Sunday, November 22, 2009
*See the Preface to the “Saul’s Laws” page at the WordFeeder.

Let’s not forget Mom. She had her laws, too. This is one of them. Saul’s law #12 is really Minnie’s law of housekeeping: Straighten up as you go.

When I was a little kid, while my father was at work and my sister in school, I would follow my mother around the house while she did the cleaning. She was always talking to me, about everything, explaining in often meticulous detail precisely what she was doing. And she would give me little things to do to help her. Get this, put away that. No, she wasn’t training me to be the family housekeeper or cook. My mother just thought that you should learn as much as you could, every chance you got, that the more you learned, the better you’d be, not just at what you were learning, but at everything you did.

She was very efficient. Following her around our house – a single story ranch with a full basement – I would find myself hustling to keep up, almost running sometimes until a grew into a longer, more fluid stride. That’s how I learned her secret. From room to room, whenever she passed something that she could straighten up “on the fly,” so to speak, she did. Little things, here and there, and, before you knew it, the whole house was clean. In fact, it was this technique of hers that prevented the place from getting all that messing in the first place.

Mom taught me that big messes are much harder to clean up. Turns out, it’s a concept that applies to life, as well as housekeeping.

Most people thought my father was the smarter of my two parents. Thinking back to what I learned growing up, and which one of them taught me what have turned out to be the most valuable lessons… Thinking back, I’m not so sure. Pretty much of a tossup, if you ask me.

(My mother also taught me how to pick out fruit, and other things maybe I’ll write about later.)

-wf

Saturday, November 21, 2009

On January 25, 2007, two years before his inauguration, Candidate, then US Senator Barack Obama spoke before a Families USA conference in Washington about the importance of healthcare reform:

In the 2008 campaign, affordable, universal health care for every single American must not be a question of whether, it must be a question of how. We have the ideas, we have the resources, and we must find the will to pass a plan by the end of the next president’s first term.

The Senate plan championed by Senate Majority Leader Harry Reid is flawed in many ways, chief among them it’s failure to cover more than 31 million of the 46 million Americans who are without coverage. Fifteen million of our countrymen are being excluded from coverage, principally because President Obama won’t approve legislation which is not “deficit neutral.” In effect, our President has mandated that healthcare reform either pay for itself or get out of Dodge, that is, or he won’t approve it. (All of sudden he’s worried about the budget deficit?!)

This isn’t complicated. Truly universal healthcare coverage is expensive and can only be funded in one of three ways. Either we increase taxes to an extent Congress and the American people won’t tolerate, and/or we continue to deficit spend ourselves into oblivion, said ship having already sailed. Wait, that was only two options?

Yes, there’s a third option. Structure a smart, expensive, but cost effective program that covers every single American, and then – here’s the really novel idea – pay for it by cutting something less important out of the budget.

[Insert dramatic pause.]

What? You thought I was going to keep writing? That I was going to suggest that, in addition to cutting all the obviously useless crap out of the budget, we get the hell out of Iraq and Afghanistan in favor of a much less expensive approach to controlling terrorism? That protecting the health of millions of Americans is more important than fighting wildly expensive and perhaps counterproductive wars because, no disrespect meant, a relatively few thousand Americans have been killed by terrorists? “Stop.” (I’m talking to myself) This isn’t about my personal opinion of how we should be addressing the very real threat of terrorism.

This is about universal healthcare and a new President who has lost sight of what’s important. If he (and Congress) don’t care about healthcare being universal, they should say so, but let’s not kid ourselves. The healthcare plans Congress is now considering are examples of politics at it’s worst, the product of an inexperienced President – however intelligent and well-spoken – who wasted hundreds of billions on large company bailout programs at what turns out to be the expense of honest to goodness healthcare reform.

Now. Now I’m done.

-wf

Thursday, November 19, 2009

No question about it, Senate Majority Leader Harry Reid has done his best to devise healthcare reform legislation that the Congressional Budget Office would agree will be “deficit neutral,” or better. That means that it would produce at least much savings and income as it costs. In fact, the CBO estimates that the Senator’s bill, while costing us $849 billion, will actually end up saving us $127 billion, albeit over 10 years – an accomplishment in which the Senator and our President take considerable pride.

In the process of developing this legislation, Senator Reid submitted earlier versions to the CBO for its analysis. The CBO would estimate costs, Senator Reid and his cohorts would make changes, back and forth until they had a bill which worked financially. On the face of it, this is a standard and perfectly reasonable interaction through which Congress takes into account the financial implications of new legislation it is considering.

Here’s the rub. Legislation to protect the health of the American people SHOULD NOT BE VIEWED AS A PROFIT CENTER for the federal government! (If ever there was legitimate reason for a writer to use bold print, capitalization and an explanation mark, it’s to make that last point. It’s the written word equivalent of shouting.) Let me get this straight. We’ll spend whatever it takes – to hell with the budget deficit and national debt – to protect us from the threat of terrorism, for example, or bail out Wall Street and the likes of AIG and General Motors, but the health of millions of our countrymen and women is somehow of lower priority? Senator Reid and President Obama say they know what’s at stake, but do they really?

The bill only insures an estimated 31 million of the 46 or so million Americans who are currently without insurance – not to mention millions of others who have inadequate coverage. It fails, in other words, to accomplish the primary, the most important objective of healthcare reform: universal coverage. That’s “universal” as in “everybody.” And it makes this cut for concerns about a budget deficit?!

It proves, once again, that our Congress is lost in space, and deserves the low esteem in which its constituents hold this forever disappointing institution. It’s so simple, Senator Reid. It’s not the legislation that needs to be “deficit neutral,” it’s the entire US government budget that needs to be balanced, or at least re-imbalanced, taking money from something else less important to pay for the universal healthcare we need to provide. The President is inexperienced and naïve. That’s why he doesn’t understand. But Harry, you’re an old guy who’s been around long enough to be the Senate Majority Leader. You should know better.

Give us healthcare reform legislation with the universal coverage and other bells and whistles that we want and deserve, as cost effectively as possible and, if it costs more than what it saves and the new taxes you’re imposing to pay for it, find the difference by not funding something else – like maybe our continuing military presence in Iraq and Afghanistan. …I know now. It was just a thought. I’m sure there are other billions of wasted funding in the budget that we can cut to make universal healthcare affordable.

Thank you.

Oh, and if you can’t get good legislation passed by some deadline that Congress and the President feel would be politically expedient, grow a set and take the extra time you all need to get it right. It’s that important.

-wf

Sunday, November 15, 2009
Short Fiction for Guests of the WordFeeder

7:38 PM. In an urban neighborhood of multi-million dollar townhomes, Mrs. Cheung, the family’s live-in housekeeper, pushes the left door to the first floor study all the way open. The woman of the house sits behind the antique kitchen table she uses as a desk, her laptop open, papers strewn about with little semblance of order. Her husband is slumped in the corner of their leather sofa, his tie and shirt loose about his neck, his hair, what was left of it, flopping as if it hadn’t been combed since he’d showered that morning, because it hadn’t, his feet up on the ottoman he’d rolled over from the matching chair a few feet away…

“Can I get either of you anything before we close the kitchen for the evening?”

Rubbing her face with the whole of her hand, she thought for only a moment before responding. “No thank you, Delores. I’ll get a yogurt or something before I go up. ..Long day for all of us. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Good night then,” she said, smiling politely.

The man on the couch waved at her, but was too tired or preoccupied to say anything.

“What are we going to do, Jack. …I’m worried.” She leaned forward, her head down, her right hand rubbing the back of her neck.

“Yeah, yeah.” He sounded exhausted. “Me, too.”

“Not all that many years ago, all we had to do was hire a babysitter. What do we do now?”

Silence, and then he sat up slowly. “I may know somebody. One of our people hired someone a while ago when his daughter was having problems. I’ll talk to him.”

“I’m getting some wine,” she said, rolling back and standing up.

“I thought you were having yogurt?”

“Delores made some Sangria.”

“Don’t tell me, another one of her Korean family recipes?”

“Give her a break. She’s our housekeeper, not the cook. I thought it was nice of her to fill-in while Marie’s on vacation. Want some, or don’t you?”

————————-

Saturday afternoon, 8 months later…

Marlowe’s head was over the edge of the third floor balcony, his left and right arms wrapped around the railing bars on either side, his eyes scanning the people around the pool. Sound uncomfortable? Not if you’re a cat. You’d think he’d have been too warm with all that fur, but he wasn’t or else he wouldn’t have been hanging around outside, would he, because Marlowe was nobody’s dummy.

Phillip was sitting behind him, on the edge of the folding lounge chair he’d laid out flat, using binoculars to take a closer look at the situation. He had three of his “Bikini Girls” working the pool that weekend. They didn’t live in the new, sprawling apartment complex. They were bait, there to attract the young men in their twenties and thirties who picked up quest passes at the some of the local clubs, and who would rent apartments lured by the prospects of hanging out with beautiful young women willing to share the local brew management was giving away that afternoon – a promotion Phillip had arranged. Phillip’s company was well paid for its services by a grateful development company that had been renting its over-priced units at a record pace. The studio apartment was a loner they were using as a temporary operations center for “Conroy Marketing and Security.”

His Bikini Girls were not only hot, they we’re smart, savvy college students and recent graduates who could take care of themselves. Minimum GPA, 3.6/4.0. Athletic. Ongoing enrollment in self-defense courses, at Phillip’s expense, but he liked to stay close, just in case. He kept them rotating so none of the guys who tried to pick them up would get too attached. And if they did, a well timed call from a fake boy friend would usually be all it took to bring a budding romance to an abrupt halt.

“Hey, Bobbie,” he called down to the brunette in the orange two-piece. “Yeah. It’s 5. Time to wrap it up with these two and call it a day.”

“Sure, honey. I’ll be right up.” She made her excuses and left the two men who had corralled her poolside to suck up their drool and move on with their lives. He still had two more girls on the job until 6, but he needed Bobbie for a special job that evening, and she’d have to be there early.

There was a rapping at the door. The little knockers that came with the apartment were unusually loud for their size. “Hey.” (Phillip always treated him like one of the team.) Marlowe lifted his head slightly and turned to look up over his shoulder. “Hey! We’re working. Go see who that is.” A gesture of Phillip’s head toward the door, and Marlowe got the point, got up, moved spritely through the open sliding glass door across the room, past the compact kitchen to smell the seam along the latch side of the door. Sniffing once, then again before he ran back to where Phillip was still sitting, put his tush on the rope mat that covered the balcony floor, arms at his side, looked up and “Grrrrr”d his approval.

“Is it Bobbie?”

Marlowe sat perfectly still, except for his head which Phillip had taught him to move left to right if the answer was “No.” Impressive, even though it took him 6 months to learn.

“What, Alice?”

“Mrrrp.” (That was a “Yes.”)

“Marlowe, tell Philip it’s me,” came the familiar and impatient voice from behind the door.

“Okay, I’ll let her in.” Phillip got up and walked to the door.

“Hey.”

“Hey.” And she walked him, as close as she could without actually brushing up against him, on her way to the chair next to the table on the balcony, across from where Phillip had been sitting. Loose fitting jeans covering legs too perfect to be real. T-shirt. One of those no bra bras. Short, light brown hair that had a mind of its own. Electric blue green eyes. “Miss me?” It was a drive-by question she asked without bothering to look or wait for a response.

“Can’t live without… you.” He watched her walking away, and then let go of the door and did his best to catch up. “What’s it been, 4 hours?” They’d run into each other that morning at the upscale grocery store where she shopped on a regular basis, and where he went to pick up something he could microwave when he was working nearby. A few months earlier, he’d picked her up, or she’d picked him up. It wasn’t clear who’d done what to whom. Let’s say it was a mutual thing at a beach front grill where they both hung out on the weekends. Whatever her grandfather did for a living, it meant that she didn’t have to, so Alice, who had ulterior motives, became an unofficial, unpaid “operative,” as she liked to call herself, for Phillip’s odd little business. Not expecting an answer, he resumed his position, behind Marlowe, Phillip’s eyes looking at the pool again through the small pair of binoculars he always had with him,

“Five.”

“Five what?” Whatever was happening around the pool, it was clearly more interesting.

“Five hour… Who cares? How’s the job going?”

“Fine.”

There was another knock on the door.

“One of your girls?” Alice asked, pretending to be perturbed, but when Phillip didn’t react, “Don’t bother. I’ll get it.”

Checking the peep hole to be sure, Alice opened the door, eyeball to eyeball with Bobbie, bikini, bare feet, a towel over her shoulder, sunglasses up in her bleached blonde hair, a large soft straw beach bag over her shoulder. “Hey, Alice.” None of the girls knew exactly what to make of Alice. For someone who wasn’t exactly Phillip’s girlfriend, she sure seemed to be around a lot, but there was no competition. Phillip had a strict policy against dating anyone who worked with him. As beautiful as they all were, he treated them with respect, and they returned the favor. Besides, the pay was really good, and the hours and venues even better.

“Hey. Com’on in. ..He’s on the balcony.”

“Hey, Phillip. I need to change and get out of here.” Without waiting for him to answer – He’d put down his glasses and was typing something on his laptop. – Bobbie walked over to the couch and unzipped the backpack that she’d left there that morning. Her back to the room, she pulled the string bow and let her top fall off. Without rushing, she took out a bra, put it on and a t-shirt after that.

Alice couldn’t watch, and went back to the balcony. “She couldn’t get dressed in the bathroom?”

“What’s the point? I’m not watching.

Meanwhile, Marlowe trotted over and hopped on the couch for a better view.

“You know,” Alice watched him go, “Sometimes I think Marlowe is more of a guy than you are. You never had him neutered, did you?

Phillip looked over at her, pretending to be annoyed, and then resumed typing. “Just thinking about it made my balls feel weird. Besides, I need him at the top of his game.”

“Hi, Marlowe,” Bobbie reached over to stroke the top of his head which he scrunched down a bit, and then lifted to let her scratch under his chin. “How you been?” Back to changing, she dropped and stepped out of her bikini bottom, put on low cut Jockeys and jeans on top of them, and then sat next to Marlowe to slip on a pair of Nikes that were already tied.

“There are checks for you and Jennifer next to the sink,” Phillip called out to her without turning around.

“I’ll get ‘em.”

“…with a package for tonight’s job.”

“We’ll see you there, Phillip.” Zipping up her backpack, Bobbie threw it over one shoulder, picking up her bag by its handles with the other hand… “See you ‘round, Marlowe.”

“Mrrrr!…”

“Yeah. I feel the same about you, too,” she said, looking him in the eyes for a few seconds before she walked to the balcony and around Phillip’s chair, sitting down next to him. “See the pasty character with the plaid shorts and cross around his neck?” she asked him, pointing over the balcony.

Phillip picked up his binoculars again, and took a look. “Yeah, I’ve been watching him.”

“He calls himself “Ronnie.” Wanted to know if I needed anything. When I blew him off, he gave me his card. Just a phone number.”

Phillip put down his glasses and turned toward her. “Thanks, Bobbie. Good work. We’ll talk to the Police and get him out of here. ..See you tonight.”

Putting her hand on his shoulder, Bobbie pushed herself up, rapped goodbye to Alice on the table without looking at her, and left.

“You don’t happen to know anyone in Narcotics, do you?” Phillip was hoping she did. Working with the Police wasn’t his favorite thing to do.

“I dated a guy once when he was in the Police academy. He’ll know who to call.”

“Thanks. I’ll make sure the developer knows. Could mean more business for us.”

Alice waited until she heard the front door close. “Is that why we never go out? ..because we work together?”

“We do go out.”

“I mean on a date. You know, dinner followed by hot sex.”

“Would we have to be naked? Because I don’t like going out to dinner naked.”

“Yes, but we could turn out the lights. ..Besides, we’ve already seen each other naked.”

“My point exactly. ..Besides,” Phillip loved talking to Alice like this, “that was a skunk emergency.”

“Hey, we were watching that women be unfaithful to her husband in the woods, and you made me go for sandwiches!”

“I get paid to watch that stuff. You get paid to go for food.”

“I get paid?”

“I paid for the sandwiches, didn’t I?”

“No, you didn’t.”

“You know, even the skunk thought you were annoying.”

“Those Cub Scouts sure took their time helping me out of creek. They didn’t seem all that annoyed.”

“You were probably the first naked woman they ever saw.” Phillip shut down his laptop and stood up, picking up his yellow pad from the table and the cheap bold point pens that were his favorite. “In the meantime, I could have drowned for all they cared.”

“I’m pretty sure they’re still standing there.” Alice stood, her chair getting stuck for a moment on the rope beneath it.

“I gave you a ride home.”

“We were both naked in the woods, no clothes we could wear and only one car. I didn’t realize calling a cab was an option.”

“So if we run into another skunk, I promise to take you out to dinner.” Mumbling under his breath, “I smelled so bad it took a week of showering before Marlowe would hang out with me again.” Marlowe had rolled over on his back, waiting hopelessly for someone to rub him. Hearing his name, he looked over his stomach at Phillip. “Let’s go, Marlowe.”

Enough chit chat. Phillip needed to call Rachel, one of the two Bikini Girls still at the pool. “Hey. We’re leaving to get ready for tonight. Use the key I gave you, and be sure to lock up when you’re done. …Yeah. Good work. E-mail me your notes, while they’re still fresh, later tonight if you have time. There are checks for you and Beth on the kitchen counter,” and then he chuckled to whatever she said. “One of the guys you were talking to works for me. ..Sure. ‘Danny.’ That’s the one. He’s all yours. Consider him a bonus. …Bye.”

“Let’s get out of here. I don’t want to be late.” Phillip zipped his briefcase and threw the strap over his shoulder. “Marlowe, get in your case.”

On the floor, against the wall next to the kitchen, there was a special case Phillip had a friend make for him. Not much larger than Marlowe, but with enough room for him to turn around, it had plastic screening that allowed him to see all around, with handles and a strap in case Phillip needed his hands free. Marlowe got in, turned around and reached out with his claws to close the door behind him. (It had a spring latch so he could push the door open in an emergency.) Alice held the door for the two of them, jiggling the handle to make sure the door was locked, and then followed the two men in her life on their way down the hall to the garage.

“What do you think I should wear tonight?”

“Something slutty.”

“I thought you wouldn’t want me to attract attention.”

“I don’t, but I like it when you dress slutty?”

“You think I dress slutty?”

Phillip knew a trick question when he heard one, and decided to change the subject.

————————-

8:30 PM that evening. The noise in the converted factory wasn’t quite as loud as it would be later that night when the live bands would be there and the beer and cheap wine had started having their effect. Alice and Phillip had arrived separately, but were talking together, their backs to the bar so they could watch the floor. Bobbie was waiting tables, and had walked up to the two of them on her way to place an order with the bar.

“The girl and her girlfriend are at table 12, behind me to your right. The fake IDs they used were perfect, the best big money can buy. ..Take a look, at the girls. Are you sure they’re only 16?”

“Jeeze, are those real,” Alice asked. It wasn’t a rhetorical question. “You know, I’ve heard about teens getting implan…”

Phillip didn’t care. “Has anybody been a problem?”

“The three guys drinking along the rail, two white, one maybe Hispanic, have been watching our girl and her friend since they got here, but haven’t made a move yet. As far as I can tell, they’re the only ones we need to worry about. One of them’s married. I don’t know about the other two.”

“Hey, boss. Can I get you a refill?”

“Oh, hey, Jennifer,” Alice was surprised to see her working the bar.

Phillip was all business. “What do you see?”

“Well, despite this kid’s size t-shirt they gave me, I’ve only been hit on twice,” she flashed a killer smile, “but bar business is up 20%. I should get a commission. Other than that, nothing, although your girl and her friend look bored.”

“Okay, let them sit there for a few minutes, then go over and give them a reason to leave without embarrassing them if you can. I don’t want them here when this place goes live.”

“Yeah, you know ‘Hot Nuts’ is performing at midnight. Some friends of mine are stopping by. Okay with you if I hang around after we’re done?”

“Of course not, but thanks for asking. Tell the lead guitar he’s a lucky guy.”

“How do you know about that?” Even in the low light around the bar you could tell she was blushing.

“I know all sorts of stuff. Actually, I know his brother. He told me you were dating. ..Look, my cousin Danny’s having a bunch of his high school friends over for a beach party. Here’s his address.” Phillip wrote it on the back of a napkin. “Send them over there. Danny’ll take good care of them.”

“Hey,” Alice, who was watching the floor, smacked Phillip with the back of her hand. “The Creepy Brothers are making their move.”

Phillip turned to see the three men, maybe in their mid-twenties, now surrounding the girls. One sat down, the other two were standing around and behind the small table where the girls were nervously nursing their drinks. The guy who sat down kept touching the other girl’s hand, while the other two men were busy looking down at them from above, brushing up against the back of their chairs and the shoulder of the one girl Phillip was there to protect.

“Even better,” Phillip thought to himself out loud. “If these guys don’t creep them out, nothing… ..Hey!” One of the ones standing had just reached under his girl’s arm, trying to lift her up to join him on the dance floor – a perfect opportunity for his friends to juice their drinks. The girl pulled away, but her move was more upset than angry. She and her friend looked trapped, and that was that.

Phillip pushed off the bar and walked quickly to the table, Alice circling around to come up from behind the two men who were standing. Putting his hands suddenly and hard on both shoulders of the one who was sitting, preventing him from even turning around, Phillip spoke directly to the girl he’d been hired to watch. “Hey,” he sounded as friendly as he could under the circumstances.” He could have used her name, but didn’t want her to know he knew it. “You ladies okay?”

The man in the chair started to get up again, but didn’t have the leverage, and then tried prying Phillip’s right hand off his shoulder. When he did, Phillip pressed hard with his fingers into the side of the man’s neck, whispering into his ear on that side, “You keep your hands on the table or I’ll put you to sleep. ..Do it now.” He did, and Phillip relaxed his grip, but not that much. Not yet.

Phillip looked at the girl again for an answer to his question. To her credit, his girl didn’t mince words or try to fake it. “Not really.”

“Actually,” the other girl was quick to volunteer, “we were just leaving.” That’s what she said, but the men were still standing behind them, and neither of the girls were going anywhere without Phillip’s help.

Feeling he had to show some balls, the jerk standing nearest Phillip got up the nerve to stutter, “What the fuck, asshole?!” and moved his arm to shove Phillip out of the way. Long on profanity, short on intelligence.

Reaching out from behind, fast, the way someone quick and coordinated grabs a pen that rolls off her desk before it comes close to hitting the floor, Alice’s right hand grabbed the jerk’s risk before it made contact with Phillip. Pulling his arm toward her and behind his back, with the neck of his cloth shirt in her other hand, Alice had him face down in the beer soaked sawdust that covered the concrete floor. Leaning over him, she gave the jerk some advice. Calmly, with an almost romantic tone to her voice, “If you don’t want me to break your arm, you’ll just lie there like the idiot you’ve got know you are.” Enough said, but she still didn’t let go, pressing hard on the back of the jerk’s neck and up on his arm, while she looked up at Phillip, ready to take his lead.

Rachel, who had been in the back watching the cameras, Jennifer and Bobbie were at the table now, along with more than a few customers and staff. Phillip knew he had to move quickly to get the club’s crowd back to enjoying themselves and spending their money. He and his people were, after all, only there with the owner’s permission – who liked the extra security Phillip was providing, but expected them to leave with his club business more or less intact. Actually, Phillip was counting on all the attention to make sure none of these guys tried anything.

“Ladies, my friends,” he motioned to Rachel and Jennifer, but didn’t want to use their names in front of the men, “will see that you get to your car safely. The drinks are on the house.” This next part he said a bit louder for everyone to hear, “No one bothers any of our guests. We’ll take care of these gentlemen and make sure they don’t come here again.” Phillip flashed his best “not to worry” smile as if, notwithstanding the guy who was still face down in the sawdust, it was just part of the evening’s entertainment, something to talk and text their friends about, but not that big a deal.

“You,” Phillip was pointing at the one many who was till standing, “back up, but don’t go anywhere.” The two big guys in the dark blue club security shirts that had come over for moral support would make sure of that. (Phillip had stopped by to introduce himself the night before, and Rachel had called their earpieces when she saw things happening on one of their security screens. This wasn’t the kind of thing you wanted to do without the right people knowing.)

“Thanks,” the one girl said, and they both got up quickly to leave, Rachel and Jennifer at their sides.

“Okay you, on the floor,” Phillip looked down, nodding his permission to Alice , “get up and sit down.” (Alice had to help him up and put the arm she’d twisted on the table for him, enjoying seeing him wince when she did it.) “…You, too, he said to the one that was still standing and who hadn’t said a word. “You,” he said to the man he’d been holding down,” you stay put.” Pulling up a chair from another table, Phillip decided to have a chat with the three of them.

“Take their wallets, and pat them down when you do, just in case.” Alice and Jennifer manhandled the three of them as they did. “First of all, I estimate the total tab at, what?” Raising his eyebrows, he looked to Bobbie for her advice.

Checking their wallets, Bobbie suggested, “$254, exactly”

“Thank you. That should cover the drinks and gratuities.”

Bobbie took out the money, all the cash they had on them.

“Pull their drivers licenses. .. John,” Phillip was talking to the Assistant Manager who had come over to the table when the ruckus started. He was wearing a nametag so customers would recognize his authority. “…would you please make three copies of these, one for you, one for me and one for the police, if we need to call them? And maybe a copy of tonight’s security tapes when you have time? (The ceiling was high and painted black, with floods that made it all but impossible to see the several cameras that were watching the crowd.) I can send someone over Monday to pick them up.”

“Sure thing,” and John left to make the copies.

Alice had already used her cell phone and taken separate headshots of each of the men.

“Okay, here’s the thing. Those girls had perfect ID, but someone recognized them and tells us they were barely 16. I know, I know, they seemed so mature. Bullshit, I just saved your collective asses. If I call the police, they’re going to search you and your car. I’m not calling, at least not yet, which is the second time I’ve saved your asses tonight.” Phillip showed down, his speech becoming more deliberate. “…If we see you near this place again, or those two girls, or any of our people, your faces and driver’s licenses…”

“And the security tapes,” Jennifer didn’t want them to forget. “Let’s not forget the tapes.”

“Whoa,” Bobbie couldn’t help herself. “Is that a wedding ring on your finger?” she asked, pointing to the quiet one. They all looked, and it was.

“Hmm. How ‘bout that?” Phillip pretended they didn’t know. “..Anyway, it’s all going to the police, guys. So do we have a deal?” No reaction. “…Gentlemen, do ..we ..have ..a deal?”

All of them shook their heads in the affirmative. The one who hadn’t said anything before managed an easy, “Yeah,” and seemed the least intimidated of the three. The other two were shaken. This guy was the only one who seemed pissed, and Phillip made a mental note to run background checks on the three of them.

“Good. Very good, gentlemen. I’m pleased.”

Rachel and Jennifer were back, and so was John with Phillip’s copies of the licenses, “Your wallets gentlemen. My associates,” including the two club security men, “will walk you to your cars.” Looking at Alice, “Would you please get a picture of the plates and whatever they’re driving. And they left, Rachel and Jennifer at their sides, Alice and the two blue t-shirts walking behind them.

Bobbie gave the $254 to John. “Thanks,” she smiled. A waiter came and cleaned up the table where new people were sitting a moment later. The music was loud and people stop caring, reabsorbed in their own lives in record time.

————————-

Late Sunday morning, on the balcony of the studio apartment, Alice and Phillip have just finished the plates of freshly made omelets and fruit they brought up from the tables set up around the crowded pool.

“Thanks for the brunch. Was that you’re idea, too?”

“Absolutely. Events like this rent apartments and keep the current tenants happy – even with the higher rents they’re paying.”

“You graduated with Ivy League honors in finance. Are you sure this is what you want to do?”

“Look, I know detective work for twenty somethings isn’t exactly booming. In the meantime, there’s rent to pay. Some missing persons work her, divorce work there, special security for one or two colleges…”

“And you keep day trading to pay the bills.”

“Hey, give me break. I never thought “Conroy Marketing and Security” was something I’d build overnight. In the meantime, I’ve got plan, a nice RV on a piece of property that’ll be worth something someday, and loaner apartments in five developments around the city. …Besides, I thought you had too much money to care about it. At least,” Phillip realized it sounded harsh even while he was saying it, “I work for a living. …Sorry about that. I didn’t..”

“Forget it.” She knew he meant and didn’t want him to think he’d offended her. It was a rare awkward moment in an otherwise perfect relationship, one of those defining moments when you realize you have something important to lose. “…Got to go.” Alice pushed back her chair and started to get up.

“Was it something I said,” Phillip looked up at her, only half kidding.

“More like something you didn’t say. …Oh, I almost forgot.” Reaching into the canvas bag she was carrying, “I got you something. …Here.” It was a small gift bag, bright orange, to which she had attached a puffy white bow, the kind that reflects other collars depending upon how the light hits it.

Phillip was genuinely surprised. He didn’t get presents often, and this was his first from Alice. Standing up, he looked at her, at the little bag, and then back at her, smiling more every time – and she back at him. Spreading the handles, he peeked inside where he saw black and white fake fur. “Hmmm,” he said, reaching to take whatever it was out.

“It’s a skunk atomizer, filled with cologne I thought you’d like. …Well, that I like. You squeeze its body like this, ..’Puff.’” Phillip closed his eyes, waiving off the mist as quickly as he could. “..and it sprays out it’s tush.”

“Cute,” Phillip coughed slightly, and then tried to hold back his smile, but couldn’t.

“Leaning over to the side of Phillip’s face, Alice sniffed in the fragrance, her left hand touching his arm and staying with it as she moved slowly toward the open glass doors where she stopped and turned. “It’s in case you need another excuse to see me naked.” No smile this time. She just looked at him, and then down, turned and walked away.

————————–

A few minutes later, Alice was in her car pulling out of the apartment garage, her Bluetooth headset in her ear, having already given her cell phone a verbal command number to call.

“Hello, Conroy residence.”

And then a few seconds later, in the first floor study, “Thank you, Delores. ..Jack! It’s Alice.”

“I’ll be right there,” but his wife knew that from the sound of his shoes coming quickly down the front staircase. “Put her on the speaker.”

“Hi, Alice. Hold on, Mr. …”

“I’m here, I’m here. ..How’s Phillip doing?”

“He’s doing fine, Mr. and Mrs. Conroy.”

“That’s a relief to hear,” Ellen Conroy responded in the middle of a heartfelt sigh. “He hardly talks to us. I know he’s an adult. I know, but he’s still our son.”

“I understand,” Alice reassured her, “I really do. I’ve got some stuff to do, but I’ll e-mail you an update to the diary I’ve been keeping later this evening. And don’t worry. I’ll take good care of him.”

-wf

Short Fiction for Guests of the WordFeeder
Sunday, November 9, 2009

2:10 AM, Sunday, November 1, 2009

Ralph had fallen asleep on his living room couch, some late night movie playing on the TV across from him, his right arm lying in a pile of popcorn from the bowl he’d knocked over when he passed out. In retrospect, he should have never put his feet up on the coffee table. At the end of a long, stressful day, nothing put him to sleep faster. The sound of a gentle rain falling on the fire escape outside his apartment window hadn’t made staying awake any easier.

“Buddy,” Ralph’s cat and only real friend, so Buddy would have him believe, was awake and playing with the pieces of popcorn that had rolled on to his cushion, batting them from one paw to another as if he was playing catch with himself.

Ralph hadn’t been sleeping well since Monica moved out. Well, to be honest, she’d never really moved in. In their relationship, which would have been a year old today, Monica was the one with the commitment issues, not even wanting to acknowledge they were a couple. “Couple of what?” she would say jokingly when anyone would ask. It was cute at first, but not lately, particularly since she started telling him she couldn’t see him anymore. He’d lost count of how many times she had broken up with him, only to fall back into his life the next time they ran into each other. It was a big city, but a small town when it came to personal relationships.

He was tired of it, and had told her so two weeks ago on the Saturday morning after the last Friday she’d spent the night. It was the perfect morning, fresh bagels still warm and honey walnut cream cheese he’d run out for while she was still asleep, until she broke up with him, and him with her, for the last time. It wasn’t like the other times which were hard, but still civil. This last time, there was no holding anything back. Things were said, hurtful things that wouldn’t be easily forgotten. Two weeks was the longest time they hadn’t talked or seen each other since the day they met.

“Rap, rap, rap.” It was the sound of the knocker on the metal face of his apartment door. “Ralph? Rap, rap, rap. Com’on Ralph. Get up. …Please. ..Rap, rap, rap. ..Com’on Ralph,” she pleaded, “I can hear the TV.”

“What?!” Ralph sat up, slapping his mouth with his left had to catch a drop of drool he thought he felt there, and then turning to look at the popcorn that was suck to the palm of his right hand. “What is it, Buddy?”

Sitting up as tall as he could, Buddy looked at Ralph and then at the front door.

“Rap, rap, rap. Please, Ralph. Open up.”

Getting up, Ralph used the few steps he took to imagine what would happen next, like the moment he had rehearsed for when they saw each other on the street or at a restaurant, but then said nothing when he opened the door to a rain-soaked Monica.

“Can I come in?” was what she asked, but Ralph just stood there.

“What do you want, Monica?” He was tired, and had no intention of being pleasant. “That’s my jacket. ..Thanks for bringing it back.”

“Ralph, I love you. Can I please come in?”

“Actually, no,” but she pushed her way past him anyway. Shivering slightly, she stood there, her arms folded, dripping on the small Oriental rug that covered his uneven hardwood floor.

Walking around her he picked up the remote from the coffee table and muted, but didn’t turn off the television…

“Hey, Buddy.” At least he seemed glad to see her.

…and then began shoveling the spilled popcorn back into the bowl, as good an excuse as any not to look at her. “You’re wet.”

“I couldn’t get a taxi.”

“I mean, you’re wet. Stay on the rug. ..And next time you want to talk, trying calling.”

“I did, but you haven’t been picking up.”

“And what does that tell you?”

“That your cell phone is broken?” She was trying, but he wasn’t buying it.

“Ralph, I love you. I know I said some things, but.. I’ve been.. I don’t know… Ralph, I don’t know what I’m doing.”

The final piece in the bowl, Ralph stood up and confronted her from across the room, nibbling on the pop corn to keep himself busy. “Monica,” he used call her “Honey,” “what are you doing here?”

“I want us back the way we were.”

“And where was that? In a perpetual state of being together when you felt like it. We’ve been through this. I was crazy about you, it just wasn’t the other way around – which his okay. It’s okay, Monica. What isn’t okay is this, the talking about it.”

At first, he thought it was just the rain on her face, but her breathing wasn’t right. It was the first time he’d seen her cry, fighting to hold it in.

“…You don’t want to get back together,” Ralph reminded her, “It’s not ‘us’ you miss. According to you, there isn’t any ‘us’ to miss. It’s you, it’s me, biding our time until something better turns up. …It’s oh-kay, Monica, I’m exhausted. I just don’t want to do this anymore.”

“Ralph,” she started to walk toward him, but he put his hand to hold her off. “Ralph, listen to me.” She looked pathetic standing there, but still beautiful even with her hair wet and no makeup. For the first time in their relationship, she was the one that was upset. It was a change, a reversal of fortunes that caught Ralph by surprise. This was more than he could have hoped for, but not at all what he wanted to see. And so he stood there, and became what Monica used to be.

“Stop. Just stop it. We’re done. Done. There’s no credibility here. Whatever you say, I’ve heard it before and I don’t believe it anymore.” Putting the popcorn down, he reached in his pocket for his cell phone. “I’ll call you a cab.”

“I don’t want a cab.”

“It’s still raining.”

“I don’t want to leave.”

“It’s not up to you.” It sounded more mean than he meant it. There was just too much pride to back down here, to even be nice, whatever he was feeling. So he called, and gave the dispatcher his address. “Yeah, she’ll meet you out front. ..Now.”

Wiping under her eyes, she turned toward the grandfather’s clock near the door. “I’ve always liked this,” she reached out to stroke the varnish. “Did your Great Great Grandfather really make it?”

“That’s what I’m told. He was some sort of ‘carny’ magician, pretty good according to my Grandmother who knew him when she was a kid.” Telling the story calmed him down, and her too. Buddy, who had heard it before, decided to nap, tired of turning his head from one of them to the other when they were talking.

“That’s the original finish. He was good with his hands and used to make his own gadgets and props for his shows. ..It was a gift for my Great Great Grandmother when they couldn’t afford to buy one, sort of a reward for putting up with his weirdness all those years.”

“Oh yeah,” Monica interrupted him, “so what do I get?” She smiled at him with just the corners of her mouth, hoping for any reaction she could leverage, but all she could feel was the moment slipping away.

He stood there, wondering how anyone’s eyes could be that blue, but determined not to respond. “I’ll walk you down.”

“If ever you wish for one more moment with the love of your life,” she remembered the inscription on the plaque beneath the face of the old clock, “…remember I will always love you.”

“Monica..”

“Don’t bother. I’ll walk myself out.” Looking at him, she realized he’d stayed half the room away the few minutes she’d been there. Looking for anything in his face, all she saw was resolve and knew there was no point in staying any longer. “Sorry I bothered you.” She turned, opened the door, but then paused and turned back, even though she had nothing to say.

“Forget about the jacket,” Ralph pretended that was why she had stopped. “It always looked better on you anyway. ..I’ll get another one.”

“Sure,” she answered as if the jacket was really what they were talking about, and let the door close quietly behind her.

Ralph stood there. She was gone, but he couldn’t take his eyes off the door. “You know, Buddy,” he asked, not carrying whether or not the fur ball was paying attention, “I’ve always wondered what people mean when they talk about feeling empty inside.” Buddy was awake, but barely, his head flat down on the cushion. “…Com’on. Time to hit the sack.”

Walking toward the kitchen to turn the lights out for the evening and pick up a bunch of grapes he would nibble until he dozed off, he stopped in front of his Great Great Grandfather’s clock. 2:28 AM. “Hey,” Ralph perked up, remembering what day it was. “We get an extra hour’s sleep tonight. How ‘bout that?”

He reached out to touch the inscription Monica had recited. “According to my Grandmother…” One of the things he liked about Buddy was the excuse his friend gave him to think out loud when they were alone together. “…my Great Great Grandfather told his wife that, when he died, she could turn the hands back, and he’d still be with her. …If only,” he reflected on what he had lost, on what his pride had cost him, “it were that easy.” He should have pulled her toward him, right there in the doorway, kissing her before she said anything – except for the “I love you” part, of course – push his soaked jacket off her shoulders onto the hallway floor, pressing her against the frame of the door…

Reaching up, he opened the glass in front of the face of the clock, and touched the big hand which usually moved so easily when he would adjust the time now and then, but wasn’t budging. Pushing harder, it still didn’t move. “What the…,” he said, dropping his shoulders. Determined, he reached up again, pushing so hard this time his forearm began to shake, and then, ever so slowly, the hand began to move.

“Wow.” Keeping up the pressure, he pushed it counter-clockwise. Buddy was the first to notice. Popping up in his corner on the couch, he lowered his head and looked around as the sound of vibrating plates and glasses came louder from the kitchen. Ralph was still oblivious to the rumbling, all his energies focused on moving the big hand of the clock. The harder he pushed, the greater the vibration. The bowl of popcorn shaking its way toward the edge of the coffee table. A book falling from the shelves between the windows, and the bat he kept in the corner falling hard, his softball rolling out of his glove across the floor.

“There,” he stopped and so did the shaking in his apartment a second or two later. Checking the time on his cell phone, and then the clock, it was 1:30.

Forty minutes later, Ralph was in his bed, in the sweat pants and t-shirt that were his version of pajamas. Buddy was on top of the blanket, on the side of bed where Ralph’s tossing wouldn’t bother him. Both were sound asleep, some Lifetime movie playing on the small flat screen on his dresser. In the living room, it was dark, the lights from the street flickering through the windows.

“Rap, rap, rap.” It was the sound of the knocker on the metal face of his apartment door. “Ralph? Rap, rap, rap. Com’on Ralph. Get up. …Please. ..Rap, rap, rap. ..Com’on Ralph,” she pleaded, “I can hear the TV.”

-wf

Friday, October 30, 2009

*Headline to the Washington Post article by Paul Farhi, Thursday, October 29, 2009.

According to the article in yesterday’s Washington Post which led me to write this piece, 1 in 8 American women will have invasive breast cancer at some time in her life, 1 in 35 American women will die from it. I have a wife, a daughter, a sister and women who are friends. Breast cancer is very, very serious business, an horrific disease which is attacking half our population in epidemic numbers. Nothing I say in this piece should be construed as diminishing the critical nature of this disease or the need to do absolutely everything we can to fight it.

So here comes WJLA, Channel 7, the ABC affiliate in Washington, DC. In a four part series which began last night, WJLA public service programming on the subject of breast cancer awareness will be featuring the fully exposed breasts of two women who have volunteered as subjects to demonstrate self-examination techniques. Let me encourage you to read the entire Post article for yourselves, and then view the first installment in the series through the link at the end of this post.

The series is timed to coincide with National Breast Cancer Awareness month which ends Saturday. It’s also being aired during the first two days of “Sweeps Week,” the month during which the drawing power of specific shows will be measured and advertising rates set for the year ahead.

What a coinkydink. Or, if you prefer, you can imagine me pretending to sneeze while uttering a certain 8 letter word in the process, “Ahhhhhh bul…” Either way, you get the point.

WJLA management, while admitting that they’re in a business in which ratings count, claims the station is trying to get people to watch because it’s that important a story. It’s an important story alright, which is precisely why it shouldn’t be exploited as a tool for increasing viewership.

News broadcasts are exempt from FCC indecency rules which is how the station gets away with it. Fine, but why is nudity, however tastefully presented and however noble the cause, essential to accomplish the station’s public service objective? Who are the additional viewers these segments will attract and why will they be watching? And perhaps most telling, why wait until now? National Breast Cancer Awareness month is just that, a month long. Why not run the series at the beginning of the month or at any other time during the month? Why now? Ratings.

Not to be cute, but will WJLA – which, as far as anyone knows, is the only television news program in the United States using nudity to discuss breast cancer – give equal time for other cancers and disorders involving body parts that wouldn’t otherwise be exposed on prime time and late night broadcast television? I doubt it – at least not until Sweeps Week 2010.

No question, this stunt – the nudity part of their series – at WJLA is all about ratings. We can only hope it doesn’t diminish the power of the all-important message which is the legitimate story they should be telling.

Judge for yourself. Here’s the link to last night’s segment on WJLA… “Touch of Life: The Guide to Self-Breast Examination”

-wf

Wednesday, October 28, 2009

Our Constitution defines a Congress in which the people are represented as individuals in the House of Representatives, and as states in the Senate. Nowhere in the Constitution does it say that money gets to vote.  

It’s a free country. Other than campaign financing laws which limit contributions to political campaigns, there’s no stopping anyone or any organization from arguing its point of view in public. Companies do it all the time. It’s called “marketing.” Wealthier people and organizations still have an advantage, but at least it’s out there for all of us to see, judge for ourselves and, if necessary, do something about it.

Lobbying is far more insidious. The problem is access, direct and discreet access to the Congressmen and women, Senators and their staffs who make our laws and spend our money. It’s access we, as citizens, can’t afford and seldom get.

Why do our elected representatives pay attention? Why do they allow, even encourage such privileged access? Because it takes lots of money to get elected? Yes, but it’s not so much that the costs of getting elected have risen so dramatically, as it is that the money some candidates have been able to raise to buy their election has, and everyone else either keeps pace or loses.

The problem isn’t the money per se, it’s the influence it buys. Better, more extensive campaign financing reform will help, but we need to get to the heart of the matter, to deny lobbyists the access they crave. Without access, there’s no point in their spending their money to pervert the election process in favor of those candidates who may or may not end up supporting their objectives.

How do we do it? Lobbyists are already required by law to register. The next step is simply to make it against the law for them meet or otherwise communicate with our elected representatives or their staffs. Think of it as similar to the rules in our legal system which recognize the inappropriate nature of “ex parte” communications. From www.Dictionary.com…

1. From or on one side only, with the other side absent or unrepresented.
2. From a one-sided or strongly biased point of view.

No question about it, I’m making it illegal to “lobby” in the conventional sense of the term. Lobbyists will just have to resort to using their considerable persuasive skills through the media along with the manufacturers of Cheetos and adjustable beds – as long as they talk issues, and not specific candidates. Enforcement will be a problem, but time and the electorate will out those officials who continue to behave badly in opposition to the letter and spirit of the law. Pretty soon, old school lobbyists won’t have anything to do, no lobbies they can hang around waiting to make their pitch, and that will be that.

Sure, it’s way easier said than done, mostly because the lobbyists themselves will be lobbying against this new legislation I’m recommending, and because the Congressmen/women and Senators they support will be very reluctant to lose the advantage their “ethical flexibility” allows them. Hard, yes, but worth it don’t you think, and high time we returned control over our government to the people, regardless of how much money they have.

-wf

Tuesday, October 27, 2009

There’s disagreement among Senators about whether or not healthcare reform legislation should have a “public option.” Rather than take the time and make the effort to develop the concept to the point where it either makes sense or doesn’t for all Americans, the Senate Democratic leadership and the Obama Administration chose instead to negotiate a deal in the worst possible tradition of Congressional and Presidential politics.

It’s simple. Senators represent states. If your state doesn’t like the public option, you can opt out of it. There. Now we have legislation all the Democrats in the Senate can support. What could be more perfect?

Either the public option makes sense or it doesn’t, but to give individual states the right to participate is contradictory is to the primary objective of healthcare reform legislation, that being the part where it’s supposed to be “universal,” regardless of where in these united states you happen to live.

I know, I know. Technically, we’re a federation of states. And yes, I’ve made the admittedly radical argument in a previous article that I believe the Senate has long ago outlived is usefulness. Believe me, this deal that Harry Reid struck with President Obama and his team has nothing to do with the historic basis for our country or any constitutional issue. It’s about getting legislation passed before the end of the year and the hell off everyone’s plate. What started out to be a noble cause has turned into a pain in everyone’s Congressional and Presidential butt – which is not the context in which you want to devise complex, expensive, literally life altering healthcare legislation.

Forgetting about the politics of it, or my concerns about states’ rights, how would it even work? Won’t people who can, and who want the public option, move from states that don’t offer it to those that do? How will private sector health insurance coverage, what’s left of it after the public option goes into effect, vary from state to state? Perhaps most importantly, how will the presence or absence of the public option affect the way healthcare services providers are compensated in different states, with what implications for the extent and quality of local healthcare?

What a mess. Just what, exactly, has the Senate added to the debate over healthcare reform? Or President Obama, for that matter, whose leadership has been woefully inadequate.

You might also want to read, “Did you hear the one about Medicare and the Public Option?” published October 22 on the WordFeeder.

-wf

Thursday, October 22, 2009

You see those feet in the picture across the top of my home page? The ones on the right are my son’s, taken on the day he graduated from law school.

Well, he made partner today at his law firm. Very impressive.

His mother and I are very proud and, while we were proud of him anyway, this is a particularly wonderful moment for which he deserves extra special credit.

Way to go, Son!

We love you.

-wf (aka “Daddy”)

Thursday, October 22, 2009

Proponents of the Public Option are fond of pointing to Medicare as an example of how effectively the government can provide healthcare insurance. For the sake of argument, let’s assume that Medicare is, in fact, the perfect government program with no funding or administrative issues – God’s gift to healthcare for Americans over 65. So it would seem, given that almost all of our countrymen in that age group are covered by Medicare – and that’s precisely why it’s not an argument for the Public Option.

If there was ever proof positive that a Public Option will put private sector healthcare insurance out of business, it’s Medicare.  Whatever the program’s shortcomings, it is apparently so well designed and priced that almost all Americans who are eligible subscribe to it in one form or another. The private sector, having no demand for its own Medicare-independent competitive coverage, has been relegated to the role of marketing and administering Medicare programs. These private sector programs for people 65 and older offer various additional benefits, but make no mistake about it, they’re all about Medicare.

We’ve all heard the suggestion from people frustrated by the mess that is healthcare reform legislation, “Why don’t we just lower the minimum age for Medicare to cover everyone?” And, you know, maybe it’s not such a bad idea – if you believe that private sector insurance has no place, serves no role in facilitating the delivery of quality medical services. Maybe it doesn’t. Maybe healthcare insurance should be a government service. I don’t think so, but it’s debatable. Let’s just stop pretending that a Public Option isn’t tantamount to a government takeover of the healthcare insurance market with who knows what implications for the larger healthcare services industry itself.

If a Public Option is anything like Medicare, why won’t private sector programs for Americans under 65 suffer the same fate? At the end of the day, the Public Option will be serving the vast majority of Americans. That makes the Public Option a virtual monopoly, with the power, however inadvertent and well-meaning, to remove competition from the market rather than encourage it – while wrecking havoc on the entire healthcare services industry which Public Option insurance is paying, with consequences no one can adequately foresee.

By the way, as a monopoly, the Public Option will, by definition, have no competitive basis for setting the prices of the services its insurance covers. Rather than fixing the imperfections in the market in which the prices for healthcare services are now determined, our government will have replaced that essential market mechanism with its own judgment of what those prices should be, and that is a disaster waiting to happen.

Here’s a simple, but nonetheless powerful observation: Having the government go into competition with the private sector for the purpose of encouraging competition is an oxymoron, and is neither the only or best way to cure a market that is behaving badly. Far from it. The Public Option is little more than an example of a President and Congress that lack the intellectual patience and creativity to craft more effective, far less disruptive legislative solutions.

-wf