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Winds of Change

Sometimes a change, when it’s ignored long enough, has a way of kicking you square in the butt.

Such is an experience I’ve recently had. I’ve ignored and ignored and complacently accepted a situation that was not necessarily bad but it wasn’t good either. 

Well, said situation has slowly undermined several aspects of my life and I am now faced with the fact that I’ve been a total fool and in order to “un-fool” myself, the change that has been nipping at my edges for the longest time is no longer nipping but taking hunks out of me.

So, there it is, Change is not in the wind, it’s parked its huge bulk at my door and can no longer be ignored.

Time to let it in the door.

Sony unfair to Author

http://www.washingtonpost.com/blogs/she-the-people/post/is-adele-dubois-the-romance-writer-infringing-on-adele-the-singer/2012/05/14/gIQAT32WPU_blog.html

The above is a link to an article at The Washington Post regarding romance/erotica author Adele Dubois

It appears that Sony has trademarked Adele, the singer’s name and they have sent cease and desist letters to Adele Dubois the author, for using her own name for her writing career.

This is the author’s birth name and she has been writing under it for “decades”. 

Are you an author, artist, or even maker of soap, and selling your wares under your name, and is your name the same as a famous persons? If so… look out, someone might be out to get you.

As far as I’m concerned, the boycott of Sony is ON! 

In no way do I blame the singer Adele, she’s probably not even aware of what’s going on. But Adele the author has had her name and has been publishing under it since she was 19. Personally I think the author should sue Sony big time.

Then again, she is getting a lot of publicity.

The Gigolo of DanBois Park (Part 34)

     ”She’s very fond of you, you know.”

     Elliott placed the cuff links from Clementina Wardell into the drawer and walked out of the safe. “Close,” he said. The safe closed behind him as he joined Lydia at the club chairs. She’d poured them both a brandy and sat quietly swirling the liquid in her glass. He sank into the soft leather and watched the flames in the fireplace play tag with each other.

     “You do know that, don’t you?”

     “I know.” He took an envelope from his breast pocket. It was fat with bills, fatter than it should be. He handed it over to Lydia who weighed it in her hand with a frown before she opened it.

     “A note.” She unfolded it. “My dear Elliott, I regret to say that it is time for my annual trip to visit my sister down south. I won’t be back for a few months, as usual. And, as usual, here is pay for the evenings I will be gone. Do yourself a favor and please take those nights off. There is, of course, advance payment for the day I come back. I’ve also left a credit for your use at your tailors, for everything from shoes and socks to coat and top hat, Happy Birthday early, dear boy. I shall miss you, and will convey your greetings to my son. Affectionately, Clementina.”

     “I forgot she goes to her sister’s every year at this time. Nice of her to pay for your time off and the extras. See, I told you she was fond of you.”

     “She never talks of Mother.” Elliott sipped from his glass and frowned. It was his favorite brandy, yet, tonight, it disappointed.

     “Have you ever asked her?”

     He shrugged. “I… no.”

     Lydia poured herself another drink. “They were good friends.”  She tapped the envelope on the table. “I could clear off a few bills with what’s in here, and have plenty left to tide the household expenses over for a while.”

     “Then do it.”

     “Do you need anything?”

     “Just my usual allowance.” His voice was soft and exhausted, unwilling to invite anything other than cursory questions.

     Lydia knew the mood well. Even as a child, as a baby, it had always been there. And, as in the past, she knew when to ignore it, when he needed to be brought out of his melancholy into the present.

     “Have you puzzled out yet what has been happening?”

     “No.” He sipped his brandy. As he put the glass down she poured more into it.

     “Perhaps Beatrice has been too much of a distraction.”

     His “no” was too quick.

     “Ah,” was all she replied.

     “What’s that supposed to mean?” He glared at the fire instead of her.

     “It means I hit a nerve and you know it. She IS a distraction. Can you afford that?”

     “Has the money I bring in lessened?”

     She sighed, “you know that’s not what I mean.”

     “Beatrice has offered enough money to restore the lower level, to a habitable state. Can we afford not to take advantage of that?”

     “Of course not. I merely meant you can’t afford to have feelings for her.”

     She watched his jaw tighten and press his lips so tightly they whitened around the edges.

     “I have no more feelings for her than I do for the other women who pay me, except Clementina, whom I’ve always been fond of.” He finally said.

     “Hmph. Other women. I suppose that includes me.”

     “I love you. You know that. I love you as much as I love my mother, perhaps even more. You’ve been with me every day of my life. You’re the one who found me, a beat up pulp at the bottom of the stairs and nursed me. Hell, you nursed me as a baby, how could I not love you?”

     The confession surprised her. He’d never said that before. She tried to wave the sentiment away.

     “You’re becoming maudlin. Finish your brandy and go to bed. You have a free schedule tomorrow.” She tapped the envelope. “As a matter of fact, I’m giving you the next few days off. Go have some fun. Shut yourself up in your workroom and figure out what the hell is going on.”

    She heaved her bulk up and started for the door, stopped, walked back to the back of his chair, brushed a few of his curls and bent down to kiss the top of his head, “thank you, you dear, dear boy.”

    And, lest a tear fall on him she hustled out of the room as quickly as her bulk would allow.

     He stared at the flames in the fireplace a few moments more, then slowly shook his head. “I am getting maudlin.” And it was all Beatrice’s fault. Beautiful, capable, straight forward, maddeningly independent, Beatrice Prime.

—-

© 2012 Sable Jak

The Gigolo of DanBois Park (Part 33)

     Elliott stood in the library door. Through the windows he could see the sky slowing brightening with the dawn. The shadows in the room became smaller and smaller patches of  black.

      He listened. The Mansion and everyone in it, except a large gray cat staring at him from the desk, was asleep.

      He quietly crossed the room to the bookshelves he’d searched yesterday. Once up the ladder he pulled himself along to the spot where he’d found the book with the bomb in it.

     Without a torch, and dawn not yet reaching into the room to illuminate it, he had to grope into the shadows until his hand closed on it. Barely the size of a calling card, just an old, faded and folded piece of paper, he pulled it toward him. His relief in finding it, with its blood red wax seal unbroken, was immeasurable.

      His hand shook and he felt a shudder run through him. He wanted to open it but knew he could not, not yet. He climbed quietly down the ladder and walked from the room, pausing a moment to pat the head of the large gray cat.

      After he left a drape slid aside from the wall and Figbee stepped forward. He climbed the library ladder and moved silently back and forth across the shelves. He had a torch and shined it intensely into every crevice in the wood, every corner in the back, but found nothing. Climbing back down he did not pat the head of the cat on his way out.

 ——-

      Standing in the middle of the walk-in safe, the cufflink drawer open before him, Elliott applied pressure to the side of the drawer. A secondary bottom – hidden as decorative edging – slid out revealing a small space the width and length of the drawer, but about a half inch in depth. In it was a paper or two and many loose gem stones. Into the space Elliott deposited the tattered and sealed paper. Pressure to the other side of the drawer and the false bottom slid back and he manually closed the drawer.

     He heard the wall behind him roll down and the highboy slide into place, leaving the wall looking like nothing more than wall to anyone else. Exhausted he crawled into bed and curled into a ball as he pulled the bedclothes around him until not even the soft curls at the nape of his neck could be seen.

——

     Elliott thought he was being attentive. Up until this moment, on the dance floor. Gliding his partner through the waltz he thought he was being exactly what his client had paid for. Until this moment.

    “Elliott,” the petite lady in his arms murmured up at him, “is she beautiful?”

     “What?”

     He looked down at her. The Widow Clementina Wardell was fifty, lithe and lovely with more energy than women half her age. She never called him “E” as her only demands on him were to take her dancing once a month, provide intellectual conversation and treat her with the same respect her late husband had. She also enjoyed the notoriety of being seen with him.

     “I’m sorry, dear Clementina, what did you say?”

     “I asked if she is beautiful. You’re acting like my son does whenever a new woman enters his life.”

     “There is no woman in my life except you.”

     “Tonight. Tell that to the Contessa Von Schtrobeck. She’s been glaring at you.”

     “I hadn’t noticed.”

    She chuckled, not believing it for a moment. “Precisely why she’s been glaring at you. She is an evil, evil thing. But don’t worry. There isn’t a woman in this restaurant who wouldn’t defend you against her.”

     “It’s a man’s job to defend the woman.”

     “Never underestimate what a woman – or group of women with a common interest – can do to one of her own. Now, let’s set some tongues wagging. I want to give you a gift, but at our table, in full view.”

——

     Elliott turned the sapphire cufflinks over in his hands. “Mrs. Wardell…” he corrected himself as she touched his hand, “Clementina… I can’t accept these.”

     “Why not? Because they’re expensive? My late husband left me enough money to buy you a pair of those – with diamonds – every day of the week for the next thirty years and have plenty of money to live the way I want to. Oh look!”

     His eyes slid to the side, “what?”

     “People are trying to see what I’ve given you. I love it. Do hold them out and admire them. Maybe I should have gotten you something more flashy, really set them going.”

    He took her hand in his and gently kissed it. “You are incorrigible,” he smiled.

     “And tired. Take me home, make them think you’re going to thank me… in that special way of yours.”

     At that he threw back his head and laughed loudly.

——

© 2012 Sable Jak