We took Rael McCoy, straightened him out. Trouble was, this created two stars where before there were one. Which is Real. Which is Rael?
(to be continued)
After a night of, ahem, renewing their wedding vows, Wendy and Jeffrie parted ways, he back to Collagesity down in the southern part of the continent and she over to dutifully waiting Kolya just out at the bay of this same fledgling town. Apt. 2 had been put to good use after all but just for 1 day. Wendy stops at this brightly lit citrus fruit shop below where they stayed, studying what appears to be an All Orange, naval down. Lemons and limes on the side, yes, but this was the centerpiece, the center*point*.
But it can’t quite obscure the green plate hung on the wall behind it, acting like a lingering corona for a solar eclipse coming from the cool side this time. Only we the readers have the perspective to ponder what it means, as Wendy isn’t viewing remotely right now, distracted by the trees in the forest. She turns.
And an Oz colored plate! she thinks. I want it! I’ll make Jeffrie come back tonight or the night after that or sometime soon at least and I’ll get him down here to purchase it for me. Real metal! And I want those lemon and lime citrus drinks that go along with it too.
A small earthquake hit the town and the plate starting ringing in a perfect D Flat. Steady Kolya walked in from the bay. “I’ll get it.”
(to be continued)
“I hear you got a new job over at the airport terminal, Ginger. Life must be treating you good.”
“Just shut the f-ck up while we wait for Snowmanster, Marty.”
“Oooo. Touched a nerve, did I? Life *isn’t* treating you that well.”
“If I had a gun…” she seethed, not daring to glance in his direction, because looks could kill at this point. Plus there was Lemon to deal with. Always in the background: funny foot Lemon, always with the guffaws. She couldn’t ask about him because she wasn’t sure he was alive or dead. Life (and death) is so confusing in this land of 2. Just ask holey headed Kolya, who Marty kind of invented after all, Marty kind of made him up. “Penny Lane,” Ginger realized at some crossroads while they were still living together. “Arnold Layne”! The great 2n1 that started it all. Takes 2 to know. It all fell completely together before it all collapsed utterly apart, with him over there on the couch and she in her bed, sometimes with another after that. Tom the milkman, Ben the paperboy, er, man. Man, she meant there in her thoughts. 18: old enough, or so he said. Then Jake the butcher; the candlestick maker — she even forgot his actual name and he had come over more than once. Unlike One Time Feldon. She remembered his name because of the Oracle. Feldon — Fieldon. He was 30 but didn’t look a day over 10. And the fun they had that one time! “Water’s on!” he called from the bathroom at 5 in the morning. She’ll never forget that line. Then Marty came home early at 6 from one of his blasted solo tours and put a stop to all that. All she had was the once. But it might have been enough, because she had memories. And a hi-fi tape, ha. Yeah, they got back together. Before Ringold came along and drummed him out of the picture again, maybe for good this time. They hadn’t spoken since, but they had to divide the house. Hence the visit here, to the Illuminati once more. Whom Marty vowed that one time back in Spring ’64 that he would never revisit, till death do them part.
“I’m having second thoughts, Wheeler, er, Hidi. Get it?: *second* thoughts.”
Wheeler/Hidi didn’t answer. She was engrossed in looking at the stars and wondering if Grandpa Cliffs ever dreamed of frying.
AB continued on. “There’s nothing much else on this island, this Mystery Island. Basically it all revolves around the rocketship. And this planetarium I suppose.”
“2 Saturns,” Hidi finally managed from her likewise prostrate position on the cushions, still staring up. “I recall…”
“No, that was a mistake, Hidi.”
“When you get there,” Hidi, the more hidden and “evil” one in the moment, said, “you’ll see two Saturns. A second Saturn will be visible. Malefic will be amplified.”
“Ridiculous,” AB doubled down. “It’s just Jupiter with wings. I mean, er, *rings*.” She looks over, exposed for a moment; chink in the (golden) armor.
“It’s over, Sandy,” Baker Bloch said from the bench in front of the canvas. The search for All Orange: done.”
“I know,” he speaks over from the game he and Wendy and perhaps several others are playing. Not Carcassonne, but close, because tiles are involved, jigsaw shaped ones in this case, which they are sitting on as well as playing with. They are playing with themselves.
“Whose move, Wendy?” he asks.
“Yours.” They switch jigsaw pieces with each other while Baker continues to stare.
“She was my great great grandmother and she liberated this city,” continued Dinner Girl after Lt. Tanner indicated to her the likely next target. Dr. Baumbeer also got his answer from same. “Along with the pig, of course.”
Ahh, the pig, pondered the wise bat-rabbit, looking over from the armed, winged statue at it instead. Another thing in the center, albeit in a corner of this roped off area, almost an afterthought to most. But not Dinner. Supper taught her that. Supper was her part time brother, part time lover. Depending if she’s on the clock or not. “So we’re on for 4 o’clock tomorrow (more resonance)?” Baumbeer was hugely looking forward to analyzing the destructive girl’s brain. Maybe he’ll read up on some Adler, Fraud, and Young tonight in preparation, take some notes on the mother archetype. Or great great grandmother archetype in this case, perhaps. He wonders if there is such a thing.
“Can you believe gun toting was illegal before her time, mm mm mm?” Dinner Girl says while recocking. She freed all us women. We got rid of the men who weren’t needed. We made alliances with like-minded in the Amazon basin and elsewhere. *No* one… tells us what to do now.”
“I’m sure you’re right.” Baumbeer wasn’t paid top dollar to disagree with a wedged in hatred. You’ll need a crowbar from Mars to do that.
“If you get stuck at any one point, you can always go back to the Old Country to regroup,” the Man About Time softly spoke over to Newtonia Kashkow, who could barely hear what he says across the circle. Is this another time distortion? she thought. No, it’s just *him*. So mellow and meek for someone so important. Must be the effects of the travel.
“Collagesity,” he spoke more, “should become a focus again.”
Newtonia Kashkow took this in. “I know you are the same as Marcus Fox Smartville and so we are related.”
“True,” Man About Time admitted after a small pause.
“And you are *not* a sucker.”
“Only in the mind of the beholder. On this turf (Our Second Lyfe): no.” He sat confident in his tannish/goldeny brown, throne-like chair. This was his moment. He steps in to become the knight in tan armor. Or was that aroma. The smell of something hot. And unpleasant. No, that was just an anagram. He sits back up from a naturally slumping position, mind focused again away from the morass. That particular sometimes light brown substance will not play a role in this.
Oh, if she could only see what he felt. But the War between Mind and Senses wouldn’t allow it.