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#SerialPlaylist - Carmen: "L'amour est un oiseau rebelle" (Elina Garanca)

8/16/2015

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In the Bedroom in #Vegas - An Interlude

8/14/2015

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in the bedroom
an interlude

The rain pelts the windows and wakes me before dawn. Storms happen so rarely in Vegas that each one catches residents by surprise and now I can't return to sleep. The images from the dream interrupted remain and I can't erase the thoughts of everyone asking me about Ray no matter how many times I change the music on the playlist. I married him and we are together now, why must every question be about the past? Why can't you let me move on?

Tapping at my phone, I start the music. It's Barber - Adagio for strings, a piece George plays when I tell him to pick from my playlist. The sadness matches the rain. I might as well just go all the way down the rabbit hole today. A knock sounds at my door and I reach for my robe, but the door swings open before I can cover myself. It's not like George...

Charlie, my assistant, blushes and hovers with awkward pose in the doorway trying not to look at my flesh. Other than George, he appears the least likely to ever touch me. I let my robe drop and prop myself on a mass of pillows, watching Charlie place files and papers on my writing desk.

"You told me to arrive for a writing session by nine and not to be late. I'm sorry to..." he begins to say, but I interrupt.

"Don't apologize for everything all the time. It's not an attractive quality, Charlie." I grab a pack of cigarettes from the nightstand and wait for him find the lighter and spark a flame for me.

Taking a deep drag, I close my eyes and try to clear my mind of all the negative thoughts of the last few days. All the questions of my husband and what he did to me as a teenager fill me with rage. I want to grab each person that asks by the throat and scream it's none of your fucking business.

"Would you like me to send for George to help you dress? Or should I send for the doctor? Are you unwell?"

"Forget the fucking doctor. I'm depressed, not sick. Get the whiskey bottle from my writing desk. And forget the glass. I don't need it."

Crushing the cigarette in the ashtray, I watch Charlie rush to my desk and retrieve the bottle. He pulls the stopper and hands it to me. Taking a deep drink that spreads warmth through my body, I nod towards the chair next to the bed. He sits and puts a small book in his lap as if waiting for me to give him permission to do his job.

"Get on with it," I say, taking another mouthful of whiskey. Tears cover my vision as Charlie opens the book and clears his throat to speak.

"I don't understand the ending of your new book. The wedding scene. It seems to contradict..." He pauses and glances at the whiskey bottle. The young lad needs courage. I offer it to him and he drinks a large quantity.

"The wedding happened you know. I am married. What is so difficult to understand?"

His eyes dance around the room, avoiding my stare. Why can't he speak? Do I scare him? Tapping my hand on the bed next to me, I wait for him to understand my meaning. Rising from the chair, he eases onto the bed and takes a long time to scoot towards me. I pull two cigarettes from the pack and light both, extending one towards him.

"I read Ray's book."

Exhaling, I prop myself on an elbow to watch him squirm. A light breeze of familiar anger flows over me and I wonder if he will have the guts to say it, to speak the words.

"Did he molest you?"

Putting the cigarette on the ashtray, I take another drink of whiskey. And then another. "Do you know what happened to the last man that asked me that question?"

"Yes. I do, but if I'm going to help with your books, I have to know the truth. Tell me about his novel Preface to a Suicide."

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The Phantom of #Vegas - Part Three - death in the morning

8/12/2015

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THE PHANTOM OF VEGAS
PART THREE
death in the morning

The glitz and glamour of television Vegas fades like a cheap mirage when you live here, giving way to homeless veterans and broken down old casinos left to rot in the oppressive heat. None of it's real, except the constant hustle of sharks fleecing and robbing and raping brain numb tourists of money and flesh. Bring your dreams of cheap thrills and leave with empty wallet and soul.

This is America at the core. A rotting husk of empty waste lacking meaning. Pitiful propagandized slaves argue about concepts that do not exist. Money...does not exist. It's a game. A riddle with no answer. When the bearers lower you into the ground, the truth will be clear - you were fooled into a lie.

"What filth are you spewing? It hurts my ears. I'd rather you kill me now so I don't have to listen to this shit any longer."

I light a cigarette and rise from my writing desk to approach the bed. The man with the impressive bits strains at the rope binding him, but the effort will yield no results. Saul laughs from a corner seat, watching the effective handiwork I put him to in the early morning hours after I separated this man from the others. I take a seat next to the bed and cross my legs, tapping ash on the man's naked chest.

"All in good time, I assure you. Men always want to rush. But I won't. Not today. I have something special planned for you."

A deep laugh escapes his mouth, filling the room. He attempts to spit at me, but it proves futile for I am out of reach. A chair creaks and I know Saul wants to discipline this man, but I wave my hand for him to stop.

"You think anything you'll do will be a surprise or a secret? The news talk all about your sick routine. I know about the special plan you have for me."

"Oh, tell me what you know."

"You're going to pleasure yourself on me like a sicko then cut my throat. You'll tell yourself it's justice. Well, get the fuck on with it."

"You don't know how wrong you are, rapist." I clap my hands and a secret door slides open along the far wall. "I am going to continue reading to you from my newest story. I am not going to touch a hair on your rapist head or alter those lovely bits and pieces between your legs."

A girl walks into the room, wearing a hood and cape obscuring her identity, looking like a ghoulish apparition sent into our realm from a certain famous Broadway play. She approaches the bed, a long, thin sword in one hand and a small black book in the other.

"And who the fuck are you?" The man spits again.

Placing the black book on my writing desk, the girl pulls the hood from her face and twirls the sword.

"Mary Holden. I can't tell you how excited I am to meet you."

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The Phantom of Vegas - Part Two - The Butcher and the Republican #Vegas #GOP

8/10/2015

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THE PHANTOM OF VEGAS
PART TWO
THE BUTCHER AND THE REPUBLICAN

The clicking of my stilettos reverberates along the hallway, which stretches from my apartments to the rear wing of the mansion. I follow George, tapping my phone and checking stock quotes while I walk. Ray would be proud of me, multi-tasking in heels and a dress. The green silk against my skin makes me smile and I'm ready to face the day. George clears his throat and stops as the hallway ends at immense black double doors.

Tucking one hand behind his back, George pulls open the doors to reveal a wide chamber. Against the far wall I see ten men, naked and bound to metal contraptions that look like portable torture vehicles out of a science fiction movie. Mad Max perhaps? Spikes keep the men's faces and limbs secure and I laugh at the scene before me. All eyes on me in the silence of this holding cell. This room contains my specimens for the trial today and I'm going to select a participant.

"Welcome to Holden Farms," I say, moving my eyes over the flesh in front of me. It's difficult not to laugh at some of the unimpressive parts on display, only one man endowed enough to pause for a second glance. Turning from the rapists, I inspect various cutting weapons that line the walls. Swords, axes, a chain-saw, knives of many lengths and sizes, and in one corner - a portable mini-guillotine type device on wheels. A giggle escapes my lips and Saul laughs with me. This must be his invention.

"I've been working on this for months. It's damn hard keeping secrets seeing as I'm always latched to your side."

"Tsk, tsk, Saul. You know how I hate whiners. Besides, you don't complain about being so close when I let you..." My voice trails off and I do not finish the statement. The man with the huge bits and pieces stares at me with an intensity I dislike. I approach him, my heels tapping against the floor the only sound in the room. "Each of you men will have a choice today."

The hate flowing from him reminds me of father and sends a jolt of anger through my body, settling in my stomach and making bitter mix with the coffee I drank at breakfast. Pausing before I continue my speech, I make a closer examination of this man. Dark brown hair and eyes black, almost like coal. Scars line his face and neck and arms. And that cock of his, hanging like an impressive thick hose between tree trunk legs. Gripping it in my hands, I twist until I hear him grunt with pain.

"Not such a tough guy now. I'm going to enjoy taking this from you."

"Let me free and we'll see about that." Pushing against his restraints causes fresh blood to stream down his face, dripping on my arms.

Taking a step back, George hurries to my side with a towel. "The choice for each of you is simple. Give the rest of your life over to me. Serve me. Or die."

The eyes on me contain a mix of fear and hope. How many will take the deal I offer once I explain the details? I open my mouth to speak when I hear that man laugh.

"Did I say something funny?"

"These men are as crazy as you if any of em believes leaving this room alive is an option. I heard about you on the news."

Shrugging, I turn my attention to the other men, scanning the faces and eyes and twitching bodies for tells of how each will react to my offer of a deal. Approaching the first man in line, I stop and rest my hand on his portable cage prison.

"What say you? Live or die?" Extending my hand without turning my eyes from him, cold metal touches my skin. My special knife. I don't have to look. Saul knows what I want.

"Ahhhh..." the man stammers.

"This is not a difficult question. Live or die?"

The man fights to control his fear and manages to speak. "Live. I want to live."

"One final question. You file said you vote Republican. Is that true?"

"What?" his eyes swim with confusion. I allow his tiny rapist brain time to process my question. "Yes. I've voted Republican, but not for many years because..."

I don't allow him to finish. With a swing of my arm, the blade slides through his windpipe, sending a stream of blood into the air. Angry jets of red escape the gaping wound and I laugh and laugh while he bleeds out.

"Wrong answer." Turning to face the other men, I wipe the blade with a fresh towel George presses into my hand. "Any other Republicans in the room?"

The man with coal eyes speaks. "Kill a man for being a Republican? The worst mistake this country made was giving women the right to vote."

"Being a Republican in my mansion is punishable by death."

"Except her husband," Saul says.

The man laughs again and spits at me. "You're sick in the head. Didn't your daddy hug you enough?"

Did he say that? Or did I imagine it? I count ten in my mind while the sound of the dead man's blood dripping onto the floor feeds the my rage.

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#SerialPlaylist - Pantera - Mouth for War (in #Vegas)

8/9/2015

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At the Bookstore Part Four - Anger in #Vegas

8/8/2015

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AT THE BOOKSTORE
PART FOUR
THE ANGER IN VEGAS

The volume in my headphones hurts my ears, but soothes the anger that's been seething in me since I woke this morning. I don't give a damn about George's protestations about hearing damage, he can continue clucking like a mother hen. It further angers me to wait for Saul to perform a security check in the bookstore while I wait in this limo. We've been here several times and the only people we meet are old ladies and the FBI.

Saul appears in the entrance and I know it's time to go inside. Waiting for George to open my door and escort me inside, I stop the playlist. This charade grows stale and I see no need for any of it. George hooks an arm through mine and leads me like a waltz partner to Saul. The scowl on his face gives me pause for most times we visit this bookstore he doesn't bother giving me a report.

"There is a strange looking man inside, but I don't think he will be trouble."

Wish a sigh, I enter the store and crane my neck around the bookshelves in search of the man in question. "I don't want to be bothered today, Saul. Can you see to that or do I need to hire more help? Maybe one from our latest batch?

His knuckles crack as his hands form fists, but he says nothing in return and I begin the playlist once more. I hear the new Rihanna song, remixed by Korn and the aggressive music fills me with smiles. Approaching the shelf lined with books from local authors, I take one in my hands.

"What the hell is Cthulhu?" I say, stopping the music and trying to sound out the strange looking word.

"It's the creature from Lovecraft's famous short story The Call of Cthulhu, of course," I hear a voice answer. A balding middle aged man with a thick Santa style beard watches me examine the book.

Saul, I fucking told you. This ruins the writing today. Taking a deep breath, I flip through the pages and read the description on the back cover. Am I missing something? I don't get it.

"Is this fucking fan fiction?"

"No, I can tell you it's not. On good authority from the author."

Crossing my arms and putting the book against my chest, I wait for an explanation.

He points at the author's name. "That's me."

Great. A fucking writer. This won't end well for him. "Why does Lovecraft sound familiar to me?"

"He's kind of a big deal. One of the most famous horror writers ever. Lived in Providence, father sent to a mental institution, this guy is a legend."

"Providence?" Oh, the plot thickens. Nodding towards George, I hold the book out for him to take. "Buy this for me. Thanks."

George takes the book to the counter and pays the friendly owner lady working the register. The writer watches me and I remove the headphones from my ears.

"This book better be good. I don't like wasting my time with fucking indie authors. Every time I do the book turns out to be garbage."

"It's not garbage, I promise."

I smile at him and allow George to take my arm. "Bet your life on it?"

to be continued

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Lunch at #Bellagio #Vegas Before My Bookstore Visit for Afternoon Writing

8/6/2015

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My favorite place in Vegas. Today the visit into the city will be for lunch before I visit the bookstore for afternoon writing. If you wish to join me, be sure to get your security check via Saul. I believe in background checks.

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Forward>>

#SerialPlaylist - Carmen: "L'amour est un oiseau rebelle" (Elina Garanca)

In the Bedroom in #Vegas - An Interlude

in the bedrooman interlude

The Phantom of #Vegas - Part Three - death in the morning

THE PHANTOM OF VEGASPART THREEdeath in the morning

The Phantom of Vegas - Part Two - The Butcher and the Republican #Vegas #GOP

THE PHANTOM OF VEGASPART TWO THE BUTCHER AND THE REPUBLICAN

#SerialPlaylist - Pantera - Mouth for War (in #Vegas)

At the Bookstore Part Four - Anger in #Vegas

AT THE BOOKSTORE PART FOURTHE ANGER IN VEGAS

to be continued

Lunch at #Bellagio #Vegas Before My Bookstore Visit for Afternoon Writing

Archives

in the bedroom
an interlude

THE PHANTOM OF VEGAS
PART THREE
death in the morning

THE PHANTOM OF VEGAS
PART TWO
THE BUTCHER AND THE REPUBLICAN

AT THE BOOKSTORE
PART FOUR
THE ANGER IN VEGAS