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Tea and - Horror Story Part 26: A PLAY DEMONIC [THE QUEEN’S IDLE FANCY] by @JustinBog

1/28/2015

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A Play Demonic (The Queen’s Idle Fancy) 
Part 25

by

Justin Bog
            Leonora Rabkin fretted most of early December away, and got on her husband’s nerve too much; he couldn’t soothe the aching feeling of injustice she always picked at; she loathed playing second-fiddle to others and became a martyr in more melodramatic moments. Jim Rabkin could only listen, sympathize when his wife’s overabundant psychological need to point out unfairness reached a boiling point. He blamed this new play, the one she wouldn’t shut up about. She even wanted him to read it. He refused, time and again, acting was her thing, and even this made Leonora even harder to handle. He spent more time in the garage with his car. They loved each other unconditionally, made a good team, but defined the phrase opposites attract. While Leonora still thrived, working and building up her own realty office, the thrill of the sale, her husband enjoyed early retirement from a technical manufacturing business (Leonora told people her husband loved gadgets). He now drank scotch while watching Cosmos and MSNBC, shows about building treehouses; those that revealed a discovered secret from history (the Industrial Age especially caught his enthusiasm) were his favorites, and he’d share his observations with Leonora over dinner. Lately, even this had become a chore.

            “I wouldn’t worry yourself so much. You’ll get the part, or some part, honey. You’re so good.”

            “I only want the lead in this play, and I won’t underestimate that conniving Kate Denisov again.”

            “I find her a bit icy.” He was saying what he knew his wife wanted to hear most evenings. She’d go read the play again, practice her lines, while Jim watched a few hours of television before shutting the house down for the evening. He’d run a bath for Leonora, try to soothe her nerves, and she was getting on his nerves more and more as Christmas day loomed close enough to touch. He was at a loss this year on what to get his wife, and even thought of a retreat, something that involved counseling, not psychiatry, but a group where she could talk to someone, maybe get help with her manic thoughts. He googled retreats and couldn’t find one that sounded fun. He’d have to go too, and if there wasn’t a nearby golf course available for his own needs, he continued looking. A silent retreat popped up in his search online one early December day and he read about those who attended and how they were comforted, group yoga, hikes, meditation, energy building, aura study, all in complete silence. No word could be spoken from the moment of arrival to the departing wave. He’d like to send Leonara there, box her up and ship her toot sweet.

READ THE REST AT JUSTIN'S WEBSITE
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Little Black Dress #Vegas #Rihanna 

1/27/2015

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LITTLE BLACK DRESS
            The music pulses in my head as I watch myself dress in the mirror. I look good in this simple black dress George found at this late hour, just in time for my meeting with the richest guy in the ghetto. I want to look like a million dollars. I flinch when I hear a voice quite near to me.

            "I didn't mean to startle you, Miss Ella, but it's time for your meeting. Peter will escort you," George says. 

            "Very well," I say, letting George lead me to the door where Peter waits for me. 

            "Do be careful tonight, Miss Ella. You never know what will happen. It's Vegas after all." 

            "I'm not scared," I say with a wink. Turning, I put my arm out and allow Peter to escort me along the hallway towards the second building in my unit. 

            I feel his eyes on me for a moment. It's a glance that hovers for a brief moment in time, but I feel it just the same. I see a small smile on his face and wonder what he thinks of the dress. 

            However, he doesn't speak and within a few steps we reach our destination. He presses the bell and crosses his arms at the wrists in wait. The door opens without delay and I see a large black man in the doorway. He looks like a bodyguard to me. Peter says something to the man I can't hear and I push forward trying to get closer. 

            "Ya, that me. What you want?" the man says to Peter. 

            "I am escorting Miss Ella Thomas," Peter says. 

            The man shrugs, but steps aside to allow us entry into the apartment. I follow into the living room. The only furniture in the room is a poker table with two chairs. It seems he made preparations for my arrival. Does he know why I am here?"

            "I know why you are here," he begins, as if hearing my thoughts. "Please, take a seat." 

            He pulls one chair away from the table and offers me the seat. I sit and allow him to push me in, the size of him in close quarters unmistakable. He must be four hundred pounds. Hovering like a giant over me in the chair, he manages to offer me a thin smile before taking the seat opposite me at the table. 

            A third man enters the room, a slim youngish Asian man that assumes the position of dealer. He takes the cards into his hands and turns to me. 

            "The game is No Limit Texas Holdem."

            "Just like that?" I ask. Nobody answers me and my opponent stares, waiting. "What are the stakes?" 

            "50k. Heads up. Play until one player has all the chips," the dealer says. 

            "Boring," I say. Neither of them acknowledge me and the dealer begins passing the cards. I look down to see the nine and eight of diamonds. 

            My opponent throws a 1k chip onto the table. I wait for him to announce the bet, but he doesn't. "Doesn't he have to say raise?" 

            "No," the dealer answers. 

            Seems George left a few things out of this game. I look at my stack and grab a 1k chip, tossing it into the middle. 

            "Call," I say. 

            The dealer spreads the flop and I see two diamonds. One more and I have a flush. I smile and watch my opponent think. The dealer points at me and I shrug as if I don't know what he wants. 

            "It is your turn, Miss." 

            "Check." 

            "Five thousand." 

            "Woah," I say. That's a lot of money. This is just the first hand. Sigh. He wants to push me around and show me he is the man. 

            "It's your turn again, Miss," the dealer says. 

            "I know. I'm thinking. This guy bet 5k and I don't even know his name." 

            "Big. People call me Big," he says. I begin to answer, but he continues as if anticipating my questions. "Not Mr. Big, or Notorious Big, just Big." 

            "Well, just Big," I say, "I have no idea what you have, so I'm gonna call." 

            He smiles at me and I think it's obvious I didn't make a good play calling on a draw. However, part of me just doesn't give a damn. 

            The dealer places the next card, which is not a diamond. It's still likely that if I get a diamond, I'll have the best hand. How much will he...

            "Twenty thousand."

            "Just Big, what have you done?" I ask, expecting him to laugh with me. However, he crosses his arms and becomes motionless in his chair. He is going to play the pokers with me now. The thought makes me laugh harder yet and I can't help pointing at him. He thinks this game matters? Does he not know who I am?

            I push twenty thousand chips into the middle, making the call with action, not words. He whistles at me and I wait on the dealer.

            "You don't watch the news, do you?" I ask him. 

            "My business ain't on the news," he responds in an instant. 

            The dealer places the final card. It is a diamond. I have the best hand. Part of me feels disappointment. 

            "All in," I say. 

            His shoulders slump for a moment. He didn't want me to say all in. I laugh once more, though it all feels surreal. None of it matters. It's a charade. 

            "Call," he says, though he seems to know he lost. He flips over two black Aces and I give a golf clap as the dealer pushes the chips in my direction. 

            "Yay," I say in mock excitement. 

            "You won 50k on the first hand, at least act like you care." 

            I smile and stack the chips, watching him reload from a rack. He matches my 100k with his own and cracks his knuckles, as if getting ready for a long war. 

           "I'm not here for your money," I say as the dealer passes the cards for the next hand. "A pity you don't watch the news." 
READ EPISODE THREE - THE MASTER OF VEGAS
READ EPISODE FIVE - THE BUTCHER OF VEGAS 
Post by Ella Thomas.
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#SerialPlaylist - Angel of the Morning - Juice Newton 

1/27/2015

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You'll be dead in the morning. A victim of the night. Goodbye, sir.
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Post by Ella Thomas.
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The Master of #Vegas - The Bodyguard Part Two

1/25/2015

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THE MASTER OF VEGAS 
            Patience is not one of my virtues and waiting for my new bodyguard to return with the news I seek drives me crazier than usual. I sip at my fourth cup of coffee, the caffeine rush beginning to fray my nerves at the edges. Turning my gaze to George, I smile when I see him standing in the same pose by the entry way, awaiting my next order. 

            "Why this charade of making me dance for the money if you're going to make me master no matter what in a few years?" 

            Mr. George begins to answer, but hesitates and doesn't speak. 

            "Always give me the truth." 

            "You can't be made master. Either you seize it or you do not. No matter your choice, I will serve you until the end of my days." 

             I don't understand. Does that mean I'm already master? "More riddles. Be clearer." 

            "You are the Master of..." he pauses as if looking for the correct word.

            "What's the trouble? Master of?" I ask

            "It's customary to list the name of the home as place, but in this case, the Master of the Vista just doesn't have quite the ring to it." 

            I laugh and finish my coffee. Rising from the chair, I stretch my limbs and walk towards the bay window facing the courtyard. I can see dozens of residents in a crowd. Suddenly, the crowd parts and Peter emerges. He nods to me and approaches the door nearest the apartment. Within moments I hear a key turning the lock and the front door opens. 

            "What news?" I ask him. 

            "We are in luck. The richest man in this neighborhood lives in our building. He occupies the last six units of the west section." 

            "Probe his defenses and then set a meeting. I'll go to him." 

            Without answering my demand, Peter offers me a pack of cigarettes. I take one and he sparks a match, lighting it for me. I take my seat at the table once more and George places a fresh cup of coffee in front of me. 

            "Bring me my notebook and my earphones. It's time to write."

            George turns to leave, but I think of one last thing. 

            "Find me something...sexy to wear tonight." 
READ EPISODE ONE - THE VISTA
READ EPISODE TWO - THE BODYGUARD
READ  EPISODE FOUR - LITTLE BLACK DRESS
Post by Ella Thomas.
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#SerialPlaylist - A Perfect Circle - Judith 

1/25/2015

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Post by Ella Thomas.
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#SerialPlaylist - Mozart - Piano Concerto No. 21 - Andante 

1/23/2015

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The Bodyguard

1/23/2015

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THE BODYGUARD 
PART ONE 
            I open all the cabinets in search, but find no alcohol. Turning to George, I nod to him as if that's all I need to say about it. He gives a half-bow in return and waits for me to speak. But, what can I say right now? I have no idea how to be the master yet and this man knows it. 

            "George, tell me what I need to know. Simple, so I can understand." 

            "There isn't much to it. You need to make one million dollars."

            "That's it? One million dollars? By when? What are the rules?"

            I hear him sigh and it makes me smile that I still exacerbate him. I give him a moment to ponder my litany of questions. 

            "No rules, just earn one million dollars. The when of it is simple: when you show me one million dollars, the estate passes into your name." 

            See, this I understand. Earn a million by hook or crook as they used to say. No rules, just do it as they say nowadays. Earn a million living in the ghetto and having no assets. This should be a trick. 

            "Peter," I say, turning towards the blonde haired bodyguard. He seems taller than I first thought and thicker in the shoulders. I don't know what I'll do with this man. 

            "Yes?" he asks. I doubt he knows any better than me right now.

            "It seems you're my only asset. Tell me how you'll make me money." 

            "I'm not the idea man," he answers. 

            I guess that's about right. Glancing at George, I see he doesn't have anything to offer either. "Find me the richest man in this ghetto. King of the hoodlums. I bet a man like that works in cash."

            "That's a good idea, I'll get right on that," Peter says, making a quick exit from the room. He does take a moment to dead bolt the outer door. This man doesn't rush. I like that. We'll have to explore his talents later. 

            Left with George, I sit at the only chair at the mini-kitchen table near the fridge. He warms my coffee and I sip it. He stands to my left, next to the phone as if waiting for orders. What is a girl to do with a servant? I've got to learn about being the master. 

            "Can I make a suggestion?" George asks.


            "All you want. I have no idea what to do."

            "Before you do anything rash, take a moment to add your assets and make a plan to earn the money."

            Assets? Did I hear that right? I have money? How much? As if hearing my thoughts, George starts answering my questions. 

            "50k per year allowance per year, expenses, and all per diem."

            "Since when? When were you going to tell me about this?" 

            "Since your 13th birthday. In total, you have almost 500k in your name."


            
READ EPISODE THREE - THE MASTER OF VEGAS
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#SerialPlaylist - Rage Against the Machine - No Shelter in #Vegas 

1/20/2015

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Post by Ella Thomas.
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The Vista

1/20/2015

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THE VISTA
            The limo left George and I in front of the decrepit apartment buildings ironically titled The Vista. I couldn't help laughing, in spite of the bleak news George just gave me. This place would be my new home. 

            "When you told me we were staying here, I kept waiting for you to tell me it's a joke, but you don't joke, do you, Mr. George?" 

            "I'm not a comedian, I'm a butler," he says, without a hint of humor and walks away towards the leasing office, leaving me to fend for myself in the early April afternoon. Various residents watch me from balconies. Distrustful eyes give me the creeps and I begin tapping at my phone in distraction. 

            George returns within moments and I wonder if he failed to secure us an apartment. Can we stay in a hotel tonight after all? Dare I get my hopes up? As he approaches, my heart sinks to see keys in his hands and I wonder with a hint of anger how he accomplished it all in such a short span of time. 

           "I'd hoped you didn't get the apartment," I say. 

           "Don't be cynical, Ella. Besides, people enjoy doing business with a man in a tuxedo. Makes it all the more pleasant."

             I must seem crazy getting an apartment here yet having a butler in a tuxedo. Though, in truth, it doesn't seem like anyone is paying him the least mind. Why? Because he is a man? Everyone in this place is eye-fucking me. I shouldn't have worn this skirt today. Sigh. 

            "Follow me, Ella," he says, waving a hand in front of my face to break the reverie. 

            He leads me down a short hallway to a door at the end. Opening it, I follow him inside a small one-bedroom apartment. It can't be more than 600 square feet of space. 

            "You and I will share this space?" I ask. This can't be the plan. 

            "No, it won't be just the two of us," he answers, but doesn't say more. 

            I stamp my foot and wait for him to answer. 

            "You are to be provided a butler..." he begins, eyes smiling at my crossed arms. "...and a bodyguard. Your new security will be Peter. He will stay with us also." 

            "Peter?" I say. I've never met this one. At that moment a good looking man of middle age walks from the bedroom. 

             "All is clear," he reports to nobody before entering the kitchen. Without looking at me, he opens the cabinets and removes a new coffee maker and cups. George joins him and begins making coffee for the three of us while I stare and stare and stare. 

            "Who the fuck are you?" I ask. 

            Blue eyes bore into my own. Oh, he is very handsome. 

            "Peter." 

            "I see a couch and a bed. Where are you going to sleep?" I ask, crossing my arms again. 

            "George will have the couch of course," he says with a smile. Then, the smile melts off his face. "And I will share the bed with you." 
READ EPISODE TWO - THE BODYGUARD
Post by Ella Thomas.
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Tea and - Horror Story Part 25: A PLAY DEMONIC [THE QUEEN’S IDLE FANCY] by @JustinBog

1/20/2015

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A Play Demonic (The Queen’s Idle Fancy) 
Part 25

by

Justin Bog


            The turkey’s wishbone was larger than Morton could remember ever seeing before, and he marveled at it, showed it off to the kids, preserved it after carving into the large bird to pry it out gently. The wishbone dried on the windowsill above the kitchen sink, awaiting Miles and Carter’s tug-of-war jousting later in the evening. The two boys nudged each other, pestered and gave each other grief, boasted about being the luckiest. Roger glanced at the wishbone from time to time as he washed pots, the gravy boat, china, glasses, the stuff the dishwasher couldn’t take after a full load. Too long ago now, everything with a bit of haziness clouding each memory, he thought of his own childhood past, when his parents and his younger sister were forced into the same room in the house, celebrating any birthday or holiday together (without his mom or dad drinking too much booze before, during, or after the feast), and to care as much as he did.

            Now, he hadn’t seen his father in over two decades, after pops simply walked out on his family. His mother became more of a harpy, wine-fueled rages of despair, and rot, ruin, and Roger graduated high school and had to do hard time, entering Washington State University in Pullman, where his mother worked as an assistant to one of the bureaucratic bigwigs—she received a marked discount from the university, her children who enrolled there did too with tuition discounts, and their mother never let them forget it. Her sharp mind fastened chains to both her children’s futures. She wanted to keep them close, and this only made them frustrated, hateful even, at times.

            After he graduated with an English degree (Roger wanted to teach—escape) he sought work in Anacortes, far from his Pullman, Washington homestead—married and divorced young after failing at acquiring a job in the local school system. His sister, Judy, never forgave him for leaving, her bitterness mirroring his mother’s monstrous cracked heart. Judy couldn’t escape until years later. It was a college town, and she scraped by, decided to live at home, take care of (enable) her decaying mom, day-drinker extraordinaire, save up funds, be a waitress at a breakfast lunch diner, study economics. She had a mind for it, the smartest of the bunch. Their mother died of liver complications in her fifties, and Judy called, sent Roger half the proceeds from the sale of the 1,500 square foot, three-bedroom family home. Roger had fled west, reached Anacortes and seldom glanced backwards into his history. Judy married an accountant and lived in Spokane. She had three kids, all approaching their teenage years, converted to the Mormon faith—which suited her hatred of alcohol, and enhanced her enjoyment of sweets. Roger and Judy communicated but once a year, and Roger didn’t let this distancing bother him. He sent his two nephews and one niece gift cards for Christmas, not knowing them well enough to pick out anything personal. Stayed in touch just enough to keep them at a distance. It hurt Roger to see Judy. Simple as that. Can’t choose your family. Bullshit. And then his next thought wondering if he should send Judy an invitation to the opening of The Queen’s Idle Fancy in May, months away. She’d have time to coordinate her schedule at work, and the kids would love the action scenes, the fighting with swords, the execution scenes. All children loved grisly tales.

READ THE REST AT JUSTIN'S SITE
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