FF (October 2011) Q. Kelly - Miss Lucy Parker and Other Short Stories

Seven short stories are in this compilation. The lead story is "Miss Lucy Parker."

"Miss Lucy Parker": Miss Lucy Parker is a prim, proper elderly lady. When a Volkswagen Beetle—the new kind, and pink—PINK!—turns onto the winding road that leads to Lucy's farmhouse, Lucy is sure the car's occupants are lost. And that the car probably contains hippies, because hippies drive Volkswagen Beetles. Lucy plans to tell the hippies to get lost. She has no need for their odd speech, beads and marijuana aroma. Except hippies are not in the car. A woman is, a woman wearing a short, blood-red dress that hugs her body. Thus begins Lucy Parker's great adventure.

"A Weird Situation": Karen does not believe her boyfriend when he tells her that he turns into a woman for seven hours every day.

"The Interview": The person interviewing Debby has a giant booger. Should she tell him and risk not getting the job?

"First Day at Work": A security guard's first day at a bank has repercussions for him and three workers.

"Every Day": A man struggles every day to follow through on a promise to himself.

"The Doctor": A doctor salivates at the prospect of delivering bad news to a twelve-year-old girl and her mother.

"Guardian Angel": Gabriel fancies himself a guardian angel. But is he really?.

If you like any of these book, support the author by buying it.


Sample

Miss Lucy Parker

Miss Lucy Parker was sitting on her front porch when a Volkswagen Beetle—the new kind, and pink—PINK!—turned onto the winding road that led to Lucy's farmhouse. Lucy frowned. There are pink Beetles? She did not like Volkswagen Beetles. Hippies and their ilk drove Beetles. What was wrong with a good, sturdy American car? Lucy let her needlework drop onto her lap. She adjusted her spectacles. Seemed like the Beetle was heading for her house. What in the world?
Someone was lost. That was it. Because hippie cars, much less pink cars—PINK!—rarely showed up in them parts. Lucy scowled at the prospect of visitors. The house was dusty, and she had neglected her grocery shopping. Well, she just would not invite these people in, whoever they were. She’d tell them to get lost, and they would get on their way. She would do it nicely, of course. Miss Lucy Parker was a proper lady. She would overlook her visitors' hippie beads, headbands, their weird way of talking and their aroma of marijuana.
Lucy checked that every strand of her hair was secure in the severe bun she’d fashioned that morning. Lucy was proud of her hair, which was a lovely soft, smooth silver. After her inspection, she could not help but survey the liver spots on her hands. The spots were brown and ugly. Some liver spots, on other people, did not look too bad. They blended in. Lucy's liver spots were so visible, so brown, so misshapen, she sometimes wondered if they took delight in taunting her. One liver spot had the audacity to look like the devil, complete with two horns protruding from its head.
The pink monstrosity turned into Lucy’s driveway, and Lucy struggled to make out its occupants. However, her failing eyes, even with the spectacles, were no match for the tinted windows. Lucy laid her needlework on a side table, but she slipped the needle into her dress pocket. Just in case. These hippies could be robbers or worse. Lucy braced herself for the inevitable exertion that would come with lifting herself out of her chair.
Hands on armrests. Push. Pain pain pain.
Get knees and legs to cooperate. Pain pain pain.
Lucy's body ached all over, screaming with every tiny move. Not for the first time, Lucy found herself looking forward to the time when she wouldn’t be in such excruciating agony.
Death.
Death would liberate her.
Success. Lucy had risen from the chair, although she was breathing heavily. Oddly, however, her pain was gone. She would contemplate the issue later. First she had to deal with hippies. Lucy straightened her dress and waited for the hippies to show themselves.
The driver’s-side door swung open, and a lithe, slender woman with curves in all the right places slithered out.
"Oh my Lord," Lucy whispered. Her heart clenched at the shameful debauchery before her.
The woman flashed a brilliant white smile framed by blood-red lips. A short, tight, equally blood-red dress hugged her body, and impossibly high golden heels adorned her feet. Late-afternoon sunshine pierced the visitor’s giant hoop earrings, and Lucy was momentarily blinded. When she could see again, the clash of the car's pink and the woman's red made her wish she was blind again. The woman had red hair, wavy, unnaturally shaded red hair down to mid-back.
The visitor threw Lucy an enthusiastic wave, displaying two sets of fiery red fingernails. The shameful debauchery sauntered up the sidewalk and up the porch. She tossed back her hair.
"Hello, Lucy Parker," she purred. She had black eyes, black, black eyes, and she fastened her glittering gaze on Lucy.
Lucy's horror grew. This was impossible. This couldn’t be. No sensible person would dress like this and bat her eyelashes like this at some old codger. Lucy shifted her gaze back to the car. Something, or someone, was in the back seat. Gradually, a recognizable shape formed through the windows.
Lucy was looking at the crumpled, pudgy figure of ten-year-old Bobby Smythe from the next farm over. She was not at all fond of the mischievous, spoiled towhead. And now he was with this ill-mannered woman. This woman must be a Smythe, albeit a Smythe from the city. She certainly was as ill-mannered as the rest of them.
"What do you want?" Lucy made sure disapproval shaded her voice.
"Oh, no, no," the visitor said, and bemusement danced in her eyes. "I’m here to help you."
"Me?"
The woman winked. "You ask for my help all the time. You are quite tiresome, to tell you the truth."
Lucy could not believe the woman’s nerve. "Leave!" she snapped.
The woman frowned, and her black eyes morphed into slits. "That’s no way to treat a visitor. Why, only a few minutes ago, you wished for me as you struggled to get out of that chair. You wish for me at holidays because you’re alone. A spinster, never married, no family, friends all dead. You’re a lonely, feeble old bird who loves no one and is loved by no one."
Indignation swelled in Lucy. Just like a Smythe, this woman was. "Did Bobby put you up to this?"
The visitor cast a glance at the slumped boy in the car. "Bobby went a few moments before you did. Tractor accident."
"Went? Accident?"
The visitor’s horrible red lips opened in a gasp. "Goodness! I never did introduce myself properly, did I? Forgive my manners." She held out a hand. "I’m Death. You can call me Death. It’s nice to meet you. Oh, by the way, you’re dead."
Lucy had gotten mad, truly mad, only two times in her life. The first time was when she was twelve years old and a hunter accidentally killed her dog. So what if it was an accident? A hunter should know better, and Walter would never be back. Now, that Walter was a dog to be proud of. He was well mannered. Respectful. He was no hippie dog. He carried himself with pride and dignity. He comforted her when she needed comforting. He was a chocolate lab and the only dog she'd had. The only dog she'd needed.
The second time she got mad was when—well, Lucy would not think about that.
Now she had been mad three times. Rage threatened to take over the skin and bones that comprised her body. This prank was uncalled for!
"Turn around, Lucy Parker," the visitor ordered. "Turn around and look at your chair."
Lucy did not want to turn around. But the visitor’s unnatural eyes bored into Lucy as if probing her very soul. Lucy Parker turned, little, shuffling old step after little shuffling old step until finally, she faced the chair. She was looking at herself. She was slumped and still, but on her faded lips was a little smile. Her eyes were closed.
"Ohhh..." Lucy keened. It couldn’t be. How could it be? She, Lucy, was standing, alive and breathing. But then who was in the chair?
"You didn’t suffer. It was peaceful. Heart attack."
Lucy forced her gaze downward, to her wrinkled and spotted hands, to her faded, loose dress. She pinched herself. The pinch hurt. Trick of her mind? But she was solid. But the evidence in front of her was unmistakable. "I didn’t mean it," Lucy whimpered. "Honest, I didn’t. I take it back!"
Death chuckled. "Too late. No can undo what’s done."
"This is a cruel joke. You're a tramp. You're not the Grim Reaper. Look at your car, for goodness' sakes!"
Death's lips twisted in amusement. "Let’s go. I have a lot to accomplish today, Lucy Parker."
"I am not going anywhere."
Death sighed. "Look, don’t be frightened. Come with me. You’ll be reunited with your parents."
Lucy bit her lip. She had not thought about her mother and father in years. Actually, she’d never known her mother, who had died giving birth to her. Her father had quickly remarried, and it was his new wife Lucy had called Mother. Lucy never liked her. Never liked her father either, for that matter. Lucy's biological mother used to occupy her thoughts a lot. What did she look like, what things did she enjoy? Her father had refused to talk about his first wife, instead favoring the virtues of "moving on."
"Well?" Death’s impatient voice broke Lucy’s thoughts.
Lucy stole another glance at the old woman in the chair. That’s me. I’m dead.
Lucy stiffened. No, she wasn’t going to do this. She was going to die on her own terms, when she was right and ready. She wasn’t going to let this red harlot of a devil take her. Lucy Adela Parker had too much dignity to ride in a pink hippie car.
"Hey, lady," Lucy said. "I’m not going anywhere."