If you are hiding behind the heavy curtain of political correctness, this book is...
...not for the Baptists.
Where I got my title is a bit strange, not unlike some of my stories. I thought of it while that whole hubbub about the purple Teletubby being homosexual was raging. I figured that if I could tick off a major religious figure without doing anything actually offensive, then it would be great free publicity. I figured that hey, even if they donít read the book, maybe they will buy it and burn it, still putting cash into my pocket because of their ignorance. Not that I think that this will actually work, by any means, but it was a thought.
My frame of mind while writing these stories varied, of course. Watching one of my best friends slide into the pits of heroin addiction inspired one of my tales, but the rest came from the depths of my imagination. Honestly, I usually am in a most dreadful mood when I write and nobody can stand to be near me. Maybe a good word to describe my state of mind is irritable.
What I want the reader to understand..
Plain and simple,
life may not be good, but no matter how bad off you think you are,
someone else most likely has it a lot worse.
It certainly wasnít the first time. But I certainly didnít expect it to be my last. Nobody ever does, I guess. I had them all: doctors, lawyers, businessmen, congressmen, and musicians. My favorites were always the musicians. I donít know what this guy was, though. Some type of businessman, I imagined. His house was huge; his wife was out of town.
I woke up next to him in his king size bed, really wishing that I remembered his name. I was hung over as all fuck and my head was throbbing like someone was trying to crack my skull with a sledgehammer. I sat up and looked around, only to fall right back down.
The second attempt was much more successful.
I found the guyís wallet on top of his dresser...
his name was Mitch Miller...
like the old singer...
I laughed out loud.
He didnít look like a Mitch. I took a few twenties out of his wallet and slipped them into my bra, which for some reason had stayed on me all night...
or maybe I just put it back on...
I really donít remember.
I rummaged around until I found some excedrin...
I took four. I really hurt.
I wandered into the kitchen to get some water to down these pills, stopping in the hall to grab my purse with my own pills in them. I was feeling pretty bad and needed to perk up...
I needed to get out of there before he woke up...
and I wasnít done pillaging yet. I wished I had brought my bigger purse--this guy was loaded.
I checked on him again--
he was still out of it
--slipping a few barbiturates into a drink will do that-
so I decided to shower--
but not before raiding his wifeís jewelry chest. She had the most beautiful silver and emerald earrings--
I probably could have got about 800 for them. I slipped them in the bag and made my way to the shower. The bathroom was gorgeous---
there was a Jacuzzi and everything--
but I didnít think that I had time for that. I undressed slowly watching the twenties flutter to the floor out of my bra...there were a few hundreds in there too---
I would definitely be able to make rent this month--and eat too. I got into the shower and closed the sliding door behind me...
while I was washing my hair I heard a loud bang--
it scare the hell out of me--
I got shampoo in my eyes...
I rinsed my eyes out the best that I could and got out of the shower...
fumbling for a towel...
I wrapped it around me and walked out of the bathroom calling ďHelloĒ but to no answer.
My vision was still cloudy...fucking shampoo. I heard someone moving around but couldnít see anything. I was getting pretty scared and pissed at the same time.
I swung open the bedroom door, and was staring straight into the barrel of a pistol and a woman scorned.
And then there was nothing.
About Brenda Ann Likavec: born in 1975 in Northwest Indiana, holds a Bachelor of Arts degree in English from Purdue University. Currently working in the financial industry, she has every intention of returning to school to pursue an eventual Doctorate in English. In her sparse spare time, she likes to read Oscar Wilde and James Joyce and play with her two cats, Grover and Donk.