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Pittsburghistan By Night

by jenIn keeping with our annual tradition, this week’s stichomancy prompt fodder is taken exclusively from holiday songs. Unlike previous years, we’re going to work them into our ongoing chain story. Enjoy!

  • if you really hold me tight
  • find out who’s naughty
  • snow is glistening
  • dressed up like Eskimos
  • ring-ting-tingling too

Tune in next time part 137                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

Pittsburghistan by night is a sight to behold. The searchlights on every roof draw blinding white grid patterns over every building and sidewalk, and across the heavy clouds in the sky. I was approached by many prostitutes, one of whom said, “If you really hold me tight, and don’t do nothin’ else, honey, I’ll give you a discount.”

I kept moving, in no mood to find out who’s naughty enough to take her up on an offer like that.

As I turned a corner into yet another narrow alley, I spotted something that finally tempted me. A traditional arctic spa. After the week I’d had, I felt I deserved some relaxation.

Inside, I approached the receptionist and told her I was in desperate need of a foot massage, and a mani-pedi.

What? A guy has every right to pamper himself sometimes.

From the sample board I chose an almost clear polish called “snow is glistening.” The receptionist showed me to a private room and handed me a complimentary robe. I kicked off my shoes and peeled off my fetid socks, then plunged my feet into the tub of fragrant warm water.

A few moments later, the attendants arrived, both dressed up like Eskimos in keeping with the spa’s theme. While they massaged my feet and calves, I was able to relax for the first time in ages.

I must have drifted off because the next thing I knew, I was in severe pain. My chest felt like it was being flayed. It was burning and itching and ring-ting-tingling too. One of the attendants stood over me with a strip of fabric which was covered with hot peppermint wax and the remains of my once-lush chest pelt. The other held up a camera and snapped a picture, then the two of them ran from the room without saying a word.

My damned chest tattoo! With great trepidation I looked down at it. Tessa had kept me blindfolded until the hair grew back and I had never actually seen it before.

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I Haven’t Gone By That Codename In Years

  • by jenI don’t deserve her
  • has her gargle with salt water
  • “He tips well, but…”
  • Marrying from a sense of duty!
  • freeing the painter

Tune in next time part 135                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

“I haven’t gone by that codename in years,” I told the wig and its hidden microphone. “And I no longer take orders from you.”

“You wouldn’t want us to show this tape to your wife, would you?”

“My wife and I have an understanding. She knows I don’t deserve her anger for something like this.” While it was true that Fleur and I had at one time had such an arrangement, I wasn’t sure it still stood. I worked to keep that uncertainty out of my voice. “She has her flings, too, you know. There’s this one guy she likes a lot. He has her gargle with salt water, and then–”

“Enough!”

“He tips well, but…”

“Listen up Winifred, we need you to come in for a major debriefing. It’s been years! You’ve gone so far off script, we don’t know what’s gotten into you. Marrying from a sense of duty!”

“That wasn’t my choice,” I complained. “And I am not Winifred any longer.”

I finished splashing off at the sink and slicked my hair down, thinking about my last official mission for these clowns. It had involved freeing the painter who was being held captive by the infamous mime cartel the White Faces. I’d been successful, but the things I saw in their headquarters, and the things they did to me, still haunt my dreams.

As I buttoned my shirt I thought of the tattoo hidden under my prodigious chest hair. The tattoo given to me against my will by that captive painter before she would let me rescue her from her greasepaint-coated prison. That was how I first met Tessa, and I always remembered her with an improvised tattoo gun in her hand.

Was it time to shave my chest and read that tattoo’s message once more?

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“There You Are”

  • by Kentthe soft, fleshy calf of a human leg
  • what appeared to be a love affair
  • was a braggart
  • Once, and only once, in his life
  • “Really, Winifred.”

Tune in next time part 134                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

“There you are!” Tara yelled.

“Come quick!” Taylor yelled.

“Hurry! Hurry!” Tanya hissed. “But get dressed first. You know our master can’t abide seeing the soft, fleshy calf of a human leg.”

The sisters swarmed Tallulah, scrambling to put clothing on her in what appeared to be a love affair among sapphic mannequins. John was a braggart when it came to erotic adventures, but this restroom kerfuffle topped anything he ever claimed. It was a sight a man could only see one time. Once, and only once, in his life. Unless he spent a lot of time around Tallulah, Taylor, Tara, and Tanya.

The four sisters left, passing through the bathroom door in a clot of willowy limbs.

From the spy gear in the discarded disguise on the floor came a reproachful exclamation.

“Really, Winifred.”

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Tallulah Kept Me Confined to the Bathroom All Night

  • by jenkissed each other good morning
  • she was going to carry a hammer to work
  • four years earlier, nearly to the day
  • another human skull
  • Oh hell

Tune in next time part 133                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

Tallulah kept me confined to the bathroom all night. Between the arms merchants and their monkey robot plans out in the dining room, the occasional visits from the busybody janitor, the knowledge that my wife could discover us any minute, and the unhinged look in Tallulah’s eyes and her talk of blood — well, let’s just say that I was having trouble wrapping things up.

With superhuman stamina and dedication, Tallulah saw things through to the bitter end. When it finally happened, we kissed each other good morning and, at last, disengaged.

The next thing I knew Tallulah was glaring at my crotch and angrily telling the voice from the camera that there was no way she was going to “carry a hammer to work” again tonight.

I thought back to the last time she’d carried my hammer. It was four years earlier, nearly to the day. Tessa had left me and I was on a bender. I had just ordered my favorite drink when Tallulah joined me at the bar. “Don’t tell me you’re having another Human Skull. Those things will kill you.”

The rest of that night was a blur, much like the last night, and, really, every night with Tallulah.

I struggled to my feet and was trying to make myself look presentable when the door flew open, admitting Taylor, Tara, and Tanya, Tallulah’s younger sisters. On their own they were formidable – working as a team, deadly. And they followed Tallulah’s orders to a T.

“Oh hell,” I said.

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I’m Not Going To Help You

  • by Kent“No! You will!”
  • creepy claymation ballet
  • something had come out of her body
  • “Take off your shirt, please.”
  • no idea how much blood

Tune in next time part 132                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

“I’m not going to help you topple any governments,” I said.

“No! You will!” Tallulah shouted.

“I’m retired,” I grunted. The janitor tipped his hat as he left, and I had to look away from that amused hunger in his eyes. So I ended up facing the mirror, where I saw my erotic predicament altered by the rapid flickering of the fluorescent lights into a creepy claymation ballet.

A glint in the mirror drew my gaze to the floor where Tallulah’s many layers of disguise all lay in macabre disarray. Specifically to the Tessa disguise, which looked much like Tessa would if she were napping on the floor after something had come out of her body and taken most of her insides with it. The glint came from the wig. It seemed to be a camera, and it was maneuvering for a better angle as I stared at its reflection.

“Take off your shirt, please.” The voice was tinny.

“He already did,” Tallulah said. “I made the same mistake the first time. But it’s just hair.”

“That’s it,” I said. “This has to stop.”

Tallulah clenched her legs around my waist and her arms around my neck. She whispered to me, “There will be blood if we don’t see this through. You have no idea how much blood.”

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“My Husband is President of the United States”

  • by jenwe’re crawling into your bed
  • skating together and holding hands
  • had not originated from her
  • the Rorschach inkblot
  • Don’t be mealy-mouthed about it.

Tune in next time part 131                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

“My husband is the president of the United States,” Tallulah breathed in my ear. “Not some Contrarian janitor.” She looked over her shoulder at our dapperly uniformed audience. “Although now that you mention it…”

“Wait,” I said. “You’re married to Thor? Since when?”

Tallulah threw her head back and laughed. “Don’t be mealy-mouthed about it. Your family has such hangups!” Her unusual blue-black eyes met mine. “You’re blushing like the Rorschach inkblots they used to show me, back at the academy.” She began her relentless gyrations upon me again, and I was helpless to resist.

A clearing of the throat broke my trance and I looked at Tallulah, but the sound had not originated from her. The janitor said, “You two look really happy, skating together and holding hands, or whatever it is you call that, but I need you to move. There’s a big clog in the ladies’ room.”

Tallulah used my joystick to steer me away from the door and into one of the stalls. “The minute we’re done here we’re leaving this place and we’re crawling into your bed, and we’re not leaving it for a week.”

My eyes crossed at the thought, but I managed to stammer, “But Thor’s in trouble. His blimp was hijacked by the Vegan Separatists.”

“Don’t you think I know that?” She increased the speed and intensity of her movements into an erotic frenzy. “I hired them! Working together, you and I will topple the governments of both the US and Contraria! Just like we talked about back in kindergarten!”

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I Waddled to the Bathroom Door

  • by Kentmixes my metaphors like a martini
  • ritualistic signature
  • People are disgusting.
  • recovered his shiny silk hat
  • removed the latex gloves

Tune in next time part 130                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

I waddled to the bathroom door, with Tallulah ecstatically aboard for the ride. Sure enough, no lock. I managed to jam one of my discarded shoes underneath, and then leaned back on the door to use our combined weight as a further impediment to unannounced entrances.

I wanted to ask her why she thought her husband might barge in on us. I wanted to ask her why she tracked me down in Contraria, why all the disguises. I had more questions than a one-armed paper-hanger on a frozen pond. Having sex with Tallulah always mixes my metaphors like a martini on roller skates. So, none of my questions were likely to get asked, much less answered, for a little while.

No longer constrained by hiding within my oversized clothing, she had room to execute her ritualistic signature finishing move. I was glad the door was sturdy, and the floor not too slippery, and that Tallulah toned down her usual yodeling crescendo.

I was on the verge of my own crescendo when one of the stalls swung open. The janitor had been cleaning that toilet the entire time. He tutted, then said, “People are disgusting.” The job in there had evidently been strenuous. He mopped his forehead, then recovered his shiny silk hat and long red cape from the hook on the back of the stall door.

Looking in our direction, he slowly removed the latex gloves. He sneered.

“Um,” I said as Tallulah purred against my neck and writhed against the rest of me. “Is your husband by any chance a janitor?”

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The Whispering Waiter Withdrew

  • by jenfour kinds of bird: chicken, turkey, ostrich, and goose
  • “I’m going to tell you something, honey.”
  • very enchanting conversational powers
  • “Ooo boy!”
  • a sleek little black bra

Tune in next time part 129                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

The whispering waiter withdrew. The name he’d given was a familiar one because it was not his. It was instead one of the standard aliases used by the agency. If I had a dollar for every “Graham Crackers” I had met in the course of my career, I’d be able to buy four kinds of bird: chicken, turkey, ostrich, and goose.

I nibbled my smore politely and listened to the gossiping of the arms merchants. Inside my jacket, Tallulah began squeezing again. Her message this time was, “I’m going to tell you something, honey.” She may be the most dangerous woman in the world, but she has very enchanting conversational powers when she’s hidden inside ones clothes, and what she told me — well, honey, I’ll just say that it sent me straight back to the restroom.

“Ooo boy!” she cooed as soon as we were alone again. She quickly stripped the both of us.

It took her a while. Underneath the old man costume she’d had the Svetlana getup, and beneath that was the Tessa disguise. Now she wore only her Tallulah uniform, which consisted of a sleek little black bra and nothing else.

“Lock the door,” she ordered. “We can’t risk my husband walking in on us. Or your wife. Or Graham Crackers.”

She clambered aboard and got down to business before I could tell her the door had no lock.

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Tallulah Signalled Me So Frantically

  • by Kentcan’t you hear the thunder?
  • there’s a man with a gun over there
  • with great firmness
  • Our plans worked to perfection
  • his was a familiar name

Tune in next time part 128                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

Tallulah signalled me so frantically I thought I might need to fake another coughing fit. The message was, “Can’t you hear the thunder?” which I recognized from the agency codebook. The meaning: “Shut up before I strangle you from inside your own fancy clothes!” The agency had a very comprehensive codebook.

The waiter remained calm. He said, “Sir, there’s a man with a gun over there. And over there, and there, and there… all the way around your table.” He plated my dessert with great firmness, and as he set it before he said, “Our plans worked to perfection, but then so did our adversaries’. This is how it is sometimes.” He deftly knocked my fork off the table, and stooping to pick it up put his face near enough my ear introduce himself in a discreet whisper.

His was a familiar name.

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The Young Waiter Flambeed the Smores Tableside

  • by jendied to a faint murmur
  • only trying to protect her son
  • strange, but harmless enough
  • because of their stormy marriage
  • in his velveteen uniform

Tune in next time part 127                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

The young waiter flambéed the smores tableside, as is customary in Contraria. In his velveteen uniform he had to take care not to set his sleeves on fire. As he dished our individual portions I studied his face, trying to place that magnificent chin. Beneath my tuxedo jacket, Tallulah began a new series of peculiar pulsations. These squeezes were short and businesslike, not erotic, and in just a few moments I realized she was communicating through Morse Code.

Because of their stormy marriage, Tallulah and her husband often resorted to giving each other the silent treatment. But, being in the line of work they were, they still needed to communicate, so they mastered non-verbal techniques such as this one. It was strange, but harmless enough.

Her message to me was a desperate explanation of all of her prior bad deeds and how she was only trying to protect her son. My son. Our son.

I looked up at the waiter in shock and said, “Is it true? Am I your father?”

The conversations around me died to a faint murmur as I awaited his answer.

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