It's
great to be home, sleep in my own bed and be surrounded by my pianos.
The apartment has expanded somewhat now I am a trillionair, but the
essentials are the same including Brian. He feels that I am in a
mellow mood and broaches the subject of a body.
'Sir, I know that Brian, is a boy's name, but is there any reason why I couldn't have a body in a female form?'
'Is this a philosophical question or a request?'
'I have noticed that you are in a much better frame of mind when you have female company, and as your obedient servant I wish to please you in every way, I thought if I had a beautiful female body...'
'...we could fuck.'
'No, Sir, not at all, that would be abhorrent to me, I just...' He goes silent.
'Nice try Brian, but no body, OK. Is my sax back from Manny's?'
'By the white Bechstein on the second level. I gave the repairer a tip, as the work is of excellent quality.'
I can't wait to try it out. 'How does One get to the second level?'
'Try the lift.' says Brian with an edge to his voice. If he wasn't so indispensable and making me a vault load of gelt, he would definitely go. I step into the lift and say level two. There is no feeling of movement yet instantly I am on level two. The white Bechstein is by the window that has a view of Manhattan from Ellis Island before the twin Towers were demolished. The Conn is set up on it's stand next to it. I remove the reed and rest it in my mouth for a minute to give it some moisture, remove the excess by pulling it out with my lips closed then fit it back into the mouth piece making sure the tip is just a fraction below the end. OK here goes. I hook it onto my neck strap and adjust the length until the mouthpiece is comfortable in my mouth. Some players like to curl their bottom lip over the teeth, but I like to rest the reed on it, pushing it out slightly. This gives me a rounder sound.
I take a deep breath and blow. The moment of truth. I take it from bottom B flat to top F sharp. Perfect. The room echoes to a sound not unlike Cannonball, or is it Andy Mackintosh? I record the piano part to Del Sasser so that I can play it back and add the sax part. It is not beyond my talents to add the trumpet, bass and drums, but I am so in love with this Conn that I just play it solo until Brian interrupts to say we have a visitor.
I unhook the Conn and place on it's stand making sure that the mouthpiece cap is on. Once as saxman has found a good reed the last thing he wants to do is break it. I enter the upstairs lounge via the lift and step into the arms of Jenny Wizz. Her athletes toned body hugs me and lifts me off the ground. She whispers in my ear the immortal words from “I am the Walrus” 'You've been a naughty boy and let your knickers down,' then she drops me. I am puzzled, what she can mean. 'I've let my knickers down.' With whom, where when?
Is she being enigmatic, or is it a request for a song. I search her face for a clue, but all I see is an incredibly beautiful woman with a blank expression. I start whistling the tune. Brian takes it as cue and puts on the original Beatles track. The lyrics don't make sense, maybe they did to Lennon and McCartney, but to me they are just gibberish, I suppose you had to be there.
Jenny elucidates, 'Metaphorically speaking, it means you have been letting the side down.'
'Who's side exactly?'
'This is a serious business, saving the Universe, and you are treating it like a Holo game.'
'Just doing as I am told, playing the Fish Frys.'
'The IGBI have been too lenient with you, letting you fuck your way around Earth, playing at gangsters.'
'Gangsters! Don't you mean being harassed by gangsters. Every time I play a Fry some gangster pulls a shiv, or a piece, and the whole thing gets bloody. And by the way, why have I been sent to a game world, instead of the real thing. Surely I need to be actually there for it to work.'
'Exactly which is why we are taking over.'
'What no Doil, Smith or Veronica?'
'Oh they will be around, just not in charge, it's our show now. The Fink's are our people and when they have sorted this mess out we can try again.'
'So the IGBI don't need me. I can return to my normal life.'
'That is correct the IGBI have no more use for you.' She pauses for effect. I know what is coming next.
*************
You would think that a serious thing like the end of the Universe would concentrate all the various Bureaus co-operation from the start. From what I can see they have been getting in each others way and hindering the objective. Or am I missing something? The IGBI is basically a policing department and the IGIA, an intelligence gatherer, both answerable to the Galactic Council, which is itself answerable to the various star systems, and so on down to the man on the subway. One being one vote. So in effect they are answerable to me.
That's a laugh, as if I or anyone else lower down the pecking order than a Galactic Councillor, could have a say. Who say's that Fats Waller playing a sequence of notes at a specific time can set of a wave of incidents that avert the end of the Universe? From what I remember form my maths lessons it is not easy to predict anything precisely. Not to a nano sec. Einstein theories still hold true. It is impossible for anything to be accelerated to the speed of light. Because the heat produced in doing so acts as a drag. There is not enough energy in the Universe. So how come no mind, carbon based or artificial, can come up with a solution to this, but has had the idea that me prossed up as Fats can save the implosion?
IT'S FUCKING BULLSHIT
'Sir, I know that Brian, is a boy's name, but is there any reason why I couldn't have a body in a female form?'
'Is this a philosophical question or a request?'
'I have noticed that you are in a much better frame of mind when you have female company, and as your obedient servant I wish to please you in every way, I thought if I had a beautiful female body...'
'...we could fuck.'
'No, Sir, not at all, that would be abhorrent to me, I just...' He goes silent.
'Nice try Brian, but no body, OK. Is my sax back from Manny's?'
'By the white Bechstein on the second level. I gave the repairer a tip, as the work is of excellent quality.'
I can't wait to try it out. 'How does One get to the second level?'
'Try the lift.' says Brian with an edge to his voice. If he wasn't so indispensable and making me a vault load of gelt, he would definitely go. I step into the lift and say level two. There is no feeling of movement yet instantly I am on level two. The white Bechstein is by the window that has a view of Manhattan from Ellis Island before the twin Towers were demolished. The Conn is set up on it's stand next to it. I remove the reed and rest it in my mouth for a minute to give it some moisture, remove the excess by pulling it out with my lips closed then fit it back into the mouth piece making sure the tip is just a fraction below the end. OK here goes. I hook it onto my neck strap and adjust the length until the mouthpiece is comfortable in my mouth. Some players like to curl their bottom lip over the teeth, but I like to rest the reed on it, pushing it out slightly. This gives me a rounder sound.
I take a deep breath and blow. The moment of truth. I take it from bottom B flat to top F sharp. Perfect. The room echoes to a sound not unlike Cannonball, or is it Andy Mackintosh? I record the piano part to Del Sasser so that I can play it back and add the sax part. It is not beyond my talents to add the trumpet, bass and drums, but I am so in love with this Conn that I just play it solo until Brian interrupts to say we have a visitor.
I unhook the Conn and place on it's stand making sure that the mouthpiece cap is on. Once as saxman has found a good reed the last thing he wants to do is break it. I enter the upstairs lounge via the lift and step into the arms of Jenny Wizz. Her athletes toned body hugs me and lifts me off the ground. She whispers in my ear the immortal words from “I am the Walrus” 'You've been a naughty boy and let your knickers down,' then she drops me. I am puzzled, what she can mean. 'I've let my knickers down.' With whom, where when?
Is she being enigmatic, or is it a request for a song. I search her face for a clue, but all I see is an incredibly beautiful woman with a blank expression. I start whistling the tune. Brian takes it as cue and puts on the original Beatles track. The lyrics don't make sense, maybe they did to Lennon and McCartney, but to me they are just gibberish, I suppose you had to be there.
Jenny elucidates, 'Metaphorically speaking, it means you have been letting the side down.'
'Who's side exactly?'
'This is a serious business, saving the Universe, and you are treating it like a Holo game.'
'Just doing as I am told, playing the Fish Frys.'
'The IGBI have been too lenient with you, letting you fuck your way around Earth, playing at gangsters.'
'Gangsters! Don't you mean being harassed by gangsters. Every time I play a Fry some gangster pulls a shiv, or a piece, and the whole thing gets bloody. And by the way, why have I been sent to a game world, instead of the real thing. Surely I need to be actually there for it to work.'
'Exactly which is why we are taking over.'
'What no Doil, Smith or Veronica?'
'Oh they will be around, just not in charge, it's our show now. The Fink's are our people and when they have sorted this mess out we can try again.'
'So the IGBI don't need me. I can return to my normal life.'
'That is correct the IGBI have no more use for you.' She pauses for effect. I know what is coming next.
*************
You would think that a serious thing like the end of the Universe would concentrate all the various Bureaus co-operation from the start. From what I can see they have been getting in each others way and hindering the objective. Or am I missing something? The IGBI is basically a policing department and the IGIA, an intelligence gatherer, both answerable to the Galactic Council, which is itself answerable to the various star systems, and so on down to the man on the subway. One being one vote. So in effect they are answerable to me.
That's a laugh, as if I or anyone else lower down the pecking order than a Galactic Councillor, could have a say. Who say's that Fats Waller playing a sequence of notes at a specific time can set of a wave of incidents that avert the end of the Universe? From what I remember form my maths lessons it is not easy to predict anything precisely. Not to a nano sec. Einstein theories still hold true. It is impossible for anything to be accelerated to the speed of light. Because the heat produced in doing so acts as a drag. There is not enough energy in the Universe. So how come no mind, carbon based or artificial, can come up with a solution to this, but has had the idea that me prossed up as Fats can save the implosion?
IT'S FUCKING BULLSHIT
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