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Novelo Rectangle

Musing Muses&nbsp;	The day I met Jack changed my life. There I was, just driving along to my girlfriend Angie’s house, minding my own business and into my car pops this little dark-haired guy. He started telling me that he was going to work for me, but I had to agree to give him anything he asked for. He’d make me rich as a best-selling author of as many books as I wanted to publish.Incredulous at this supercilious little man, all that escaped my dumbfounded mouth was, “Huh?” Yeah, I know, I’m a vocabulary genius.&nbsp;	The stench of arrogance surrounded him, not quite concealed by his strong, cheap cologne. Sizing him up, I could see his seriousness; he truly believed it when he said he would take over and let me rest my over-taxed, always-percolating brain.	“How?” I stupidly ask.	“Build me an apartment with a den large enough for my colleagues and myself to work comfortably and I’ll show you.” He stated with an arrogant smirk.Thinking I must be having some sort of breakdown, but determined to play along to see where this would lead, I say, “Oh, there are more of you. Just how many freeloaders am I to support in return for a relaxed mind?”	“Three. Elaine, Bob, and me. And we are most definitely not freeloaders. We will do all the work for you, well, all but the typing. Our union says we can’t do that.”	“Union eh, so there are actually groups of you out there haranguing people for a place to live?” I ask, intrigued.	“Of course there are more of us, you nitwit! And we do not harangue people. If you don’t need us, just say so. I can see by this puttering Pinto just how successful you are without us.” Jack says, somehow combining smugness and indignation.	Curious but not really buying it, I ask, “Okay, so how does this work? I build you a home, feed you, cater to your every whim, and you uh…what…write for me, but I’m still supposed to do the actual typing?”	“That about sums it up, build it and you’ll see.” He disappeared with a small popping sound.&nbsp;&nbsp;	For the next few weeks, Jack and his friends were never far from my thoughts. I wondered where he came from and what he was. Hallucinations from rotten fish? Early onset dementia delusions? While I didn’t believe he and his friends were real, I started thinking about what kind of apartment I could build for them, anyway. Who knows, maybe it’ll make its way into a story.	I imagined a two-story brick building. The top floor had three bedrooms, each with its own bathroom. I know how women hated sharing with men. The layout was eccentric, I think, as three sides each had one bedroom and bathroom, the fourth held a small kitchen dominated by an island and high stools. A large open area in the center of the top floor overlooked the lower floor. A retractable sunroof lay over that area with a dumbwaiter that could go through the retractable sunroof. This would be for the inhabitants to send things up to me from the lower floors.	The lower floor I really liked. Three of the walls were floor to ceiling, wall-to-wall bookshelves, two of which were filled with my favorite authors. A fireplace centered one of those. The third had all my research, educational and reference material. The fourth wall, opposite the fireplace, featured sliding glass doors opening into a lush garden.&nbsp;	A large Cherry Oak meeting table dominated the center of the room, flanked on both ends by back-to-back black filing cabinets. A stack of yellow legal pads, a cup full of pencils, and a few pens sat waiting in the center of the table.	I decided to place two large black leather recliners in front of the fireplace with a small oak end table between them. An elegant, cream-colored lamp bathed the end table in soft light.	I watched small painters and decorators bringing color and life to my large bedrooms in my brain condo; one in different shades of green and cream for a garden decor room, the other two in contrasting blues and grays. On the advice of the decorator, I chose black, white, and red for the kitchen. We’ll see how that works out.	Tiny movers carried the heavy furniture through the glass doors, tracking bits of grass and dirt across my new plush beige carpet. I won’t be using that company again.	The building and moving finally finished, the apartment seemed so lonely without any occupants. Oh well, maybe I’ll find a use for it. In the meantime, I decided to move all my stories and ideas into some of the file cabinets.&nbsp;	On my way home from work one particularly stressful Friday, Jack popped in again. This time, though, he wasn’t in my car. Nope, now he leaned on the railing of the second floor of the apartment I had built, and started yelling up at me.	“Hey, pay attention here! I told you I’d be back. Nice place, but it still needs a few things. A pool for starters; Bob likes to swim in the afternoon.”	I couldn’t believe it; there he was, just as he promised. “Okay. A pool, I can do that. What else?”	“I’ll make a list, but for starters, stock that fridge, man; we need food. Oh, and Elaine is allergic to shellfish. Bob refuses to eat any healthy food. He hates vegetables, except for French fries and onion rings.”Amused, I say, “Those aren’t exactly vegetables.”Smirking, Jack replies, “I’ll leave that for you to debate with him.”	“Okay, make a list. So, when are the other two coming? And just why do I need three of you, anyway?”	“They’ll be here when we need them to be. Isn’t it obvious why you need us?”	“If it were, smart ass, would I be asking?”	“Ya know, I may just get to like you after all,” Jack says, adding, “Okay, my job is writing crime and mystery stories. Sometimes I branch out a little, but not too often. Elaine handles the mushy, romantic claptrap, kiddie stories, and the like.” He plopped down in a recliner and looked about to doze.	“Alright, but what’s Bob do?” I ask wondering why he neglected to tell me on his own.	“Bob is…well, Bob. He mostly handles the down and dirty stuff that Elaine and I won’t touch. He’s…different. Sometimes he also writes science fiction and fantasy stuff. Since you try to write all that, we’re here to help…for as long as you keep us happy.”	“Really now? Well, it sounds like I just need to keep you happy, and you’ll keep popping out best sellers for me, right?” I ask, amused.	“Not quite. You keep us happy. We come up with ideas; we help you. You still gotta do the work. You still have to weed through the stuff and decide what you want and edit.” We have limitations on editing in our contract.	“Woah, wait, I didn’t sign anything.”	“Not you; the Union contract. It says that I don’t have to type, edit, work under undesirable conditions, and other stuff that needn’t worry you.”	“Wait, so you’re saying that I have to honor a contract that I didn’t sign? That’s crazy.”	“So is talking to yourself, but you do that quite often. That’s the way it is Buddy, take it or leave it.” Jack says, smacking a pack of cigarettes against his knee to push one out. “That reminds me, I’ll need ashtrays.”	“You can’t smoke in here; I’m trying to quit,” I say.	“Hypocrite. I’ll smoke or I’ll leave.”	“Fine, whatever. Just go to work; I have an assignment due soon.”	“Uh-uh. It doesn’t work that way. You can’t tell me to go to work. See, I don’t like to be told what to do, especially by a nobody like you. Just go stock the fridge and find me some ashtrays and when I feel like it…I’ll get to work.&nbsp;	Needless to say, his attitude didn’t please me, but in some perverse way, I thought Jack and I would get along just fine. He had an edge that I needed to get me off the couch and working.After dinner that night, I sat down at my desk and booted up Word. I started writing, and a few minutes later, I looked up to reread what I had written. Something didn’t feel right. What I saw perplexed me at first.1 pkg. of Bic ballpoint Pens—Black1 pkg. of Eagle pencils –mediumTrash Can3 pkgs. Of 5x7 index cards—multicolored.Keep fridge stocked with Mountain Dew, Iced Tea (sweetened) Ground beef, TV Dinners, Ice cream (Ben and Jerry’s, any flavor), steaks, mushrooms, French fries.Also need potatoes, Doritos (no spicy flavors), Ruffles and French onion dip.Elaine says she needs a bigger bathtub and wants fresh flowers in her room.&nbsp;	I couldn’t believe it; they really had given me a list. And I didn’t even realize what I had been writing!	I investigated the condo and found something that amazed me. There really were people in there! I had put off “Jack” and our conversations to my overactive imagination, but there they were. I watched for a few moments while they worked, unaware of the voyeur looking in.

Musing Muses

Euphrates26

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Anita (A.M.Carlisle)

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