St Muckymuck, Season 3: The Sybelline Books Part IV

ST MUCKYMUCK

Season 3

WRITTEN BY STEVEN GORMAN

WHAT YOU READ IS:

IRRELIGIOUS, IRREVERENT, AND IRRELEVANT.

THE PEOPLE, PLACES, AND EVENTS CONTAINED IN ST MUCKYMUCK ARE COMPLETELY FICTIONAL. ANY AND ALL RESEMBLANCES TO REAL PEOPLE, REAL PLACES, AND/OR REAL EVENTS PAST, PRESENT, OR FUTURE IS PURELY COINCIDENTAL.

Auchterarder, Scotland
Two hours later

"Why have you come to see me, Sister?" asked a hunch-backed, elderly woman, clutching a shawl.  "I'm trying to recall the last time I saw you."

"It was four years ago, Elvira," said Myra.  "Four years ago to this very night."

"Ah, yes!  You had come to take the auspices about a young man..."

"Never mind that now.  I've come to have them taken again," said Myra, quickly.

"Alright -- for what purpose?" asked the elderly woman.

There was an awkward pause.

"I've lost something and need to find it.  Something very important."

"Hmm," said Elvira, scratching her chin and looking at Myra with one eye open.  "Something?  Or someone??"

"No!"

"So, it's someone, is it?"

"No!"

"Hmm...methinks thou dost protest too much."

"Whatever do you mean?" asked Myra, shortly.  "I haven't protested at all!"

The old lady's door slammed shut, swatting Myra on the behind.  "That's what I mean!" said the old lady and she cackled.  "Follow me."

Myra followed her into a dark room.  In the center was a round table with a rather large crystal ball in the center.  At the moment it was faintly glowing.  There was a clicking sound and it began to swirl with bright colors.

"Like it?" she asked, referring to the orb lamp.  "I got it at Twittle and Sapsucker's last week in Kilcathclyde.  Isn't it great?"  She cackled and produced a very old coffee can.

She removed the lid and took out a fudge tin that was at least as old as the coffee can.  She removed the rectangular metal lid and pulled out a long, thin metal tube.  From out of that, she shook five deep red dice.  "These are made of rubies.  They belonged to Cleopatra who supposedly got them from an Indian merchant who stole them from a constrictor vampire in Southern Afghanistan."

"Good heavens!" said Myra, thinking of her own ancient treasure, the rest of which she was seeking.

"These dice will tell us from what portion of the sky to take the auspices."  She placed the dice in a golden cup with a black velvet lining.  She shook furiously and then cast the dice onto the circular table.  The varying light from the crystal ball caused the red dice to appear blood-like, the round diamonds that represented the numbers looked like sparkly white blood cells.

"Whoa!  All fives!  Look!!"

Myra peered down onto the table where the five dices' fives smiled up at her.  "What does that mean?" inquired Myra.

"Nothing..." said Elvira.  "So far it's just cool!"  She cackled, coughing.  "So far!"  She scribbled something on a pad of paper with a quill pen.

She put the five dice back in the cup and shook it again.  When she threw the dice on the table, she shrieked.  "All fives again!"  She scribbled something for a second time.

"How many times do you do this?" asked Myra, nodding toward the dice.

"Five," answered Elvira, collecting the gems for dice into the cup for a third cast.  "I don't believe it!  All fives -- a third time!"  She picked up the dice for a fourth time.  This time, she shook longer.  When she threw the dice onto the table, one went careening across and tumbled off the other side.

"Grab that, will you, Sister?" said Elvira, pointing.  "You've got four fives here."

"What do I do with it?" asked Myra.

"Just toss it on the table," instructed Elvira.  Myra threw the die down on the table.

"Unbelievable!" exclaimed Elvira.  "A five!  I can't wait to see what will happen when we calculate all this."  She scooped up the five rubies and for the fifth time shook them in the gold cup and threw them down onto the table.

"Why am I not surprised?!" she said.  She scribbled something down for the fifth time and said, "Come on, Sister....into another room."  Elvira led Myra by the hand into a small room filled with computer equipment.  There were several large screen monitors that were placed together on the wall so as to form a giant screen.

"In the old days, I'd have to use a slide rule, a protractor, and a lot of paper.  But now, there's a company in Kilcathclyde that's developed a software program called Portents Portals.  All I do is enter the numbers from the dice, some personal information about you, and, bam, instant sky portions!"  She cackled, causing herself to cough thickly several times. "OK, here we go.  Date of birth?"

"May 5, 1955," said Myra.

Elvira whirled around.  "You're jokin'?"

"No...I'm afraid not."

Elvira shook her head and coughed again, as she cackled.  "Height?"

Myra swallowed audibly.  "Five feet, five inches."

Elvira coughed again.

"OK, here we go," she said, pressing enter on the computer.  It buzzed and whirred and presently some coordinates came up on the screen.  "Look!  In the fifth section, of the fifth quadrant, of the fifth system of Andromeda!!

"Now we do things the old fashioned way.  We go up to the observatory on the roof."  They climbed up many flights of stairs and came into a big glass dome on the roof with padded seats running around it.  "Please sit.  I've got to locate the fifth quadrant."  She hummed and spoke to herself as she did this.  Myra sat nervously on the cushioned bench seats staring up at a clear, cold October sky.

To her surprise, the seats began to rotate, the result of Elvira pushing a black button on top of a white column in the center of the domed room.  "OK, here we are.  Look to your left, right here."  Elvira produced a laser and flashed it on the glass ceiling, indicating where they were to look.

As they gaped into the heavens, Elvira let out a long, loud whistle.  "I'm stunned into silence, Sister."  With the red laser pointer, she traced out a square made of stars enclosed within it. "And this really bright one in the middle is Venus.  The Beautiful Goddess is telling you that all the deities approve.  Whatever you are seeking will be found on the fifth floor and in the fifth flat.  And that you are to see your gran Bell in Glasgow to find out when to drink the potion you're brewing right now."

"Thank you, Sister Elvira," said Myra.  "It is always worth coming to see you."  They kissed on each cheek and Myra departed with a swirl of her black cloak.   (c) 2012 Steven Gorman.  All rights reserved.

St Muckymuck, Season 3: The Sybelline Books Part III

ST MUCKYMUCK

Season3

WRITTEN BY STEVEN GORMAN

WHAT YOU READ IS:

IRRELIGIOUS, IRREVERENT, AND IRRELEVANT.

THE PEOPLE, PLACES, AND EVENTS CONTAINED IN ST MUCKYMUCK ARE COMPLETELY FICTIONAL. ANY AND ALL RESEMBLANCES TO REAL PEOPLE, REAL PLACES, AND/OR REAL EVENTS PAST, PRESENT, OR FUTURE IS PURELY COINCIDENTAL.

"What are you doing?" asked Brenda.

"Concentrating on my question," said Myra, her eyes closed.

"What's your question?"

"Shhh!" snapped Myra.  "I can't think."

She repeated the earlier ritual of rolling the scroll forwards and backwards, turning west and south.

"They lie under the care
Of a rhapsode
Who is in his four-and-fortieth winter," she read from the scroll.

"What's a rhapsode?"

"Someone who sings epic, Greek poetry..." said Myra, trailing off while gazing into a distance only she could see.

"Eh?" said Brenda.

"I have to go to Auchterarder and have the auspices taken so I know when to drink that potion.  Don't let it burn while I'm away," Myra quipped.  She grabbed a black cape draped over a chair and threw it over her shoulders, increasing her resemblance to a wicked old witch.  "Auchterarder is as fast as lightning!"

The Morbier clock struck 1:30 AM.

(c) 2012 Steven Gorman.  All rights reserved.

The Sybelline Books Part II

ST MUCKYMUCK

Season3

WRITTEN BY STEVEN GORMAN

WHAT YOU READ IS:

IRRELIGIOUS, IRREVERENT, AND IRRELEVANT.

THE PEOPLE, PLACES, AND EVENTS CONTAINED IN ST MUCKYMUCK ARE COMPLETELY FICTIONAL. ANY AND ALL RESEMBLANCES TO REAL PEOPLE, REAL PLACES, AND/OR REAL EVENTS PAST, PRESENT, OR FUTURE IS PURELY COINCIDENTAL.

"The Syphilline wha'?" said Brenda, gazing at the cylinder now in front of them on the oak table.

"Not Syphillene, you dolt," snapped Myra.  "Sybelline.  The Sybelline Books."

"What are they?  Never heard of 'em," said Brenda, shaking her head but not taking her eyes off the cylinder, which Myra was now opening.

"When Romulus became the first king of Rome, an elderly woman tried to sell him twelve books of prophetic sayings, revealed by the oracle at Delphi."

"The first Romulan king?" said Brenda, watching as Myra set the lid to the container down on the table on a neat stack of towels.

"Rome!?  Ancient Rome -- not ROMULAN!" She sighed irritably at her servant's stupidity.

"Oh, OK, Rome, like in the song "Gary, Indiana," said Brenda, waiting to see the contents of the cylinder.

"What?" Said Myra, completely thrown by this.

"'Gary, Indiana', you know..." she began to sing the song.

"Never mind," said Myra to the cylinder more than anyone.  "I don't want to know..." She continued to look at Brenda, who gradually became quiet.

"You said twelve -- but you only have nine," observed Brenda, looking around at the numbers.  "Where are the other three?"

"Well," said Myra.  "Romulus received three because it was all he could afford at the time.  The story is that the woman who he bought them from destroyed the other nine -- but I know for a fact they weren't destroyed at all.  Instead, they were hidden in the old woman's wagon.  Now they're here," said Myra, pointing to the ceiling.

"I always wondered what those were," said Brenda, rubbing her stubbily chin.  "How do you know these are real?"

"Because my great-great grandmother was the woman who sold them."

"Whoa!" said Brenda.

Myra had taken out a scroll with dark wooden spindles at either end.  She began to unroll it and the papyrus was covered in Greek letters, collected together in what looked like short paragraphs.

"How does it work?" asked Brenda.

"Formulate a question.  Something only you know the answer to..." said Myra, examining the handles, which were in remarkably good condition.

"OK?" said Brenda, eagerly.

"Don't tell me the question," ordered Myra, peering over her reading glasses.  "Are you ready?"

"Yes," said Brenda.  "I'm ready."

"OK, here we go," said Myra.

"Four turns forward and six in return,

  Stand to the west, where the candles burn,

  Then turn the scroll, six and then four,

Now face the south and all redo.

When this you have done, retake the front

And be ye forewarned of the prophet's strong brunt."

She opened the scroll and examined what was written there through her reading glasses.

"Here's what it says -- translated, of course:

"From the Beloved One

You shall receive

A device for calculating time

Past, present, and future."

"Why...why...that...that is the watch you got from Senga last Christmas!" said Myra, delighted.

"Hey!  You're right!l" exclaimed Brenda, examining a very feminine watch on her brawny wrist.  She laughed and looked back at Myra, who appeared to be fixing her with an intense stare.  "What?" she said, her face falling somewhat.

"Senga???" She paused.  "The Beloved One?"

Brenda smiled sheepishly and blushed.

(c) 2012 Steven Gorman.  All rights reserved.

The Sybelline Books - Part I

ST MUCKYMUCK

Season3

WRITTEN BY STEVEN GORMAN

WHAT YOU READ IS:

IRRELIGIOUS, IRREVERENT, AND IRRELEVANT.

THE PEOPLE, PLACES, AND EVENTS CONTAINED IN ST MUCKYMUCK ARE COMPLETELY FICTIONAL. ANY AND ALL RESEMBLANCES TO REAL PEOPLE, REAL PLACES, AND/OR REAL EVENTS PAST, PRESENT, OR FUTURE IS PURELY COINCIDENTAL.

Myra Dick's secret kitchen under the Overdale East Frieze Church, south of the River Cathclyde.

The room swam with warm, humid steam.  It was magnificent, quite large with two grand fireplaces in it, a number of doors that led off to various rooms, a very old cast iron stove, painted blue and in pristine condition. Copper pots, pans, and innumerable utensils of all types, shapes, and sizes were hung all around.  In between the two fireplaces, which were each big enough to play football in, was a seventeenth century French Morbier clock with its four and a half foot, ornate bronze pendulum swinging lazily behind two black cast iron weights.  Its golden surface reflected the amber light cast by scores of candles.

On three of the walls, high up, was a short shelf on which stood three capped terracotta cylinders, each with a different Roman numeral carved into it.  Below the individual shelves dangled three ladles, one of which was big enough to take a bath in.  In a circular alcove just past an oak table that was eight feet long was a black cauldron simmering away;  its contents being stirred by Myra Dick, who strongly resembled a wicked witch.

Through an archway next to the alcove wandered in a short, squat woman whose cartoonish face appeared to have been whacked in by a shovel.  She had on a black leather jacket that creaked as she moved.

"Ohh, it's so steamy in here, Myra," she complained, waving a masculine hand.  "Turn on that new fan you bought."

Without speaking, Myra clicked a big red button on the yellow wall next to the cauldron.  There was a soft whir and the steam began to ascend into a round, stainless steel hood over the billowing pot.

"Aye," said Myra, stirring and watching the steam rise.

"What are you brewing?" asked the woman.  "Smells like pasta sauce."

"Not quite," said Myra, now turning to peer over reading glasses that made her black eyes look enormous.  "But I do have a job for you," she continued.  It was as if she'd just realized the woman was there.

"What?" she replied, apprehensively.  "Please don't send me out again.  I've only just warmed up from the last errand."

"Don't be ridiculous!" said Myra, smiling.  "Fetch the step-ladder, Brenda."

"Oh...not that..." whined the woman.  "I've just gotten all the asbestos out of my lungs from going up to the attic last week to get clamps and electrical equipment for the church harvest festival..."

Myra pointed to a ladder nestled next to the blue stove.  "Fetch!" she demanded.

Brenda grumbled and groaned as she retrieved the ladder.  "Where do you want it?"

"I'd like you to climb up there and hand me number seven," she said, mysteriously.

"Eh?" said Brenda, completely befuddled.

"Number seven!" she repeated.  Myra moved under one of the shelves with the numbered cylinders on it.  "There!"

Brenda looked extremely curious.  "Oooohhh!" she moaned.  She positioned the ladder under the shelf indicated by Myra Dick and climbed.

"Now, be careful, Brenda.  Be extremely careful."

"OK," she replied, reaching for the cylinder.

"Now, that's it.  These things must be done delicately or you hurt the spell," said Myra, both hands raised toward what was now cradled in Brenda's leather-clad arms.  "Careful...careful...that's it...now...slowly...come down...slowly..."

Brenda came down the ladder, wheezing and groaning, her jacket creaking.  "What is this anyway?"

"This," said Myra, gingerly taking the terracotta container from Brenda as though it might explode at any second.  "Is one of the Sybelline Books."

The Morbier clock struck 1 AM, loudly.

(c) 2012 Steven Gorman.  All rights reserved.

St Muckymuck, Season 2: "Quite A Party, eh?" Climax

Sr Gertie approached the table with glasses on it alongside Sr. Rosario.

"Quite a party, eh, Gertie?" asked Rosario.

"Aye -- it is," said Sr Gertie.  "It's been ages since I had such a good time, Rosy."  A slight German accent was detectable in Sr Gertie's speech.

"I know it," said Sr Rosario.  She adjusted the glowing, burgundy and white rosary she had on as a necklace.  "Gertie, it's long overdue.  Go on."

"Go on?"

"Have some champagne!" said Rosario.

"Fancy some?" asked Gertie.

"Hmm," said Rosario, thinking.  "Oh, all right.  I'm not onstage again until Big Fannie White has finished her set."

Sr. Gertie picked up two champagne glasses from a grand stack on the table and then they made their way to the fountain.  Gertie waited her turn, as several were in front of her, then put the glasses one at a time out into the stream of champagne.

"Well, hello, Ginger," said Sr. Rosario, bending down to pat him on the forehead.

"Hello, Sr. Rosario, that's very kind of you," said Ginger.  But as the soft shoe sister didn't speak either Felinian or Catian, all she heard was a mew.

"Interesting color, this glowing green champagne.  It must come from California.  All the pesticides...Cheers!" said Sr. Gertie.  She was about to take a swig when her eyes widened.  Her complexioned paled and she fainted dead away.

"What is it?" said Rosario, not drinking from her glass.  "Oh," she uttered, as she noticed Gertie on the floor, the bright green champagne staining as it crept slowly over a minute area of Lord Stidham-Chaunter's Persian rug

In the distance, a small crowd had gathered around Pope Quivox LXXXVII, who had just entered through the dark wooden doors.  From across the room at the fountain, Rosario heard.  "My God, His Holiness has fainted dead away!"  She put a hand to her mouth in shock and looked down at Ginger, who was fast asleep, droplets of glowing green fluid on his mouth.  © 2012 Steven Gorman.  All rights reserved.

 

ST MUCKYMUCK

Season 2

WRITTEN BY STEVEN GORMAN

WHAT YOU READ IS:

IRRELIGIOUS, IRREVERENT, AND IRRELEVANT.

THE PEOPLE, PLACES, AND EVENTS CONTAINED IN ST MUCKYMUCK ARE COMPLETELY FICTIONAL. ANY AND ALL RESEMBLANCES TO REAL PEOPLE, REAL PLACES, AND/OR REAL EVENTS PAST, PRESENT, OR FUTURE IS PURELY COINCIDENTAL.

St Muckymuck, Season 2: "Quite A Party, Eh?" Part III

"Quite a party, eh, Honey?" said Bandit to Ginger as they sauntered across the grand ballroom.

"Aye!" said Ginger.  "Very diverse."

"How nice to have seafood and chicken Kievs which could be eaten off naked models," said Bandit.

"Aye!  I had some of them, as well.  And what did you think of that play Lady Chatterbox's Boytoy?"

"I thought it was quite good," said Bandit.  "Imagine having to deliver those lines lying in that ridiculous position for the whole scene!"

"Aye, I know.  I was impressed by the acting, too.  All in all, I give it a 9 out of 10."

"So much to do," said Bandit.  "Gambling, plays, a nightclub with Elsie and Big Fannie White singing torch songs, a three ring circus with people playing the animals..."

"And don't forget the nude professional wrestling spectacle, the room with the 'Spin the Bottle' game inside..."

"...AND the cockfights..." burst in Bandit.

The two cats walked past Myra Dick and her two henchpeople.  She watched the felines all the way across the room.  Then, she began to cackle -- and cackle -- and cackle.  Senga and Brenda began to laugh in concert.

"Why are we laughing?" said the smash-faced one to Senga.

"No idea!" replied Senga.

"But I know!" said Myra.  "I know a cat that will be napping for a century."

"Oh, you do?" said Brenda.  And they all three laughed all the louder.  "Who?"

Myra watched Ginger approach the knave-topped champagne fountain.  "Brenda," she said, her eyes fixed on Ginger.  "Go over there and make sure the fat orange cat gets some of this potion."

"OK," she said, dim-wittedly, taking the vial.  She crossed the room.  When she reached the fountain, she looked both ways conspicuously.  Then, removing the black stopper in the top, she poured the entire contents into the fountain.  (c)2012 Steven Gorman.  All rights reserved.

ST MUCKYMUCK

Season 2

WRITTEN BY STEVEN GORMAN

WHAT YOU READ IS:

IRRELIGIOUS, IRREVERENT, AND IRRELEVANT.

THE PEOPLE, PLACES, AND EVENTS CONTAINED IN ST MUCKYMUCK ARE COMPLETELY FICTIONAL. ANY AND ALL RESEMBLANCES TO REAL PEOPLE, REAL PLACES, AND/OR REAL EVENTS PAST, PRESENT, OR FUTURE IS PURELY COINCIDENTAL.

St Muckymuck, Season 2: "Quite A Party, Eh?" part II

"Quite a party, eh, Brenda?" said Senga.  She was speaking to a short, squat woman wearing a leather jacket.  She had the cartoonish appearance of someone whose face had been smashed in by a shovel.

"Aye!" she replied.

"Who would ever have dreamt there would be bathrooms called M4M, M4W, W4W..."

"You forgot the one labelled MISC," said Senga, a grumpy-looking woman wearing a matching leather jacket.  "Where's Myra?"

"Right behind you, you idiots!" came a cackly voice.  "Let's review the plan."  Myra Dick was as wicked a witch as there ever was.  She and her cohorts belonged to the rival Overdale East Frieze Church choir on the southeast side of the Cathclyde River.

Both ladies jumped.  "And those aren't bathrooms, girls, they're playrooms."

"Playrooms?" they chorused, comical puzzled looks came over their faces.

"Yes.  Playrooms."

"Rooms for 'playing in,'" said Myra, holding up hooked fingers on each hand.

"Playing?" quizzed Senga.  The other woman mimed the motion but remained quiet while in the distance somewhere came the distinctive sound of a cracking whip.

"Never mind!" said Myra, rolling her eyes at the stupidity of her two assistants.  "I have it!"  She produced from the pocket of her extremely black dress with two of her pale-greenish fingers, a glass vial with glowing green liquid in it -- rather like dishwashing detergent.

"Ooooh!" said Brenda.  "What's in there?"

"Poison!" said Myra, the color glowing in her pitch black, evil eyes.  "One molecule of this and that Shug Grant will sleep for a hundred years!"  She cackled.  "Poison will make him sleep, yes..."  (c)2012 Steven Gorman.  All rights reserved.

ST MUCKYMUCK

Season 2

WRITTEN BY STEVEN GORMAN

WHAT YOU READ IS:

IRRELIGIOUS, IRREVERENT, AND IRRELEVANT.

THE PEOPLE, PLACES, AND EVENTS CONTAINED IN ST MUCKYMUCK ARE COMPLETELY FICTIONAL. ANY AND ALL RESEMBLANCES TO REAL PEOPLE, REAL PLACES, AND/OR REAL EVENTS PAST, PRESENT, OR FUTURE IS PURELY COINCIDENTAL.

St Muckymuck, Season 2: "Quite A Party, Eh?"

"Thank you so much, Your Grace," said Tartuffo.  "For offering your lovely castle for our party."

He was speaking to Lord Theophilus Stidham-Chaunter, owner of the ancient castle that overlooked the city.  He was in his early seventies, tall, with sparkly blue eyes, bushy eyebrows, and a handlebar moustache that would have made Teddy Roosevelt extremely envious.  "Oh, no problem at all, Your Grace.  I'm sure you will get as much of a rise out of it as I will!" he replied to Tartuffo.

There was a heavily pregnant pause.  And both of them burst out laughing.

"Oh, that was a good one, Your Grace," said Tartuffo.

"Oh, now, Stevie.  Don't call me Your Grace.  Tonight we are just friends playing on a deliciously decadent playground."

A women passed wearing a rose satin dress with a bustle, a matching white and rose umbrella, and sporting a grand hat adorned with burgundy and white feathers.

"Oh, and there she is!" said Lord Stidham-Chaunter.  "Stevie, I have someone for you to meet.  This," he said gesturing toward the elegantly dressed lady.  "...is Madame Dominique de Beaucherie."

Tartuffo took her hand.  "Enchantée, Madame de Beaucherie."

"Mmm," she purred, as she surveyed him.  She was a cross between Barbara Streisand, May West, Deborah Kerr, and Jean Simpson but with a French accent.  "Likewise, I am sure...enchantée..."

When Tartuffo released her hand she handed both gentlemen a pastel pink, scented business card with burgundy French script:

 

Mme D Beaucherie

DBeaucherie@ decadence.fr.tv

"I must compliment you, Your Grace.  The chateau is most generously appointed."

"Why, thank you, my sweetest Dominique.  I hope you find it suitable for your various and sundry attractions." 

She purred, pulled out a jewel encrusted, burgundy lorgnette and surveyed the elder statesman.  "I am quite sure I will."  She sauntered away, the sound of swishing petticoats accompanying her.

"She takes my breath away," said Lord Stidham-Chaunter.  "Absolutely stunning!"

"I can't wait to see the attractions!" said Tartuffo.

"Shall we enter?"

"Aye -- go on then!"

ST MUCKYMUCK

Season 2

WRITTEN BY STEVEN GORMAN

WHAT YOU READ IS:

IRRELIGIOUS, IRREVERENT, AND IRRELEVANT.

THE PEOPLE, PLACES, AND EVENTS CONTAINED IN ST MUCKYMUCK ARE COMPLETELY FICTIONAL. ANY AND ALL RESEMBLANCES TO REAL PEOPLE, REAL PLACES, AND/OR REAL EVENTS PAST, PRESENT, OR FUTURE IS PURELY COINCIDENTAL.

The two approached a set of heavy, dark stained oak doors.  Lord Stidham-Chaunter grabbed the two lead crystal door knobs and pushed wide the doors.  Tartuffo's eyes nearly popped out of his head.

Directly in front of them was a grand gold fountain spouting not water but champagne.  Atop it on a tall gold plinth was a cherubic boy, at most, five years of age.  He wore a white tunic, had white wings, a laurel wreath in his curly blond hair, and held a bow and arrow.  But the most amazing thing was that he was painted from head to toe in gold.

"Wow!" said Tartuffo, staring in awe at the boy gilt with gold.  "That must've cost a pretty penny."

"Not too bad," said Lord Stidham-Chaunter.  "I arranged it all through the Kilcathclyde Interfaith Licensing and Leasing of Foster Families.  He came at a sweet discount."

"Sweet!" said Tartuffo.  "You must give me the contact information."

"That won't be a problem.  I'll have my personal assistant get in touch with your secretary first thing Monday morning."

"Excellent!" said Tartuffo, clapping his hands.

(c)2012 Steven Gorman.  All rights reserved.