• no fewer than one thousand four hundred and twenty petitions against
• They declined.
• he could make us all suffer
• feel my IQ dropping
• a scalpel — a clean scalpel

Tune in next time part 212                           Click Here for Earlier Installments

The next room was what a library would look like if hyenas were librarians.

From a mound of tattered books, the bartender pulled one that was relatively unscathed. “There were no fewer than one thousand four hundred and twenty petitions against allowing your father to take office,” she said. “But only two people signed each one. Of course, more people were asked to sign. They declined. This book contains all the petition data, plus the dossiers on everybody who refused to give their names.”

“If they didn’t give their names, then… Never mind.”

“Your father’s return to power would be very bad, he could make us all suffer with his ‘amateur harmonica soloists’ initiative to replace all other music. Also, the ‘all countries starting with A are henceforth named Australia’ nonsense. I feel my IQ dropping just thinking about such a future.”

She handed me the book. I riffled the pages, not really caring about all this info when I was still adjusting to the idea that what I thought I knew about my father was all false.

Taped to the tome’s inside back cover was a scalpel — a clean scalpel. The bartender nodded solemnly.

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• didn’t buy his fish story
• I still get goose bumps
• America? No, Australia.
• where is your finger?
• called that “popping grapes”

Tune in next time part 210                           Click Here for Earlier Installments

The bartender chivvied me through the narrow spaces of the kitchen toward the rear exit. My mind was still rejecting the image of my father on the zeppelin ramp, and apparently I was muttering about it under my breath.

The bartender looked me in the eye and said, “He pulled a pretty good disappearing act, and even though as a Pink I was clued in about such things and didn’t buy his fish story, I still get goose bumps remembering when I first heard about his ‘death’ on the news.”

I lapsed into sullen silence and let myself be loaded onto a freight elevator. I don’t have a name for how the news made me feel, but it certainly isn’t ‘goose bumps.’

Once we were alone I said, “You honestly think the whole scandal, the humiliation, was preferable over being president of America?”

“America? No, Australia.”

“Um, no.” I laughed. What else was there to do? The elevator remained still and silent even though it had been closed for many seconds. “Hey, where is your finger? Shouldn’t it be pressing a button to make this thing move?”

Now the bartender laughed. “That’s not how this elevator works.” She pulled out her flask and a lighter. I dove into the far corner and rolled up in a ball as she spewed flames on a black glass panel.

When the roaring noise and indoor-sunburn heat abated, I unrolled and stood up. The elevator started rising. I wanted to ask my companion’s name, but she had much to say. She explained, for instance, how she learned to operate this elevator, and that in the Guild they called that “popping grapes” but she wasn’t yet of high enough level to be told why.

The elevator stopped, and the doors opened.

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• sheer skill is what’s needed
• leaped nimbly away toward the females
• can completely ruin your day
• I wanted to kiss her and feel her breasts
• carried it with me for a really long time

Tune in next time part 204                           Click Here for Earlier Installments

“Thanks for helping me out of that hole,” I said. “If you just direct me toward the surface, I’ll get out of your hair.” When pretending not to stare at your twin brother, sheer skill is what’s needed to avoid detection while you are, in fact, staring, trying to suss out his game.

“Simmer down there, Charlie,” Jason said. “First you have to explain yourself. What were you doing down there?”

I shrugged, to buy time to decide what I should tell them. But then I just enlarged the shrug, because it was the most honest response I could offer anyway. The men glanced at each other suspiciously. A quirked eyebrow, a small nod: they reached a decision about me without saying a word. Jason’s charade of not knowing me was disconcerting in its verisimilitude.

A door opened at the opposite end of their cavernous lair, admitting four women. It distracted the duo for just a second, but a second was more than I needed. I leaped nimbly away toward the females and the still-open doorway. Then I realized who they were.

Tallulah, Taylor, Tara, and Tanya.

A single moment of belated recognition can completely ruin your day. I really wished Tessa were there, too. I wanted to kiss her and feel her breasts on my chest. Not that we’d trade breasts, just that hers would be smushed up against mine.

Fortunately, I moved fast enough and the room was dim enough that the deadly quartet failed to spot me in time and I slipped through the door. I ran up and up the stairway I found on the other side, pausing only to remove Absinthia’s bulky underwear. I carried the pair of lacy shorts with me on my upward trek, carried it with me for a really long time.

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