Greta was feeling a bit blue, as she hadn’t seen her lover in days and she was beginning to suspect that their torrid relationship had run its course. If so, then Ramon’s sudden disinterest had come at a rather inopportune time, as he had been handling both her and her finances and there were several bills coming due at the end of the month. Who would help her? Who could she turn to in this time of need?
A male voice rang out. “Are you there, darling?”
Greta was perplexed. As far as she knew, there was no one else in the room. Otherwise, she would have already been using her womanly charms to ensure that her American Express card continued to have a healthy spending limit. Wait. Was she having some type of religious experience? Greta was a bit fuzzy on exactly what happened when one was having such, recalling murky details from her unproductive internment at Saint Gladys’ School for Potential Trollops in her younger years. Weren’t you supposed to have visions while you got teary-eyed and an orchestra played in the background? None of that seemed to be happening at the moment.
Still, the electric bill was due and one would think God could take care of that with the wave of an angel-scented hand. Might as well play along until things proved otherwise. Greta flopped her head back and gazed at the ceiling in what she presumed was a beatific and financially-insolvent manner. “Yes, Father. Um… thank you for stopping by.”
The voice came again. “Is your father here? I though we agreed to keep this apartment secret. Especially from people like your family and my wife.”
Greta’s eyes dropped from the ceiling to a much lower and more intimate locale. “Ramon? How is your voice coming from my crotch?”
Ramon: “Darling, I’m nowhere near your secret garden. But I am under your dress.”
Greta: “I don’t understand.”
Ramon: “And I don’t understand why your father is here. We talked about this.”
Greta, exasperated: “My father isn’t here. I briefly thought I was having a Jesus moment.”
Ramon: “I don’t even know what to say to that.”
Greta: “Then don’t. Why are you in my knickers? What happened, when?”
Ramon: “Well, I was sneaking up to surprise you with a box of Swiss chocolates when I tripped over one of your bills and wound up down here.”
Greta, realizing that the money supply was not necessarily dry and she had best play the part: “You brought me chocolates? How sweet of you.”
Ramon: “I already ate them. I’ve been trapped down here for two days. Do you ever get off this couch when I’m not here?”
Greta: “Two days? It must have been a horrible ordeal.”
Ramon: “Not really. There’s plenty of room and I’ve been doing some remodeling, sprucing the place up a bit. In fact, that’s why I called out to you, so you could get me a few supplies.”
Greta: “Whatever you need, my well-funded love.”
Ramon: “Could you ring for one of the servants to bring me my croquet set? I’ve just had some fresh sod installed under your bum and I was thinking of having some friends over for drinks and a game or two.”
Originally posted in “Crusty Pie” on 07/03/16 and “Bonnywood Manor” on 10/10/16. No changes made. Bit of trivia: This photo (and many others that I’ve crustified over the years) was taken by George Hurrell. If you aren’t familiar with him, and you enjoy dramatically glamorous shots from the Golden Age of Hollywood, you might want to check out his work.
Categories: Past Imperfect