Enter…The Ghoul Squad–Part Va: P.

[We're still waiting on Anenome's post. In the meantime, I'll continue with our story.]

Ghoul Squad Roll Call:

P.
Pepper Weckelsby (secretary)

Iliana’s apartment wasn’t too far away, and the weather was so beautiful, we decided to walk. This gave us a chance to clear our heads, get some fresh air and formulate our game plan. The planning didn’t take very long. Both of us shared classes with Iliana. I took Russian lit. with her and she and Pepper had some journalism class together. While neither of us really knew her, our experience told us that getting her to talk would not be a problem. Getting her to stop talking or to keep to the topic at hand would be far more challenging.

Our planning session completed, I got to spend the rest of our walk gazing at Pepper without trying to be too obvious about it. One of life’s greatest pleasures is to watch Pepper Weckelsby walk down the street on a sunny day. My spirits fell as she mentioned Renaldo, her fiancee. Was this just what she had on her mind or did she sense my interest and intend this as a subtle reminder that her heart belonged to another? She said that he was out of the country researching Peruvian accounting practices. He said that he was taking plenty of pictures and she was very excited about this.

We reached an impressive apartment building on Robinson Ave. Pepper’s eyes lit up.

“I thought I had recognized the address! This building was once the home of Luce Hadden, otherwise known as ‘the Gentleman Ghoul’! I’ll tell you more on the way back!”

We entered the elevator and were greeted by an older man and a young Japanese woman who would later become a great friend of Pepper’s. They were both in elevator operator uniforms.

“I hope you don’t mind,” the older man began “but I’m training a new employee today. Would it be all right if Yuka served as your elevator operator today? I can assure you she’s been through all of the required classes. She has an internship at the 株式会社そごう department store coming up this summer. And I will be present at all times. But if you’re not comfortable with that arrangement, I would be happy to transport you myself.”

I grew a little impatient as we slowly ascended to the 14th floor, but Pepper seemed quite excited at the novelty of the operators. She whistled “Come on, ghost” by the Pillows. I wasn’t sure how much to tip. I hope it was an appropriate amount.

Iliana greeted us warmly, offering each of us a tumbler of vodka. She was dressed quite provocatively, in a revealing nightgown and high heels. It was clear that she had already been drinking that evening. Before we could sit down, she told us exactly what she thought of us, as if reading off a checklist.

“P.! Your poetry is juvenile and without passion. Your insights into Russian literature might have some merit if you would read the works in their original language rather than the hideous ‘translations’ of Constance Garnett.”* After pronouncing the name she spat on the floor. “Perhaps someday I could teach you something about the Russian mind and of …. passion.” She moved closer to me. It’s possible she was coming on to me. I’m still not certain.

“Pepper! Your painting is worthless. Stop wasting your time on it. You have great journalistic instincts, however. Pehaps I could help you with your … investigations.” She raised an eyebrow. I’m fairly certain she was coming on to Pepper. She attempted to edge up to Pepper suavely. Her suaveness was derailed by two items. Her spittle on the floor from the Constance Garnett comment and her high-heeled slippers.** Pepper and I managed to catch her in time.

Pepper got out her notebook and began: “Can you..”

“Ah yes, the night of the shooting.” Iliana interrupted. “I was backstage with Harriet. The amateurs onstage were so pathetic. Barbershop quartets? No wonder you Americans cannot produce a decent opera! The skiffle band led my that lecherous British buffoon?! I had to stuff my ears with cotton! And that Amy Greathouse! Her so-called ‘interpretive dance’ is more suited to the monkey-house at the zoo, filled with monkeys, rather than..”

I could not bear any more of this. “Ms. Chaikovskaya!” I broke in. “I have had quite enough. I enjoyed Amy’s performance a great deal and even if I had not, she is a friend of mine and I will not permit you to speak about her in this manner!” I had expected Iliana to react quite antagonictically to this outburst. On the contrary, she smiled and seemed to regard me in a curious way. “Now,” I asked. “Who else was in the backstage area?”

“When we arrived, it was only the two security guards. No,” she corrected herself, “at first, just the one. The bearded one with the gut. He kept staring at me. All men do. Then the younger, thin one arrived soon after we did. He looked a little confused, unsure of himself. All men feel this way in my presence. He looked like he was trying to get Harriet’s attention, but she was absorbed in her preperations. She does not like to be disturbed before she goes onstage.”

“Then that idiot Betel woman and her idiot son came in to talk with Harriet. She spoke with Harriet in hushed tones as the boy sulked next to me on the sofa. Jan Betel thought no one could hear what they were saying, but I could hear. She was attempting to romance Harriet.”

“Harriet said ‘I’m not interested in women.’ I yelled from the couch “I am interested in women!” This surprised the Betel woman. Harriet made more excuses. This was just to get rid of the Betel woman. I can assure you that Harriet is interested in women. “

“Then that idiot Serious arrived to further interrupt her. I was leaving the room when I heard the gunshot. I ran toward the backstage area and ran into Serious. You know the rest.”

“Did you see a glowing hand or anything of the sort?” Pepper asked.

“Do you think I’m an idiot? Of course I didn’t see a glowing hand.”

Before we left, Pepper made a sketch of ‘Radish’ based on Iliana’s description. “Hm.” said Pepper. “He looks a little familiar. Maybe he’s a student as well.”

We left more confused than ever. We decided to take a cab home. Pepper regaled me with lurid tales of Luce Hadden and I thought of bread and cheese.***

*While I have yet to learn Russian, I did take Iliana’s advice and get rid of my Garnett translations. Best move I ever made in terms of Russian lit.
** Perhaps the vodka she was drinking contributed as well.
*** I was getting hungry.

Enter…The Ghoul Squad–Part IVa: Introduction

Ghoul Squad Roll Call:

Nigel Cuttlefish (chairman)
P.
Amy Greathouse (treasurer)
Pepper Weckelsby (secretary)

At this point in our narrative, we enter scenes where I myself was not present. I have asked some of the players involved to present their recollections. We’ll see how many respond. First up is Anenome Greathouse known to me at the time as Amy. I recall that as we were getting ready to leave to interview witnesses, she approached me.

“P.,” she said hesitantly, “would it be alright if we switched partners?” I was a bit surprised. After all, this was the soft-spoken and kind Ritchie Sauces who was to be her interview-buddy.

“That’s fine.” I said. “Is there any reason why?”

“Well,” she began, “it’s probably nothing. It’s just that when we were backstage before the play, Ritchie said something to me. It didn’t make any sense really. But the more I think about it, I think… I think he might have been propositioning me.” She looked embarrased.

“And … is this a bad thing or …” I ventured.

“No, no! I mean yes!” she said. “I mean, Ritchie’s a wonderful guy, of course. I just don’t feel that way about him. And like I said, it’s probably nothing. What he said was so ambiguous … and yet so oddly suggestive … Oh, I’m sure it’s nothing. I probably misinterpreted what he said. Colin had just come on to me in a manner that was in no way subtle, so that just put my mind in that direction.” she started to relax. “Colin’s great, but … I don’t have a problem dating older men and I don’t have a problem dating burnouts, but both…” she laughed.

“Well,” I said, “I don’t mind switching with you if you like.”

“No switching partners!” I heard Bulldog yell. “I paired you up using the latest criminological techniques! It is a very scientific method. I don’t want you messing things up!”

“What scientific method?” Pepper asked. “You threw our names in a hat and picked them out at random!”

“That ‘hat’ is a replica of a Cheshire constabulary helmet!” Bulldog bellowed.

“Replica?” I heard Nigel ask, disappointed.

“No switching partners!” Bulldog reiterated.

Amy reassured me that she would be fine with Ritchie and we all parted ways.

Coming up, Anenome tells us about their interview with Dickie Betel.

CAN YOU GUESS WHO SHOT HARRIET?

PIT YOUR WITS AGAINST YOUR FELLOW T.A.Z.MAHAL READERS AND VOTE FOR WHO YOU THINK THE CULPRIT MUST BE!

WAS IT ….

THE ECCENTRIC ARTIST?

THE JILTED LOVER?

THE ROGUE SECURITY GUARD?

THE MISCHEVIOUS GHOST?

OR SOMEONE ENTIRELY UNEXPECTED?

Poll: Who do YOU think shot Harriet?

Enter … The Ghoul Squad–Part I

So busy!

I’ve been plotting with Anenome on how to deal with Nigel, meeting with the planning committee for PC2007, editing a new poetry volume, trying to write new poetry AND taking a Chinese cookery class at the Learning Annex at the Institute. And I haven’t forgotten about all of you commenters. I intend to respond to each and every one of you when I get a free moment. And back to our story!

Every other week, the University puts on a major theatrical, musical or artistic production, prefaced by student presentations that anyone can sign up for. When I arrived at the theatre with Sol & Pepper, I was overjoyed to see several familiar names on the program.

Before the first act, the dean introduced a very special guest, Jan Betel, whose patronage paid for the event. She was seated next to her son Dickie who Nigel & I knew from our fencing class. “I’m so sorry all these horrible people are spoiling your birthday!” Jan hissed to Dickie not realizing* that there was a microphone nearby. “We’ll have a real party as soon as they all leave. Can I buy you something to make it all better?” Poor Dickie squirmed in his seat looking mortified.

Ms. Betel approached to podium. “My dear students. Welcome. Many of my friends (no one any of you would know) have asked me why I’ve sent my dear son Dickie to this university. After all, I have a great deal of money.” She stared into the distance lazily for a moment contemplatively before resuming her speech. “Yes, a great deal of money. Why send my only son to this school?”

“Only son? I thought she had two other boys!” I heard a whisper from behind me.

Ms. Betel continued. “I sent young Dickie here because there is so much that people of your station can teach him. How to procure illegal substances. Relations with the local bail bondsman. The latest dance steps.” Without another word, she left the podium and sat down leaving the audience unsure of whether she had finished or not. There was a smattering a polite applause.

The evening began in ernest with The Nice Young Men, a barbershop quartet featuring our own Ritchie Sauces as well as Dickie Betel. It was enjoyable if you like that sort of thing, although we were surprised to see one of the quartet wearing short pants.** Odd since he was performing onstage and this was in the middle of winter! Apparantly, he wears these abbreviated slacks wherever his travels take him.***

Next on was Wotcher!, a skiffle group led by a man who must have been my parents age or older. I asked Pepper if he was a faculty member. “Colin? No. He’s a local eccentric. I have a few classes with him. He’s been an undergrad for decades! I hear he’s quite the charmer, though. If you have a girlfriend, you should probably have her steer clear of him.”

If I have a girlfriend! Oh, these words stabbed through my very being like a icepick through the cornea! If I had a girlfriend, she wouldn’t be attending the theatre or art museums alone, say I! I busied myself looking through the program. “Oh my good friend Amy is on next! She will be giving an interpretive dance! That one is filled with hidden depth!” I tried to keep my tone of voice cheery.

If I needed a distraction at that moment, Amy certainly provided it. Her dance was captivating and absorbing. I was at the edge of my seat, eyes glued to the stage. Only the boos and catcalls following her performace broke my trance. It seems no one else shared my appreciation for her work. Their loss.

And then, after a brief intermission: Hamlet. While my primary literary interests lie in the past century and a half, I’ve always had a special place in my heart for the bard. The performance was adequate, but I kept being distracted by the two men seated in front of us. Since one of them kept whispering in the other’s ear, I mistook them for a couple.**** As I leaned forward to shush them, I noticed that the whisperer was reading to the other young man from A Midsummer Night’s Dream. Between the 2nd and 3rd scenes, I politely asked them to keep it down. The whisperer apoligized and said “Sorry, Serious likes to listen to the dialogue from one Shakepeare play as he watches another.” As I absorbed this odd bit of information, I recognized the whisperer as Marcel, a young writer whose poetry was over-rated, but whose dramatic work showed tremendous promise, greater than any other English major I knew of.

I would have responded, but I was struck dumb by the entrance of Ophelia. Longtime readers perhaps have already guessed that Ophelia was played by the young French actress Harriet. I had not suspected her nationality though since she bore no trace of an accent. Her beauty and extraordinary acting kept me captivated.

Pepper must have noticed this. “Why don’t you send her a note?!” she suggested at the intermission while we stood in line for snowcones.***** As I hemmed and hawed she fumbled though her purse for pen and paper. Finally, she turned to the gentleman standing behind us in line, who turned out to be none other than Marcel’s companion. “Excuse me”, Pepper said. “Can I borrow a pen really quick?”

His eyes brightened and he replied. “Yes, but first let me ask you, are you …. serious?” He arched an eyebrow as I noticed Marcel appear out of nowhere, roll his eyes and exale with resignation, a harbinger of what was to follow. Pepper began to respond, but he interrupted her by singing loudly “HAVE YOU EVER BEEN SERIOUS?”****** while gyrating and giving Pepper odd and improbable looks. This, of course, attracted a great deal of attention. Marcel, acting as if he had done this countless times before began to sing the bass line of the song while miming the onstage persona of Noel Redding. “Well, I have”.

He finished singing and presented Pepper with a pen. “A blue pen to go with your lovely blue eyes,” he purred. “But my eyes are grey,” she said hesitantly, as if approaching an unpredictable animal. “Marcel!” he yelled. Marcel, who had just disappeared reappeared just as suddenly holding out what looked like a contact lense case sitting atop a purple pillow. Pepper examined the case. “Color contacts?” she asked.

As Marcel and his friend walked away,******* Nigel appeared behind us.

“Ah, I see you’ve met the young Serious Dogstar.”

“You know him?” I asked my roommate.

“No, never met the man.” he replied.

“Then how do you know his name?” Pepper asked “And who the heck are you anyway?”

“Nigel Cuttlefish at your service!” he beamed, sticking his thumbs in his armpits. “As to how I knew his name, merely look at the pen he gave you!” Nigel chuckled.

Pepper and I gave the pen a closer look. On it was engraved, “A blue pen to go with your lovely blue eyes from Serious Dogstar“

“Oh brother,” thus Pepper. She took a napkin and quickly wrote out a note, not letting me see. “Now, how do we get this to Harriet?” she mused.

“Never fear,” an already familiar voice bellowed, “Serious is present!” He and Marcel were approaching us again.

“Uh, thanks for the pen. Bye.” Pepper started to walk away.

“But Harriet is my buddy!” Serious said.

“It’s true”, Marcel spoke up. “She’s an exchange student and Serious is showing her around.” The crowd had made their way back into the auditorium and we were nearly alone in the lobby. Pepper reluctantly agreed to give Serious the note and as he vanished through the backstage door, we returned to our seats.

Just as we were sitting down we heard a loud bang. I assumed that it was a part of the production until I recalled that we were seeing Hamlet which traditionally does not make use of firearms. The bang was followed by a high-pitched scream and a female voice with a Russian accent yelled “Harriet! She’s been shot! Serious has shot Harriet!”

To be continued ….

* Or perhaps not caring
** Junie tells me this style of trousers are called “shorts.”
*** I’m told that he is quite the world traveller.
**** Forgive me, Marcel!
***** A local theatre custom. Odd, but charming.
****** To the tune of “Are You Experienced” by the Jimi Hendrix Experience
******* I don’t understand why they left. They didn’t want their snowcones any longer?