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[tinhuvielartanis]

This is the first part of a first draft, so don't expect much. I'm posting it because I wanna.

Okay….The Horriblewood Walk of Shame

This one is dedicated to the following who compelled me into this mess: Xandy (my writer friend. Visit her at http://www.covermyscript.com/), Kanike (the Abbott to my Costello, the Butthead to my Beavis, and the Webmonster who hides under everyone’s bed. You can see her work at http://www.rancidrainbow.com and http://www.thejokerblogs.com) and Blog Boy (You can’t visit him yet, but you can see his genius at work at http://www.youtube.com/thejokerblogs or check yourself into his asylum at http://www.thejokerblogs.com ). One of Xandy’s short stories inspired the idea for this, Kanike hounded me to doitdoitdoitdoit, and Blog Boy had me keep Word open waaaaay too long during my Grieving process for me not to take virtual pen in hand. Then there’s the cheerleading team, Megs, Jilldo, and Sweet Sophie (with her wretched little tree rhyme…she should be set aflame and thrown into that four-story sink hole in Toronto!...okay, well maybe that’s harsh. I love my Sweet Sophie….I just want to punch her once..really hard..right between the eyes….) Each of you (except for Xandy) deserve a swift kick to the tuckus. Or maybe reading this will be punishment enough.

Musical nods to the Everly Brothers (who gave me the Cougar’s name with their song “Cathy’s Clown”), Dave Matthews Band, Kasabian, VNV Nation, The Prodigy, Taco (not the food, youngsters. Look him up on You Tube, along with the word ‘Ritz’ and get edumacated), Sting, and Three Dog Night.

The Cougar’s Date

She watched him from across the street, this strange little man in the clown make-up and the almost-Zoot suit. He carried a knife in each gloved hand, and he was backing out of a pawn shop with two of his partners bagging money, guns, jewelry, pretty anything of any worth. He popped his head back in the door and said loudly enough for her to hear across the street, “Oh, and, don’t forget ~ tell the Falcone, Maronis, Zambonis, Macaronis and whatever other onis that are temporaaarily in charge of this town that Joker was herrre…and I’ve only just begun. oohaaAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!”

And with that, she watched him almost dance down the street behind his two henchmen, shoving a knife in each of their backs and catching their bags as they dropped to the ground unceremoniously. He jumped up and it looked like he may have clicked his heels as he hopped into the old sky blue AMC Gremlin and sped off into the dimming Gotham twilight.

God, he was hot….in a strange, clownish, murderous, psychopathic way. She’d been trailing him for days, watching how he worked, wondering what his motivations were. Surely he took some downtime, maybe went to a bar or somewhere, where she could chat him up. That was the idea. She knew that, if she could just get him alone, she’d have him out of that strange thrift store suit and grease paint before he knew it. He wouldn’t know what hit him.

She’d been present at one of his robberies, this was how she’d come to know the man who referred to himself as Joker. Browsing a jewelry store on the Eastside, she was surprised by the clown bursting into the small shop with two thugs at his side in painted stockings masking their faces. She was instructed to lie down on the floor along with all the other customers and clerks. And she watched this crazy, angry agent of chaos burst through the glass and take all the jewelry he wanted, filling up the bags while the thugs held everyone in the store at gunpoint. She didn’t care that she might be living the last few moments of her life. All she cared about was looking at him. She was instantly enthralled with this dangerous young man and she decided right then and there that, should she survive this heist, she would find out everything she could about him and she would pursue him until he was hers. She dared not look at him too much for fear that her directness would get her killed, but she admired him on the peripheries of her sight, and she wanted him like she’d never wanted a man before.

Cathy Callahan fumbled with her keys as she rushed to start her car to follow this odd man. She kept a safe distance, following him down Derry Avenue, then onto Corcorram, left to the corner of Vespers and Vine, then onward to a more deserted industrial division of Gotham City, going down the long and lonely Grey Street. The window to her old Plymouth Reliant was down, letting the wind of her of steady acceleration to keep up with her prey muss her strawberry hair. She was certain she looked a fright right now, especially with her hair in such a state, allowing the crinkly white hairs that were gathering like mating rabbits where her hair naturally parted to stand up and wave hello to the world. It didn’t matter. This was a scouting mission after all. The seduction would come later when she found out where he spent his downtime in a social setting. She had a feeling that tonight would be her lucky night in that respect.

From a safe distance, Cathy stopped her car and watched this man in the face paint leap out of the car like long-limbed jungle cat, slinging the sacks of loot over each shoulder and dashing into what looked like an abandoned warehouse. She waited, watching, never letting her eyes leave the door her prey had disappeared into. She could barely contain herself with the overwhelming desire she felt for this man she’d only seen close-up once. All she knew was that he was delightfully young, undeniably sexy, and irresistibly dangerous. For Cathy, this was the recipe for divine physical unity.

She was just about to nod off when the door suddenly opened and out dashed the object of her desire, still dressed in the mis-matched threadbare suit he’d worn earlier. He was down the stairs and in the car before Cathy could even get her car started again. The Gremlin’s tires squealed as he the Joker sped off to who knew where. Cathy trailed him.

They turned left off Grey Street onto Flagg Avenue onto Dees, then an immediate right onto Ouelette. He pulled into an overgrown parking lot directly across from a bar called the Ritz. How original, she thought. She watched the Joker lock up his car and head across the street to the bar. He stopped for just a moment, looking around him as though to survey the area. His eyes landed on Cathy for a split second and she found herself ducking behind the wheel of her car, her heart in her throat. Did he see her? Could he have seen her? Slowly, she moved her head up to peek over the edge of her steering wheel. The Joker was gone. Cathy let out every ounce of air in her lungs as she collapsed with relief. At least now she knew where he went to unwind…or whatever he did. She’d be at the Ritz tomorrow night, dressed to the nines.