OPHELIA OBLONGATA | SUGAR TONIGHT

            At 4:00 am Richard watched Annalisa sleeping in the glow from the swimming pool lights. He was a new man.  He could not recall who he'd been before he met her. She blew that man away.  It had been an incredible evening.   

            She looked like a Bond Girl all stretched out in the shimmering blue light.  The wind chimes made soothing sounds through the open sliding glass door.

            “Are you hungry?” he whispered when her blue eyes opened.

            She nodded. 


            "I'll rustle up some grub", Richard winked.


            She put on her silk elephant leg pants but didn't bother to put on her shirt. She followed him to the kitchen. There was nothing in the fridge except some risky banana bread.

  

            “I have to warn you, I didn’t make this.  My friend Carl put this in the freezer.  He’s an excellent cook but he puts hash in everything.  I can find a liquor store and look for something edible,” he offered.

            

            "It's fine," she turned on a radio she found on the counter and began to dance slowly and seductively, "You have a lovely home."

            "It's not mine. Carl and I are house-sitting our way across the country. You'll never guess who owns this house." Richard did his best imitation of an internationally famous poet as he danced towards her.

 

  

             They toasted the bread and made hot tea.  The hash made her talkative. Until now she hadn’t really said anything.  He learned that she left Stockholm to search for her big sister and that the authorities wouldn’t help because they didn’t consider Camilla missing.  She said her sister was the outdoor type.  She'd sent Annalisa a beautiful basket of pears from a fruit stand on Pearblossom Highway and postcards from The Devil’s Punchbowl and other world famous rock formations.  Annalisa was going to visit those places to see if she could pick up a trail that would lead her to Camilla.

            Another effect of the bread was that after a good conversation, more love making and a deep sleep, his stomach woke him up around 7:00 am like a raccoon demanding to be fed.  He was hungry enough to eat his pillow.  He was not surprised that she was not in bed.  He’d probably find her in the kitchen wolfing down that lonesome can of stewed tomatoes that had not looked so appetizing last night but was on his mind now.

            

            She wasn’t there.  She wasn’t anywhere.  He lost his appetite to a different kind of emptiness. He called his mom.

             

           “Mom, I’m sorry I haven’t called.  I’ve been concentrating on the play.  I don’t know Annalisa’s last name.  Just give her the added performances in case she happens to be in those areas when we are.  If she shows up before I get home, promise me you won’t let Bobby steal my girl, mom."

Bobby was a well-connected lead singer in a band that opened for bands like THE DOORS. He had hooked Richard up with the “housesitting for the stars” arrangement.  All Richard ever had to do was water a few plants, feed some fish and in exchange he got to spend a few nights in some of the most beautiful homes in the world.

              

           “Love you too mom.” He locked up the poet’s house and hopped on his motorcycle. His mom didn’t know about the private show of HAMLET at the estate on Key Biscayne.  He hadn’t told her about the rich patron who commissioned a nude performance of the play.  He was relieved that Annalisa was headed west and wouldn’t be connecting with him in Miami.  He held out hope that he might see her in Galveston.  That possibility was all he thought about as he sped through long, empty green stretches of cattle pastures in Central Florida.

     

 ~ To Be Continued ~

OPHELIA OBLONGATA | BEAUTIFUL ANNALISA

                Busloads of children came to the campus from different counties.  They would receive a concentrated dose of art and culture in one afternoon and then be shipped back to their worlds.  A scout in a mustard colored suit discretely cherry-picked talent for the master.  Many of the youngsters would never know what hit them.  Some would slip into madness.  Others would disappear and never be heard from again.

            It was the summer of 1969 and beautiful Annalisa just happened to be passing through St. Petersburg. She checked the billboard at the student center for a ride to California.  Then she wandered into the theatre to use the restroom.  After she freshened up, she stood in the wings and watched Hamlet throwing a tantrum in a graveyard.

When the scene was over, the actor playing Hamlet locked eyes with Annalisa.  He came to her like a guided missile.  She backed up until she felt the cool brick wall against her.  He placed the palms of his hands against the wall on either side of her face and slowly leaned in until they were cheek to cheek.  His voice was much deeper than the voice he had used on stage.  His was a rich, hypnotic voice that demolished most women.

            “I thought I told you to go to the nunnery,” Richard teased.

            His charisma appeared to be working.  She melted a bit, but then slipped through his arms and walked out of the back door of the theatre.

            “Where are you going?” He sounded like Hamlet again.

            “To the nunnery,” she said without looking back to see how he was taking it.  She had a Swedish accent.

            He caught up with her on the sea wall.  The chase coupled with the fear of being late for his next scene overwhelmed him.  The other actors spilled onto the loading dock and frantically waved for him to come inside.  He dragged her back to the theatre.

            “I’m taking you to dinner after the show but you’re not teetering on the seawall without a lifeguard while I’m trying to deliver lines,” he tried to regain control.  This captivating stranger had effortlessly snatched his composure and left him in danger of sounding like a screech owl the rest of his performance if he didn’t get a grip. 

            “Watch my girl.  Don’t let her near the water.  Lenny, if you touch her, you’ll really be a grave man,” Richard said to the actor who played the gravedigger.  He took the stage choking down gale force blasts of conflicting emotions.  Lust slammed into humiliation.  Pride buckled under the stress of unbearable curiosity.  Anger snaked into the soup when he saw the looks he got from everyone when the words, “my girl” made his lips curl.  That audience would never forget that night’s sword fight.

            Afterwards the cast had an informal party at a popular late night restaurant that featured dim red lighting, fried clams and hotdogs steamed in beer.

            “Check out my too much change-ed son,” the actress who played Hamlet’s mom  elbowed her boyfriend.

            Richard wrote some numbers on a cloth napkin and stuffed it into Annalisa’s purse.

            “We’ll be in California in August.  If you’re anywhere near Lake Arrowhead, well, you can come see us or I can zip over to wherever you are staying.  The other number is my mom in Bakersfield.  If you need anything, anything at all, call her.  I’ll let her know.  She has my schedule.  You know how moms are,” Richard knew he was talking too much but he couldn’t risk losing contact with her.  Now that she had contact information, he backed off.  He reached for the pitcher and topped off their beers.

 ~ To Be Continued ~