52 “La di da, oh boy, let’s go, cha cha cha”

“What’s your major?” the mature beauty asked, completely buffaloed by the Frisco Ninja’s disguise.
With the hauteur peculiar to a shabby but young failed academic covering his sins, he loomed professorially and said, “I’m working on my Masters degree. The term is field, not major.”
“La di da,” the lady of long white hair said to herself, but she wanted to score a youth, and with birdlike sound effects pressed on. “I’m impressed! A Masters. In what . . . field?”
“Banzai!” Frisco exclaimed silently. Would she never leave? He espied in her tote a hardcover copy of A ROUND HEELED WOMAN: My Late-Life Adventures In Sex And Romance. He guessed she wouldn’t; nor that she would need to take one of his San Francisco seminars.
Their unavoidable conversation was interspersed with his erratic rocking on his chair as he kept baby Drew in sight.
“It’s Nobel Prize time anyway,” he said of his assumed leave-of-absence. “All the faculty are simply ennervated by envy. None in my department was selected. It was a fortuitous leave-taking.”
“You’re so smart!” Chirp chirp twitter. “What’s your thesis about?”
“My ‘topic’ . . . The draft title is NOT EVEN BRIDESMAIDS: COMOROS, SWITZERLAND, MONACO, AND TONGA, AND THE UNITED NATIONS SECURITY COUNCIL.”
The Frisco Ninja saw Ms. von Masters’ SUV heedlessly parked in a loading zone. He saw his six sex-starved ladies peering through the side door, and rapidly sent vibrations that they were not to acknowledge his presence. Instead, they must seek out, visually, a little boy about three feet tall dressed much like Enrique Inglesias, poolside, at one of his homes, in polite company, weather kind, casually celebrating more Grammys. He used Ross Valley’s same words for his instantaneous instructions: “Just observe. Just observe.”
He forgot a question he’d posed the moment it was across the table. It hardly mattered.
The lips of the woman were full and firm, her hair clean as fresh snowfall, freckles as if birthed by the first light. She slightly leaned toward him, then sideways in one slow motion without breaking eye contact. “What do YOU think?” she said. Tweet tweet tweet. Tweet.

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One Response to “52 “La di da, oh boy, let’s go, cha cha cha””

  1. Peter Smith Says:

    This is cooking. Every character is full, even the numbered cyclists. And because of the way the entries occur, you know, the latest at the top, It even reads well in reverse! Back and forth, forward and back, it’s great to read. Maybe it’s the quick cuts, maybe it’s the detail from multiple points of view. Whatever it is, its wonderful. I am grateful.

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