It
is now a few days after I asked Brian to get hold of Veronica and he
has had no luck. I have also had a return call from the agency asking
if I could be Mari Lou Williams for a gig on an outpost in the
Pegasus nebula. It is mainly colonised by people of Afro American
extraction. I accept. It is while I am prossed up as this dark
skinned beauty, with composing skills that drew the likes of
Ellington and Basie to her, that I am aware of a large hand on my
buttocks. The hand belongs to beautiful black guy with the looks of a
God and the physique of a Zulu wrestler. What to do? I am Joe Coolz
prossed up to look like, no be a babe. I have breasts and a vagina,
and no sane woman would pass up this guy. I gently remove his hand
and place it on the piano. He smiles a great heart stopping smile and
speaks. Talk about disappointing. His voice is high with a slight
lisp, and he asks to be introduced to the drummer, Artie, as it
happens, prossed up as Micky Roker, one of Williams's many side men.
A
forceful, dynamic drummer, Roker’s style is rooted in swing but has
the urgent attack of the best of the beboppers. It must be this that
has attracted the Zulu to him as Micky is nothing in the looks
stakes. Each to his own. I call Artie over, and introduce him. They
talk drumming. Maybe Artie will get
lucky.
*****************
Back home the apartment is empty. When I say empty I mean there is nothing in it, beds recliners pianos, all gone. Brian coughs.
'Sir.'
'This had better be good Brian.'
'We had a visit while you were out.'
'Yes.'
'From the bailiffs.' I am stunned and I can't sit down.
'It is only a glitch. We had a call from the IGRS that there was tax due, but with one thing and another I forgot to send the credits.'
'You forgot?
'A human error, Sir.'
'I am the only human around here and I didn't make the error. You are just a mess of circuitry and soon to be dumped.'
'No need to get nasty, Sir, the credits have been sent and the new furniture is ordered, you just came home too soon. The Law says that they have to leave your bed and the tools of your trade. If you go to the the blue bedroom on the lower floor, Sir, you will find a piano and a bed. I suggest that you retire for a few hours and all will be back to normal when you wake.'
'Fuck that I'm going to the Mars Bar.'
*****************
Back home the apartment is empty. When I say empty I mean there is nothing in it, beds recliners pianos, all gone. Brian coughs.
'Sir.'
'This had better be good Brian.'
'We had a visit while you were out.'
'Yes.'
'From the bailiffs.' I am stunned and I can't sit down.
'It is only a glitch. We had a call from the IGRS that there was tax due, but with one thing and another I forgot to send the credits.'
'You forgot?
'A human error, Sir.'
'I am the only human around here and I didn't make the error. You are just a mess of circuitry and soon to be dumped.'
'No need to get nasty, Sir, the credits have been sent and the new furniture is ordered, you just came home too soon. The Law says that they have to leave your bed and the tools of your trade. If you go to the the blue bedroom on the lower floor, Sir, you will find a piano and a bed. I suggest that you retire for a few hours and all will be back to normal when you wake.'
'Fuck that I'm going to the Mars Bar.'
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