Decided to give a go with the writing challenge at Long and Short reviews once more.

privacy, horn, rocket, track, party

Dean Driscoll covered his ears at the sound of the racket outside. He’d close the door, but then if would get stifling hot in here. Loud music, horns honking, people laughing. It was a party out there- which he wasn’t at and hadn’t been invited too. Just as well. He was a serious scientist-unlike all the other who were out there getting drunk and acting silly. Sure, they had a successful rocket launch but one day’s success was not enough. He and all the rest worked out here at Facility Q9-a top secret community of scientists off the grid in Northern California.

Dean tapped his pencil against the paper, trying to work out calculations in his head. He’d sketched out the strange triangular object he’d observed and was desperate to figure out how it could possible have moved so fast.  It might be important. I could be the Reds. He glanced at the newspaper laying on the opposite chair. Soviets suspected to be ready for a launch.  He shuddered.

All the fighting that had gone on in the war and here the were, 1955, and dangerously close to losing freedom all over again. 

And all any of his colleagues could do was throw a party over one minor success.

“You aren’t going to the party Dr. Driscoll?” A voice, a voice he knew, broke through his thoughts. He stood up straight, startled, knocking his pens to the floor. Harry Vickers always had that effect on him. 

“I wasn’t invited,” Dean replied.

“Neither was I,” Harry said with a shy smile, “Always the odd men out aren’t we?”

“I suppose,” Dean responded his cheeks flushed. He thought Harry was handsome, brilliant, and brave. So did the others-which is why he was here at Facility Q9. But even a place this top secret and off the grid had certain codes. A Black scientist like Harry didn’t mix too freely with the rest of the colleagues. Except Dean. 

“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” Harry said. “More calculations?”

“Yes,” Dean answered, focusing back on the science, which was better than focusing on Harry’s stunning good looks and soft brown eyes. 

“If you want your privacy…” Harry’s voice trailed off.

“No. Come on in. After all, you were the one doing the flying.”

Harry was one of the best pilots at Facility Q9. Rumor was he’d flown a few experimental craft for the official military, before being recruited by the Facility. Dean had be a passenger on that fateful day when the small plane had come across the triangular object streaming across the sky. They’d tracked it as far and as fast a possible, but it had gotten lost over the ocean.

Harry took off his jacket, and set down a bottle of soda. Dean gestured for him to come closer and take a look at the sketch.

“The math doesn’t add up. Is shouldn’t have been able to move quite like that. And definitely not that fast.”

“I’ve never seen anything like it?”

Dean took a deep breath. He’s never said it out loud to any of his other colleagues but maybe he’d take a chance with Harry.

“Do you think it could be extraterrestrial?”

Harry gave him a long, slow look. Dean gulped. His hands shook. Now, he’d be seen as a nut case. This facility collected all kinds of strange objects with supposed mythical origins. They chased down rumors of abilities ranging from teleportation to telepathy. And the recent wave of sightings had led a few scientists to wink wink nudge nudge certain ideas about intelligences outside of this planet.

“I don’t discount anything anymore. Not after what I’ve seen,” Harry replied.

TO BE CONTINUED

This is not a news day that leaves me feel hopeful, but these quotes do.

“ The whole of life is just like watching a film. Only it’s as though you always get in ten minutes after the big picture has started, and no one will tell you the plot, so you have to work it out all yourself from the clues.” Moving Pictures/ Terry Pratchett

“I wanted you to see what real courage is, instead of getting the idea that courage is a man with a gun in his hand. It’s when you know you’re licked before you begin but you begin anyway and you see it through no matter what. You rarely win, but sometimes you do.” To Kill a Mockingbird / Harper Lee

“Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don’t matter at all, because once you are Real you can’t be ugly, except to people who don’t understand.”  Margery Williams/ The Velveteen Rabbit 

Hi there! It’s been a long time.

I didn’t believe in Santa as a kid. In my home, Christmas was focused on the religious aspect. I clearly remember our church nativity plays. I did receive gifts for Christmas, and I remember going to one of those Santa photos in the mall. My favorite part of Christmas was going to get a real tree with my Dad. I loved the whole trip-picking a tree; the pine smell; fitting the tree it into the car. LOL  One year I got one of those tacky dancing Santas for my Mom as a joke. My mother does full scale Martha Stewart Level decorating. I have a child and two cats, so it’s strictly dollar store ornaments around these parts. But we have cookies! Lots of cookies. 

reign, grateful, soup, ghost, immune

continuing the Christmas story

Dexter Cole worked hard at his job as a personal chef. He pressed his hands down to tightly seal the container on one of his signature vegan soups. He hoped his client was eating as she should. Her immune system needed the boost that you got from salads made from fresh ingredients. He was grateful for his job. She gave him free reign of the kitchen and the menu as long as he agreed to come to her exclusively on Tuesdays and Fridays to prepare the week’s meals. She had exacting standards but was an excellent employer. 

When he first gotten the referral he almost hadn’t believed it. The Angela Redmond. He was too young, but his father had been a fan of hers and everyone knew her Christmas hit. It was practically a standard when the holiday season rolled around. Apparently she’d played a the role of the Ghost of Christmas Past in one of millions of reimagined versions of A Christmas Carol. The movie itself hadn’t been anything memorable, but the song was. 

No, he hadn’t asked for an autograph because that was a quick way to get fired. The good personal chef positions went to people who kept their mouths shut and did not invade the clients privacy. 

Angela had asked him to prepare extra for the Christmas holidays. Not the main Christmas dinner which was a catered affair at some ballroom in the city, but a smaller dinner party on Christmas Eve so he had gone all out. Her daughter Charlotte was inviting a few friends of hers; a few notable members from one of the diva’s charity clubs; a mega church pastor and his wife. It was about a dozen people and the budget was more than generous. 

copyright Echo Ishii 2021

Nature is always my first choice to recharge. I have several spots I like to visit. Usually walks, but lately I’ve gotten more interesting in cycling. Currently, I just have a regular street bicycle, but I am saving up to get a hybrid road bicycle ( and helmet!) to travel further. Once things open up and I get fully vaccinated (yes, I believe in getting vaccinated) I plan to cycle with a friend of mine who lives in another prefecture.  Taking a bicycle ride with my daughter also helps to recharge. It’s a good mother-daughter activity and gives us some positive bonding time. The upheaval of the last year has been hard on her emotionally, so quality time is good. 

I like baking cookies to recharge-but I am trying not to run to food every time I stress out. It gets to be a bad habit. 

Reading is relaxing, and a particularly good book helps me recharge. I just finished The Thursday Murder Club, which was hilarious! A good comedy movie also helps me recharge. (Galaxy Quest, Dodgeball). 

This week I’m continuing my Christmas mystery story of aging pop starlet Angela Redmond.

Friday Five

Impact, sphere, fashion, gesture, hobby

There was no denying Angela Redmond’s impact on music and fashion, Jeremy Oshima thought with a sigh, but why did she have to be so difficult to work with? He’d been standing outside in the cold for fifteen minutes. It was a nice porch, and it covered the cold wind, but still she could have called.

He was being paid handsomely to ghost write Redmond’s autobiography. It wasn’t his  usually sphere of expertise. Jeremy specialized in true crime books-several of which had been optioned-under the name P.G. Grant. The main reason he agreed to this was because his publisher was looking for someone after three others had declined. He now knew why.

The car finally pulled up, Angela’s harried daughter Charlotte looked as if she wanted to keep driving and ram it up to the side of the house. He couldn’t blame her. He could only imagine the horror show a day out with Angela must be. He felt sorry for Charlotte. She didn’t strike him as having any friends, hobbies, or interests. Charlotte was the youngest of Angela’s children, at least officially. He’d done some digging around and found that might not be true. An interesting phone call with a man named Martin Quinn had revealed quite a bit about Ms. Angela Redmond that her carefully crafted persona had not revealed. 

The maid ran out to help the daughter bring in the bags. Angela walked up to him and smiled. “I’m so sorry I’m late, “ she said. When you looked at her you would think it was sincere. Her smile was wide and her eyelashes fluttered, and she said it all so sweetly. He’d learned it was all and act but he played his role.

“We need to get started,” he said gesturing for her to go to their usual work room.  It was a spacious study near the back of the house. It didn’t look as if it had really been used, to be honest, and he seriously doubted Angela had read any of the books. The maid would bring in some tea soon. It was the usual routine.

“It took us so long. The was so much to do. I went to the gallery to look over a few newer exhibits. Supporting local artists is passion of mine,” she went on for a while but Jeremy tuned most of it out as he set down his laptop. He’d take notes on paper while she talked because she hated him typing away. It was one of her many quirks.

He took out his latest legal pad where he had the name Martin Quinn, written and underlined. Might as well start with him first, he thought wickedly, and see how she reacts. This wasn’t the same as true crime but it was getting more interesting by the day.

Copyright Echo Ishii 2021

crosswalk, background, absence, address, hope

******

Charlotte saw the light turn green and dashed across the crosswalk, feeling some of the eggnog latte swish out of her mug and down on her hands. She waited until she was safe on the other side, and sloppily tried to wipe of her right  hand with the edge of her sweater. Not the best option, but she had no way to put it down. She drank it all down quick. She wished she had something stronger to drink-even though she knew full well alcohol did not agree with her.

It’s just a wreath. It’s just a little Christmas shopping with your mother. 

Wasn’t this supposed to be joyous and exciting? Didn’t all those Lifetime movies show mother’s and daughter’s sharing heartfelt holiday secrets. 

Her rucksack was on her back and she plunged back into the cool air conditioning of the Knots & Knits.  Her mother was still there, of course, drumming her fingers on the wood counter as the woman behind it stared wide eyed.

“I was very specific with your manager about how I wanted them framed.”

“Yes, ma’am. I’m so sorry ma’am.”

The framed family portraits were only one of a long list of Christmas related purchases. Charlotte had no idea why the portraits were so important. Her mother, Angela, rarely had a holiday that wasn’t on the road when she was growing up. She’d lived with her dad and stepmom and spent every holiday with them. Her mother’s absence was barely noticed. 

Until this year when her dad had suggested she spend the holidays with her mother. This was the biggest mistake of her life.

The strains of holiday music played in the background. It was faint, but she recognized her mother’s voice. Whatever her faults Angela Redmond’s soprano was the envy of angels.

“My daughter’s back finally,” her mother walked over to her. “ I need to send all the details and addresses…”

“ I put it all in your phone,” Charlotte sighed. 

 “Don’t sigh dear it’s not attractive,” her mother said sharply handing her phone over. 

“What’s that on your sweater,” her mother hissed in her ear. “Coffee. I didn’t teach you better than to walk around with coffee stains.”

Clearly she’d been hoping against hope that it wouldn’t be noticed. 

“I spilled it in the parking lot.”

“All over yourself. You smell like a dessert. I can’t believe this.” Her mother reached into her handbag.

“I can’t be expected to work this thing Charlotte. You do it.” She handed it over to, nodded to the harried woman- behind the counter-and walked down the next aisle.

Charlotte didn’t sigh. She bit her lip to keep from screaming as her mother high heels make a clicker clack retreat.

Twelve days until Christmas is too far away.

Copyright Echo Ishii 2021