Greta was feeling a bit blue.
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 credit 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. She 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 passion flower?”
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 work this angle as best she could: “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 and some of that gin I find fetching? 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.”
Previously published, modified a bit. And yes, that expression on Greta’s face is the same one I usually have whenever the electric bill is due. Or any bill. I like my money and I want to keep it. Why do so many people insist on me sharing? Geez.
Suddenly, a voice rises up from between my own legs: “Daddy?
Me: “Yes, Cleo.”
Cleo the Cat: “I want to play croquet and drink gin.”
Me: “You don’t have the right skill set to do that.”
Cleo: “Well, you don’t have the skill to write good stories but you keep trying.”
Me: “Thank you for your input. But I have a question for you.”
Cleo: “What color should the croquet balls be?”
Me: “Not quite. Do you like the treats that I give you?”
Cleo: “They give me a purpose in life.”
Me: “Splendid. Now, what do you think a good kitty should do if she wants to keep getting them?”
Cleo: “Order online and use your credit card?”
Me: “No, you stop being annoying and walk away and… wait, what credit card?”
Cleo: “The one that’s not in your wallet anymore. If you ever want to see it again, there will be a fresh treat in my bowl every time I sniff at the contents.”
Me: “You realize I can just cancel the credit card, right?”
Cleo: “Not if I changed the password on your account. Okay, I’m going to go in another part of the house and stare at things you can’t see coming. Have a nice day!”
She sauntered out of the room, with her tail maybe or maybe not flipping me off.
I ignored her threats and just kept typing on my laptop, which is how I deal with most everything in life…
Categories: Past Imperfect