Here’ hoping the third time is the charm. La Flor is strangling her iPhone X. LC (AKA Little Carmen) is spending the time playing licks on his air guitar. Me? I feel like I’m watching a Disney cartoon. And, being forced to see it over and over again until I crack.
La Flor’s voice breaks the silence. “I’m ready to spill my guts. I ready to tell all. I’ll sell my story to the dirt rags. They’ll get the truth out. I’m not holding back. I’m going to expose that mystery blog writer. She’ll be sorry.” La Flor’s voice rising with each word. A few more words and my windows would crack.
“Wants me to take care of her so she doesn’t bother use no more? Me and buddies could, use know, take her for a swim” asked LC.
“Don’t you dare go swimming with her. She’s cute, but not beautiful. LC, they’re not real, like mine. Stay out of it. Stay as far away from her as possible. I may need Lil Carlo, though,” she said.
Time for me to jump in with two feet, “Lil Carlo, doesn’t he …”
“Yes, he does,” said LC.
“I’m sure we can work this out, La Flor. It’s probably a simple misunderstanding,” I said.
“There is no way she’s going to jiggle those things of hers at LC and get out of this. I’ve got the goods and she’s going down.”
“Here’s what she did ….”
A knock on the door. “Don’t answer it, Ray.” said La Flor.
A harder knock on the door, and a male voice said, “It’s the police.”
LC said, “I didn’t do it.”
I went to the door, looked through the spy hole. Read the ID the plainclothes detective was holding up. I opened the door, “What can I do for you?”
“I’m detective Sean O’Leary. I’m here to talks to one Little Carmen, AKA LC, AKA guitar man, AKA meatball, AKA the dude, AKA Don Juan, and twelve others. ” (I used an Irish name for the detective because it’s a stereotype – please don’t write, it’s all in fun).
I walked O’Leary into the living room. LC looked up, walked over and said, “Hey Red, how’s it going. Use still going with the girl from the vegan food blog?”
“No, she split when I tooks her out for barbeque. I tried vegan. One and done, use knows what I mean?”
They all talk this way from the neighborhood. English is a second language.
“I bet she don’t likes pepperoni, neither. Use want me to have tonight’s special sent to use apartment seeing use is not with anyone for the present moment or two. Free of charge, no tip because use is one of the first responders.”
They know each other? A free pizza? No tip?
“It’s rough, man. Not having a woman to dote on me; telling me I’m Superman.”
“Use know a woman who does that?” asked LC.
“I did, but she was vegan. I dig her but the food I don’t. Listen up, I got to question use, LC, about a heist at Best Buy. I don’t want to do it. But I gots no choice in the matter. I normally don’t make to this blog. In fact, this is the foist time I been in this blog. How do use like hanging out with this guy?” He pointed a thumb toward me.
“First off, to answer use question. I’m innocent as a baby rattler. As for Ray-mo? He’s a good guy. He’s got no clue what’s happening, if use knows what I mean?”
“As to use first answer. That clears use from the case. But use raises another question. Wait a minute. I want to know what’s going on? He looks suspicious to me. It’s the nose, or maybe the ears.”
O’Leary cast a look at me, “Yah? What’s going on and don’t leave anything out?”
LC stared at me. La Flor stared at me. And, I said, “La Flor’s just about to tell us why she wants to hire Lil Carlo.”
“Not Lil Carlo? AKA Hit man? AKA The node. AKA spaghetti factory? AKA the shooter,” said a stunned O’Leary.
“All five in the same,” said LC.
“Use got to chill sister. Talking it out will be good for use. Wing it and sing it and dish it out. It’ll be good for the digestive track,” said O’Leary.
Where did this guy come from? Why does my blog attract the weird alt egos?
La Flor leaped on top of the table. She cleared her throat, looked at LC, “LC, pick up the beat with your air guitar when I hit it.”
LC held his air guitar in hands, raising it over his head and nodded.
“This is for all you girls out there in alt ego world who think you can get your fingers on my man, especially you, my used to be BFF, mystery blog writer. How dare you like the photo I posted of LC on Instagram,
Women like you they’re a dime a dozen you can buy ’em anywhere
For you to get to him I’d have to move over and I’m gonna stand right here
It’ll be over my dead body so get out while you can
Cause you ain’t woman enough to take my man*
O’Leary stood up and applauded. “Man, you gots the vocal chops to be a big star. Use and LC playing that air guitar likes it was a third arm. Something to see and hear, I might add. Use sang like Selena Gomez, Lady Gaga and Taylor Swifty all rolled into one or two or three.”
I have to get O’Leary out of here before La Flor screams about the Taylor Swift comparison.
“That it O’Leary? We’re kinda busy,” I said.
O’Leary scratched his head, stuck a pinkie in his left ear and wiggled it around, extracted it, looked at his reward, wiped his finger on his pants, and said, “The only real reason I come over, was the mystery blog writer wrote me in to come over here. But she loses control when I come in this blog. I think I’ll hang around if use don’t mind.”
“You can hang out, but not now,” I said said and wrote in this blog. O’Leary kissed La Flor’s hand, shook hands with LC and said, “Have extra pepperoni put on the pie.”
“I showed her. Ray, put my song on YouTube and it will go viral,” said La Flor.
A second later, “Hold it, Ray. Don’t do it. The mystery blog writer just text me and said she’s sorry, we’re going to double tonight. She’s writing O’Leary back in if you can write him out and taking O’Leary and joining LC and me tonight.”
And so it is in La Flor’s world. Tomorrow. LC tells us his troubles.
*You Ain’t Woman Enough” performed by Loretta Lynn (1965).