“Well, I’m glad you asked me first,” I said a bit sarcastically as I got up, put my schlonger away and picked Cass up from the dirty roadway.
“I know, in human standards, that’s naughty. Actually, it’s even naughty in Saturnian standards. But wanting is wanting—and I could not actually proceed with my life until I’d had you. Do you understand any of it at all?”
I took in a big breath. “I’m not sure, Cass. All I can say is I enjoyed it immensely. And wouldn’t mind a rematch sometime.”
“Can I sleep with you tonight?”
“Well, it’s actually morning. But yeah, you’d better come back to my place with me. But now both of us are in deep shit, babe. Your Dad is about to come down on us with everything he’s got.”
She smiled. “Oh, I wouldn’t worry too, too much.”
“And what gives you this sudden confidence?”
“Hestia—Vesta, my sister—and her small army of invaders have already blocked off my father’s headquarters and have engaged him in combat.”
“Well, that’s good news! She came into my office—but you knew—well, she was talking about in imminent invasion then. I’m glad she’s going to lambast your very cruel and tyrannical father. I hope he loses and gets banished a thousand light-years from here.”
We began to walk back down the road. “That might not happen. But I can see Vesta keeping him engaged for a few hundred—or thousand—of your years.”
“So…what do I do about the Fen de Fuqin knowledge?”
“Toggth showed it to me back at the Cave of the Seven Truths. What a wonderful dimension. He told me about your Chinese lover—Lei-Tao. She was naughty too, like me, huh? She got turned back into a lotus flower pod. Mother told me she’s almost ready to send me back home. I’m excited, Cable. I’m going home…!”
“Yeah, babe, and I’m glad for you. Just out of curiosity, do you—do you, uh, have any emotional feelings for what we just did—I mean, in making love and all?”
“Emotional feelings? I know what you mean. We discussed them and I allowed myself to feel them when we were in Cambria and I stayed with Art Beatle—and I stayed with Art Beatle—and I stayed with Art Beatle—and I stayed with Art Beatle—and I stayed—"
I hit her shoulder. All of a sudden I got this feeling that Cassiopeia wasn’t Cassiopeia anymore. “—your gear’s stuck!” I exclaimed. What the hell’s going on with your brain?”
“—with Art Beatle,” she concluded. “But I think they just translate to pleasure and joy for me, Cable.”
I was really stumped about her behavior. “Are you all right? I mean, the teleportation trip back and all—it didn’t fry your brain or anything, right?”
“Fry my brain—fry my brain—fry my brain—fry my brain—"
Now I knew I was dealing with a humanized mannequin. There never was a Cassiopeia human woman per se. Their version of humanization was a trick, an anatomical illusion. I had just ejaculated my sperm into an organic machine! “—okay, stop, Cass! Just say nothing for a while, understand?”
“Yes.” She quieted and we rounded the last bend before the trail descended into the little park area where the bubbling little brook trickled. There stood Toggth and Saturnalia’s orb awaiting us. “Saturnalia apologizes for her daughter’s behavior, Cable, even though there are worse things to experience, I’m sure.”
“Yeah, Toggth. Why didn’t you warn me you guys were coming—and that the beautiful redhead here with all the energy is in reality a replicant?”
“Well, it wasn’t intended that way. Saturnalia could only conceal the spirit of her daughter in an organically synthesized bio-pod, not an actual human woman. Besides, we’re all cranked up to go now. Our two wayward female Saturnians may now return home.”
“That’s good news, Toggth.” I glanced over at both the bobbing orb and Cass, who stood motionless with a mechanical smile on her face. “I suspect some of the bio-pod went haywire on the last teleportation…her rationality quotient has dropped along with her intelligence quotient—she repeats herself a lot.”
“Not to worry. We’ll destroy this bio-pod as soon as her soul-journey begins.”
I walked to Cassiopeia, daughter of Rhea-Saturnalia and Cronus-Gor, the creature who would be God. “I wish you the best, Cass. Wherever you end up or whatever you want to be in your real life—up there, on the 6th planet out. I sure learned a lot, kid.”
“Thank you, Cable…thank you, Cable…thank you, Cable…thank you, Cable…thank you, Cable…,” she continued on and on like a broken record. I asked Toggth to get a hold of me when the mission was accomplished and walked down the trail into the cool early morning.
I had asked the cabby to wait and I knew exactly what I wanted to do. I didn’t stop by my office. I went directly to Zelda’s little place. I knocked on the door. A very groggy but pretty lady in a see-through nightgown opened the door. “Cable! Wha—what—?”
I put my hand over her mouth. “Zelda—please, don’t say a word. I want you to take me to bed right now and make love to me—human style—fuck me like a human woman, love me with all that feeling you keep saying you have for me—but do it now—before I go nuts any more than I am—or change my mind!”
She immediately took me into her arms. “Cable…” she sighed, caressing me all over. “Oh….Cable…yes! yes!” She took my hand and led us into her bedroom, slipped off her nightgown, helped me undress. I pushed her onto the bed, my lips and fingers touching and caressing every living human female part of Zelda Blodgett. When her legs parted and she brought my head powerfully into her breasts and I could feel my manhood enter her warm, wet womanhood, I knew how great it was to love a real flesh and blood being whose capacity to share and give and love was endless! This would be my legacy to myself…my joy of love.
Epilogue
Sometimes the sound of that melancholy sax isn’t so sad. Sometimes a little happiness finds its way through the registers as that breathy, sensual tone ascends to a high E-flat or an F. Those are nights when the breezes blow in cool from the coast and there’s a girl beside you who likes a lot of the same things you do. She sits with you at the Friday Night Fights, not because it’s her favorite thing to do, but because she loves you so damn much she wants to bathe in your company as much as she can. And you don’t mind, because your desire for her has become a nice habit and she lies down on the bed with you quietly and opens her arms because you’re the best thing that ever happened to her. And that means a lot to you, because someone good and honest is worth a thousand dames full of pretense and lies, booze and an easy trick on a sultry summer’s night.
Every once in a while love is good to us and we should mark down those priceless times on our calendar of broken dreams. Red-letter days are rare because they’re a recess from the school of hard knocks and they tell you that somehow on a particular day or night, you won’t have to fight the unbeatable foe or pretend you like the human race. No, love exempts you from the guilt of what came before that you lied to yourself about. It elevates you to mattering in the world, first to yourself and then to others. And you know, it’s catching---like a good cold, because when someone else thinks you’re wonderful you pass it on to others. And in my case, I gave praise and respect in like kind to Zelda Blodgett—the least likely young woman to succeed in romantic love, the one who thought no one in the world saw her, who felt being a plain young woman sans the glamour of pedigree, social station, great clothes, jewelry and lots of dough was a death sentence on being popular with the opposite sex. None of it’s true, because social protocol is an illusion created by a commercial media to sell commodity. You are who you are. There’s nothing in front of that, nor behind it. It’s like life…it just is.
Some nights my addiction to smoky joints with great music pouring out of the door, draws me to a mystique I’ve never quite figured out. Almost thirty-three years old…yet I smoke, drink and chase skirts like it’s a ritual of conduct, a rite of passage in a cave of din and madness. Some babe in a low-
cut sequined gown with full breasts and a wonderful smile still turns me into a fan of the late night club scene, especially if she sings well, and the music is Porter, Gershwin, Berlin, Mercer, Kern or Harry Warren—when the lights are low and the spotlight on the sequins of that slinky dress, draws you right into their reflection, and you can see her lipstick shine all the way from the back of the bar—you know you’ve arrived to bathe in your dreams and get healed from all the garbage upstairs there, on the street. Being there also means a world beyond the perpetuation of the species, the empty busyness of survival coupled with the empty promises our leaders heap on an ignorant public, that tomorrow just might be a better day. The drinking, smoking, talking, whoring, listening and dancing on a crowded floor, puts a lie to all of that. Nothing matters except today and spinning your own tale or listening to someone else’s—and if you’re looking for love, aha! the cabarets are the great classrooms of humanity, made of dreams and lies and perfume, under which wait the empty longings for someone you haven’t met yet…when all the time it was you that you were looking for.
No, as I hear that sax waft up the airshafts of my brain, I think today’s a lucky day. After all, I’m a gumshoe with a spacious office, enough business to pay the rent and food—and a great little secretary who takes dictation in the afternoon and takes me to bed at night, makes great herbal vegetable soup and attends me when I’m sick. Now, tell me something that’s gonna beat that—in this world?
The End
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
James P. Alsphert is the author's penname. Born Richard W. Weiss in San Francisco, CA, and raised in Cambria…a small town on the central coast of California. As a child he was somewhat of a loner and like many, he had his own imaginary friend and companion. There may be some question as to just how imaginary he really was…? His name was James P. Alsphert. Richard always felt a desire to honor his companion in some significant way in the future. Even as a youngster, he was drawn to writing stories with mystery and fantasy plots.
While still a youth, Richard went full-bore into the music world as an operatically trained tenor, but performing in all major fields of music. During the next 35 plus years was when he adopted the professional name of Dario Vanni and his expertise expanded as composer, director, voice teacher/coach in the California cities of Santa Barbara, San Francisco Bay area and Sacramento.
It was not long after his farewell concert with the Sacramento Symphony Orchestra, that he began exploring his passions for writing. This, unexpectedly, became a 22 book chronological mystery series covering the fascinating life and times of Cable Denning, Private Investigator, from 1927-1954. Also, here was the opportunity to honor his childhood companion by using his name as author. Incorporating his extensive musical background into this project, again as Dario Vanni, he is responsible for recording fully dramatized versions of many of the books in this series, complete with actors, singers, full musical score and some original songs.
James P. Alsphert says, "The gift of writing…like the gift of singing…is just that. It is a gem that must be buffed and polished. I hope I have accomplished some of those skills through the years and that they show in my books."
Acknowledgements
Cover Images:
Cable Denning: Kenneth A. Cox Photography
Adora Moreno: © Can Stock Photo, Inc/disorderly
Zephyr's Cove: Photographer – Vladimir Kondrachov
Saturnalia: © Can Stock Photo, Inc/fanfo
Alien eye: Original art – Frances Walker-Moss
Zephyr: Provenance unknown
Dolphin: Provenance unknown
Conch shell: Provenance unknown
Original cover designs: Frances Walker-Moss
Editing and Research Consultant: Frances Walker-Moss
Love Me or Kill Me (The Cable Denning Mystery Series Book 2) Page 36
