lived in. A small town it was, but for Little Jimmy it was home. And he would run every square inch of the town in one summer if he could.
It was on one of these journeys that he would be exposed to something glorious and wonderful that would eventually take him away from that small town. It all started on a run through a field behind his elementary school. The grounds he ran across were meticulously kept, as the man every affectionately called “Groundskeeper Willie” (many years before the crude scotsman of the Simpsons, mind you) made them his pride and joy.
He ran across the field, imagining that he was a fighter plane in World War II. War was fresh in the mind of the people of the town, and sometimes Vinnie would get scolded for his playing. However, he didn’t care. His world was big and wide, and full of endless possibilities. He kept running and firing his imaginary guns against the Luftwaffe that was in front of him.
Until his foot hit a firmly planted rock, and he went tumbling head over heels down the side of a creek bank. He stopped short of the creek itself, but was in the cool shade of trees. He looked around and smiled. This was new and exciting, and somewhere he had never been or knew. He scrambled over to a tree and sat underneath. The sound of the creek was quite different from what he was used to, but he still loved it. It was a calming sound. And he would dream of sitting lazily back like Frodo Baggins before his adventures in Lord of The Rings.
He looked over to his side, trying to get his back comfortable against the old tree, when he saw something shiny and metallic. He scooted over to it, and picked it up. It was a small box, about the size of a small cigar box. There was mesh on the front of the the box with a circle of black underneath it. The box also had a metal piece sticking up out of the top, that would turn 360 degrees when Jimmy moved it. The front of the box also had a few buttons and knobs, and what looked to be a thermometer with the numbers 53 to 161 on the front of it. One of the switches on the side said “On/Off”.
What’s the harm? he asked himself, as he turned on the switch.
He heard from the box a hiss. The thermostat-like display showed that it was positioned somewhere between 80 and 90. He saw a dial that said “tuning”, so he turned it to the right. A few muffles later and he suddenly heard the sounds of cheering.
“Coming up to the plate for Detroit, Right fielder Al Kaline. He’s had a pretty good year so far, and with Oyler as the go-ahead runner, he’s got a little pressure on him.”
Vinnie knew what this was. It was the Detroit Tigers! And he didn’t have to be there to hear it!
He heard what sounded like an organ, and cracking drums. It sounded eerie, like it was recorded in a church but with a slight bit more ethereal wonder. The lyrics of the song started coming through:
You know that it would be untrue You know that I would be a liar If I was to say to you Girl, we couldn’t get much higher
Vinnie gasped in shock. This was forbidden music. It was music that didn’t mix with his family or his society. It was rock music! And he fell for it. Hard. He knew he had to have more, but he knew that as the sun was starting to move towards the horizon, he needed to get home for dinner.
He took the box and carried it home with him. Just before he got home, he put it in a cut tree trunk. It was his hiding place for contraband items. Later that night, he would bring that box into his bedroom, and quietly watch his music on the radio.
Music and Fiction 