Last night I slept with ‘Rebecca’
Or something else?
Definitely not “Or this?” Jeeeezzzz … wot d’ you think I am?
This is not an easy question to answer.
…thinking’s much too hard.
Hence the problem.
Rebecca was waiting for me beside the bed. I lifted her and held her in my arms, before we effortlessly slid between the sheets … an inevitability, really, but it all seemed so innocent then. I lay on my back and she hovered above my breast. Enraptured, I gazed at Rebecca, devouring all those seemingly insignificant details that, when combined, became the astonishing entity that was … Rebecca.
I awoke with a start! Rebecca was sprawled across my upper chest. Her shiny plastic Ex-Library dust jacket reflecting the rays from the overhead light, back whence they’d begun their journey through space, at the speed of light.
My spectacles slipped off the end of my nose and landed on Rebecca’s jacket, with a clatter! The sound of my spec’s hard plastic frames sliding across the soft plastic of Rebecca’s dust jacket, before burying itself in the labyrinth of peaks and hollows, folds and half-folds of my dishevelled bedding, brought me back to a state of, if not total awareness, then, at least, to the cusp of the usual nanosecond of ‘Wot-n-where-TF!!?-ery’.
I was lay there, my mind toying with abstractions, whilst my hand gently caressed Rebeca’s spine, through her dust-jacket, when it hit me with force of an impacting Exocet missile: my status in the world had drastically changed, I had dumped my non-entity status, and had moved on into the world of celebrity. I’d become unique! … hadn’t I? How many more men were there like me? Who else could honestly claim?: “Last night I slept with ‘Rebecca’.”
I wonder if I can get the Mrs to change her name for a night…
I’d love to be a fly-on-the-wall, when you attempt it Yeah man … but, 'twould have little or no cachet potential on a global scale, unless she had ‘dog-ears’, and wore transparent plastic, Ex-Library dust jacket covers … know wot I’m sayin", bro?
And!!! Unless you want a knee in the groin, be careful with your choice of words, when you proposition the lovely Colleen.
Doesn’t one of yourselfs like that kind of stuff?
So, what if it turns into Last Night I Slept With Rebecca at Jamaica Inn?
Ooohhh! I don’t know about that! What if it morphed from there to: Last Night I Slept With Rebecca at Jamaica Inn, whilst en route to The House on the Strand at Frenchman’s Creek for The Rendezvous with The Parasites: My Cousin Rachel and Marry Anne!!!
As it is, once the offers to appear on all those celebrity talkshows-n-other stuff start coming through t’letterbox, I’m gonna be hard pushed to honour my responsibilities to the rest of humankind. I’ll Never Be Young Again, y’ know! Nope! I’m gonna keep it all very low-key
You probably need to do some condensing of storylines and think about 21st century branding, how it’ll play in Manhattan (London), Peoria (Putney), or Tulsa (Tomintoul). Something, say, like Will Mary Anne and My Cousin Rachel Rendezvous at the Strand? Or will they become mere Parasites on Frenchman’s Creek?
It practically sells itself.
Y’all have a truly frightening amount of spare time.
Why is there no Stockport (Qufu)?
And another thing, “Will Mary Anne and My Cousin Rachel Rendezvous at the Strand? Or will they become mere Parasites on Frenchman’s Creek?” seems to have consigned to oblivion, the main protagonist … MOI!!!
Dev, you have no idea, just ‘how’ frightening
Max de Winter
At least you didn’t drool on her while asleep…
…quite … gentlemen don’t drool over ladies spreadeagled across their rib cage. That’s the kind of behaviour best left to the ‘tactless/uncouths’.
It’s strange that I haven’t heard from any Talkshow hosts, or producers, yet. I suppose these things take time. Ah well … c’est la vie … eh?
Is that what I’m doing wrong?
One doesn’t want to appear to be judgemental, but, you’ve probably hit the nail on the head (or, stump, in your case).
I’m surprised Colleen hasn’t bought you a few of these
And before you ask … the answer is: no! they’re not the kind that I wear.
Mine are made of this waxed cotton camouflage fabric, that can be worn when I’m out hunting.
One night I dreamt I was dining at my favorite hole-in-the-wall teriyaki joint in Seattle. (Nevermind that it had closed several years ago.) Upon obtaining the pile of steaming, succulent spicy chicken teriyaki, I took a big mouthful, only to wake up, chewing on my pillow. God only knows what Freud would make of this. But I’m sure he’d understand, if he’d ever had Tokyo Garden’s spicy chicken teriyaki.