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Martin, Revisited
Chapter Seventeen
G-RATED SWEAR WORDS
Copyright 2016 - 2020 Christina M. Guerrero
INTERMEDIATE DRAFT
PROLOGUE, FIRST SECTION - Martin - Thoughts while falling asleep. Which led to a short story. Which led to a novel.
CHAPTER ONE - The English Rose - Martin in love.
CHAPTER TWO - The Mooch Message - You may think words don't matter. But they do.
CHAPTER THREE - Congratulations - Time to celebrate. Or is it?
CHAPTER FOUR - The Heart Of Man - Who we are.
INTERLUDE NUMBER ONE - Turning A Writing Project Into A Novel - A few things to consider
CHAPTER FIVE - The Dead Thing - The green spaceship theory.
CHAPTER SIX - TBD
CHAPTER SEVEN - TBD
CHAPTER EIGHT part one - Their Children, Again - Life as a child.
CHAPTER EIGHT part two - Their Children, Once More - Growing up.
CHAPTER ELEVEN- A Scent Of Roses - Pondering infinity.
IN PROGRESS
CHAPTER SIXTEEN - The Spirit Of A Good Man - Don't underestimate people. You'd be surprised what they're capable of.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN - G-Rated Swear Words - What pays the bills is not easy.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN - His Place Full Of Space - What makes a place a home.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN - Hallelujah - In search of the truth.
CHAPTER NINETEEN - Recovery - The body, soul, and spirit need time to recover from injustice.
CHAPTER UNKNOWN - A Bit Of Heaven - The holidays are difficult for some.
CHAPTER UNKNOWN - Who's The Hero? - Looking for hope.
CHAPTER UNKNOWN - Zombie Caleb And The Holidays - Dealing with flashbacks.
CHAPTER UNKNOWN - The Mystery Of Spasiba - Are babies paying attention?
ABOUT THE DRAFTS
Draft Two:
The usual errors, inconsistencies and assorted blunders.
They're trying hard to be G-rated but it's difficult.
DISCLAIMER
Except for the first section of the prologue and the interludes, this is a work of fiction.
The rest is either a product of the author's imagination, or used fictitiously.
Any resemblance to real persons, places, things, or events is coincidental and unintentional.
In the half bathroom, Carter clutched at the sink, bowing his head, and let the anguish run its course.
He felt a brief longing for one of his ladies from the escort service. He thought about arranging a get-together, and imagined her touching the gunshot wounds and saying, "Oh, baby. I'm so sorry." He would pay her for those words alone.
Why do I have to pay for tenderness? He thought angrily. Why isn't it given freely?
His face twisted. He looked in the mirror and barely recognized himself.
The voice of truth informed him: There was no tenderness and no justice when you needed it. You were attacked when your back was turned. There was no regard for you. And for the right price it may happen again. Your safety and happiness and well-being are not important to those who have caused so much damage.
A gentler voice: Martin is kind to you. So far, he is a good friend. And you have met many potential friends recently. And don't forget: You might have to pay for them but those ladies are excellent at what they do, and professional; they are always mindful of your needs.
Carter returned to washing his face. He rinsed, dried, applied moisturizer and left the bathroom. In the living room he got comfortable on the couch and waited to fall asleep.
*****
Carter woke yet again.
It was only eleven-forty.
He frowned as he ticked off the evening's events: left work at six-fifteen, left the cafe at nine-ish, arrived at Martin's place at nine-forty, finally lights out at eleven-twenty.
He stared at the ceiling, fell asleep, and woke again at eleven-fifty-three.
He swore at length as quietly as possible then glared into the semi-darkness. Martin's living room was mostly a deep smoky black, except for a few light green digital clock screens, and a hazy gold light outside one window.
Somewhere in the building water ran on and on -- perhaps a late night shower. On this floor a baby cried briefly then appeared to be comforted. Up above, someone moved about, making faint creaks. Below, two people were arguing in loud whispers: “You were supposed to get garlic, not onions.” “Why are we still awake debating this? I’m going to sleep.” “Then go, and shut up.” “Screw you.” A few minutes later: heavy breathing and moaning. Carter repressed the urge to laugh loudly. Then he sat up straight when he heard a loud groan from Martin’s bedroom. He moved lightly and quickly on two strong crutches and two semi-strong feet to the bedroom door, listened, then opened the door.
Martin was asleep but his arms curved and stiffened. Carter waited. After about thirty seconds, Martin's limbs relaxed and he snored lightly.
Carter returned to the couch and sat and made a document: “Martin nighttime seizures. One.” He wondered dully how to phrase this well, and whether there were apps for seizures, and if there were companies that specifically served people with epilepsy at night, but decided he did not care; he still felt numb from the bathroom.
The voice of reason piped up again: Don't forget Hughes. He may be your lawyer but he is loyal and reliable.
Carter smiled faintly at the thought of the currency-filled swimming pool.
*****
Hughes Taylor stood at the top of the stairs in the dark.
He checked his business budget on his phone again -- not exactly swimming in money but not too shabby either -- then watched the front door and waited, then checked the budget again, adding and subtracting furiously, looking for the money to hire a business partner.
When he looked up again, a shadow darkened one of the frosted glass panels next to the front door. The mail slot opened. Something was inserted and fell to the floor. The shadow went away.
His phone rang.
"So?" He said.
"It's the twin. I got a clear shot of his face."
"What the hell is wrong with these people?"
"I don't want to know. What did he drop off?"
"Just a moment."
Hughes went downstairs, grabbed the item, went to his back office, sat in the guest chair and said, "It's addressed to me and it appears to be from them."
He opened an envelope, pulled out a letter, unfolded that and said into the phone, "Dear Mr. Taylor. We are writing this letter to express concern for you and others affected by The Liar. We believe the person formerly known as Jacob Carter is, after all these years, still faking the cerebral palsy, in addition to having caused the trouble which led to his being shot at the business meeting. He is a habitual lira and has been since the age of five, when he attacked one of us with his crutches. We believe he is taking advantage of your good nature. You should not be doing pro bono work for The Lira! We also want you to warn Martin to stay away from The Lira! The lita is a bitter, angry man who does not know how to communicate. He lies about everything. Signed--" Hughes counted. "Ten typed names at the bottom, and no written signatures."
"The lira."
"Yep."
"Good old malicious mischief. Just because he dropped it off doesn't mean he or they wrote it or typed it or even knows what's in it."
"Correct."
"I'm sending over this perpetrator’s photo now."
Hughes's phone buzzed. He accessed the photo, then sent, "Yep, that's the twin." He studied the bony, strained face.
"You ever feel sorry for them? I mean really sorry? These people could be traveling or sleeping or knitting or volunteering but instead they choose this."
Hughes sent, "That's why I do this."
"You're gonna go easy on him again when you talk to his lawyer." This was a comment, not a question.
"Not easy. He'll get the benefit of the doubt but no more chances."
*****
Carter woke again.
The place was hospitable: the couch was comfortable; the blankets were warm; Martin's apartment had no over-riding scent.
However, Carter glared into the darkness. Sleep was sometimes elusive. He was hoping for some rest because he was sure that they had twelve hours of work waiting for them. They were expected on the set at eleven.
"Cancel aaany evening plans," he whispered.
His phone buzzed, not surprising him, with a text message from Hughes, "I received another one. At first I was disturbed but then I could not stop laughing. I'll send you a copy if you'd like."
"Please."
"Oh, hello, you're up late?"
"I wouldn't say that. Can't sleep. Good old insomnia slash apnea."
"I'm sorry. I hope the letter makes you laugh."
Carter accessed the letter. When he reached "lira" he snorted. By the time he finished, he was shaking with repressed guffaws.
"WTF," he sent Hughes. "I'd think if I felt that strongly about something I'd want the message to make sense."
"I would, also."
"So this would be malicious mischief and would be difficult to prosecute."
"This might be malicious mischief and could conceivably be prosecuted because there are witnesses and photos."
"Photos?"
The next message contained photos of Carter's twin near a sign announcing 'Hughes Taylor, Attorney At Law.' The twin appeared to be inserting mail, turning toward the camera and walking away.
"I'll be contacting his attorney tomorrow," Hughes sent.
"Thank you."
*****
Martin reached out and grabbed his phone just as the alarm went off.
He disabled the alarm. After a good long stretch he made his bed and prepared for a shower.
He sniffed. Something smelled like eggs and sausage.
"Carter!" He said. He went to the bedroom door, opened it and looked toward the kitchen.
Carter was sitting at the bar, still in pajamas, typing on a smart phone.
"Good morning," Martin called out.
"Good morning, Maaartin. I made breakfast."
With interest, Martin went to the kitchen. Scrambled eggs rested in one pan; sausage gravy in another, and a tray of biscuits waited on two burners.
"Where did the biscuits come from?" Martin asked.
"I made them. It's easy."
"Awesome. Is it ready?"
"Yes."
"Let me serve."
"Okay."
After preparing two plates, Martin pushed them towards Carter, then brought juice and two glasses.
Martin sat and tasted everything. "Thanks. It's delicious."
"You're welcome."
"Did you sleep well?"
"No. It waaas patchy. Did you?"
"Sorry. Yeah, fairly well."
Martin noticed perfectly-folded blankets on the couch on the pillow.
"Thanks for folding those," he said. "And if you want to use the shower first I'll clean up."
"Thaaank you."
Their forks clanked against their plates. Carter sipped his juice. He picked up one of his phones, unlocked it, and placed it near Martin's plate.
"This is aaa letter sent to myyy attorney," Carter said.
Martin continued chewing but stopped when he read 'lira.' He smiled around the food and had to spit it out so he could laugh when he finished reading.
Carter said, "They better find thaaat lira. Sounds liiike a serious danger toooo the public."
"That lita doesn't sound too law-abiding either."
"'And you shouuuld be cautious around me, Maaartin. I miiight stutter youuu to death."
"Consider me warned. And correct me if I’m wrong, but when you’re bashed in the head from behind, wouldn’t you feel somewhat unhappy -- maybe even a tad bitter -- about sustaining permanent brain damage, rather than joyful?”
“Yes, thaaat makes sense. I don’t think bitter is the riiight word, though. More liiike confused, in many ways.”
“This letter is confusing and does not make any sense.”
"Fiiiiiiiii ...." Carter took a deep breath. "Fickwaaaads."
Martin said, "Say it the other way."
"I I like fickwads better."
"How about ...." Martin thought of every foul word he had ever heard, but said none of them.
Carter laughed while observing and almost fell off the barstool. "Theyyy are rarely offended by words like that. I I like G-rated swear words. I think they sound mooore offensive."
"Like those Shakespeare things on the Internet?"
"A little bit. Like ‘pasty-faced pantry-wipe.’"
"Don't you mean panty-wipe?"
They both lost it again and had to hold on to the counter.
Martin said with great difficulty between breaths, "I have a feeling ... You'll find the pantry-wipes ... In the same place you'll find the liras."
Carter nodded and had to hold on tight to both the counter and his barstool as he hooted with laughter.
The noise calmed into giggles and snickers and gradually faded into silence.
Martin's phone gently interrupted with four pleasant musical notes followed by a happy, familiar, high tenor voice.
The song picked up rapidly, bouncing along with a funky beat.
"What's thaaaaat," Carter said.
"It's an alarm for a reminder."
"That song. It's nice. What is it?"
"It's a great song. 'Can't Stop The Feeling' by that Timberlake dude for some movie."
"I like that. I I I'll take my shower now."
Carter went to the bedroom, disappeared, then reappeared in the doorway. "Maaartin. Towels."
"In the bedroom closet. Left side."
Martin cleaned up and then used his phone to look at the tapes from his security camera.
"Hate to do this," Martin muttered. He listened for Carter, who was moving about in the bathroom, then waited a bit longer and said, "You're either going to be bored or surprised."
The tapes revealed Carter getting a bottle of water, talking to Martin, not sleeping well, waking and preparing breakfast.
Martin watched with interest as Carter cooked with ease and ingenuity, spending most of his time on a stool as he mixed and kneaded and stirred. Carter put the tray of biscuits in the oven, shut it, and pulled himself toward the stool using the counter. He stared at the stool for a moment, held on to the counter with one hand and looked at his feet. He suddenly fell, landing on his left side, and swore at length. He scooted on his left side to his crutches, sat up slowly, swore again as he rubbed his left thigh, then moved the stool and his crutches out of the way, and grabbed the edge of the counter. With difficulty, he rose on his knees, then pulled himself up, took his crutches, and stood for a moment, still swearing. He started cooking the eggs, with slower, more careful movements, then sat at the counter and messed with his phones.
Martin muttered, "Cool." He put everything away and waited in his recliner.
The water stopped running as he sat. Carter whistled; cloth rumpled; water ran in the sink. A few minutes later he emerged from the bedroom, hair slicked back, somehow looking just fine in yesterday's clothes and his bare feet, his socks over his shoulders.
Martin said, "Explain this outfit."
"I puuuut the socks oooover the shower rod so they could air out, and now they are drying out." Carter took the long way around the coffee table, sat, and finished dressing. "Maaartin, I think we are going to have a long day today."
"I do, too."
"Myyyyy place is closer to the studio. Youuuu are welcome to stay there tonight if you'd like."
Martin pretended to think about it. "How long do you think we'll go?"
"I I think it will be at least twelve hours. Come onnnnn, it will be fun. And I I I saw you nodding off aaat the end of our laaast long day. Why go this far?"
"That seems like a long time ago. That was before ...."
Carter said, "Before the lira was shot--"
"By the pantry-wipes."
They hooted with laughter again.
Martin said, "I'll stay at your place tonight because I want to continue this conversation."
* * * * *
Carter checked the time. They had about a fifteen to twenty minute taxi ride to work, a bit longer if traffic was terrible.
He accessed his text messages and did his best to keep a straight face.
While waiting for the taxi he had sent a text message to his business partners: "How quickly could we set up a game app called Leeras vs. Pwypes? The Leeras are peace-loving creatures and the Pwypes are big stumbling creatures who don't believe in peace."
"We think Pwypes is a clever word but it might be perceived as just a bit too suggestive."
"How about Pypes. Big stumbling things shaped like pipes."
"That has possibilities."
"The usual breakdown?"
"No. The reverse. You get two thirds. We don't think it's all that original. It might be popular with a couple of tween girls and boys and then die a quick death."
"Ok. Agreed."
"Boss, you are too optimistic."
"Doesn't hurt to try."
"We're on board then. Send us the details."
*****
In the hair and makeup department, just as he closed his eyes, Carter's phone started buzzing.
"Do you want to get that?" Lisa asked.
"Nooo. When you’re finished."
Half an hour later she went to supervise a new employee. Carter studied the stripes of green makeup on his face, then focused on his phone. There were three text messages: "We cashed in on a few favors. It may be up in about four hours." "Our test group laughed their asses off and want more." "It's about to be posted."
Lisa returned. Carter locked his phone.
"Okay. Time for the hair."
He closed his eyes again. Another half hour and he went to the set, where filming began immediately.
During a take he snorted. Martin smiled, and they both giggled.
"Cut," a voice said. "Is something funny?"
"Yeeeees," Carter said. " I I I'm sorry."
"Actually, thanks for the interruption. We have to make some adjustments."
*****
Martin observed with interest. Carter and he were supposed to look as identical as possible. Even without some type of ruler, Martin could see that the top of Carter's head had somehow become slightly higher than his own.
A group of set designers gathered around. One asked, "Are you two still the same height? Five-ten?"
Carter said, "I I’m five-ten and a quarter.”
Martin said, "The same."
They pulled out a bunch of measuring devices. One asked, "Carter, have you grown a quarter inch in the past few weeks? We’re getting five ten and a half.”
"I I I don't think so."
They undid the velcro straps which held Carter secure against a tall dolly, and an assistant supplied Carter’s crutches. He held on to the dolly with his left hand and reached out with his right. As he accepted the first crutch a few inches above the floor, he let go of the dolly. For a few seconds he was supporting his own weight.
Martin counted silently: one thousand one, one thousand two, one thousand three-–
Carter placed the first crutch down just as he swayed slightly. He placed the other one down and regained his balance.
"Bro," said one of the designers. "Did you just stand?"
Carter's face brightened with a big smile. "Yeah."
"Do it again."
He turned pink. "Nooo. We're filming--"
"We got you."
"I I I don't think ...." He handed over his left crutch and nodded as he let go of his right crutch.
Martin counted three seconds again; Carter tilted slightly and reached for his right crutch first.
A few of the designers whistled and clapped.
Carter said, "Okayyyy, guys. No more orthopedics. I I I I think there are liability issues involved."
"That was cool, bro. Okay, let's get you two lined up properly. Maybe you’re just standing taller?"
“I I I don’t know.”
Later, as they ate an afternoon snack, Martin said, "Some people with CP have been able to walk without assistance."
"I I I know." Carter continued to frown thoughtfully. "I I I have not been dooing aaanything differently."
His phone buzzed. He checked it for a while, gradually smiling and then shaking and snorting.
Martin smiled then looked around, interested in everything. The designers were an ever-present part of daily filming due to the storyline; they were comparing the use of one shade of green with another, while the cameramen offered input. To the side of the big room was a row of computers with the director and his team. The other actors sat in their chairs and studied their phones--
"Maaartin."
"Yes?"
"Let's see who can get the highest score on Leeras versus Pypes."
Martin said, "Leeras versus Pypes?"
"Check your aaaaaap store."
*****
Carter read the game description again: "The Leeras are a peace-living community on planet MarCar. The Pypes have just landed and refuse to leave. Help the Leeras get the Pypes back to their spaceship and away from MarCar. One hundred levels free."
Martin tilted his head and frowned. "App Store? You made an app?"
Carter held out his phone.
Martin's frown deepened as he read the description. Realization widened his eyes and a smile wrinkled his nose. He said, "Absolutely no way!" He took his phone and searched for the app.
Carter said, "Yes, wayyyy."
Martin said, "You are kidding." Enunciating each syllable, he said, "Prevent the Leeras from swearing at the Pypes or else the Pypes will explode and contaminate the planet?" He erupted with loud raucous laughter.
Carter watched, grinning.
Martin coughed and said in a high-pitched voice, "One way ... One way ... One way ...." His voice got tinier. "One way ...." He laughed loudly again, then managed, "One way to get rid of them is by asking them to clean pantries."
Martin held on to his stomach and giggled.
Carter said, "Play it, Maaartin."
Martin continued to giggle. He leaned over, hugged Carter sideways and kissed his head.
"Heyyy," Carter said, smiling with embarrassment. "Keep it friendly."
Martin was mostly silent as he downloaded the app. He read through it again and frowned as he poked and tapped. He said, "Okay. Starting."
Carter watched over his shoulder.
Martin muttered, "A group of flat wavy green Leeras are enjoying a picnic in a forest clearing. But what's that sound?" He snorted as the animated forest shook and all the trees lost their leafs. "The Pypes are in town." A spaceship was visible behind the naked trees. Big stumbling lanky figures stepped out of it and got closer and started shouting in snooty tones, "Why are you stupid Leeras having so much fun?" The chief Leera, indicated by a tiny crown, shook a tiny stick figure fist ("make the graphics as simple as possible" Carter had instructed) and waited, blinking, with a countdown of ten seconds.
Martin said, "Okay, so the Leeras have to grab a flower for power, then either a tree branch for words, or each other for the Good Mood Blaster-"
"Hurry uuuup, Maaartin--"
"No, no, don't!" Martin pushed a Leera over to a flower but it was too late. At zero, the Chief Leera jumped up and down and shouted, "You pastry-faced pantry-wipes!" The Pypes exploded and the screen turned brown.
Martin said, gasping for air between giggles, "Is that supposed to be shit? Pastry-faced?"
The chief Leera popped out of the poop and said with an eye roll, "Thanks, dude." The screen cleared and the first scene reappeared, with only two trees remaining at the upper right--
"Daaamn it," Carter said. "I I I told them--"
"That was awesome!" Martin said. "Damn what."
"Tell meee. These trees. Aaare they in a convenient place for youuu?"
"I guess."
"Would it be easier for youuu if they were on the bottom of the screen?"
"Not necessarily. As long as they're there, it doesn't matter to me where they are."
"Hm. Okay."
"So what happens if you ...." Martin started the game again, linked the Leeras together and waited. One of the Leeras pulled out a giant bazooka labeled "Good Mood Blaster" and blasted the angry-faced Pypes. Their frowns vanished. The Pypes smiled and began whistling the medieval tube "Greensleeves" and marched back to their spaceship. They entered and blasted off, leaving the words, "LEVEL TWO."
"Greensleeves?" Martin asked.
"Thaaat's the only public domain song we liked for this aaapp."
"What about the words?" Martin asked. He moved a Leera to a flower and then a tree branch; the Leera grabbed both and started to speak but tripped on a rock and said, "Ouch." . An arrow pointed towards the rock from black capital letters: "WATCH OUT FOR ROCKS AND CAVE ENTRANCES."
"Maaartin!" Carter reached to touch the screen but the counter reached zero, the Pypes exploded, and the chief Leera said again sarcastically, "Thanks, dude."
Martin tried again. He helped a Leera grab a flower and a branch. A word bubble popped up: "Hey, is that a flying pantry?" The Pypes took off for the spaceship, which vanished, leaving behind "LEVEL TWO."
Carter said, "It's almost time to go back to the set."
"I know." Martin smiled at his phone. "How many games have you guys invented? Wait, I'll look over here. Hm. Is it good money?"
Carter see-sawed his hand. "It's okay. We see a profit."
"I admire your work ethic. I couldn't do it. I prefer to have one job at a time."
Carter said, "Whaaat about your writing?"
It was Carter's turn to admire: Martin's face was placid and still; a perfect poker face.
Silence stretched out.
An assistant walked by. "Ten minutes, guys."
"Okayyyy," Carter said. He leaned over and whispered, "Maaartin. You left aaan app open on your phone aaaat the hospital. The day you held my hand."
"The phone was in the chair."
"Yes. It waaas on your bag facing me and I I I saw it before it locked."
"So you have supersonic hearing and excellent vision."
"Yes. To make uuuup for the disability, I think."
"Huh. Well, please don't tell anyone. Nobody knows and if they know I guess they don't care. Also, it's not a job. It's me and it's my life. It's who I am."
"I I I won’t tell anyone. And I'm on book two. Book one was funny and too short."
"Thank you."
Carter tried to stand like he did before, but had to put the crutches down. Martin also stood and they returned to the set.
"Six more hours," Carter said.
*****
Seven hours later they were happy to hear they would have the next day off.
Once in the elevator alone, Carter said, "Go straight to myy place?"
"Please."
Martin watched Carter, who had grown visibly more tired as the hours passed.
"Even good days are exhausting," Martin said.
Carter looked sideways, appearing to processing this. Martin felt a familiar dichotomy: he felt that they communicated effectively, yet sometimes he was aware, like now, that Carter did not respond as swiftly as others.
"Exactly," Carter said.
"I had that experience on and off after my Rose died."
The elevator hummed through several floors.
Carter finally said, "It taaaakes time. Grief. And recuperating from it. And other things that affect your brain. And those good days .... Sometimes they are overwhelming.”
Relief from the day was a taxi, which was waiting outside. They entered and both sighed audibly. Carter closed his eyes while Martin watched with interest as they moved closer to the west side, near the river. The taxi stopped at a seven story gray building. They paid and went inside.
A doorman let them in and said, "Good morning, sirs."
Martin smiled his way through a conversation between the other two. They went to an elevator that Carter unlocked and up to the seventh floor. A hallway led to exits to the east and west, and one door.
Carter took out his keys and said, "Have aaan open mind."
Martin said, "Why? You running a shady business in there?"
"No.” Carter grinned. “It has a lot of empty space."
TO BE CONTINUED
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