Not-Exactly-Chopped-Liver Fiction™
a could-be-worse division of None-Too-Shabby Enterpises, Ink
PRESENTS :
The History of Gin
or
A Fox's Tail©
Is Life Existential? You Decide.
by ' Colorado ' Gumi
...I n s p i r e d By T r u e E v e n t s...
Chapter 25
I
Love
Ginny
Too Many Crooks
or
A Fox's Tail©
Is Life Existential? You Decide.
by ' Colorado ' Gumi
...I n s p i r e d By T r u e E v e n t s...
Chapter 25
I
Love
Ginny
Too Many Crooks
A long while later Ginny, sleeping soundly in her Upper East Side Manhattan apartment, was awakened by the buzzing doorbell. She had been dreaming of making animal love with Jim Cramer, the chair-heaving nemesis of financial types infesting New York City. Cramer, who hates communism and being called Jimbo -- but who, strangely, looks loads like that blood-soaked Bolshevik dude Lenin -- would be tickled to sell anyone the rope they use to hang him (he'ld make a gob of dough and, cause he ain't stupid, the rope would break). Ginny has no idea why her dreams currently are drenched in ferociously mindless lust with this particular CNBC on-air personality. . .it's as if someone is making this stuff up as she goes. But it does get her through the night and is a welcome change of pace from Jon Stewart, who looks more like an elderly Marlon Brando every day -- she's even started to wonder when the aging comedian also would descend to French-kissing Larry King on-camera.
Anyways Gin, who'd straddled Cramer's lap and was just beginning a bouncing ride when roused, erupted from her downy pink nest and rushed to the door, typically 'au natural', to see what the big deal was. Undoing the multiple chains and locks, Ginny stared across the threshold at a hallway full of people outside her door. And the hallway full of people outside her door stared back at her exposed, perkily-firm bosoms for a long, silent moment... then entered her apartment in a chattering rush. Bringing up the rear was Gin's best friend and landlady, Ethel Mertz and Ethel's prickly husband, Fred.
Ginny's friend Ethel was a bit of a puzzle. Though only two years older than Gin, she cultivates an aged, dowdy appearance as if bound by contractual terms stipulating plain, ill-fitting attire and superannuated demeanor to ensure she appears much older than Gin and more compatible with her improbable husband. As for him, Fred is clearly many years Ethel's senior, if not outright elderly. In fact it's painfully obvious the words "old-goat" and "Fred" long ago assumed cozy companionship through continuous juxtaposition.
Unirregardless, the crowd made themselves at home in Gin's apartment -- milling about in clumps, eating her leftover Sam's Club rotisserie chicken, flushing the toilet, drinking her scotch. . .one guy with severe gingivitis even used her toothbrush -- while Ethel explained the hubbub. It turned out a burglar was in the neighborhood and had just broken into an apartment nearby. As if to answer the perennial question, "Where's a cop when you need one", a policeman piped up and said the department knew little about this perpetrator, whom they called "Madame X", except that it was a woman dressed in men's clothes and they had her fingerprints at the Station. Ginny, who enjoyed dressing as a man (and in her adventures even relished having the correct associated plumbing on occasion), was flabbergasted by this news. What was she to do?
Incidentally, it's no fluke this cop was in the vicinity -- for days he'd maintained a furtive stakeout of the hallway, reinforced by several dozen donuts, specifically in hopes of seeing Gin open the door naked. Emboldened by his remarkable success, he wandered in with the crowd to see more then stayed for the Sam Adams and chicken they liberated from Ginny's pantry.
The next morning at breakfast with a guy named Ricky who seemed to be her husband, but wasn't, Ginny talked about the prior night's excitement. After listening attentively (positive proof he wasn't her husband) Ricky, a burly Irish dude who endured constant kidding about his heavy accent and supposed poor grasp of English, said that Fred's birthday was coming soon and he wanted to buy the acerbic old goat a new suit for a present but didn't know his measurements. Gin, who thinks as well on her feet as her back, said she'd sneak down to their apartment and swipe one of Fred's old suits so they could go by it's measurements. And she did.
Unfortunately, an antique busybody neighbor soon told Ethel she'd seen Gin break into the Mertzes' apartment and steal Fred's suit ...it all was very suspicious. When Ethel told Fred, they fixed upon the only plausible explanation. . .Ginny is "Madame X." And the only viable response was to mount a vigil on the fire escape outside Gin's bedroom window that night to catch her on her next caper. And they did.
Thing is Fred, a misanthropic crybaby, got chilly during their watch despite wearing a heavy overcoat and hat so he left the hat and coat to keep Ethel warm (one of the few kind gestures of his life) and went back home. And of course when Ginny grew tired after reading a chapter of "Sophie's World" and turned out the bedside lamp she saw Ethel in the dark dressed in men's clothes through the window. For some reason. . .at that moment. . .Ethel being "Madame X" seemed credible to Ginny.
With the premise now ripe for harvest, both Ginny and Ricky, and Ethel and Fred sparred to get the fingerprints needed to prove Ethel on one side, and Gin on the other, was a Cat Burglar...
Which begs the trenchant observation that though attending an Ivy League law school, most of Ginny's classmates never could fathom why someone would risk long incarceration to enter a home and steal a cat. . .but then these same people spend untold hours dreading the prospect of having to pass a bar -- without going in. And it only made things worse when one of the more resolutely senile Professors of Law, in trying to dispel the confusion, told the class that not all burglars are "cat" burglars. Some are human beings.
...Anyways, what a hoot as Ginny and Ethel both tried to get the other's prints while avoiding leaving her own -- it was just like the episode in that popular old Fifties TV series where one woman, an ersatz redhead, tries to get her friend to handle a silver cigarette case or drinking glass as the friend adroitly avoids leaving her fingerprints while trying to get those of the other woman. In the end, the friend sees the woman did finger the case so she pockets it on the way out but her husband, a stupid old goat, wipes the prints off before they get it to the Police Station. Granted that episode probably isn't as familiar and popular as some others from the series but I just now enjoyed seeing it on DVD. And it was just like that with Ginny and Ethel -- an undeniably remarkable coincidence.
So, frustrated with the lack of progress in bringing Ethel to justice, and certain her best friend in the whole wide world was itching to rob her, Ginny decided to tip Ethel off that she wouldn't be home that evening then lie in wait for her. In a tragedy bringing to mind "The Charge of the Light Brigade", the real Madame X picked that night to break into Gin's apartment.
It's a proven Scientific Law that when Ginger Sue Mullins "gets her Irish up", Israeli Commandos quake in their boots while mere ordinary men are know to soil themselves (at such times even her father's steadfast faith in a genially benevolent God is tested). And any hope this proposition was only an "iffy" Theory or "dodgey" Hypothesis rather than an algebraically proven fact was lost long ago. Even worse, the combination of Ginny feeling her Irish PLUS chugging premium single-malt Scotch is a Krakatoan event no one should endure without benefit of a priest, as a pathetic former paramour who was dumb enough to provoke such supreme apoplexy found to his misery.
But bad as that all is, it pales in comparison to the primordial cataclysm unleashed when Ginny caught Madame X in her apartment rifling her Victoria's Secret undie drawer. If the Gaming Industry had made odds on whether a person could be thrown through a closed, double-glazed window, clear the sidewalk below, sail across a city street, clear the other sidewalk and slam against the opposite building, everyone would have bet against it. . .and in the event, lost their money. On reflection Ginny -- an enthusiastic fan of defenestration, particularly as perfected in the window-full city of Prague -- was proud of her feat, though she actually had been aiming for the bedroom wall with Madame X. And in the interest of her treasured friendship with Ethel, Gin never mentioned that at the time she still thought her best friend was the burglar.
When Ricky got home that night from his job as leader and singer for his own Celtic band, all he could say was, "Ginny. . .you gotta lotta s'plaining to do."
As for Madame X, she survived the "Defenestration of Manhattan" when the awning of a Starbuck's in the building she struck broke her fall. . .and most her bones. Cured of crime forever, the reformed burglar took a nun's vows and pursued a cloistered life of piety and good works -- she had a real talent for Gregorian Chants, mainly because impact with the building lowered her voice four octaves.
Anyways Gin, who'd straddled Cramer's lap and was just beginning a bouncing ride when roused, erupted from her downy pink nest and rushed to the door, typically 'au natural', to see what the big deal was. Undoing the multiple chains and locks, Ginny stared across the threshold at a hallway full of people outside her door. And the hallway full of people outside her door stared back at her exposed, perkily-firm bosoms for a long, silent moment... then entered her apartment in a chattering rush. Bringing up the rear was Gin's best friend and landlady, Ethel Mertz and Ethel's prickly husband, Fred.
Ginny's friend Ethel was a bit of a puzzle. Though only two years older than Gin, she cultivates an aged, dowdy appearance as if bound by contractual terms stipulating plain, ill-fitting attire and superannuated demeanor to ensure she appears much older than Gin and more compatible with her improbable husband. As for him, Fred is clearly many years Ethel's senior, if not outright elderly. In fact it's painfully obvious the words "old-goat" and "Fred" long ago assumed cozy companionship through continuous juxtaposition.
Unirregardless, the crowd made themselves at home in Gin's apartment -- milling about in clumps, eating her leftover Sam's Club rotisserie chicken, flushing the toilet, drinking her scotch. . .one guy with severe gingivitis even used her toothbrush -- while Ethel explained the hubbub. It turned out a burglar was in the neighborhood and had just broken into an apartment nearby. As if to answer the perennial question, "Where's a cop when you need one", a policeman piped up and said the department knew little about this perpetrator, whom they called "Madame X", except that it was a woman dressed in men's clothes and they had her fingerprints at the Station. Ginny, who enjoyed dressing as a man (and in her adventures even relished having the correct associated plumbing on occasion), was flabbergasted by this news. What was she to do?
Incidentally, it's no fluke this cop was in the vicinity -- for days he'd maintained a furtive stakeout of the hallway, reinforced by several dozen donuts, specifically in hopes of seeing Gin open the door naked. Emboldened by his remarkable success, he wandered in with the crowd to see more then stayed for the Sam Adams and chicken they liberated from Ginny's pantry.
The next morning at breakfast with a guy named Ricky who seemed to be her husband, but wasn't, Ginny talked about the prior night's excitement. After listening attentively (positive proof he wasn't her husband) Ricky, a burly Irish dude who endured constant kidding about his heavy accent and supposed poor grasp of English, said that Fred's birthday was coming soon and he wanted to buy the acerbic old goat a new suit for a present but didn't know his measurements. Gin, who thinks as well on her feet as her back, said she'd sneak down to their apartment and swipe one of Fred's old suits so they could go by it's measurements. And she did.
Unfortunately, an antique busybody neighbor soon told Ethel she'd seen Gin break into the Mertzes' apartment and steal Fred's suit ...it all was very suspicious. When Ethel told Fred, they fixed upon the only plausible explanation. . .Ginny is "Madame X." And the only viable response was to mount a vigil on the fire escape outside Gin's bedroom window that night to catch her on her next caper. And they did.
Thing is Fred, a misanthropic crybaby, got chilly during their watch despite wearing a heavy overcoat and hat so he left the hat and coat to keep Ethel warm (one of the few kind gestures of his life) and went back home. And of course when Ginny grew tired after reading a chapter of "Sophie's World" and turned out the bedside lamp she saw Ethel in the dark dressed in men's clothes through the window. For some reason. . .at that moment. . .Ethel being "Madame X" seemed credible to Ginny.
With the premise now ripe for harvest, both Ginny and Ricky, and Ethel and Fred sparred to get the fingerprints needed to prove Ethel on one side, and Gin on the other, was a Cat Burglar...
Which begs the trenchant observation that though attending an Ivy League law school, most of Ginny's classmates never could fathom why someone would risk long incarceration to enter a home and steal a cat. . .but then these same people spend untold hours dreading the prospect of having to pass a bar -- without going in. And it only made things worse when one of the more resolutely senile Professors of Law, in trying to dispel the confusion, told the class that not all burglars are "cat" burglars. Some are human beings.
...Anyways, what a hoot as Ginny and Ethel both tried to get the other's prints while avoiding leaving her own -- it was just like the episode in that popular old Fifties TV series where one woman, an ersatz redhead, tries to get her friend to handle a silver cigarette case or drinking glass as the friend adroitly avoids leaving her fingerprints while trying to get those of the other woman. In the end, the friend sees the woman did finger the case so she pockets it on the way out but her husband, a stupid old goat, wipes the prints off before they get it to the Police Station. Granted that episode probably isn't as familiar and popular as some others from the series but I just now enjoyed seeing it on DVD. And it was just like that with Ginny and Ethel -- an undeniably remarkable coincidence.
So, frustrated with the lack of progress in bringing Ethel to justice, and certain her best friend in the whole wide world was itching to rob her, Ginny decided to tip Ethel off that she wouldn't be home that evening then lie in wait for her. In a tragedy bringing to mind "The Charge of the Light Brigade", the real Madame X picked that night to break into Gin's apartment.
It's a proven Scientific Law that when Ginger Sue Mullins "gets her Irish up", Israeli Commandos quake in their boots while mere ordinary men are know to soil themselves (at such times even her father's steadfast faith in a genially benevolent God is tested). And any hope this proposition was only an "iffy" Theory or "dodgey" Hypothesis rather than an algebraically proven fact was lost long ago. Even worse, the combination of Ginny feeling her Irish PLUS chugging premium single-malt Scotch is a Krakatoan event no one should endure without benefit of a priest, as a pathetic former paramour who was dumb enough to provoke such supreme apoplexy found to his misery.
But bad as that all is, it pales in comparison to the primordial cataclysm unleashed when Ginny caught Madame X in her apartment rifling her Victoria's Secret undie drawer. If the Gaming Industry had made odds on whether a person could be thrown through a closed, double-glazed window, clear the sidewalk below, sail across a city street, clear the other sidewalk and slam against the opposite building, everyone would have bet against it. . .and in the event, lost their money. On reflection Ginny -- an enthusiastic fan of defenestration, particularly as perfected in the window-full city of Prague -- was proud of her feat, though she actually had been aiming for the bedroom wall with Madame X. And in the interest of her treasured friendship with Ethel, Gin never mentioned that at the time she still thought her best friend was the burglar.
When Ricky got home that night from his job as leader and singer for his own Celtic band, all he could say was, "Ginny. . .you gotta lotta s'plaining to do."
As for Madame X, she survived the "Defenestration of Manhattan" when the awning of a Starbuck's in the building she struck broke her fall. . .and most her bones. Cured of crime forever, the reformed burglar took a nun's vows and pursued a cloistered life of piety and good works -- she had a real talent for Gregorian Chants, mainly because impact with the building lowered her voice four octaves.
To Be Continued
