When he was through listening to the irate caller on the telephone, Captain Carl Sanders, the commander of the police force in Mesa, Arizona, banged the phone down angrily in its cradle, and then with the furrows in his brow deepening he fixed his eyes sharply on Jeff Conradi and Tom Eager, the detectives he had summoned to his office earlier that morning, and said, "I wish those asinine Pickle Ball players would grow up. Every time one of them loses a match they take out their frustration on their spouses, or ...
When he was through listening to the irate caller on the telephone, Captain Carl Sanders, the commander of the police force in Mesa, Arizona, banged the phone down angrily in its cradle, and then with the furrows in his brow deepening he fixed his eyes sharply on Jeff Conradi and Tom Eager, the detectives he had summoned to his office earlier that morning, and said, "I wish those asinine Pickle Ball players would grow up. Every time one of them loses a match they take out their frustration on their spouses, or hook-ups, or whatever the hell their love-connections are called these days, and then what we have is another case of domestic violence on our hands." He was quiet a moment and then he said, "If it were up to me I'd have that stupid game outlawed in this country because I'm certain that one of these days some idiotic Pickle Ball player is going to get so riled up losing a match that he'll end up murdering his opponent."
Chuckling, Jeff said, "Come on now, Captain, you know better than that. From what I've heard the game's not only fun to play but a great way for some of those old codgers to get the exercise they need. As a matter of fact, if I wasn't as busy as I am trying to keep the riff-raff off the streets, I'd be out there playing Pickle Ball myself because I heard that's a great way to meet broads.” He winked at his partner and said, "Isn't that right. Tom?"
"I don't know about that," Tom said seriously, "because that's where I met Loralee."
"Having been taken by surprise the captain said, "Good God, Tom, I didn't know you played that stupid game?"
"I don't captain; since I'm Jeff's partner I also don't have time to get involved in that sport...but I heard so much about Pickle Ball that I went to see a match, which was held at the Townsend Estate and that's where I met the beautiful young lady that I'm now going steady with and hope to marry one day I might add." Raising his voice somewhat he said, "I know Jeff was just pulling my leg about her but I'll have you know, captain, that although Loralee's a hard-core Pickle Ball player, she's no broad."
"All right you guys, enough of your joshing, now let's get serious." The captain got up from his desk and standing in front of the detectives, he said sternly, "I called you guys here because one of the calls I got this morning sounded ominous. The woman said that her lover was slapping her around and threatening her with a gun. So I want you guys to go check it out. And I mean…”
"Was it another Pickle Ball player that called?" Jeff said with tongue in cheek, interrupting the captain.
"Who the hell else would be calling me these days? Of course, it was a Pickle Ball player that called! And, of course, it was another case of domestic violence! The woman who called is Kris Deangelis, and she sounded angry enough to commit murder. However, what bothered me about the call and the reason I'm leery about it was because Miss Deangelis has called me several times over the years complaining about domestic violence; also what's riled me up was that the call didn't go through 911 as it should have but came through on my office number. If I discover who the idiot was who put her through on my line you can bet he'll soon be walking a beat." He paused a moment and then he added, "Miss Deangelis didn't say what her marital status was or whether she's just hooked up with somebody, but she sounded tough like a woman who doesn't put up with any nonsense." As he gave the detectives Miss Deangelis' address, he said, "I told her I would be dispatching two of my detectives to her home...so get over there on the double and calm her down and, if it's at all possible, for God's sakes get her to stop playing that stupid game because I'm positive that's what has caused the squabble she's having with her lover."
Chuckling, the detectives said, "Yes sir," and as they were leaving his office they saw the captain shake his head sadly and exclaim, "Pickle Ball! God help us! What's this country coming to?"
The celebrated Flea Market in Barcelona, Spain has always intrigued me. I never fail to spend an afternoon or two there whenever I visit that lovely country. I enjoy finding some obsolete ‘thing’ and haggling over its price. In 1955 when I was there I found an old, discarded diary that was ready for the scrap pile. The sensuous notations in it were made by a young woman over the period of two years from June, 1951 to July 1953. I felt like a voyeur reading it by the day=too]day memorials in it were so intriguing that I was compelled to write a story about her, which it did. I called it, ‘The Pajara’, the little bird.
I fell in love while writing that story, not with the attractive protagonist in it – although she was an exciting personality – but with the ‘writing’ as I engaged in the literary composition of the story. I did nothing since then by write, write, write, and I loved every minute of it.
I’ve written over a dozen murder mysteries; a collection of 30 short stories; four theatrical plays, one of them for youngsters; three children’s books; two stories about cats; two movie scripts; and two half-hour television programs. I’ve also written a humorous novel answering Ms. Eve Ensler’s respected ‘The Vagina Monologues’, which I’ve called ‘The Penis Monologues’. And now, as I’m preparing to celebrate my 88th birthday and with my creative juices still flowing nicely, I’m still writing.
I thank you for reading some of the stories that I have submitted to Barnes and Noble for the Nook and hope you continue to do so.