Letter to Laetitia:
Love Call.
2ba_john_rah _part_01
Book 5
Laetitia. Now is the time for you to know you love me. If there is some reason you can’t allow your life to include me as your lover, like if you are married and don’t even like reading and don’t like my writing and don’t understand English, then...
"What then?”
"We could still be friends.”
"No. Don’t use that tired line.”
Alas, we have started the final book a little confused.
"Quite different than the others.”
"Yes indeed. It comes from living in Germany that my thoughts have become so organized.”
"Yes, German culture.”
Germany is a funny land. It’s a land of lands. A history of little domains dictated by kings or lords or dukes or whatever. War all the time.
But forget that. What about the Romans? What’s up with calling them great. They were pretty brutal really. Nobody tries them for war crimes.
Triumvirate dictatorship in the guise of something somehow democratic.
"Really?”
"Like a democratic dictatorship.”
"But let’s stay away from jabbing at history and politics. Avoid all satire.”
"Be fucking cheery.”
"Life is great.”
"The sky is blue.”
"The water is green.”
"The day is new.”
If we get it together, we’ll make this bloody happy stuff here. We could use it. We can start with love poems and move onto metaphysical declaration about the isness of being. The universe of the mind.
"The touch of skin!”
"We’ll get to that one day, just hang on.”
Let’s do a Lymerick or two. Start with fish and bunnies and the lot.
There was a little bunny from Tyrol
Who lived on a hill in a hole.
He made love in the day
Till the sun went away.
At night he played cards with a mole.
"What! That’s ridiculous; bunnies don’t play with moles.”
"Just warming up.”
There was a black duck on the water
Who fell in love with the swan’s daughter.
The second uncle of her son
Sold his feathers for a gun
So that the black, he could slaughter.
"What!” That’s not sweet and lovely.”
"Oh, yes. True, one more.”
Bunny bunny
Fish duck
Jumping Jesus
Holy Fuck.
"That wasn’t a lymerick.”
There was a young lad named Fred
Who never got out of his bed.
He had locks on the door
Many weapons in store.
He stayed there until he was dead.
"Bravo!”
"More?”
"Please.”
"One with sex so we can reach that market. We have the anti-market already covered.”
There was an old whore on the streets
Who made her living with her feet.
Her clients would pay.
On the floor they would lay.
With her toes she did handle their meat.
"Use tits and snatch and beaver.”
There was a fair maiden from Praug
With a beaver big as a log.
Her hair, golden locks.
She loved to suck cock.
When full, she was wet as a bog.
"Tits, you left out the tits.”
"Yes, we get straight to it.”
"I hope no one is offended by this silly stuff.”
"No, no, a world where Catholic priests fuck choir boys up their tight hairless asses is a world that hungers for filth.”
"Not our sweet Laetitia.”
"She’ll have to face the world if she hasn’t already.”
"No she doesn’t.”
"She’ll have to know that side of me if she is to know me.”
"I think you want to scare her off. You want to scare all the decent women off.”
"Decent is an illusion.”
There was a young nun from Tibet
With enormously beautiful tits.
With just a little luck
Her jugs you could fuck.
Sperm is the best against zits.
"Okay, do one for the kids.”
"A sonnet.”
Whenst for to did you goeth
Was is where the wind did bloweth
Can you see in the glass
"Wait!”
"What?”
"I don’t know how to do it.”
"Oh, fuck it, just screw it.”
"A story.”
The sun lifted slowly and languidly over the sleeping city. Pigeons shit a mountain of disease on the front steps of the private detective’s office.
The sign on the wall by the door said:
Stan Steinkopf
Discrete Private Eye
Connie pressed the buzzer. After buzzing a few more times, a crackling voice gurgled out.
"Fuck off, I don’t have any money.”
"I need a detective.”
"Oh.”
He buzzed her in.
"One more floor,” Stan yelled down to her after she had climbed the first 3.
He had opened the door and washed his face and thrown on some clothes and opened the blinds before he jumped over his desk and landed in his chair. He was reading the telephone book which happened to be the only thing in his reach.
He looked up at the sound of his potential client’s breathing.
"What will you do to me?”
"Excuse me.”
"I said, how can I be of service?”
"I think my husband is having an affair.”
Oh fuck, Stan thought. The same old nonsense. He was completely tired of trying to get incriminating picture of people having affairs.
"Why don’t you just ask him.”
"He always throws a tantrum when I suggest he is doing anything that displeases me.”
"Manipulation through terrorism.”
"Pardon me.”
"It’s okay, do sit down and take your clothes off. I’ll take your coat.”
Stan realized the woman was making him nervous. He looked at her closely to find out why. It was simple. He should have seen it strait away. She was dangerously beautiful. Aphrodite, no. Who was the goddess of love he wondered.
"Sorry, what was you name.”
"Connie Baker.”
That was a lame name for a goddess. Perhaps she was in the Congo. No, incognito. Stan was forgetting all his terms. No one was talking, he realized. He had forgot to tell her to tell her story before he tried to figure the woman.
"Connie, if you don’t require me to call you Mrs. Baker.”
"Connie. Call me Connie.”
"Connie, tell me your story.”
"I was born into one of the richest families in Germany...”
Normally Stan would remind a potential client that a short version was preferrable, he had other cases he also had to work on. But he just watched her. Truth was, he hadn’t had a case in 3 months and hadn’t ever had such a beautiful creature sit across his desk from him.
She moved like a cat, he thought. Even now that she wasn’t moving, she still seemed to be moving like a cat. Did she need to be patted or was she stocking for the kill. The more Stan watched her, the more she frightened him. The more she frightened him, the more he couldn’t bare the thought of her finishing her story and leaving his office.
"Do you live here?”
"Yes. Where did you say you met your husband.”
"I hadn’t said that yet. I was telling you of my childhood.”
"Yes, of course, and the summer vacation on the Mediterranean coast of France.”
"My dad loves the sea and my mom loves to shop in Monaco.”
"Monaco is nice for shopping.”
"Do you have coffee?”
"Oh, yes, sorry. I never think to drink it at this hour. Yes, I’ll make us a coffee. I could use a coffee. It’ll take a minute.”
Stan stood and tried to move as elegantly to his little kitchen as the time of day would allow. he managed to knock a book on the floor, alarming his dog.
"Oh.”
"Sorry. Don’t worry. He’s just a big pup.”
"Very big. What does he weigh?”
"About 60 kilos.”
"What’s his name?”
"Pig.”
"Pig.”
"Pig.”
"Is he full breed?”
"I don’t know. He isn’t really mine. My last client died and no one would take him. We put up with each other.”
"He’s so beautiful.”
"And as smart as a post.”
"I don’t believe it.”
Connie patted Pig for a few minutes while Stan prepared the coffee. Although he didn’t hear her come in, Stan knew Connie was now in his kitchen. He didn’t want to play games with this woman but he had to bump into her once to know she was real. He turned to the cupboard to get the mugs.
"Oh, sorry, I didn’t hear you come in.”
"Can we sit in here? It is much nicer here.”
"Wherever you please.”
he had managed to feel breast against his arm. He was sure it was real. She was real. He couldn’t imagine that she didn’t know that he hadn’t a hope in hell of not falling madly in love with her. he couldn’t believe any man married to Connie would know what the word affair meant.
"Not very many people get a divorce because their spouse has an affair. Do you take sugar? I have no milk. I never think to buy it.”
"A little sugar.”
"How did you find me?”
"Quite by chance. Maybe because of your name. My maiden name is Steinholz.”
Steinholz. The name rang a bell, as they say, but the ringing didn’t help place it. She saw that Stan hadn’t caught the connection. Steinholz Holdings maybe.
"Steinholz Oil.”
"Yes, of course, Steinholz Oil.”
Stan had never heard of Steinholz Oil. He didn’t have a car and his apartment was heated with gas. That was to say, if the heating worked, it would be gas that made it do it’s job. He’d have to see about having it fixed before the winter sat in. it was something he never remembered when the days were still warm.
Connie sat by the window just as the sun started to make it’s way around to the little balcony. Stan just then remembered that he had marijuana plants on his balcony. She hadn’t seemed to notice them yet.
"I met my husband in Nigeria when my father was stationed there for a year to improve the political problems with the natives.”
Stan didn’t know about native Nigerians. He assumed they were black and lived in third world conditions. Most of Africa did. It was a pretty safe assumption.
Stan thought of Native Indians living in reservations. He could picture the small wood frame house and the old Chevy pick-up truck. he thought of black market cigarettes and wanted to smoke. he hadn’t smoked a cigarette for 6 months. He wondered if he could roll one with just enough grass in it so he didn’t have to reprimand himself for wanting a cigarette.
"Where’s your bathroom?”
Had she read his thoughts.
"To the right. The light is on the outside wall.”
Stan quickly rolled a joint with the smallest amount of grass. He didn’t want he smelling it and he didn’t want to be stoned before he could put some of the pieces of Connie’s story together. He opened the balcony door and stood by it so he could blow the smoke directly outside.
"Which one is mine?”
"As you wish.”
"Do you take sugar?”
"Yes, two spoons.”
She handed him his coffee and sat down. Her lag was touching his and he couldn’t move without making it obvious. She didn’t think to move away.
"I was sixteen.”
"When?”
"When Mr. Baker married me.”
She opened her purse that she had brought back in with her.
"This is a picture of him.”
Stan took the picture. It was a holiday picture of Connie and her husband. he looked like a running back. All American hero stereo typical business man with money to burn and a young goddess for a wife.
"How old is this picture.”
"Two years.”
"How old is you husband?”
"Thirty-seven.”
"How old are you?”
"Twenty four.”
There was too much THC in his brain already. He wanted to lay down. he wanted to lay down with Connie. he flung his joint into the yard below and sat down across from Connie. She told him everything. Most everything he didn’t really want to know. After three cups of coffee, she seemed to be done with her story.
"Do I pay up front?”
"I hadn’t decided if I take your case or not.”
She answered him with silence.
"Two hundred a day plus expenses. You can give me some now and the rest when we have ground for a divorce.”
"There won’t be a divorce.”
Hadn’t she said divorce. Stan had to remember to listen to his clients better. He had only assumed that was what she wanted.
There was six hundred Euro on his table and Connie had already stood to leave. She was asking him something. He had to assume it was about when and where and how. He looked on the table to make sure he had taken some notes. He had. The only thing left was to give her his card and tell her she could call any time and come by any time.
"I’ll give you my card,” he said as he made his way to his desk. He told her the standard closing lines to first meetings with husband having an affair clients.
"Thanks,” she said kissing him ever so lightly on his dry lips.
He stood by the door long after she was gone. If Pig wasn’t standing beside him waiting for his morning walk in the park, Stan might have stood there all day and wondered why the hell this woman kissed him.
"Okay, Pig, let’s go for a piss in the park and try figure this out.”
And since it’s 05:40, Laetitia, I’m going to bed.
_bunnie stop_
by Joanne B. Washington
read on. 2ba_john_rah_part_02
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