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Adelaide Literary Magazine is an independent international quarterly publication, based in New York and Lisbon. Founded by Stevan V. Nikolic and Adelaide Franco Nikolic in 2015, the magazine’s aim is to publish quality poetry, fiction, nonfiction, artwork, and photography, as well as interviews, articles, and book reviews, written in English and Portuguese. We seek to publish outstanding literary fiction, nonfiction, and poetry, and to promote the writers we publish, helping both new, emerging, and established authors reach a wider literary audience. We publish print and digital editions of our magazine four times a year, in September, December, March, and June. Online edition is updated continuously. There are no charges for reading the magazine online. http://adelaidemagazine.org
A Revista Literária Adelaide é uma publicação trimestral internacional e independente, localizada em Nova Iorque e Lisboa. Fundada por Stevan V. Nikolic e Adelaide Franco Nikolic em 2015, o objectivo da revista é publicar poesia, ficção, não-ficção, arte e fotografia de qualidade assim como entrevistas, artigos e críticas literárias, escritas em inglês e português. Pretendemos publicar ficção, não-ficção e poesia excepcionais assim como promover os escritores que publicamos, ajudando os autores novos e emergentes a atingir uma audiência literária mais vasta. Publicamos edições impressas e digitais da nossa revista quatro vezes por ano: em Setembro, Dezembro, Março e Junho. A edição online é actualizada regularmente. Não há qualquer custo associado à leitura da revista online. (http://adelaidemagazine.org)

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Published by istinadba, 2017-05-30 04:19:15

Adelaide Literary Magazine No.7, Volume Two, June 2017

Adelaide Literary Magazine is an independent international quarterly publication, based in New York and Lisbon. Founded by Stevan V. Nikolic and Adelaide Franco Nikolic in 2015, the magazine’s aim is to publish quality poetry, fiction, nonfiction, artwork, and photography, as well as interviews, articles, and book reviews, written in English and Portuguese. We seek to publish outstanding literary fiction, nonfiction, and poetry, and to promote the writers we publish, helping both new, emerging, and established authors reach a wider literary audience. We publish print and digital editions of our magazine four times a year, in September, December, March, and June. Online edition is updated continuously. There are no charges for reading the magazine online. http://adelaidemagazine.org
A Revista Literária Adelaide é uma publicação trimestral internacional e independente, localizada em Nova Iorque e Lisboa. Fundada por Stevan V. Nikolic e Adelaide Franco Nikolic em 2015, o objectivo da revista é publicar poesia, ficção, não-ficção, arte e fotografia de qualidade assim como entrevistas, artigos e críticas literárias, escritas em inglês e português. Pretendemos publicar ficção, não-ficção e poesia excepcionais assim como promover os escritores que publicamos, ajudando os autores novos e emergentes a atingir uma audiência literária mais vasta. Publicamos edições impressas e digitais da nossa revista quatro vezes por ano: em Setembro, Dezembro, Março e Junho. A edição online é actualizada regularmente. Não há qualquer custo associado à leitura da revista online. (http://adelaidemagazine.org)

Keywords: fiction,poetry,nonfiction,book reviews,essays,lliterature,publishing

Frozen In Time © 2017 Photography by Tina Weikert


INDEPENDENT REVISTA
QUARTERLY LITERÁRIA
LITERARY INDEPENDENTE
MAGAZINEIDE- TRIMESTRAL

ADELAIDE FOUNDERS / FUNDADORES
Independent Quarterly Literary Magazine Stevan V. Nikolic & Adelaide Franco Nikolic
Revista Literária Independente Trimestral
Year II, Number 7, Volume II, June 2017 EDITOR IN CHIEF / EDITOR-CHEFE
Ano II, Número 7, Volume II, junho de 2017 Stevan V. Nikolic

ISBN-13: 978-1547023516 editor@adelaidemagazine.org
ISBN-10: 1547023511
MANAGING DIRECTOR / DIRECTORA EXECUTIVA
Adelaide Literary Magazine is an independent Adelaide Franco Nikolic
internaƟonal quarterly publicaƟon, based in New York
and Lisbon. Founded by Stevan V. Nikolic and Adelaide GRAPHIC & WEB DESIGN
Franco Nikolic in 2015, the magazine’s aim is to publish IsƟna Group DBA
quality poetry, ficƟon, nonficƟon, artwork, and
photography, as well as interviews, arƟcles, and book PORTUGUESE LANGUAGE EDITOR / EDITORA PORTUGUESA
reviews, wriƩen in English and Portuguese. We seek to
publish outstanding literary ficƟon, nonficƟon, and Adelaide Franco Nikolic
poetry, and to promote the writers we publish, helping
both new, emerging, and established authors reach a BOOK REVIEWS
wider literary audience. We publish print and digital Heena Rathore
ediƟons of our magazine four Ɵmes a year, in Septem- Jack Messenger
ber, December, March, and June. Online ediƟon is Ana Sofia Pereira
updated conƟnuously. There are no charges for reading
the magazine online. (hƩp://adelaidemagazine.org) ScoƩ Morris

A Revista Literária Adelaide é uma publicação CONTRIBUTING AUTHORS IN THIS ISSUE
trimestral internacional e independente, localizada em
Nova Iorque e Lisboa. Fundada por Stevan V. Nikolic e BreƩ Herrmann, Linda Boroff, Rachel Cohen, Art
Adelaide Franco Nikolic em 2015, o objecƟvo da revista Sullivan, Vince Barry, Robert Gamer, Chris Wright,
é publicar poesia, ficção, não-ficção, arte e fotografia
de qualidade assim como entrevistas, arƟgos e críƟcas Jaye Viner, Lea Baker, Harold Barnes, Danielle
literárias, escritas em inglês e português. Pretendemos Garner, Jose Recio, Mike Tupa, Robert Keast,
publicar ficção, não-ficção e poesia excepcionais assim Alexandros PlasaƟs, Abraham Myers, Sarah
como promover os escritores que publicamos, ajudan- Archer Moulton, Jonathan Ferrini, James Santore,
do os autores novos e emergentes a aƟngir uma Niikah Haƞield, Steven Pelcman, Brandi Handley,
audiência literária mais vasta. Publicamos edições Meg Paske, David Vardeman, Antoine Bargel,
impressas e digitais da nossa revista quatro vezes por Michael Neary, Vicki J. Bell, A. A. Reinecke, Jerry
ano: em Setembro, Dezembro, Março e Junho. A edição Johnson, Dennis Nau, Michelle Cacho-Negrete,
online é actualizada regularmente. Não há qualquer Ronald McFarland, Thomas N. Hackney, Patrick
custo associado à leitura da revista online. Hahn, Ellie White, L. B. Boe, Royce Adams, Ray
Savoie, Carla Arellano, Taylor Hall, Mary Jane
(hƩp://adelaidemagazine.org) White, Don Mager, Danielle Hanson, John J.
Ronan, Bill Shultz, Michael T. Smith, Timothy
Published by: IsƟna Group DBA, New York Robbins, Michael Carr, Amber McCready, Shayna
e-mail: info@adelaidemagazine.org
phone: +351 918 635 457 Boisvert, Paul Kumar, Anna Kapung,
Sam Kaufman, Sandra Hosking, Hyrum K. Hunt,
Copyright © 2017 by Adelaide Literary Magazine Harold Barnes, Dr. Peter Scheponik, Mike Tupa,

All rights reserved. No part of this publicaƟon may be Sam Landry, Lazola Pambo, Mark J. Mitchell,
reproduced in any manner whatsoever without wriƩen Christopher Perricone, Mark Taksa, Karl Miller,
permission from the Adelaide Literary Magazine Editor-
in-chief, except in the case of brief quotaƟons John Grey, Len Krisak, Billy Malanga,
embodied in criƟcal arƟcles and reviews. Denny E. Marshall, Sean Howard

2


Revista Adelaide

CONTENTS / CONTEÚDOS

EDITOR'S NOTES THREE STORIES ABOUT FRANÇOISE 158
BETWEEN WRITING AND EDITING 6 – By Antoine Bargel
– By Stevan V. Nikolic THE NIGHTMARE THAT NEVER SLEEPS 162
– By Michael Neary
FICTION / FICÇÃO UNREST – By Vicki J. Bell 166
THE SCOURGE – By BreƩ Herrmann 8 JUST BEFORE HE PAINTED THE HANDS 172
THE HUNDRED THOUSAND DOLLAR SUIT 14 – By A. A. Reinecke
– By Linda Boroff PILLOW TALK – By Jerry Johnson 176
BURIED – By Rachel Cohen 21 A FIGHT FOR LOVE AND GLORY 185
BABY AND JOE – By Vince Barry 29 – By Dennis Nau
AURORA – By Robert Gamer 33 AMERICAN PIE – By R.C. Savoie 193
BOOK OF JOE – By Chris Wright 47
5A's PROMISE – By Lea Baker 72 NONFICTION / NÃO-FICÇÃO
THE FLEA CIRCUS – By Harold Barnes 76 THE COUNTRY OF THE PAST 201
RELAPSE – By Danielle Garner 83 – By Michelle Cacho-Negrete
PALMIRO – By Jose Recio 90 FALLING FROM GRACE - By Ron McFarland 207
THROUGH MY BROTHER’S EYES 93 HYPERION – By Thomas N. Hackney 212
- By Mike Tupa AUTOBIOGRAPHY – By Patrick Hahn 218
HOUSEPLANT FUNERALS – By Rob Keast 96 CLIMBING CROAGH PATRICK 221
THE STORY-GATHERER’S CAIQUE VOYAGE 101 – By Ellie White
– By Alexandros PlasaƟs SHATTERED AT FIVE – By L. B. Boe 226
TO SWAY LIKE A WILLOW IN THE WIND 108 SOME THOUGHTS ON TRAVEL 229
– By Abraham Myers – By Royce Adams
EN ROUTE TO GRAUMAN’S 110 SONOGRAM IN MEDIA RES 233
– By Sarah Archer Moulton – By Carla Arellano
GUZZLED – By Jonathan Ferrini 116 SAN BERNARDINO – By Taylor Hall 236
THE MONEY CHANGERS – By James Santore 125
UNRAVELING – By Niikah Haƞield 129 POETRY / POESIA
A RUSSIAN STORY - By Steven Pelcman 132 TREES - By Marina Tsvetaeva, 239
TABLE – By Brandi Handley 139 translated by Mary Jane White
THE RIDE HOME – By Megan Paske 146 POEMS - By Osip Mandelstam, 245
THE BLOSSOM-WATCHERS 152 translated by Don Mager
– By David Vardeman A POEM IN WHICH THE MOON REJECTS YOU 249
– By Danielle Hanson

3


Adelaide Magazine

THE LADY’S EYES - By Jules Supervielle 251 INTERVIEWS / ENTREVISTAS
translated by John J. Ronan ROBERT McKEAN, 312
The author of a novel
WHAT IS WHITENESS? 252 The Catalog of Crooked Thoughts
(AN IMPERFECT BRAINSTORM)
– By Bill Shultz BOOK REVIEWS / CRITÍCAS LITERÁRIAS
THE CATALOG OF CROOKED THOUGHTS 314
AFTERWORD: OR, THE AMATEUR POET 255 By Robert McKean
– By Michael T. Smith TREMORS – Poetry by Gary Beck 315

IN LIMINE By Eugenio Montale 258 NEW TITLES
translated by Mary Jane White UM ANJO PELA METADE 316
de Humberto Duarte
ALFRED AND MOSES – By Timothy Robbins 262 CARTAS COM AMOR 317
de Helena de Macedo
MIDWAY – By Michael Carr 265
ART & PHOTOGRAPHY / ARTE & FOTOGRAFIA
SYMPHONY – By Amber McCready 267 FROZEN IN TIME 318
– Photography by Tina Weikert
INNOCENCE – By Shayna Boisvert 269
Front cover photo:
TABLE-SCARF – By Mary Jane White 272 Roman Bridge in Cheleiros near Mafra in Portugal
© 2017 Photo by A.F. Nikolic
VISITOR – By Sukrita Paul Kumar 277

THE RIVER – By Anna Kapung 279

THE BUG ON THE WALL – By Sam Kaufman 281

NOT YOU – By Sandra Hosking 283

HONEYMOON FOR A GHOST 285
– By Hyrum K. Hunt

NAMELESS MOMENTS – By Harold Barnes 286

LOVE IS IN THE PROOF 288
– By Dr. Peter Scheponik

SUMMER NEVER DIES – By Mike Tupa 290

A BALLAD I WISH I WISH I RUN 292
– By Sam Landry

THE BURNING SEASON – By Lazola Pambo 293

A ROBIN IN WINTER – By Mark J. Mitchell 294

DIALOGUES OF THE POOL 298
– By Christopher Perricone

FEED FLOWERS – By Mark Taksa 300

NATURE / STOP / IGNORE – By Karl Miller 303

THE SURRENDER OF WILL – By John Grey 305

MY FATHER’S DOG TAGS 308
– By Billy Malanga

(SHADOWGRAPH 144: 310
FROM ONE CAVITY TO ANOTHER)
– By Sean Howard

4


Revista Adelaide

Roman Bridge in Cheleiros near Mafra in Portugal
© 2017 Photo by A.F. Nikolic

5


Adelaide Magazine

Stevan V. Nikolic

BETWEEN WRITING AND EDITING

While buried under the pile of the manuscripts Only God knows the number of hours and sleep-
for the next issue of the Adelaide Magazine, my less nights put in each issue. It may sound like a
thoughts are going back to my own wriƟng. My cliché, but it wouldn’t be possible if it’s not the
new novel, “The Diary of the New York Baker”, work of love. Love for Adelaide. SomeƟmes I re-
the third book in the Michael Nicolau Series, is call with melancholy the old Ɵmes of “only print-
overdue already and the final chapters are brew- ed issues.” Everything seemed easier then. One
ing in my head and screaming to finally be put out formaƫng only! Today, with four different edi-
on the paper. With the amount of the ediƟng Ɵons of each issue – printed, digital, online, and
work in front of me, taking some Ɵme to concen- PDF online, the whole process is more complex.
trate on my own wriƟng seems like a far-fetched Each of ediƟons has its own parƟcular formaƫng
idea. requirements.

How to balance my professional ediƟng obliga- So, with all this rush with the magazine for a very
Ɵons with my wriƟng is a million-dollar quesƟon. busy editor-in-chief, what is writer Stevan V. Ni-
And is it at all possible to do both at the same kolic doing? On the surface, it doesn’t look bad at
Ɵme? all. “Truth According to Michael”, the second
book in the Michael Nicolau Series, has been
This Summer represents a turning point in our translated into Spanish by Maria Gil del Campo
magazine publishing policy. Up to now, we had a and published in February. “Weekend in Faro” is
quarterly literary publicaƟon published four Ɵmes being translated into Italian by ValenƟna Coniglio
a year - in March, June, September, and Decem- and is due to be published this month. In a few
ber. StarƟng with July, we will publish bimonthly. days, Lisbon Book Fair is starƟng and I will be
Six bimonthly issues will be coming out in Janu- looking acƟvely for new publishing opportuniƟes
ary, March, May, July, September, and November. in the Portuguese Book Market. Maybe the trans-
laƟon of the “Truth According to Michael” into
Taking a quarterly literary publicaƟon and up- Portuguese will be my next European endeavor…
grading it to a bimonthly means having two addi- We’ll see.
Ɵonal issues in a year; means having more manu-
scripts to process; means having more work. Cer- And, somewhere in the middle of all of that, I will
tainly, it is the result of the growth of our publica- hide in the corner of the office, disconnect the
Ɵon and the success it has with authors and the phone and wi-fi on the computer, and finish my
readers alike. It is something to be proud of. novel. Right aŌer I finish going through seventy+
Whatever is that we are doing, it looks like we are submiƩed pieces for our July Issue…
doing it right.

6


Frozen In Time © 2017 Photography by Tina Weikert


Adelaide Magazine

THE SCOURGE

By BreƩ Herrmann

7:12 p.m. old house with a detached garage in the back was
really the only structure on the block. The rest of
There were mosquitoes everywhere, buzz- the space was open grass field, most of it freshly
ing in people’s ears, digging into the backs of their mowed.
necks — swarming the body.
Big Jim “Bo” Handler sƟll had a fresh Old Style in
Billie Twardowski swaƩed three mosqui- hand as he wiped the cool can across his fore-
toes in one hit on her forearm. Two were pulver- head, leaving droplets of condensaƟon clinging to
ized into liƩle black dots of bug flesh, and the his maƩed dark hair. The water slowly trickled to
other gushed blood. A bright red stream smeared his brow. Next to him was Susie Watkins, siƫng in
down her arm, maƫng down her thin blonde a lawn chair with her walker by her side. She had
hairs. hobbled the three blocks from the senior center
to the excavaƟon site to get in on the acƟon,
“Do you need a Band-Aid?” Norma asked. same as everyone else.

“No, just a big mosquito,” Billie said. On the front side of the yard, a lazy rural
highway had the occasional car pass by where the
“They are thick enough to breathe aren’t driver would slow down to a crawl and gawk at
they? I don’t know how these guys are working the number of police cruisers. Normally, driv-
through it.” ers sped through town so fast they didn’t even
noƟce the signs designaƟng the speed change.
About two hours earlier Billie had been
knife deep in an ice cream cake, cuƫng a big cor- Today, there were about 15 police cars
ner slice for Ryan, her boyfriend, when she got surrounding the abandoned house. The cars en-
the Tweet. circled the yard as best as they could but police
couldn’t quite fill all the gaps to block the view
Now, she was standing in the heat, the enƟrely. They were state and county cops. The
humidity, and a bath of mosquitos, wiping her village’s police force had disbanded decades ago.
blood (or was it someone else’s?) on the side of Not enough funds, not enough crime.
her pants.
Allen Bigham rolled his liŌed truck into his
Everyone in town was watching the same driveway about a half block down the street and
thing. All two hundred people from the liƩle vil- bounced out of the cab with a pair of binoculars.
lage crowded around the block between TaŌ and His five-year-old daughter Lily, who was in the
Wilson streets to see the large crowd of police back cab, tried to keep up as Allen scurried to-
work in the back yard of an abandoned building. wards the group, his gait something between
walking and running, as he tried his best to con-
They poured in from all edges of the vil- tain his excitement.
lage, from Bonino’s Tap on the east end to the
Senior Center on the west end. The abandoned

8


Revista Adelaide

“They’re sƟll digging?” he asked rhetorically. “Yeah, yeah. That’s what I get you every year. I
thought the ice cream cake would be a fair trade
Behind him, Lily lost her sandal while try- off this Ɵme,” Billie said with a smile as she
ing to keep up. She stepped on some loose bits of walked towards the bedroom in their apartment.
gravel and pouted.
“Not a chance,” Ryan called aŌer her.
“Daaad,” she called. “I need help.”
Billie grabbed her camera and notepad before
Allen turned around, walked back, picked hopping in her car. The last Ɵme she had been in
up the sandal and picked up Lily before joining in Mobile was to cover the town’s 125th anniver-
with the crowd that clung to the side of the road sary. There was no drama then, just plenty of
just in front of the ditch where most of the mos- drunken people enjoying a town-wide party. Yes
quitoes seemed to congregate from. there was one fight, a couple of high school kids
got into a scrap, but there was no police involve-
“They sure are going slow. I could have had this ment. That’s why pulling up to the scene was such
done within an hour. Just get me back there with a stark contrast.
a Bobcat and shows over,” Allen said.
6:33 p.m.
They had been at it for a long Ɵme, since 2
p.m. from what Norma said. She had been picking When Billie saw the number of police cars
zucchini in her garden when all the police cars surrounding the house she immediately called her
drove into town. Their lights were on but sirens editor.
weren’t blaring. She said the cops got out and
went right to work, right to the burial sight. Billie While she was on the phone she started
would get there more than four hours later. walking towards the police line. Billie had walked
up to her fair share of police lines during her Ɵme
6:17 p.m. as a reporter, but this was different. Usually an
officer or a firefighter would tell her “Hey, that’s
The random Tweet, from a kid she had close enough. Try not to interfere with anything.”
never met, Ɵpped her off about the invesƟgaƟon.
Not this Ɵme.
“News Ɵp: Large police presence in Mobile
along Route 17 in connecƟon with Trish Truman’s As she approached the cauƟon tape sur-
disappearance,” — JusƟn Axelson @axeman5745. rounding the scene a state trooper caught sight of
the camera slung around her neck. He made a
Billie showed Ryan the Tweet as his face beeline right towards her, puffing his chest out as
scrunched up while trying to fight a bout of brain he walked his quick, cocky strut.
freeze aŌer taking his first oversized bite of ice
cream cake. “You can’t be here! You have to get back!”
he said, poinƟng to the throng of residents that
“You think it’s the real thing?” he asked were crowding the street on the other side of the
Billie, rubbing his forehead. block in the rear of the house.

“Could be. Could be nothing. I was going to That’s where Billie went; she got to hang
pass through there anyway on my way to cover out with the townsfolk. That’s what her editor
Ginsburg city council tonight,” Billie said. had asked for over the phone. Clyde Staumbaugh,
editor of the Ginsburg Free Press for the past 30
“Well good luck. Give them hell. I was hop- years was not someone in the news business sole-
ing they’d find her,” Ryan said. ly to uncover the big scandal or break the big sto-
ry. Above everything, he wanted to sell papers.
“Yeah, but not like this,” Billie said. “Happy
birthday. I should be home around nine.” “Get the story. Get it posted. Get us some
web traffic. We’ll re-spin it for tomorrow’s paper
“I’ll try and stay up but I can’t make any once we know more,” he told Billie while she sƟll
promises. These 5 a.m.’s are killing me,” he said.
“And remember, you promised me a liƩle… you
know? Birthday fun.”

9


Adelaide Magazine

cruises, one glimpse of the place made me prom- this uƩer paradise had become the preserve of
ise myself that I would have to pay a call. At his the loaded, the mega tycoons. Staying at the cliff-
Ɵme of year, I hear that you can get it cheap. I side Balinese villa, we were pampered beyond
believe that it goes for $40,000 a night…So what descripƟon by a full reƟnue of round-the-clock
do you say, Alice dear? Shall I start packing?” staff of 70. Every whim was fully catered to. En-
joying Hemingway Daiquiris, El Papa Dobles, on
I looked her straight in the eyes. “I accept. Don’t the terrace with the expanse of the gliƩering blue
bother to pack a bathing suit. We won’t need Caribbean in view beyond the coral reefs, I could
any.” have happily expired then and there. For victuals,
we could choose between the floaƟng dining pa-
As may be imagined, the kind of money being vilion or the formal dining room, replete with
talked about defies the imaginaƟon. It certainly silver, lace, linen and crystal place seƫngs. And If
defied mine. Even for someone in my posiƟon the we wanted a parƟcular wine that did not happen
sum was certainly not easy to come by. All ex- to be in stock, they’d send the helicopter straight
penses considered, I calculated that this jaunt was off to Virgin Gorda to fetch it. A tennis instructor
going to cost me in excess of $400,000, including was on call, ready to offer us pointers while vol-
Ɵps and gratuiƟes. The numbers were so high leying on the manicured grass court. Our range of
that I needed someone with the facility of Cal to water acƟviƟes included snorkeling and scuba
do the math. It was Ɵme to empty the coffers of a diving. Nothing however beat just lounging au
good number of my trust funds, in addiƟon to natural on those secluded sandy beaches. Under
unloading stock. My savings account was not go- the basking sun, for all intents and purposes, we
ing to get spared. But being on a do or die mis- could have been Adam and Eve.
sion, I was heedless to the complicaƟons. Siphon-
ing off a sizable slice of the liquid assets pie I had Of course, from the moment she arrived, Aurora
leŌ did not concern me one bit. pranced around as if she owned the place- which
fit in perfectly with my master design. Rest as-
It did however concern the lawyer, Sam Atkins, sured that, for $40,000 a night, I was going to get
who handled my estate. An old Andover chum, he my money’s worth. And get it I did, in dividends.
read the riot act to me. “Be sensible, old sport,” But I wanted what was beyond one-night stands. I
he charged me, siƫng behind his plated Versailles wanted to see what it was like to live with her on
desk. The plain fact remains that if you want to a day to day basis, to see if, in fact, given this
get laid by a pro, frankly you can save yourself a glimpse into the every day, my infatuaƟon would
shitload of money the old-fashioned way. There rub off. Surely, in this week together, I’d see the
are escort services available that provide for their real Aurora, not simply the front she put on dur-
clients most discreetly, not to menƟon bordellos ing her “appointments.”
that cater to the likes of you and me… In all hon-
esty, Alice, I never knew that you had it in you, The boƩom line was that aŌer a week, I had
Alice!” found that there was no other Aurora; the real
Aurora struck me as idenƟcal to the one I had met
“I’m not going to budge,” I insisted. “Please take before, the same bouncy, breathless, wild, uncon-
care of the arrangements.” “And not a word of taminated spirit. If anything, I fell deeper in love.
this out,” I hasƟly added.
I should also menƟon deeper in debt. My re-
“In case it’s slipped your perverted mind, you’re sources had shriveled. There wasn’t much longer I
protected by the aƩorney-client privilege. But the could keep this up as far as the financial side
boƩom line is this: if you persist in throwing away went. What I could keep up though was my com-
what you have like this, relaƟvely soon you’re mitment. It wasn’t as if I had a choice. Logic
going to have nothing. Sadly, you don’t belong in played no part in it.
the super rich club. Gorgeous call-girls really are a
dime a dozen. Take my advice as a friend: If that’s We were lying face up on towels in the beach
your thing, before it’s too late, find some booty soaking up the sun. “Do you ever feel anything
that meets your budget.” toward the men you see?” I thought I’d ask.

Our stay at Decker Island confirmed the reasons “What a stupid quesƟon!” she quipped, giggling.
“To them, I am no more than a sex object. What

40


Revista Adelaide

do feelings have to do with it in the first place, aŌer her. I kept crying out but she completely
Alice dear?” tuned me out. When we arrived at the pagoda,
neither of had on a sƟtch of clothing. We were
“You are more than a sex object to me,” I protest- siƫng for minutes before the waiter got up the
ed. “Much more.” nerve to approach us. “Good-good aŌernoon,” he
stuƩered.
I had to wait while she let out a laugh again. “Oh
please Alice, come back to the real world, will Aurora gazed up at him. Siƫng erect, she did not
you? For the life of me, I thought you had a head aƩempt to shield any part of her anatomy. “Good
on your shoulders. Take me for what I am and aŌernoon, Harold. Before we order, I’d like to
leave it there if you know what’s good for you. take you into confidence, dearest. As you may
The truth of the maƩer is that it’s geƫng to the have gathered by now, I’m a lady of the evening.
point when I am no longer in your price range. This gentleman siƫng across from me in fact has
That will sadly be it for you and me. Business is hired me in the amount of $25,000 to spread for
business. In the meanƟme, let’s have a ball! What him. But here’s the corker: he insists that behind
do you say to that?” the shell of my professional demeanor lies the
real me. So it’s Ɵme for me to come out. Here
“You talk as if you are nothing more than a com- goes…The real me happens to be a scraggy mili-
modity.” tary brat, daughter of a regimental sergeant ma-
jor in the Army who moved from camp to camp
“Why don’t we change the subject, dearest? I during her girlhood. When I was 17, while living at
think I’d fancy a light lobster lunch under the the base in Mainz, I ran away with a lance ser-
shade of the pagoda.” geant. He was the handsomest man I had ever
seen. He also turned out to be a drug addict. Go-
“Will you marry me, Aurora?” I offered out of the ing AWOL, he fell into a bad crowd. That’s when I
blue. I could not believe my own words. They just started selling myself. Doing tricks, I could feed
came out. his habit and myself. Unfortunately, he didn’t last
long. Mainlining bad dope, he went into convul-
“Decidedly not, Alice…As to lunch, I believe an sions and was dead within 10 minutes. The stars
Alborino would be a nice complement to the lob- were looking out for me, though. While cruising
ster. From Galacia, it’s perfect for shellfish.” along Reeperbahn Street in Hamburg, a coal black
Bugaƫ Veyroni pulls up beside me. Inside sat a
“You don’t think that I’m being serious, do you?” I dashing looking fellow wearing a scarf and an
countered. Alpine hat. “Jump in, meine liebste,” he hailed
me…Harold, that was it in a nutshell. The man in
‘Really Alice, if you conƟnue to dribble on like the car turned out to be Count Adalwulf von
this, I am going to get quite cross at you. I feel a Gluckner, one of the biggest high end pimps in
good mind to leave you on the spot.” Germany. He happened to be out on a talent
hunt. To make a long story short, I went straight
“I find it amazing how you can wrap yourself up to the top… There you have it, Harold, in a nut-
inside. This whole facade you show hides-no cam- shell, the real me.”
ouflages would be a beƩer characterizaƟon-the
real Aurora. What have you to lose by coming I was trying to determine who looked more
out? I’ll sƟll pay you... I sƟck by my proposal of dumbfounded, Harold or myself. We were not
marriage.” prepared however for what came next. “Liar, liar,
pants on fire!” she broke into a hearty laugh. “I
She pulled up her Lugano leopard print frame made up that story as I was going along, “she
pink lenses sunglasses. “I tell you Alice dearest, caught her breath..” Actually, the real came from
the sun must have done a number on you for a quite different background. The bastard child of
sure! Let’s go to lunch.” the founder and owner of a razor company which
is a household name and one of his help, I was
“Fine. May I suggest a Pinot Gris? One from Ore- reared in a gated estate in Palm Springs. Being
gon would be suitable I think.” the sporty type, Dad gave me every comfort in

Assuming we would return to our room to change
into clothes for lunch, demonstrates the fallacy of
making assumpƟons. When I saw Aurora had not
picked up her wrap, I had no choice but to hurry

41


Adelaide Magazine

the world. To make sure that I had the proper all must have suspected that I was running dry,
refinements expected of a person with my pedi- that I no longer would be able to afford the going
gree, I was dispatched abroad to Switzerland to rate regarding enjoying her divine pleasures?
aƩend the Leysin American School in the Swiss
Alps. Well, it didn’t turn out as dear father ex- On the last, unhappily she would have been cor-
pected, did it? Capitalizing on my extraordinary rect. Brooding way at the office, my phone began
eye popping looks, with the proper contacts to ring. The dial ID idenƟfied the caller as Sam
among the well-heeled, I began my meteoric ca- Atkins. Picking up the receiver, I expected the
reer in my present line of work. Here I sit today… worst. And the worst was what I got. “I need to
There you have it again, Harold, the real me.” meet with you ASAP, Alice,” I heard Sam’s
strained voice.
Talk about a jaw dropper. Harold appeared as if
he would like to shrink away, disappear into “This isn’t a social call I take it, Sam,” I mouthed.
space. As best he could, he tried to keep his eyes
trained on her face rather than dropping down. “I wish that it was. I’m afraid that we need to talk
They did drop down with Aurora’s following com- about your porƞolio.”
ment. “Alice sweetheart, do you realize that you
have a boner? Judging by its dimensions, one for “That bad, Sam?”
the record books I would say.”
“We need to talk, Alice.”
Call it visceral insƟnct or whatever, but Cal sensed
that something was in the air. I first saw it in her Sam tried to be as delicate as possible, but the
eyes as she was examining my highly bronze tan. facts were the facts. Even he wasn’t prepared for
Maybe it was in my manner or disposiƟon. How the avalanche of bills that came due from Decker
could it be argued that aŌer my tropical tryst with Island. In effect, he gave me an ulƟmatum; either
Aurora that I would not be different? Changed? I drop my paramour at once or start finding which
read a bad omen in her response. The sad fact homeless shelter had a current opening. I wish I
remains that, as hard as I tried to maintain our could assert that I departed his office chastened,
status, the worse off our relaƟonship seemed to but that wasn’t the case.
be.
That aŌernoon, Aurora got back in touch. “Take
As it turned out, this disintegraƟon also affected me to Venice, Alice,” she demanded right off, as if
my performance on the job. In a people-person we had just spoken yesterday. “I have a sudden
posiƟon, I had become aloof, distant, moody-the desire to glide in a gondola through the canals by
opposite of what was expected. There began to night. Aboard, you can read me Mateo Maria Bo-
be murmurings, a few negaƟve reviews filtering iardo’s magna opus, Orlando inamorato, in the
in. original Italian. I managed to purchase an old
volume. Not that we’ll understand a word of
Did these developments deter my drive to see course, neither of us speaking Italian. The mood
Aurora? Not at all. I only became more intent, created by listening to such splendid poetry how-
more resolved. I had to have her, bar nothing. ever, the acousƟcs, will be well-worth it. “

I even had to survive her cold shoulder. She didn’t “You want to go to Venice?” I marveled, although
answer my calls for over a solid month aŌer we by now nothing coming out of her mouth should
had got back. Imagine my turmoil aŌer one day have caused me undue aƩenƟon.
without her, much less this passage of Ɵme. A
torrent of quesƟons passed through my mind: “Yes, as soon as you can make reservaƟons. We
Had she Ɵred of me? AŌer all, it wasn’t as if I was can stay at the Bauer Il Palazzo, an 18th century
the only one in the market for her, the only fish in palace run by a family generaƟon aŌer genera-
the sea.. She could have easily exchanged me for Ɵon. Talk about a place that represents the spirit
any on a long list of super wealthy magnate possi- of VeneƟa. Do call when the arrangements are
biliƟes. Was I not worth the trouble? My avowals made, dear. And we’d like a suite overlooking the
of love, my proposal of marriage-did these cross Grand Canal, with a balcony if available.”
the line of professional obligaƟons? Or was she
being purely mercenary in her outlook. She aŌer The line went dead.

I made sure to take full advantage of my first class
seat on the Alitalia flight over to order drinks, as

42


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