Okay, because you asked for it (you crazy people), here’s the remainder of the Demise of Dickey, my attempt at writing romance. This is as far as I got before realizing writing a romance isn’t easy and definitely should not be attempted by someone with strudel in the noodle. (Part One is here.)
To bring you up-to-date, Hollywood stud-muffin Trevor Lamour has arrived on scene to find his girlfriend Dinah, the CEO of Toadwillow Studios, in quite a state. Between sobs she tells him her beloved dog has died and is lying in their newly remodeled kitchen when who should arrive on scene? Donald DePew, the kitchen’s designer….
Demise of Dickey, Part 2
“I don’t think you understand, Donald. That’s not a piece of art – it’s Dickey!”
“Yes, Dinah’s Dickey. He’s dead!”
“He can’t be! Not on the Brazilian tile! He’ll stain the grout!” He flew over to the corpse, his cheeks ablaze, and began kicking it. “Up Dickey doggie, up! Trevor, do something!”
Trevor still stood in the foyer, his eyes glazed over. “You know. We once had a dog. His name was Sammy. I remember when he died we buried him in the backyard. Gosh it was nifty. We were all there – Mom, Dad and sis. Buddy, that was my older brother’s name, why he dug the hole all by himself.”
“Oh, that was Dinah’s idea. She wants to brand me as a bad boy with a tragic past – sort of like Robert Mitchum. The truth is….”
“Don’t say another word! Some mutt has just died on, and perhaps ruined for-ever, the hand stained mustard seed grout and now you’re telling me that Trevor Lamour is really Jack Sprat from Oshgosh…”
“No, Spokane, actually.”
“Whatever! And we can’t bury the damn dog in the backyard. In case you haven’t noticed, the house is perched on a cliff!”
DePeux couldn’t contain his disappointment. For months he’d dreamt of having a fling with Trevor Lamour and now to learn the man used words like “nifty.” It was too much disappointment to bear. Damn, that Dinah is a genius at marketing, he thought. No wonder the bitch has managed to claw her way up to the top of the game. And in the shark pit that’s Hollywood no less.
Suddenly they heard a loud crash from the bedroom followed by an eerie silence.
“Was that a gun?” Donald squealed, “Dinah doesn’t own one, does she?”
Trevor’s face was blank. “Oh course she does. It’s L.A.!” They turned and ran down the length of the hall. Dinah sat on her bed scowling at a phone held about a foot from her face, on the marble floor lay remnants of a lamp she’d smashed to smithereens. Trevor knew the look on her face well. She was about to lay waste to everything within five miles, like some sort of alien spaceship sent to destroy all life forms on earth.
“What do you mean?!!! Didn’t you explain to the Disney people I’d lost my darling Dickey and couldn’t be expected to attend their stupid meeting?? What kind of an idiot are you?” She threw the phone across the room, then turned toward the men now cowering near the door. Her eyes were like those of a rattlesnake about to strike. “DePew, what a jolly time you’ve chosen to visit! Well, I suppose for the amount we’ve paid you, you can help Trevor take care of Dickey.”
“But…but…how?” Both men mumbled.
Next week, for those of you who’ve expressed interest in the proceedings of the Board of Equalization (part of the Kick Ass Taxwoman story) I’ll be posting an excerpt from the book which will reveal all. See you then!
Images courtesy of Bing.com