Bathroom
a wonderful place
of quiet peace
me and tissue
and my flabby crease
I hope it's private
I have a fear
that someone can see me
those laughing leers
waiting for that moment
of a glorious deposit
hoping that it's
of ideal composite
then I grab
that cushiony roll
and in it falls
into that cavernous bowl
Crap! It's the last one I have
so I use the mush
the best I can
in a hasty rush
I usually don't impart
such a poignant story
but I find it touching
this ordurous allegory
DeaBeePea 7-9-18
Important 1
what is important?
I know not for sure
in this crazy life
that's a lonely blur
but filling in spaces
is lots of fun
with wonderful friends
and a newborn sun
I'm still alive
and enjoying life
and trying to ignore
most of the strife
problems are laughable
when considering things
and all the joy
that miracles bring
writing in rhyme
and singing songs
not at all concerned
about thinning thongs
it's not about me
or any other
but the handheld total
of loving smother
thank you all
for making things
more important
with all you bring
as I ponder existence
I become aware
of keeping it going
in my spinning chair
DeaBeePea 7-20-18
Important 2
what is important
I'll never know
as I sit here writing
as the mind does blow
a spiraling thought
that lingers in numb
as I try to exercise
an intelligent thrum
miracles happen
and people hug
Thank God for that
and the little bug
that taunts my imagination
with eight-legged tickle
fast and sneaky
leaving me fickle
but all my friends
leave a reminder
that we are here to celebrate
a world much kinder
we hold our hands
and encourage each other
to open windows
to cease the smother
and each pane of glass
gives us a view
tinted in a way
before curtains drew
pictures and shadows
that mesmerize our soul
and change our view
of the cereal bowl
DeaBeePea 7-20-18
Establish
goals and visions
dancing in my head
being ignored
until I am dead
why do I bother
with all these thoughts
as they soon disappear
as fading blots
an ongoing storm
that never dies
disturbing my sleep
as my conscience cries
I take a drink
and laugh a little
and take some solace
in my rational tittle
how's the weather?
I ask myself
looking for that book
on my cluttered shelf
that answers questions
and quiets me
quelling the storm
over my infinite sea
but it's only temporary
this peace and quiet
as the wind keeps blowing
as a steady diet
so I salute the madness
and smile with glee
accepting this life
in puzzled esprit
DeaBeePee 7-20-18
New Born
birth
a miracle
spinning into a universe
so spherical
cycling from heart to mind
unknowing
instincts learning
breathe is flowing
cries of why
few answers coming
except the love
and lullaby humming
cribbed in package
of fears and wonder
direction betwixt
the message usunder
but hugs and kisses
confirm
and join the questions
that make us squirm
the tears are essential
solutions
that make us
clearer in elocution
and each hair grows
in sudden alarm
we the pick up
in parental charm
laughing
at ourselves
forgetting what is on
our daily shelves
sucking and bouncing
we watch with delight
fulfilled
in our shining light
this time remains
forever
God bless the child
in its innocent clever
DeaBeePea 7-20-18
Inflammation
I impart my passions
but my words
are they deemed untrue?
place upon my broken heart
It throbs for you
not a thoughtless claim I declare
my willing touch
aiding such a flame to dart
discovering this realm
so pointless the battle
of selfish misunderstanding
circling my open hand
a dare not share
what I do not know
except my passive ignorance
so innocently unplanned
my enchanting reign
as a beau between you and love
this pain is silent
but soon a silver waters glide
streaming from me
bursting towards a boisterous flood
landing elsewhere
a village place to abide
a tranquil place
though thorns may be hidden
I will slumber in my want
reclined in scornful doubt
to revert to careless lying
from this hollow place of refuge
as cold horizons darken
would seize my soul to mournful gout
If I was a flatterer
my dance would have more spring
with green and yellow flowers
donning your face so bright
but my mind is old and tired
despite my silly youth
and the hills and dales I run
no longer share their light
what do you feel?
I dare to ask
as my answers await your flesh
and closeness of our yesterday
I am over my feet no longer
saddened by futility
is it wrong for me in weakness
to kneel down and pray
DeaBeePea 9-13-18
Window
the bird and blossom
in pleasurable message
in mid-air stoop
nourishing their letter
a note to me in twirp
and quiet lucid sizzle
provision for hope
and a day much for better
flight and fancy
celebrating the sun
singled out and sung to
thrilled and yet erratic
is this beauty confusion
for my battered soul?
straining now for peace
and guidance of a vatic
but a noted ecstasy shone
from this sprinkled leafy dawn
as my wandering heart
smiled with unknown bliss
I see and hear the miracle
of nature's golden enjoin
the containment of two
and the magic of a kiss
feathers, beaks and petals
satiny and sharp
a fateful bond I say
that kindles my faulty brain
is their a chase?
or just instinctive unity
as in the dusk and darkness
I feel the potent stain
the clouds are rolling
so I follow the melody
as my neck slowly turns
to view the salutation
the trees unmoved
but for a foliaged waltz
and a faraway mountain
in heightening dictation
a summit of bounty
why should I fear?
the loyal thoughts that behold me
when my breath is clear and fresh
I turn and engage my home
in prickly humid tickle
and sense that life has entered
my pale and languid flesh
DeaBeePea 9-13-18
Guilt
has thou forgiven
my laughable tainted eyes
looking to horizons
of shameless darkening skies
am I such a fool
to suggest that I am unworthy
being scorned in fury
that your turning head implies
my pants are modestly torn
and my shirt is rather gaudy
but my soul is full of love
and my peaceful hands are clean
I look to fame so foolishly
and brag much of my words
and sometimes disrespect you
thoughtless in where I've been
I hear your hissing sounds
destruction with thy glamour
your breast is hurling shouts
that are fondless sharp alarms
maybe you are envious
am I bold to say?
you are vexed in my soliloquy
withholding all your charms
I feel a fatal hour
that presses against my loins
such imposing poweras I turn my face aside
I hide my trembling tears
this game I hate to play
and think of ways to conquer
this mad and reckless abide
might I be a judge?
my gavel in my hand
maybe this guilt is innocent
in its hopeless childish fable
is there atonement I can make?
no longer to be free
in your bonding clutches
laid on your gaming table
maybe I will surrender
and let thy soul persist
to be this cunning fox
that my heart yearns for in lust
the dark and light floats by
and my breath forever heavy
as I pant in useless passion
my dishonour I do thrust
DeaBeePea 9-12-18
Dull Sword
I am pale
and my thought has transpired
yet mirth still battles
with the whitest roses
that glow of rudeness
that seeketh my thwart
weakness doeth rush
as fear disposes
yanking at my heart
and darkening deep-blue eyes
stern in imposition
long lashes low
melancholy gentleness
looks down
at my pitying distress
in unaccepting flow
a river dry
of sticks and stones
I have lost the shore
of my hearts warm home
yea, I am not lost
but spread apart
majesty and sweetness asunder
in they rootless brome
worshipping thy ghost
in aimless plot
deciding my victim
is it my soul I have thrown?
beauty's daughters do laugh
skipping on waters feet
the toes squirming
in a tickled drone
what has conquered me
as the lull'd winds dream
and the midnight moon stares
with beams so weaving
I feel this throbbing passion
is that my despair?
in my infantile sleep
as I feel her love heaving
my spirit bows to me
a respectful nod and wince
assuring my normality
I look down at my feet
this soft and stepless emotion
swelling like the ocean
placing me inside
on my strange and pathless street
DeaBeePea 9-12-18
Child
am I still this child?
hidden in my cave
illusions of bounding courage
and wings that soar to sky
the King of clouds
daring all the storms
taking on the thunder
so strong to never cry
not to fear the villains
that threaten simple joy
laughing at the scorn
that tears my inner skin
popular and roguish
clicking my two heels
gathering crowds of cheer
dancing through the din
deep inside so fearful
am I such a joke?
baring silly limbs
no muscle to repair
the broken thoughts of love
not understood at all
chomping at my treats
that poison that flare
spreading conscious rumour
of many things of weak
sending sinful falsehood
to ignorance so pale
looking all around
not knowing what or why
shaking in my boots
muddied in stumbling fail
there have been many years
is there any change?
those mirrored hairs of grey
messages of end
but touches of peace have entered
less servile hands I open
blending with the soil
less futility I send
place me among the trees
among the scenes of love
and let me cry a little
naked in my dreams
flashes of youth before
I am just one in time
dark and light forever
of soft and worried screams
DeaBeePea 9-12-18
Folding Light
my eyes acast
dancing in the night
one star amidst
in search of thought
interiors muddle
seeking pastures
simple dreams
daytime caught
but now it is eve
the orbs delight
and moonlight athwart
beside my shadows
darkness reigns
in looming hope
that a new awakening
that glittering durado
I speak in silence
for what I fear
is knowing truth
to thou hallowed touch
those awaiting sprigs
of the sun's morning laughter
hearing the crickets
of rants so much
echoes of hours
a melody of time
that shares all minutes
unknowing of end
I feel someone near
and a smell of lips
whispering feet
my heart ascend
it is above me
this breath of salience
am I to look up
to what now appears
her face is of beauty
I know not her mood
are they raindrops
or frozen tears?
her hand touches mine
and dim silver streaks
cascade upon me
of meandering threads
stillness remains
the black music refrains
I like this heaven
my soothing bread
DeaBeePea 9-12-18
Smile Enroute
crying for freedom
with its ugly smile
still with its beauty
and evocative lure
without dignity or shame
the battle ensues
as I stab my own heart
to render it pure
my patience runs out
I run to that place
that I do not know
with its borders unsure
I trip and fall
and get right up
kissing the sky
in infinite allure
my past is beckoning
"I dare you to go"
but my feet keep trudging
over blood and dirt roads
my smile is a smirk
as I stumble to the crevice
where heaven and hell
send ambiguous codes
I then look back
but only hear cries
of criticism and hate
doors opening my fate
the windows are grimy
and faces are sad
but there are signs of humility
a soothing bate
my awareness strikes
a dawning blow
telling me of how endless
this elusiveness throws
messages of hope
in an answerless voice
my hearing somewhat shattered
by laughter's blows
no end I dare say
to this meandering story
of aimless travel
and searching brows
guiding my eyes
to those quiet ponds
where girls play
in cheerful drowse
DeaBeePea 9-10-18
Cobblestones
where is this monster
in its metaphored world
of scraggly oaks
and stormy nights
created by fear
and the life unknown
inside myself
of impassioned blight
reckless and torn
by shivering winds
and even the sun
shining on shadows of capes
that open and close
in man's dishonest swirl
as he dances to avoid
emotions inescapable rape
lilies in ponds
rippling their announcement
of our unavoidable strains
of manufactured thought
we speak the words
that romance the heart
but fall to our folly
our selfishness caught
it takes forever
to learn of wisdom
and truth to ourselves
lingers in our beds
we stay asleep
in that tranquil face
our cheeks are wrinkled
by pure white threads
our tears are on call
in unpredictable recourse
but unrealized
is the ducts river of glory
we sponsor our thoughts
with edited quirks
to sell the love
that tells a story
but we cannot deny
the monster's reality
created by man
as his evil lurks
but we can feed him
and show understanding
and make him whole
in our pungent murk
DeaBeePea 9-10-18
Success
a measure of success
with a growing smile
that all there is to it
with life's ticking dial
waking each day
inspired to do
the heartful things
from your mindful stew
tasting the coffee
for its real flavour
looking outside
for a miracle to savour
everything has bliss
as its inner workings
have love to send
and questions that are lurking
adhere to rules
of your consciousness derived
from passion and giving
where the future thrives
as well as your health
from an inner mercy
calming your doubts
and relieving the pursy
breathless in awe
rather than fear
is the path to freedom
and the happier tears
beautiful friends
that encourage your craziness
and forgive you often times
for your apparent haziness
loyalty and encouragement
and gatherings for meals
sharing thoughts
nipping at our heels
laughter and concern
that blends our dressing
bitter and sweet
our ideas expressing
the never-ending story
of living each day
with a confusing plan
like a farcical play
but the growing joy
is life's biggest lesson
warm and rich
like a gardens luminous cresson
DeaBeePea 8-17-18
Retreat
a place to write
where the chipmunks play
where my urban mind
has gone astray
the hummingbird's flutter
and chickadee hops
on your seeded hand
for some little drops
so you stay in tune
with environmental factors
that impose their spirit
on this newly staged actor
spinning around
with each little squeak
curiously inspired
for your words to tweak
get up for wine
but not too much
it is easy to stray
for beverages and such
an exercise of discipline
pumping creative steel
tapping the keyboard
with demanding zeal
a poem, a novelette?
it does not matter
let the mind explode
on your papered platter
a meal of courses
each one leading
to the next inspiration
your instincts pleading
the evening appears
as well as the stars
and you relax a bit
your mind afar
new thoughts arise
but they are not written
they stay in your dreams
until morning has bitten
there is no end
just a possible plot
spinning its yarn
of which a climax is sought
the canoe can tip
and the splash can awaken
the wilderness reality
that has us all shaken
a retreat of the soul
but not in surrender
the imagination still drives
in emotional splendour
DeaBeePea 8-17-18
Humid
sticky and hot
few reminiscences
but so often now
a constant meow
nagging persistently
dripping on face
a message of distress
for futures dress
unstylish and steamy
wilting the plants
a grimy slime
committing this crime
demotivating people
to a wet palms knell
sucking the power
from this imposing shower
the beaches are full
that's a good thing
as we splash and play
as the stillness preys
for some with the fears
of winters rebirth
there is very little sign
of snow-laden pines
warming the earth
with this toasty warning
there is a point
to this perspiring appoint
our job to tolerate
but also act quick
changing trends
that nature ill defends
so while I sit
in this fan-made breeze
I nod my head
as my concentration shreds
DeaBeePea 8-17-18
Waiting
I am here
waiting
for what
I do not know
is it sunshine?
a smile
or a compliment
with hopeful glow
a smack
to smarten me up
a kick
to get me to move
a song
to brighten me
a request
for my honest behoove
love
to encourage my soul
anger
to stir my rancor
advice
to assist me
and allow me
an anchor
bad news
to make me aware
of my good fortune
and luck
good news
to allow
me to celebrate
in comforting tuck
a call
from above
to tell me of faith
in power
that is quaint
and holy
and gives me
a soft light shower
a creative surge
to let me write
a thoughtful verse
of delight
which I will do now
my words
one by one
an end in sight!
DeaBeePea 8-8-18
Change
today I will change
from underwear's range
as I ponder the small
and forget my pall
Laurel and Hardy
and Dick Van Dyke
all those memories
and my little trike
Captain Kangaroo
and visiting the zoo
twenty-five cent cones
and twilight zones
hugs from my sister
punishments of love
exciting new things
and laughing shoves
this makes me look
at all these books
and wonder why
I don't fly
I do everything else
it seems to me
in imaginations place
where all I can see
so much beauty
colours so fruity
refracted light
and things so bright
champagne glasses
and popcorn machines
a checkered sofa
and painted scenes
my gazes are awed
and my coldness thawed
my smile is wide
and I dare not hide
bulging drawers
and unwashed dishes
half-empty bottles
and shower swishes
all are miracles
my senses acute
looking deeper at things
that are kinda' cute
it's all of mind
as I nod today
how special life is
for this I pray
DeaBeePea 8-7-18
Tall Pines
we stand like pines
reading our wares
collaborating with our voices
throwing our tines
parcels of thought
and fanciful observation
pinpoints that intrigue
and irony so caught
our minds then swirl
and we think to ourselves
why didn't I think of that?
such a memorable pearl
some are transfixed
others to daydream
caught in this verse
as our minds are fixed
in floating awareness
a meditative realm
laughing or crying
in a newfound bareness
the applause is accord
some for genius
and others for courage
down this literary fjord
a ride so gentle
and yet suspenseful
taking us places
steep-sided and instrumental
a music of passion
and quirky ideas
as we expand our minds
doubling the ration
the needles are strong
yet sometimes fall
and the cones spread seeds
then ground in throng
the roots far-reaching
in an emblematic search
as we all share ears
for more beseeching!
DeaBeePea 8-7-18
Never Learn
history is certain
it's our final curtain
look at our spot
on future's lot
reserved for a fate
of ongoing hate
the politics of fear
clambering for cheer
some have jumped
on this bandwagon and dumped
all their dignity
and potential for benignity
others are mad
and are outspoken's clad
demanding justice
for us to encompass
the power that kills
mind, body and chills
the surface of our soul
at shattering tolls
kindness is laughed at
like a weak and broken bat
hovering over our heads
as we dream in our beds
there has been little victory
and a hopeless valedictory
how can we win
with so much sin
ignoring the heart
and each humble part
we must form a thread
of breakless stead
the course must be changed
from capitalism deranged
as our hands are joined
in love so coined
DeaBeePea 8-7-18
Solution
I have a temporary solution
for my current anger
drink some beer
and resonate my clangor
meet some people
and face reality
as much as it hurts
this ironic duality
tasting the hops
and the mellow malt
and watching the suds
as white as salt
and toasting love
and all my friends
some I know
and others new trends
regardless of what's happening
in our troubled world
people are awesome
as our passion is unfurled
so here's a toast
to our weekend of cheer
but please be careful
not too much beer
DeaBeePea 8-3-18
Angry Rants
How I love
my angry rants
they help me vent
and aerate my pants
telling what I see
as real truth
as I try to be
a political sleuth
although I confess
I'm not always right (God forbid)
I don't mind taking
these critical slights
I think I know stupid
and selfish crooks
when I actually see them
with their vicious hooks
swiping at kindness
and mocking love
and giving the poor
a thoughtless shove
so when I do this
it's basically for me
to spew my passion
with pointed glee
and if some listen
that's a bonus
to spread the word
and responsibilities' onus
DeaBeePea 8-3-18
Try Not to Think...
this horrendous situation
of blowhard leadership
maniacal men
whose lids have flipped
these populist a-holes
with painful missions
self-serving arrogance
and sanity's remission
why are they here?
are we that stupid
to vote for these men
who are the anti-Cupid?
they say they will help
but we all should know
that they have one goal
that thinks we should blow
this meanest of spirits
is a prevailing wind
that we should recognize
and hope to rescind
the rich get richer
and the rest are ignored
it's a money-power world
for us to abhor
yes, capitalism has gone
to its ultimate crest
destroying all values
and creating unrest
we need a new pyramid
that starts from the underside
giving us power
and restoring our pride
this right-wing movement
of fear and hate
is a path to the end
a dangerous skate
on the ice of oceans
that have dark waves
taking us to nothingness
in a land of slaves
so we must unite
and make a loud roar
or else we will perish
on hell's black shore
DeaBeePea 8-3-18
Books
this spectacular fungus
that continues to grow
bookcases billowing
and tables aflow
pages yelling
that are too squeezed
suffocating to death
in a chaptered wheeze
every week
new ones arrive
thinking that this
is a place that they'll thrive
and they patiently wait
for an opening day
for a reader's eyes
sadness to defray
this room of anxiety
as each novel waits
to fly off the shelf
in freedom's alate
two rows thick
as the ones in behind
seem hopelessly afixed
in darkness' blind
but there is a mood
of genre's reflection
that gives a book hope
for sudden detection
this river will flow
in global warming's throe
because I am here
in this wordful show
books are books
words are words
my thoughts are spinning
like aimless birds
this epidemic
probably won't transpire
so I will be buried in books
from wire to wire
DeaBeePea 8-3-18
Thinking
imagine the privilege
of not having to think
what a concept to ponder
as I take this drink
a spontaneous mind
with everything outpouring
a continuous flow
certainly not boring
but this unfiltered process
would cause some flack
and create a lot more
then a pat on the back
a new kind of honesty
might actually prevail
rather crunching debate
with aggressive assail
but would it make sense
of that I'm not sure
it would be quite exciting
but hard to endure
and my poetry would be different
and indeed so curt
inspired by love
and impulsive dirt
a strange combination
of nerve-ending plot
with a fateful finish
of mortality's rot
so for now it appears
that I will think
as long as I'm here
and not on the blink
DeaBeePea 8-3-18
Beer Weekend
parties galore
and festivities onshore
kiddie rides
and watery slides
the pubs are packed
and the park is racked
people laughing
and frequent carafing
microbrewers announce
their products to flounce
crazy silly names
with hoppy claims
so many toasts
and sarcastic roasts
but all with a hug
and a carefree shrug
all day long
this nonsense will prolong
from party to party
consuming a la carty
the head will rise
but disappear I surmise
as the glasses empty
this action preempty
no avoiding here
a state not so clear
a swimming head
and not soon to bed
sooner or later
it will be belater
history's story
about former glory
but a year after this
we will return to bliss
it will happen again
in this grassy glen
DeaBeePea 8-3-18
Short poem day:
Politics
politics is political
and very solicitical
and many are critical
but sometimes they deservical
Food
the most wonderful thing
in a culinary fling
it's so good I could sing
as I look at my tummy ring
Beer
foamy and hoppy
it makes me kinda floppy
and talk is rather sloppy
and sometimes quite stroppy
Coffee
an every morning deal
along with an orange I peel
when strong it's almost a meal
and makes my doziness heal
Scotch
blended or single malt
it's really not my fault
I never hesitate to exalt
in my whiskyish assault
Writing
each word is that of thought
that my imagination bought
new things that I sought
avoiding mental clot
Woman
is there anything better
in a very sexy sweater
I think I'll write a letter
to be a romantic abettor
Dogs
they often take place
of people trying to save face
they are seldom ever a disgrace
and impossible to efface
Rain
it's either very welcome
or despised is watery strum
but it never makes me glum
as I bang my lonely drum
Sex
education of this sort
is an issue of much report
to some it's a kind of sport
with ecstatic loud retorts
Intelligence
there is one that's artificial
but I think that's superficial
with creativity it's beneficial
not used as prejudicial
Television
losing ground in time
with stupid reality grime
but at least there's PBS sublime
to enjoy before bedtime
Library
libraries are more than books
they offer quite a hook
reading of crooks and cooks
such a sedentary nook
Dark
my favourite kind of light
in black and shadowy sight
I ponder what is right
without the benefit of white
Appearence
I am not a thing of beauty
but I have moral duty
never to be snooty
about my gorgeous eyes of bluety
Jazz
a syncopated joy
that is my musical toy
may the bebop sounds employ
a mood of swinging coy
DeaBeePea 8-1-18
The Universe
traveling
no mode of ease
other than my mind
in its laughing tease
on another planet
where I was born
wandering the wilderness
pulling out the thorns
I don't fit in
and there is no green
and very little sun
where I have been
I see the asteroids
asking me advice
and I have no answer
because I don't have the dice
the probability of immortality
only a hopeless dream
but it doesn't really matter
with my innocent little gleam
there is no ring around me
in a fast and reckless spin
there is no protection for me
on the point of this very pin
so this illusion goes on
when will I wake
because when I am conscious
much more will be at stake
this parallel world
that attacks me every day
seems a lot like Shakespeare
an ironic silly play
the roles are misconstrued
I don't know where I'm at
all alone in the shade
with a joker's vivid hat
madness is the answer
a sanity that beckons all
opening doors to understanding
in this crazy panoramic ball
pale faces and masks
from places far and wide
no suppositions from me
a willingness to abide
the chronicles of me
and my Narnian thoughts
talking to mastodons
by interpretation untaught
roars and powerful grunts
as I run to a comfort zone
only to find prickles
that hurt my brittle bones
so now I'm on a wheel
a gigantic Ferris vision
my exit is uncertain
as I fear my own derision
but Love is pointing a finger
and brings me back to here
sitting in my circling chair
and my imagination's weir
this miracle continues
telling me o0f hope
and what the future holds
on the end of this candy rope
DeaBeePea 7-31-18
The Cliff
with family till then
in fun-filled frolic
over fields serene
in this world bucolic
we came to the edge
and my father warned
of the safest way
of dreams adorned
of sky and hope
and waves of fear
and wistful astonishment
so far and near
my eyes overlooked
the daunting abyss
as the breeze touched me
with its taunting kiss
I turned and smiled
In an edgy thrill
My sister was by me
On this endless sill
It went for miles
In a sweeping curve
I knew the world
Was ready to serve
A volley of challenge
My weightless felt
Back and forth
My fate was dealt
Through the air
Like a screaming gull
By body spinning
In a helpless lull
There was no splash
Just an end of black
A quiet applause
And no final smack
DeaBeePea 7-25-18
Shoes
they are brainless
in their forward plunge
finding dung
so carelessly flung
but they have a reason
for their stubborn temperament
having to tolerate
a smelly fate
feet are inserted
in daily ritual
sometimes in haste
starting unlaced
and this careless hurry
can be neglectful
with yesterdays socks
that can smell like lox
and the inconsiderate heel
walks through puddles
and the holes that exist
are conduits of grist
and they are ignored
unless they're polished
or a very loud hue
like ultramarine blue
but the eyelets can see
and the tongue does flap
so if you really listen
your ears will glisten
and the right and left
talk a lot
about their souls
and uncared for holes
and because they're in pairs
they don't get to meet
alternative styles
and discuss their wiles
but occasionally at parties
they get dumped in a pile
and share their bouquets
in the mountainous fray
and some end up dropped
in a foreign place
on a Rubbermaid mat
in a room of gnats
but the story of crocs
is a mysterious one
with their perforated life
of rainy day strife
they do talk to me
when the wind blows through
a contented whistle
like a paper-plane missile
and I swear my old brogues
speak with an accent
"Good morning old chap"
I hear after my nap
but the ones most traveled
are environmentally aware
and observe the clutter
that makes them sputter
and cigarette butts
annoy them so much
chemical additive smells
that alters their cells
and tired feet
that drag with fatigue
scraping their foundation
with painful striations
but I don't actually know
any old ladies
who live in a shoe
and make homebrew
but in closing I can say
that my shoes are imperfect
the backstays are bent
and they all have a scent
the toe boxes are squished
and the shanks are split
and the vamped have veered
where my feet have steered
so once a year
I have an occasion
just for my shoes
with lots of booze
I have a shower
and buy new socks
and Dr. Scholl's spray
for their special day
and I hurt their feelings
when I go barefoot in the park
they feel incidental
and just ornamental
I love my footgear
cause it hides my feet
that are craggy and rheumatic
and give me static
DeaBeePea 7-24-18
Dorothy Parker and the Epigram Mysteries
Episode 1
The Mystery at Land’s End
Part 1
The tennis match was over.
On the third floor of the Land’s End, Herbert Bayard Swope announced to his guests, “Time to gather outside for a match of headlight croquet.” The oak floor was not tarnished, except for the spills of Chateau d'Yquem. The gentlemen, in their propensity to show-off, relied on direct forehands, as they stabilized their wine glasses in their other hands.
It was a beautiful evening of misty dusk. Sailboats from the Manhasset Yacht Club dotted the still detectable choppy turquoise water of the Sound. Dorothy Parker was accustomed to the small villages on Long Island’s south shore, but not this elaborate sanctuary on the north shore, known as the Gold Coast. It almost numbed her as much as the martinis she had been drinking all day.
Dorothy was already establishing herself as writer of short stories that were ideal for the popular magazines of the day… Vanity Fair, Vogue, Ainlee’s, Life. Her round table of friends, who were meeting daily at the Algonquin Hotel, loved her sharp acerbic wit and daring-do. Her poems and her bright and biting satire took a cynical look at romance. She loved to ‘carve-up’ the men she had dated, referring to them as idiots and a perfect reason to remain a single woman. As a critic, she was known as a piranha, not from a desire to be destructive, but more from the satisfaction of belly-aching.
But on this weekend holiday, which was becoming a regular activity, her reasons for being a part of the opulence were many. Her round table friends were there, Robert Benchley, Deems Taylor, Edna Ferber, and Alexander Woollcott among others. It seemed they couldn’t get enough of each other. In New York on 44th Street, the Algonquin Hotel rested in squirming grandeur as the group of playwrights, poets, novelists and dramatists met at lunch hour, sometimes for two, even three hours. When they went back to their offices, it was not long until they met again at the office of illustrator Neyes McMein in the late of afternoon. This was followed by get-togethers in a second floor suite at the Hotel, to play poker on Saturday afternoons.
The summer playground where she now found herself was certainly not a place to write. It was a place to drink, pass out, and revive. Besides playing croquet by the shining lights of the automobiles they would partake in treasure hunts, and end up disassociated, and found themselves at estates that were not necessarily welcome.
Dorothy was pleased with the free-flowing gin and the comradery. It closed temporarily the door of sadness that was always with her. As a person who never really fitted in, she had already tried to remove herself from the gift of life by slashing her wrists. It was seen by others as an eccentricity.
Dorothy particularly liked the imported Scotch, and Mr. Swope was very careful to have all his liquor tested by a pharmacist. Too many cases of fatally poison tainted booze scripted the lives of the wealthy.
On this particular weekend Dorothy was joined on the west beach by Ruth Gordon and her husband Gregory Kelly, Robert and Mary Sherwood and legendary actress Ethel Barrymore. Ruth Gordon was recovering from surgery. She had both legs broken and re-set to repair her bow leggedness. She and her husband had just started up a repertory company. Robert was a close friend of Dorothy’s, working with her and Robert Benchley at Vanity Fair. Ethel was taking a break from performing, having just completed the silent film, The Divorcee.
There were often people there who Dorothy thought must have connections. They spoke of travelling to Washington D.C., negotiating peace treaties, speculating, and their part-time life in Paris. One such man was Gordon Simpson. Late one Saturday evening, the Scotch was finished, and she sat on the endlessly long veranda sipping gin with him. She had never met him before, and asked him a question that she hoped would be betwixting.
“Why is your name Simpson Gordon? Is it not Gordon Simpson?”
“My father’s name is Gordon,” he replied. “John Gordon. My mother liked the name Gordon, but she did not think that Gordon Gordon would be appropriate.”
“Her maiden name is Simpson. So she initially decided on the title Gordon Simpson. My father insisted on the maintenance of his surname. So she reversed it. But she put up quite a kafuffle.”
Dorothy winced, the rebounded. “Ah… you would like Ruth Hale. Have you heard of her? She once refused a passport because they insisted on inserting her name as Ruth Broun. She is married to Heywood Broun.”
“Of course I know her, and Heywood. As a matter of fact, they were here two weeks ago.”
“So was I. How did I miss you?”
“I don’t know,” he replied. “I am hard to mistaken with my skinny, rather ugly head, and my long wisp of grey hair shooting straight up from my otherwise vacant head.”
Dorothy laughed. “So you see yourself as a caricature.”
“Why not, it has made me famous. The subject of many cartoonists.”
“I should practice such humility, my new-found friend. I get very angry when my poems are refused by editors.”
“You shouldn’t be. You are a voice of the times. A journal that does not carry one of your creative jaunts through scathing profiles, should not be recognized as a magazine of current times.”
“Well… I thank you. I do not see myself as modern, only as an individual who asserts my identity, which I confess, I cannot always identify.”
Mr. Gordon’s head kept slipping to his right. There was no wide backrest or large arm to catch him.
“Damn, I am getting tired, and I think I sprained my neck. I had better get to bed. Now that I think of it, I do not think that I have been assigned a room.”
Mr. Simpson, or Gordon if you like, I have been assigned such an entity. You are welcome to pull up a section of floor in my room. However, I believe there is only a China-Wool rug on which to sleep.”
“I thank you Miss Parker. This place has twenty-five rooms; one of them must be unused. The invitation is one of kindness and disregard for etiquette.”
“Exactly,” said Miss Parker.
Dorothy awoke shortly after ten the following morning, feeling a slight ache in the head. Not because of too much alcohol, but not quite enough.
A quick shot of gin and a cigarette is what I need right now. Otherwise how can I face breakfast, let alone the exasperatingly nutty bunch sitting at the table?
She reached the bottom of the stairwell that led to a large veranda on the second floor, overlooking the east garden. Mr. Swope was standing at the elaborate railing, staring straight ahead… motionless.
“Good morning Mr. Swope. I apologize for my lack of convention. I realize that honoured guests are not supposed to sleep in.”
He turned to her but seemed void of response.
“Do you know Mr. Gordon.?”
“Oh… you mean Gordon Simpson.”
“No, I mean Simpson Gordon.”
“Right, excuse me, yes, Simpson Gordon. I met him last evening.”
“He’s dead,” spoke Mr. Swope.
Chapter 2
“Are you sure?”
“Couldn’t be more sure." He insisted sleeping on the south porch. It’s not enclosed. He was pretty drunk when I spoke to him last night. I went to check up on him, and I also wanted to ask him something that I didn’t want to bring up at the breakfast table. Feet are blue, no pulse. Early sign of algor mortis.”
He’s looking at me accusingly, thought Dorothy.
“I know nothing about it. I’m sorry.”
Mr. Swope said nothing as if he was awaiting some kind of information from me that would immediately answer his multitude of questions.
“I hear you’re good,” he said.
“Good?” I questioned.
“Yes. Someone told me that you solved a crime recently. A body was found in the East River. You pieced together his background from your observations of his clothing and appearance. Then you talked to a lot of people. A bit embarrassing to the police, I must say.”
“Just luck. I don’t have any particular skill; I’m just inquisitive and creative.”
“I can believe that. How about checking him out? I’d prefer you do that before I decide to call the police.”
Dorothy thought it would be appropriate to act shocked, and reluctant. But it wasn’t in her.
“I am not sure that I should do that ahead of the authorities,” she remarked. “But because you asked, I will do it in the name of friendly duty. Obligation, if you like.”
“My dear, I do not want you to feel obligated, but I need your help for a reason that I cannot explain to you now.”
Intrigue! She thought.
“Well, let’s go!”
They went back up the stairs that Dorothy had so innocently descended a short time before. They passed her room and then arrived at a small alcove, with a beautifully structured arch with triangular inlays that reminded Dorothy of the Chrysler building.
“I didn’t realize that he was only down the hall from me. I sure as hell didn’t hear anything.”
“One of Scott’s ghosts, more than likely.”
Dorothy knew that he was referring to F. Scott Fitzgerald, a frequent visitor, and one who regularly hallucinates.
Mr. Gordon was lying in a semi-curl, his neck twisted and his face looking straight down the hall, as if he was on guard.
Dorothy knelt down beside him.
“No stiffness, yet.”
Then she felt around the stomach. “Seems like the muscles are relaxed. No sign of vomiting.”
He was wearing exactly what he had on hours before.
“He looks pretty disheveled,” said Swope.
“He is and was disheveled,” commented Dorothy.
“No signs of frothing at the mouth. No signs of a struggle. I had better take the liberty of checking for bruises. But I doubt there will be any. Any disturbance and I would have heard it. I am not a sound sleeper.”
She nonchalantly pulled down his plus fours. All she noticed was some light scratches on his left thigh. “His skin is very dry, and the scratches are right by the lesions. I think he was just scratching himself.”
“Looks like it to me.”
“Any chance of alcohol poisoning, Dorothy?”
“Too hard for me to tell. He’s not overweight, and there’s no apparent swelling in his groin. I don’t know enough about him to know if he had any liver problems.”
“Nothing else looks suspicious. What I will look for is any signs of someone else being here.”
She carefully inspected the wall surface around the doorway to see if any remnant of fabric brushed against it. She then walked to the millwork railing. It was flawless in its white perfection.
“If someone climbed the wall and crossed over the balustrade, they did with satin flats and ivory chamois gauntlets.”
She looked at Swope with a sneer and said, “I thought maybe there would be remnants of a woman. I thought maybe it was a heart attack. I’ve killed many men with coition.”
“I bet you have Miss Parker.”
“Keeping on business, what do you think is next? Calling the police or interviewing the many suspects, currently attending to their morning repast.”
“Interviews first, then the cops. With you talking to them, they won’t be as guarded. We’ll be sure to catch somebody off-guard.”
“We?”
“Well, you I suppose. But I know all the local constables, and I think some of their technique has rubbed off on me.”
“Technique my ass. I can see them like an open scroll.”
“But only with your glasses on, Miss Parker. I notice you put them on as soon as we started going down the hall. Why don’t you wear them normally?”
“Men don’t make passes at girls who wear glasses.”
“Well, I think you look quite provocative.”
“That is because you are intelligent. Most of the men I know are handsome, ruthless and stupid. But I’ve learned to like them like that.”
“So that leaves me out eh?”
“For now anyways, we’re partners of detection at the moment.”
“Let’s head downstairs then.”
They first went to the group of people at the breakfast table. It was a referred to as the nook, but was actually a cavernous high-ceiling partitioned room, just off the cookery.
Swope could see who was in the sunroom at the end of the short hall. The only person he was unsure of was Miss Barrymore.
Swope asked Ruth Gordon if she knew of her whereabouts.
“Over at the bath house. On the terrace.”
“I think we’ll leave her to last,” decided Swope.
Dorothy nodded to Swope and eyed Ruth and Gregory.
“You two went to bed early didn’t you?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact we did. Not exactly early, but well before the others. Midnight I would say.”
“And you were on the second floor, right under me I believe. Did you hear any strange noises?”
“Nothing at all,” replied Ruth. “Although with Gregory baying at the moon, it’s unlikely I would hear anything.
“Robert’s not a sleep-walker by any chance?”
“Only when going in the general direction of the ice-box.”
The Sherwood’s look anxiously on, as if awaiting their turn to provide Dorothy with their version of the last six hours.
Dorothy looked at them pointedly. “Well, how do you explain yourselves?”
Robert scratched his forehead and shyly asked, “Is something askew Miss Parker.”
“We will let you know. Just answer my question. When did you go to bed, and where did you sleep.”
Robert was extremely tall, angular and awkward, with an oversized moustache. He was an outspoken critic of war, and very popular with the burgeoning new Hollywood set.
“We went for a late swim, and fell asleep in the change house. We woke up when Ruth Hale pulled in. Then we came back, it was almost sunrise. We went to our room just past the pantry. It’s a small guestroom, nothing fancy, but we like it. It feels like a cottage. We went back to sleep for a few hours. We got up when we heard clanging in the kitchen.”
“Ruth is here? She looked quickly down the hall again, and sure enough there she was next to Edna.
She then gathered herself and commented, “So that would have been seven-thirty, eight-o’clock?”
“I didn’t really check, but I think just after eight, yes.”
Dorothy’s best friends were in the sunroom, and she didn’t see any point in interviewing them, but then she realized, I can have fun with this. And with Ruth now present, she was preparing her chance for some verbal tennis.
Robert Benchley was her mentor and partner in tom-foolery. He was also a married man, who spent more time with Dorothy than his wife. It was a relationship of respect and propriety.
“Now Robert,” she said. “I am asking you to be honest, no whimsical antics.”
“I want to know exactly where you slept last night, and where you were after midnight.”
“I am in no condition to be whimsical my dear. I do not recall last evening. I do recall cleaning lemon meringue pie off my face. I believe I was a victim of a prank. Harpo is not here this weekend… so Hark, who shall I accuse? Perhaps Mr. Woollcott a man who could be guilty through the art of pranksterism, or simply through distastefulness.”
Woollcott snorted, not clearly indicating laughter or sublimity.
“I would not lower myself to such primitive behavior. Maybe a rambutan pie with ginger cream. But lemon meringue. Certainly not.”
Dorothy looked at both of them to see if there was evasiveness in their eyes.
So hard to tell. Their eyes look like misty-grey hard-boiled eggs.
Edna and Ruth were sitting on two rattan chairs, with a small, round glass table between, as they sipped on Darjeeling tea and honey.
Ruth spoke to Dorothy. “Are you trying out one of Heywood’s new plays, Dottie?”
Dorothy hated Dottie, and Ruth knew it.
“If I am, how am I making out? Is the acting bad, or I the script crappy?”
Edna could tell that Dorothy was quickly gaining the edge.
“Neither, in particular, I was just noticing that you were nosier than usual.”
“It just so happens that my intrusiveness has been approved by the proprietor.”
“Really? What is the occasion?”
“I am not permitted to say, but I will allow you to speak on behalf of everyone here as well as yourself. We are surveying suspicious behavior on the third floor. Sometime very late in the evening or very early in the morning.”
“In other words, you want to know who was sleeping with whom.”
“If that was all I wanted to know, I wouldn’t be asking. In all likelihood it would be you and Mr. Taylor.”
At hearing this, Deems Taylor, the music critic of the New York World, coughed and sputtered at Dorothy’s impeachment.
“Dorothy, what are you implying?”
“It is not an implication, my dear Mr. Taylor,” she said, sneering with delight.
“You’re a bitch Dorothy.”
“Yes, but more of a vamp, then a floozy.”
Swope decided that things were going in the wrong direction.
“Has anyone spoken to Miss Barrymore this morning?”
Everyone looked at each other, and Deems took the liberty saying, very crisply, “No, none of us. Is something going on?”
We will get back to you on that Mr. Taylor.
Part 3
Bernard and Dorothy walked along the walkway, a cement river that meandered to a pool that seemed as large as the Sound beyond. The dramatic beach house beside it was a flowing dramatic wave of Colonial embellishment.
Ethel was on the deck above the change house. It seemed like a long walk up to the terrace, especially for the two sleuths, who had yet indulged in breakfast.
She must have seen them coming, but there was no wave, or quick look in their direction. It was not known to Swope, Dorothy or the other guests, that Ethel’s marriage to Russell Griswold Colt, was becoming unbearable. This weekend away was one of pensive meditation and not one for celebration with friends.
Swope was observant, and took the opportunity to initiate.
“Ethel, you appear to be in solitude, and I hope, comforted by it. But I do have to ask you a question. You are the first one we are going to tell of this terrible mishap. Do you know Mr. Gordon?”
“I only met him today, briefly. An odd eccentric lad I perceived. But perhaps that is judgmental.”
“Ethel, he slept on the open porch on the third level, by design. Early this morning he was found lying, but no longer living. Perhaps he died in his sleep. We know little of him, or his medical history. Dorothy checked him out to the best of her ability, and detected nothing.”
“Have you called the police?”
“That appears to be our next step. In my position, I felt it was advisable to survey the situation beforehand. We have talked to everyone, and there appears to be no one caught in the web of suspicion. But to be fair, I should ask where you slept.”
“On the second floor room you assigned to me of course. It was very comfortable I might add.”
“And you got up early to come out here?”
“Yes. Sunrise. I awoke early. The colour of the sky was so beautiful it startled me. I decided to come out here. But now I am very tired.”
“And you heard no commotion when you awoke?”
“No, I swear you could hear a pin drop.”
“Thank you Ethel, we will leave you to yourself.”
“Actually, if I may, I will walk back with you. I am going to take a nap to compensate for my early rise.”
“That would be fine Ethel; we must consider partaking in our morning meal. We realize you would like to rest, but we would be delighted to have you join us at the breakfast table.”
“That is very kind, but I will have tea and crumpets after my nap.”
As they walked back to the mansion, soon overtaken by its giant shadow, the sun was suddenly enveloped by a gigantic black cloud.
“Where did that come from,” cried Dorothy. “It seemed to come from nowhere.”
“Certainly portentous… foreboding,” spoke Bayard.
Part 4
Time for a team meeting declared Swope as he entered the modest pantry entrance. He often took the pantry entrance. It made him feel like a working man. He was not an aristocrat. Dorothy felt a reassurance with her ease of friendship with this man. He was a Pulitzer Prize winner for his twenty-one day crusade against the Ku Klux Klan (as editor of the New York World), considered by many to be the world’s greatest poker player, and was a member of the notorious Thanatopsis Inside Straight and Pleasure Club.
He picked up the brass ear-piece of the candlestick phone and asked for the police. His instructions were concise.
“This is Herbert Swope. There is a dead man at my house.”
He then gathered the entire group into the front parlour and announced, I am sorry for the previous inquisition, but it appears that Mr. Simpson Gordon is dead. He is lying in the south veranda on the third level.
Alex Woollcott said, “It’s always something. Last weekend it was rescuing Zelda Fitzgerald from the Sound. Trying to swim with a belly-full of gin.”
“That is why you come here Alex, the excitement.”
“By the way. Who is this Mr. Gordon? How does he come about being at these soirees?”
“Well, he is, or was a bit of a pest. No problem actually, just a moocher. He’s been known to stay at Mr. Lardner’s, and claims to be a friend of that Gatsby fellow.”
“Jay Gatsby. That charlatan?”
“Yes, and like Gatsby, his connections are unknown, if not questionable. But he seems, seemed harmless enough.”
“And quirky,” added Dorothy.
Edna added, “The brief conversation I had with him, suggested he dabbled in the occult. I don’t believe he used the word occult, he mentioned something about sacred schools.”
“Sacred schools!” exclaimed Swope.
“Gloria Swanson mentioned a group by that reference. She thought they were infiltrating Hollywood. She was quite alarmed by it.”
“Sacred in what way?” asked a suspicious Dorothy.
“Don’t know much about, except for what Gloria told me. There so called doctrine was based on a group of poems.”
“Right up my alley,” said Dorothy.
“I don’t think so,” replied Swope. “Apparently there have been raids at places of these teachings. Eastern religion blended with Christian love. Communing with God through sexual acts. But strangely connected to The Great White Brotherhood. Sacred phallic laws and mystical marriages. A freedom to explore love in all its exotic forms.”
“Sounds enchanting,” said Dorothy.
“I agree, other than being racist, violent and disease spreading.”
“Minor details.”
“The suffragettes pale in comparison,” spoke Ruth Hale.
Ruth Gordon jumped in. “Don’t forget we have a body upstairs. His death did not alarm me, but after our enlightening conversation, it is taking on a sinister odour.”
“I wonder what is holding up the police?” inquired Swope.
At that very moment, a shiny new Dodge patrol paddy wagon pulled in at the south driveway.
Officer Doubleday got out of the vehicle, and took a good look around the grounds, looking for something conspicuous? His younger sidekick inquired as to his approach.
“Aren’t you going in, Sir?”
“Yep, in a moment. I’m just taking a look around. I’ve been here before. Just seeing if my senses can pick up something that says unusual.”
“Sir. The croquet mallets are all lying out in the grass. It looks like they stopped suddenly in the middle of a game. Something must have happened.”
“Good observation Binkley, but I don’t think so. They usually do that. Somebody whacks a ball into the woods, and they all go looking for it. Then they end up going on a nature hike. A game called find-the-bottle. Mr. Swope is known to hide bottles in the woods. One of his scavenger prizes. The ultimate prize I might add is a bottle of The Dimple Pinch. A very fine whiskey I might add. Puts sour mash to shame.”
“I wonder what the booby prize is.”
“I shudder to think.”
“Looks pretty quiet around here. Mr. Swope’s boat is in the boathouse. I’m going to have a quick look.” He took the long walk to the boathouse. “It’s a long walk to even go to the bathroom in this place. He took note that the boat was dry and looked unused for a good length of time. None of the guest’s boats had been out, and the paddles were inverted and dry.”
“Nothing unusual here. Time to go in.”
Mr. Swope was there to greet them at the door. Well gentlemen, you took your time. You suspect foul play.”
“I have an open mind,” commented Officer Doubleday.
“I appreciate that Durward, you have to have to have that with the guests I entertain.”
“That is an understatement Mr. Swope.”
The host introduced the officers to his many guests, some of whom were familiar.
“Good to see you again, Officer?” said Aleck Woollcott.
This could certainly be interpreted as a sarcastic acknowledgement, considering Woollcott’s caustic charm.
“Trouble follows you, Mr. Woollcott,” replied Doubleday.
“Guilty before proven innocent?”
“You could say that,” quipped the Officer.
“Let’s see that body.”
He was escourted up to the third floor, followed by everyone. He looked like a Pied Piper being followed by children of folklore.
“I appreciate your enthusiasm, or should I say curiosity, but please remain in the hall.”
As Mr. Swope took him to the porch he faced the officer while aiming his outstretched arm in the direction of the body.
“As yet, I do not see anything, Mr. Swope.”
Herbert turned to look. The body was gone.
Part 5
“Shit! He was here when I checked on him. I swear it. And he was dead.”
“Well, Mr. Swope. Either he wasn’t dead or one of your guests has played a monumental practical joke.”
Swope turned to the crowd in the hall, and said. “Believe me officer, there are many qualified candidates.”
Dorothy immediately informed them of what might have seemed the obvious. “When we were out talking to Ethel, someone hid the body. That’s the only possibility.”
“But no one knew he was there.”
“But they smelled a rat. I imagine they started a search. Led by the slipperiest sleuth this side of the Rockies. Detective Benchley,” said Dorothy.
“I appreciate the resourceful flattery, but I was downstairs all morning inspecting the whiskey cabinet.”
The officer realized it would take hours to interview everyone, so he decided to look for clues that would help lead him to the body.
“I am going to inspect the site, and look for information that will lead me to the method of removal and possible relocation. That is assuming that there WAS a body, Mr. Swope.”
“Would I lie to you?”
“That remains to be seen,” he smirked.
“By the way Mr. Swope, we have not discussed identification.”
“Yes, I have some information for you, but very little.”
Dorothy added, “His name is Simpson Gordon, not Gordon Simpson. It’s a long story.”
“That’s about all we know,” interjected Swope. I really don’t know him. He just comes around. He seems to enjoy the company of this motley assemblage. He has also been known to be present at the home of Mr. Lardner, and apparently associates with Jay Gatsby.”
“Jay Gatsby? That leads us to the possibility of him being tangled into the web of race-fixing. There could be a connection there.”
“It occurred to me,” said Swope.
“But let’s not solve a murder before we confirm that there is one.”
“Believe me, there’s a murder and someone doesn’t want to leave any clues. But they’ll slip up. Sooner or later.”
“We can wait for them to slip up, or put pressure on them to slip up. It’s my policy to enforce the latter. I am going to call Inspector Powell to talk to Lardner and Gatsby. Me and Bink will concentrate on finding this so-called body.”
“From the information you have given me Mr. Swope, the gentlemen died sometime in the area of three A.M. And his body must have been removed, or simply vanished, around the time you were speaking to Miss Barrymore, which was between eight-forty-five and nine-thirty. Correct?”
“That’s it, almost precisely. And might I add, you have probably noticed the inquisitiveness and active participation of my dear friend Miss Parker. I think you will find her assistance of great value. In Manhattan she is recognized as a pest by some members of the police force. As a matter of fact, the D.A. has sent her a letter, a polite one, to ask her to butt out. But that request is procedure, not actually heart-felt. She has solved a number of recent murders. Remember the Steamy McAdoo case?”
“She solved that?”
“You’d better believe it. With almost no chance of identification, she traced him back to the Five Points, and found the guilty party working in a fencing operation.”
“Man, that took guts!”
“Well, my friend, Miss Parker can slice a man in two with words. She writes with a knife.”
“The first thing I do in the morning is brush my teeth and sharpen my tongue.”
“That must hurt,” commented Doubleday.
“I usually use it on men who are as dull as dishwater.”
Doubleday inspected the site repeatedly as Dorothy sketched out where the body had lied.
“All I can say Mr. Swope, is that I will have to come with something more. No sign of a body, and so sign of foul play. A crowd of people, and only two who saw the body. Hopefully a missing persons report will be forthcoming. He must have family, somewhere.”
“If he has family, I’ll find them,” suggested Dorothy.
“But you’re not on the case Miss Parker.”
“Unofficially I am. If you insist, I will pass on any pertinent information incognito.”
“I’m afraid I will have to disregard it.”
“That’s what the cops said before, Doubleday. They pretended to ignore her, but followed up on everything she reported. She was dead on. And just so you know, she won’t share her tricks. Magic I think.”
“And I’m going to follow up on that Sacred School thing,” Dorothy reminded them. “It sounds like it could have a long thread that leads to murder.”
“What the hell are you talking about now?”
Dorothy described the situation to the officer.
Miss Ferber had a conversation with Mr. Gordon. He mentioned some involvement which sounds like a cult to me. Something to do with Sacred Schools. Possibly trying to infiltrate Hollywood. Lots of power and influence there. Maybe connected to the Great White Brotherhood. Communing with god, sexual acts, sacred phallic laws, the whole shebang.”
“Scary shit. God damn.”
“And I think the brotherhood might be a place that a lot of the Klan have escaped to. There hiding from after my massacre.”
“This is heavy stuff,” said Doubleday, sweat started to slide down his forehead.
Swope looked to Dorothy and gave her a reassuring nod of support. She knew she would investigate, with or without the co-operation of the police. She also knew that time was in her favour, because at this point, the police weren’t even going to recognize it as a case. And chances are, they never will, depending on how much light she sheds on the situation as her investigation progresses.
“I don’t have time to stand around here and stare down a bottomless pit,” said Doubleday. Swope I want you to send me all the names and contact information of your guests. It will good to have on file to link up to any new information, but I may be grey before I receive any. He looked at Swope with a combination of disgust, doubt, distrust and fear.
Part 6
That evening Dorothy was contemplating her next step. Invariably the choice between a lift from Aleck back to her shabby apartment at 57 West Fifty-Seventh Street or a train ride back to Grand Central was not one which offered any inspiring alternative.
Would her husband Eddie be out on a binge? Would be arriving home late in the evening after spending a few hours at a speakeasy after a day’s work at Paine Webber?
She described his disposition as “leaving him loud and querulous and bristling for affronts.”
They had moved to this new apartment because Dorothy always blamed marital problems as being a result of living in the wrong environment. But the high girders of Sixth Avenue cast shadows over their modest living quarters. The place was gloomy and unfashionable. The noise of the train was so deafening that it became a metaphor for the hopelessness of their ability to communicate. Their illusions were being eaten away bit by bit.
Dorothy’s hopes were raised because of the Bohemian life-style that was being suggested. There was a Swiss restaurant below them, a drug store that sold strong, safe gin and a lady on their floor had a studio and a live monkey as a companion. With the addition of a dog, named Rags, the floor began to warp from the result of neither Eddie nor Dorothy taking on the responsibility of walking him.
This domestic disaster was the perfect excuse for Dorothy to submerge herself in her new project as amateur sleuth. It was not exactly a conscious decision, as she took her personal responsibilities seriously. She simply did not have to emotional tools to deal with conflict that she was unable to comprehend.
One evening she called Robert Benchley.
“We have to talk about this. You are the one who can help me focus on some kind of method to take a step-by-step approach to this situation. Do you realize how much Herbert will appreciate us helping him? He does not want his name muddied. You must come over now.”
“I’m sorry Dorothy, but I know how things are going with you and Eddie. I want no part of being there in the event that he shows up. I will meet you at the Algonquin if you insist on meeting me.”
“Oh my dear Robert. You are actually afraid of Eddie.”
“Far from it Dorothy. But for your sake and mind we don’t need life any more complicated than it already is. I am a practical man.”
“Damn you Robert. You always have been. Why do I love you so.”
“You don’t love me Dorothy. We just get along marvelously well. We make each other’s lives more bearable than they actually are.”
“Sounds pretty damn close to love to me.”
“It is Dorothy, it is.”
“I am enjoying this mush immensely Robert but we must get the show on the road. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”
“You haven’t given me much of a chance to tell Gertrude where I’m going.”
“Tell her you have to meet me for a rewrite, in order to meet a publishing deadline. It sounds so good I actually believe it.”
Benchley hung up, knowing his next move. He would meet her there.
Robert was first to arrive and sat on a plush ivory coloured love seat under a beautiful starry lunette. When Dorothy made her appearance, it was decided they would go to the stunning and modernistic Blue Room. It had been raining hard, and Dorothy’s wool velour coat was drenched.
“Why don't you get out of that wet coat and into a dry martini?” suggested Bentley.
“Very sound advice Mr. Benchley.”
“Don’t you have an umbrella?”
“Yes I do but tend to stab people with it. It’s safer at home in the closet.”
“Those you stab, Dorothy, usually men?”
“I would say so. They make me nervous. I shudder at the thought of men.... I'm due to fall in love again.”
They both took sips from their martini glasses in unison.
“I really want to help Herbert. I think he would like it kept out of the news as much as possible. He’s been so good to me. Eddie wants to take a vacation to New England, if you call that a vacation. Not very exotic. But he’s trying to go on the wagon, and I think it would be a good time to be supportive. But I so want to find out more about the Jay Gatsby connection. I was thinking that you could possibly look into the cult in Hollywood. You could go out there under the auspices of your Liberty Bond tour.”
“You’ve really got things figured out. I might be able to think of something. But were starting with a big haystack and we’re looking for an awfully small needle.”
And what also comes to mind is that we have no body. Finding the body should be first priority.
“When Eddie’s visiting his family I might be able to slip away and head to Long Island. Something tells me we might be able to find out something in East Egg.”
“There you go with that “we” again.”
“Well, you’re here aren’t you?”
“You got me there.”
“I got you here, Mr. Benchley.”
They clanged glasses.
Dorothy and Eddie started on their recess and Dorothy missed Robert almost immediately. She sent him postcards endorsed with such names as Billie Burke and Flo Ziegfeld. Dorothy detested Robert’s wife Gertrude, but when they met socially, all was civil. She characterized Gertrude as a woman who might be inclined to eat her young. She also thought that she must have vast acquaintance among the myopic, as she always looked as if she was running from a raging fire.
She enjoyed the wilderness in Maine and took long walks, delighting in encountering a porcupine. When they arrived in Hartford Conn. to see Eddie’s family, she took no short-cuts in disparaging them. This build-up of hostility was exactly what she wanted. It gave her the ideal excuse to excuse herself.
“Excuse me,” she said. “Harold Ross is vacationing in Sag Harbor and he wants to meet me to discuss some big changes in the magazine. I’ll only be a couple days. It’ll be easier for you to settle in Eddie, I’m just a nag anyways.”
Eddie looked at silently, but with eyes that suggested that’s putting it mildly.
The train trip was short. Her first visit was to the home of Ring Ladner. This incredibly versatile man had a taste for sports, music and the stage and had recently worked with George M. Cohan and George S. Kaufman.
His writing which commonly used idiosyncratic vernacular was satirical, and he enjoyed making fun of the athlete who had nothing between his ears. Because he was a voice of the underdog and so realistic in his characterizations he received praise form the substantially literary Virginia Woolf.
When she taxied to his door, she heard “Just a minute Dorothy!”
She looked up and saw him getting up from a lounging chair and rushing into his bedroom via the French doors. He arrived at the door seconds later, almost out of breath. He gave her an affectionate hug and welcomed her inside.
“What on earth, Dorothy. I’m so glad you found me home. Is this a social visit, or are you a woman in distress? I certainly hope it is the former.”
“Mostly the former, dear Ring. I will explain.
The large but somehow cozy home with the gambrel roof, suggested a combination of Mark Twain and F. Scott Fitzgerald. He casually threw her coat on a large plaid club chair and placed her small travel bag on the floor beside it.
“Have a seat. I right in the mood for a good story. Had a bit of block recently.”
“Mr. Ring Lardner with writer’s block. That is a headline!”
“Actually, a form of reverse-block. Too much to write, too much to say, too much to lampoon. Cannot take all these ideas and form them into a malleable ball of edible literature.”
“That brings us to my project, which could lead to a juicy mystery series. But I need some pulp. I am here to ask you about Simpson Gordon. I am under the assumption that you know him by that name, but it would not surprise me if you knew him by another.”
“Simpson Gordon? You know Simpson Gordon?”
“Knew Simpson Gordon.”
“Knew? You mean somethings has happened to him?”
“I thought Herbert Swope might have let you know already. It appears his hush policy has been effective up to this point.”
Dorothy explained what transpired a week before, and informed Ring that she was getting to the bottom of it.
“It’s my calling,” she reminded Ring.
“I’m surprised but I’m not. I perceive Mr. Gordon as someone who under no circumstances could be considered a threat. He exercises no influence over anyone. But there was an apocalyptic shadow that hung over him.”
“He did work on the grounds for me. But I never hired him. He would come by and stay for two or three day, and work very hard. Then he would just disappear for weeks on end. He considered accommodation and meals more than ample reward.”
“He never told you about his associations, particularly with Jay Gatsby?”
“He would tell me that he would be off to one Jay’s fetes. He spoke kindly of him and referred to his elegant style.”
“That seems strange to me. Why would he find Mr. Gatsby’s style so enchanting? He seemed to be a humble man with no interest in first impression.”
“I agree. He was bordering on frumpy. Something doesn’t fit there.”
“I’m also trying to fit him into a possible cult. I know nothing of it at all, but it has links to California white-supremacists, maybe anti-Semites too… and religious quackery.”
“That’s interesting… our conversations were brief. Generally he would ask me lots of questions. About my childhood in Michigan, life and friends in New York, and Hollywood. He was mesmerized by Hollywood and its glamour and its promiscuous women. I told him that I thought it was flim-flam land. Mind you there is an ingenious think-tank out there but socially it’s a Xanadu with a collapsing roof.”
“The only “ism” Hollywood believes in is plagiarism. I won’t go near that place.”
“I’m afraid to say it Dorothy, but most of our friends are going to living out there before the decade is up. Fame and money are magnetic. Not necessarily in that order. I wouldn’t bet against you being a screen-writer.”
“I admit, I am attracted to money, but money is not attracted to me.”
“So our friend was fascinated by Hollywood.’
“It seems to that he thought Jay would help get posted out there. In what occupation I have no idea.”
“Working in something illegitimate more than likely.”
“He dabbled in poetry. He might have wanted to be a writer.”
“Mmmm,” murmured Dorothy. “Publicity, propaganda… a stooge. Set up as a front for Sacred Schools or the Great White Brotherhood. Some kind of new publication.”
“Sounds like a stretch, but I suppose there could be a connection. I can him being a puppet. But obviously the puppeteer got the strings tangled. Instead of untangling the strings, he shot the puppet.”
“That is where to start. I’d bet my life on it. Not a bottle of gin mind you, but my life.”
“Speaking of gin… what is your weakness?”
“Besides stupid men, who I am not currently in the mood for, which is one reason I am here, I would be inclined towards a Canadian Manhattan.”
“I can accommodate you.”
“I hope you remember, dry with a twist, not stirred.”
“I sure do. You converted me. No cherry, no bitters.”
As she took rather large gulp minimally iced cocktail, she looked at Ring with discouragement.
“Am I wasting my time? We don’t even have a body yet.”
“I think I can help you that. I know every nook and cranny around here. Assuming that there is a body, it would be dumped in the Sound, incinerated or hidden. If Jay is involved, he wouldn’t hide it at or near his estate. If he did hide it, it might be at another residence… a set-up. Maybe somewhere around Tom Buchanan’s. Otherwise it has been torched, or is at the bottom of the Sound. I would bet on the torch.”
“More betting, were really rolling the dice tonight.”
“Let’s go for a drive tomorrow. We probably won’t find out much in a day, but we’ll have fun. I enjoy my new vehicle. It’s Roamer. Hell of a motor in it. And it’s more fun on the island because the roads are shit.”
“That does sound like a hoot.”
“Do you feel like going to Herbert’s.”
“I don’t mind that at all. I think it would be important to let him know our plans. Is there a chance we could check out Sag Harbor? That’s where I told Eddie I was going. It’s not a must, but I do like to cover my ass.”
“Harold is vacationing there. Maybe we could drop in.”
“Harold’s in Sag Harbor? I had no idea,” replied Ring.
“Staying at the America apparently.”
“He loves that place. Likes writing there.”
“And it just came to me. He worked on the Leo Frank trial. He’s our man!” said Dorothy enthusiastically.
“He dug up the anti-semitic forces at hand too. That might help us with our case. The more I get a smell of this situation, the more I pick up Jay’s odor.”
“The odor of dry-cleaned Oswego serge and madras.”
“He is known to splash Eau de Cologne on his lapels too.”
The next morning was a dull, cool day, with rain threatening.
“We’ll keep the top up until further notice Dorothy.”
They drove to Land’s End, Ring accelerating at every bend along the way.
“This is grand Ring. How much are one of these beautiful creatures?”
“Twenty-nine fifty cold cash.”
“Shit! Isn’t the Model T four-hundred smackers?”
“That’s right. Even less. This is the “I’m not-quite-a-millionaire” Rolls Royce my dear. It’s the Rochester-Duesenberg engine that makes it so much.”
They arrived at the Swope mansion. They didn’t have to ring the bell. The sound of that beautiful purring six-cylinder engine and the bright yellow glow of its chassis was enough to gather the eyes of the proprietor.
“Herbert old chap, so good to see you. Knew you’d be around. Heard you be staying until the meeting next week with Harold. I brought along a P.I. friend of mine.”
“Dorothy. You’re here to help me open the can of worms that I have been able to keep shut up till now.”
“Hard to open a can of worms with a corkscrew.”
“Dorothy, you put Will Rogers to shame.”
“I’m glad of that,” she said emphatically.”
“So come on in and we’ll see if we distract Dorothy from her mission.”
“Won’t happen Hebert, sorry.”
Dorothy and Ring filled in Mr. Swope on their discussion and agreed on their conclusion.
“And I’m glad it’s only you Ring, that Dorothy talked to about this. Of course we must take advantage of the fact that the police are co-operating by also being reticent.”
Dorothy interjected, “By the way Herbert, it might be hard to remember… but we don’t actually know when the police arrived do we. Remember, they were skulking around a bit before they acknowledged us.