Let's Do It. Let's Fall In Love!

[Lawrence Grimmel]

So there he was. The tiny office wasn’t much, but it was his. An amber light lit the room, filled with smoke and dust and everything within it, including him could only be viewed in yellowed shades of black and white. Like a crispy old photograph, grainy and wrinkled, the world around him moved with the ease that it always had. The city around the tiny office hummed with the noise of motorcars and the train that ran right over his office, shaking the wooden floors. It wasn’t much, but it was 1956, it was New York City, and it was his. The eleven o’clock train rumbled overhead, knocking plaster onto the top of his desk, raining down white speckles a top his crossed legs that were propped up on the edge of it. It didn’t bother him much, he just lit the fat cigar he’d been chewing on and inhaled deeply, savored the taste, before blowing it into the air in smoke rings. Ah, how he loved a good cigar. In the corner of his office a radio crackled to life with the sweet voice of an angel and the sounds of a brass band.

Birds do it, bees do it. Even educated fleas do it. Let's do it, let's fall in love.

It had certainly been a slow day, a slow week really. Not many customers had glided past his door. As he flipped his cigar, knocking ashes onto the floor, he wondered if the novelty of his profession had simply worn off with the public. Of course, everyone wanted to know what their husband was up to or who was out to off their aunt, but no one seemed to have the money these days. He blew another smoke ring, only to realize he was down to his last two cigars without any idea where his next box would come from. The man sighed and inhaled deeper. He wondered if he was paying the girl in the front to file her nails nowadays because that was all she seemed to do.

In Spain, the best upper sets do it. Lithuanians and Letts do it. Let's do it, let's fall in love

He wore a white shirt with light gray stripes running up and down it coupled with a pair of gray dress slacks. Black dress socks stuck out awkwardly as his pants legs grew short while propped up on the desk. Black leather loafers were a size 13 and were laced tight. Because that was what he was, straight laced. A pair of stretchy black suspenders held his pants tight against his tall, lanky frame and a black fedora was settled perfectly on top of his head. His long hair was slicked back into a dark ponytail held with a leather band coiled several times on top of itself, then tied. His perfectly coordinated fedora had a white band running around the bottom half. The whole ensemble was monochrome, but one wouldn’t have noticed in the amber tinted world. Even his usually hazel eyes had taken on the color of toasted honey.

The Dutch in old Amsterdam do it. Not to mention the Fins. Folks in Siam do it - think of Siamese twins

He moved his hat over his eyes, leaning back to stretch in his uncomfortable chair. Yawning, he almost flipped backwards but quickly corrected before hitting the ground. He saved himself the embarrassment of the girl up front hearing him crash to the ground for the fourth time this week. What was her name? Sally? Susie? Ah. She was a pretty young thing, but he couldn’t remember her name for the life of him. She was a married woman though, had some Navy guy that held her on his arm, so it wasn’t a benefit for him to even struggle to remember it. He yawned again and picked up a file. Flipping through it with his thumb, he read up on his last solved case. Olsen was the name of the family who had hired him to find their girl, a sixteen-year-old whirl of long legs, white teeth, and blonde curls. He’d found her down in New Orleans and brought her home to them for her daddy to deal with her. He was only responsible for solving the case, not dealing out the punishment. For a pretty girl like that, he almost regretted not being able to give her what she really deserved.

Some Argentines, without means, do it. People say in Boston even beans do it. Let's do it, let's fall in love.

“Any calls, Sally?” He called to the front office and saw a head of hair move when he spoke out loud through the paper-thin wall. “It’s Susie. And no, no calls. You woulda heard the phone ring.” Perhaps he had hurt her feelings by forgetting her name but she kept not giving him the calls he had gotten during lunch, he was sure. He was far too prideful to admit that his business wasn’t going so well because he hadn’t invested in much newspaper space in the past weeks. Her nasally voice annoyed him for a brief moment, but as the fan in the wall spun, throwing shadows across the floor, he forgot about it. If she didn’t give him those calls soon, she’d be canned along with him. Someone should’ve told her that. He plopped the file down and watched the crisp papers fan out across his wooden desk.

Romantic sponges, they say, do it. Oysters down in oyster bay do it. Let's do it, let's fall in love.

“Mmm. Sing it Ella.” His voice echoed a little in the dank little office but it made him smile; by now he’d finished the cigar and it laid in an ash tray on his desk. It smoked a little into the air, making his dim office seem a bit mysterious and hazy. He liked the effect and wadded up a piece of paper to throw into the wastebasket on the other side of the room. The shot wasn’t very far so it should have been easy to make, but he missed. Immediately the concept of competition became an issue, so all of the papers on his desk became subject to being wadded up and thrown toward the basket. The second shot missed again but the third went in. Feeling accomplished, he stood from the chair with a loud creak.

Cold Cape Cod clams, 'gainst their wish, do it. Even lazy jellyfish, do it. Let's do it, let's fall in love.

He was a tall man, taller than six foot with a filled out, albeit a little thin frame. As he walked around as much as his office would allow, he caught sight of himself in a small round mirror on the wall with his coat hung under it. A hair was out of place, causing him to produce a fine toothcomb from god only knew where. He corrected the hair, placed his chapeau a top his head again and snapped his suspenders. A sharp dressed man, he had to admit as he looked at himself in the mirror, then stroked the pencil thin mustache he had developed above his lip. It wasn’t much hair despite his efforts but he stroked it anyway.

Electric eels I might add do it. Though it shocks ‘em I know. Why ask if shad do it - Waiter bring me "shad roe."

The door to the front of the small office where his secretary was seated banged open and he heard a voice that was unmistakably feminine. He shuffled back to his seat quickly, tilted his hat over his eyes again and stretched out. He tried to look uninterested as he listened too intently to the conversation. His heart raced a little but he couldn’t see the lady behind the door. Could it be her? His Lady Luck? The rich daughter of an oil tycoon only wishing to pay him copious amounts to find her dear daddy on the European continent? He would go over there of course, with all of his expenses paid! He could see her now, her shadow illuminated on his beveled privacy plastic window. In the middle of her light gray silhouette, he could make out the reversed lettering of his own name.

”.lemmirG ecnerwaL
.rotagitsevnI etavirP”

In shallow shoals English soles do it. Goldfish in the privacy of bowls do it. Let's do it, let's fall in love.

[Anasi Visatta]

With her lips tempered, it was a lot for her to do to talk to anyone in this world. She was lucky enough to find a woman willing to help her with her problem. There had been word going around about some private eye business. Now...she couldn't say that this didn't strike her fancy when she heard it because...it was the dream world, yes, but...a private investigator? She supposed that all people needed things investigated, even magical ones. Anasi head been asking around as best as she could without a voice, her nifty pad of paper and magical quill in tow. She could go no where without it in fear of offending someone some how.

The rather round woman that she had found was very charming, her voice sweet as honey and her smile brighter than the son. It appeared she owned the dress shop down the street. Anasi chose to ignore this fact...imagining that there was probably tons of gossip about this place...plus the fact that the woman had tons of other gossip to share on the way here. I really did suck not beeng able to talk to other people verbally. No ability to communicate in such a way that people can hear you often meant that one could get lost in the sound if you weren't careful.

Just as Anasi entered the business building, other offices were also located here..strangely enough, her whole world turned sepia. Her once flawless white marble turned to a rosey gold and her diamond eyes sparkled more like topaz than an actual diamond. Very strange...but she kept reminding herself where she was. Even her dress...far from its royal blue had turned to a dark golden brown. The sheer fabric still caressed her at ever curve as if barely there, clinging to her solid marble frame as would the most luxurious of dresses. She remembered how long it took her to stop feeling so self conscious of her new vulumptious form. The brown dress was accented with gold along the edges and the waste, the vneck creating a valley along her boss um. Her stone colored hair was mostly pulled up and back into a bun, but a few strands vacationed on her face in soft curls...some how not breaking like one would think stone would in such a thin format.

It was a little awkward traveling through the halls with her wings. Many feathers seemed to fall loose from her aggrivation, but eventually she and the round woman made it to their destination. The woman spoke for her saving the need for Anasi to write ou the whole story all over again. As the woman dictated for her, she gazed around the plain office, expecting more, but getting less obviously. She wondered who the private eye was as she was sent into the office...but her curiosity was met....

Lawrence...

[Lawrence Grimmel]

Lawrence relaxed a little too far in his chair and it made an ominous sound as he neared the point at which it would turn over and dump him on the floor. Of course, he wouldn’t look nearly as clever if he was sitting in a pile on the floor. As his door opened, the hinges creaking, he took the opportunity to lean forward, pulling the fedora ridiculously low over his eyes. He snapped his suspenders as he stood up to greet his lovely lady who walked in the door - the golden curled heiress who would pay him dearly to save her father - only to see that the woman who had entered his office was beyond his wildest dreams. The artist in him jumped out suddenly, taken aback to see a real, live piece of artwork from the glorious days of Greece and Rome alive and moving. He almost gasped, but then realized most people wouldn’t take a private eye seriously if they reacted too much one way or another.

“Lawrence Grimmel, private eye. How can I be of service ladies?”

He stood up to sit on the front of the front of the desk, but a sudden pain wracked his chest. Lawrence put his hand to his chest, only to get a handful of dark amber liquid. This was something he would never get used to about this world. The fact that there was a gaping hole in his chest where his heart was located, a wound that bled considerably less through the dream and finally healed right before he was about to wake up was something that always tended to shock him, as well as other people he met. For this reason, he often found himself shirtless in the Dream World, but tonight, a large stain grew around his heart, staining his lovely yellowed shirt and suspenders. The man straightened up, coughing a little before he spun around. He turned back to the couple in his office and nodded toward the Nike that stood before him, a grin spreading over his lips.

“Ignore that. What can I do for you Princess?”

Sure, he was a little more cocky in the Dream World, especially when he was in a dream like this. Also, it seemed mysteriously that his Italian accent had disappeared, replaced by something a lot more gruff, and a lot more like a New Yorker.

[Anasi Visatta]

Grimmel...

Just seeing the name on the door she had to stand out side of it and get her mind straight. If her face could have formed it, a wide dreamy smile would have appeared. Her favorite professor was here! It amazed her! WHO? WHAT? WHEN? WHERE? WHY? She had no clue, her stone heart just threatened to shatter her whole existence as it sped up even the tiniest bit. Though...at the same time...it dropped as she realized that she couldn't express to him who she really was...even if she could speak. If she did...it would be as if the illusion of the dream was destroyed. The fantasy made reality...even the smallest bit. It all made her dizzy. Sometimes she hated being a fan girl...there were so many emotions tied to it and so much competition.

After a few awkward seconds with her self, she followed the round short woman into the office. Her eyes fluttered happily as the man before her was indeed Lawrence Grimmel...in the flesh...and in suit. Was she going to die? She was quite sure of it by the way her head felt light and airy. Though there was something to be said about the jeans and button up shirt he usually wore in the classroom...aslo...that toga wasn't half bad either...Wait....that was just in her day dreams. None the less, there was something different about this "gumshoe" Lawry. His attitude was all off, as he seemed just a little silly, and...well...there was a huge growing stain on his chest. Oh buggers! Was that blood!?

Anasi seemed very very alarmed by this pointing to his chest with a fear in her eyes, but he seemed to catch it nearly instantly, expressing to her that it wasn't to be worried about. She lowered her hand hesitantly...but you could tell somewhat that the worry wasn't gone. What the heck was with his chest...? He also didn't sound the same...it was all so weird...She supposed she could ignore it...?

As he addressed her, she nearly "started to talk" but then put her fingers to her lips, as if to say..."oh thats right...no speaking..." She reached over and touched the woman's shoulder, asking her to express her situation. "OH yes, nearly forgot. I'm Niecy and this is Avea. You see, she cannot speak, she's always been like that. I am only here to see her to you and tell you her problem."

"Avea" nodded her stone wings fluttering.

"As she wrote down to me, her...victory wreath was stolen?" said the woman, looking back to Avea for assurance, who nodded, using her fingers to signify the wreath about her head.. "Its been missing for some time now...and she has reason to believe that a merchant might have gone off and tried to sell it. You see, it is made of solid gold. She says she has to find it or else she'll never be able to get a restful sleep. Do you think you can help her?"

[Lawrence Grimmel]

“Ma’am, I don’t rightly know if I can help you. I’m a private eye, you see.” Lawrence stood up from the edge of his desk, ideas running through his head. His job title was one that let him find people, spy on people, but he’d never found himself looking for lost items. Would that mean that he was lowering himself. But the plump lady had said that the wreath was made of solid goal. Any statuesque woman looking for a solid gold something-or-other had to be loaded with cash. That was one of Grimmel’s requirements for doing a job, either there was a beautiful woman or loads of cash involved - it seemed that he had gotten one of those requirements down pat, he just wasn’t sure which one he had arrived at. He snapped his suspenders, one of them landing against his wounded heart and making him wince. Lawrence recovered quickly and walked around to the back of his desk, began shuffling papers around violently, as if checking to see if he had any other cases that might have conflicted with the time he would take out for this one. As he had said earlier, business was slow. Real slow.

Looking up at the pair in front of him, he sighed and put down his papers. It seemed that the round woman would leave soon, leaving him with the living artwork woman in front of him. It also seemed Avea could not speak, so he would have to figure out another way of communicating with her, but first he would get the other information out of the two of them. “A private eye looks up what wives are doing behind men’s backs. A private eye searches out girls’ lost daddies. I just never have done the thing where I have to find an object. Can you tell me more about this victory wreath? And about the merchant who supposedly took it? And... I do have a fee, y’know” He rubbed his had across the hole in his chest, noticing that the skin around it was beginning to itch. Soon the hole would begin to recede, the skin around it becoming pink and slightly shiny.