Chapter 6

Undersired dreams Part Two

Issabella arrived at The Temple of the Smoothie. Raskal stood in the door, smiling and waving like a baboon waiting for a banana. He was a master. Long ago, an apprentice turned wizard who learned the magical alchemy of fruits, yogurt and a blender. A consummate professional. However, the huge lemongrass stain on the front of his apron spoke otherwise. 

“You look like you were humping the Grinch.”

“You tease me Izzy.” His fingers nervously tapped. “I need you to remove that beast from my music maker.”

The jukebox was still playing the same music from the night before.

“Good lord has Dancing with myself been going all night?” She questioned.

“Yes, thankfully.”

“What time is the inspector coming?”

“In an hour. But I’m not supposed to know that.”

“How do y—”

Issabella watched as Raskal’s frown line deepened between his eyebrows. Then his hand went up, like a window shutter to one side of his mouth.

“We have a network. The smoothie network, we watch out for each other.” He balled up his fist, then stowed it into his pocket with the satisfaction of a well-hidden communique.

“So we only have an hour, we will need the jumper cables again.”

Raskal brought them out immediately from under his apron.

“Were you wearing those?”

“No, I teleported them to my pants just before I brought them out.”

“I see…”

Issabella didn’t see, but she knew her friend Raskal had been training himself in the art of teleportation. She turned and walked toward the machine, accepting his folly with a grain of salt. “Hey, by the way, this might really suck. Getting demons out of electronics is a bitch.” 

Raskal watched as the huntress reverse-clamped the red and black alligators to small charms on her purse handles. Then the other ends went up inside the glass dome of the jukebox and down to the posts by the coil.

“You want to ground yourself Raskal, grab something metal, or something that goes down to the earth. Like that water pipe.” She pointed to a copper tube by the wall.

Raskal quickly grabbed it as if preparing for a bad ride on a subway. He watched Issabella as she climbed on top of the jukebox. Once atop, legs apart and purse held tight, arms dramatically outstretched. Issabella knew when to take advantage of the hero pose. “Push the button!” She yelled, and a sudden crackle of lightening conveniently accentuated her command.

“That was impressive,” Raskal thought… till a small storm began agitating through the smoothie bar. “What the hell is going on? Why is there a storm in my establishment!”

“Because this pisses off mother nature!” She hollered down from the music machine.

“Why are you pissing off mother nature in my smoothie bar!”

“Because it’s not natural! She’s trying to cleanse it away!”

“Oh my god…” He sighed in only the way a small business owner can when they think about their insurance policy coverage.

“It will be over soon! Now you have to push the button!” Issabella hollered from atop the jukebox as the wind roiled around them.

“I cannot hold the pipe and push the button!” 

“OK! Wait! Grab the sink sprayer! It has a metal hose! You might stretch over here!”

“I am supposed to be touching the earth!”

“You are still touching the earth! Now grab YOUR DAMN HOSE and get over here!”

Quickly, Raskal let go of the pipe and snatched the spray nozzle from the sink.

“Good! Now GET over here!”

“I am coming!” He plodded through the bar like a chimpanzee trying to pull a snake from a hole. “What button am I supposed to push?!” 

“It doesn’t matter!” She hollered through the storm and raised the purse higher. “It will kick-start the cycle!”

He could hear her voice as a stack of smoothie cups blew over and a sign whipped from the window behind him. Raskal’s finger fell fast and hard on button forty-three and the room lighting convulsed.

“Et Oblinito Daemonium!” Issabella yelled and the power grew. “Et Oblinito Dameonium!” She commanded again, revving the force to equilibrium. The energy danced like a serpent of crackling electricity, reborn alive and snapping irritably. Suddenly the old song “Let’s Twist Again” wound up to speed and towered through the speaker. “Et Oblinito Dameonium!” Issabella hollered again and another powerful gust reignited and blew through the bar like wildfire. In the corner, Gunther’s tank rocked dangerously and spit regurgitated air.

“Let’s twist again… like we did last summer.” 

Issabella held her breath tight, then finally, once more. “Et Oblinito Dameonium!” Her bidding echoed and boomed, ricocheting from the windows and walls, only to be engulfed by the lurid gale as the music played on.

“Heeeee a round and round and up and down we gooooo again.”

But her words were powerful. They continued to wrangle, trapped inside, but fighting, pissed, then drawing back for a punch so mighty, it exploded through the tempest… ten-fold.

“Et Oblinito Dameoniuuummmm!!”

Her command was final and the building rocked.

“Oh, baby make me know! You love me soooo… and then… Twist again, like we did last summer…”

A moment later, there was a change. She could feel it. “I think it’s working!” She shouted as the power cables jumped and squirmed while the demon’s energy ripped through them.

There was a horrible shrill scream.

A moment later, all was done. The storm had passed. There was nothing more than a small, neat, self-contained implosion as Issabella’s purse sealed itself shut, smugly.

The power stabilized and the bar lighting returned to normal.

Raskal finished screaming. He lay on the floor, paralyzed in fear. The sprayer nozzle still in one hand, locked tight and shooting a stream of aerated water straight into the air like a fountain.

“Raskal! Get up! It is over!” She climbed down from the jukebox and came to his aid. “There! Your demon is gone.” She looked down as his body remained frozen, mouth ajar. “Raskal!”

His face was still but his eyes followed her.

“Raskal!” She slapped him hard on the cheek.

“I am here!” He bellowed. “Why you slapping me!”

“Because you didn’t respond! Are you all right?”

He didn’t answer. It made her uncomfortable. At that moment Raskal realized the demon had gone, and soon his establishment would return to normal. His mind danced and he broke out in song. “Come on, lets twist again, like we twist last year, come on and twist again…twisted time is here…” He was not a singer, further worsened in supine position and crooning to the ceiling.

She thought of slapping him again. “Raskal, Raskal… where did you go for a moment there?”

“I am right here Izzy. I didn’t teleport.” He smiled.

“Why don’t I teleport you off the floor and help you clean this place.” She laughed.

“Oh no…” He winced. “I am able t—”

She hoisted him up to his feet. “You are the smoothie god. We can’t let anything happen to you.”

“I could have teleported myself up.”

“You better save your secret power… are you all right?”

“Raskal is fine. I shall show you my teleportation skill.”

“No-no, you need t—”

“Hey look at that!” His eyes grew wide, and he dramatically pointed to the window. Issabella turned to glare at the empty glass pane, thinking the building inspector had come early.

Quietly, Raskal stepped two feet to the right.

Later in the morning, there was a commotion at the church. Women screamed, and the pastor yelled. Right in the middle of pancake Sunday. Issabella could hear it from the street outside as she walked home. Mr. Thompson was being chased out of the chapel, buck naked, a lipstick circle drawn around his cock. Apparently, flapjacks and nudity do not mix.

She giggled and continued up Tater Street. It was still early. Too early, and the corner girls still worked. Tater Street, full of sloppy Joes and sloppy hoes. Men with money, and women who want it. Where there was demand, there would always be a supply. Much like her job. She realized it wasn’t so different from the tarts of Tater Street; only a different class, actually a different species. “Well, fuck.” At least her men were not ordinary. Issabella was fully self-aware. She wasn’t doing this for sexual gratification alone. She was different. She was a red balloon in a field of green. A field of green… her mind wandered. A small cottage, surrounded by a picket fence. Where was her man? Like those young men with a pocket full of coin and their hearts on their sleeves. Or rather, their libido on their brain. But none the less, they desired… they received. Perhaps these ordinary mortals had it right after all. Where was her funky-hunk of burning domesticated love? He didn’t exist. No… he existed somewhere. Perhaps, after this wild adventure was over, surely he would be there. Like a giant puppy dog, waiting, tall with broad shoulders. He would have long hair. He would drink from the same smoothie glass as her. Now that was fucking romance. They would both wear matching sweaters at Christmas. They would walk hand in hand down the long shore-line of life; again—while wearing sweaters and sharing a smoothie. Her imaginary world grew in her head, till it got so big that it suddenly burst like a big red balloon—by Thompson. Thompson abruptly raced through it as being chased by an angry congregation. The Tater tarts clapped and hollered as he ran up the street and continued to Shampoo Ave.

Back home at last. Issabella had just closed the door only to find Hunsy wearing one of her bathrobes. Well, trying to wear. He had draped it around his shoulders like a cape. The ogre had curled up on the couch, eating raisins and still watching the Hallsmark Channel.

“Fuck me…” She looked at Hunsy, stunned, then giggled. “Move your ass over, I’m sitting down. After, I put my jammies on.”

“Izzabella? What am I watching?” His large slow voice rolled through the apartment.

“Love Under the Ranch Moon. A classic. I’ll be right back.”

A few minutes later, she joined him on the couch, with comfortable jammies, a blanket, and a bag of popcorn.

“Wat are those small crunchy things Izzabella has?”

“It’s called Popcorn.”

“Hunsy try some.” The ogre shoved a handful into his mouth like a shovel packing snow into a box. “Hunsy like. Hunsy really like.” He grabbed another handful.

“You have to share!”—She slapped his hand and popcorn rained down on Hunsy’s face. Issabella laughed.

“Hunsy will share popped-corn with mean girl.” His attention turned back to the Hallsmark movie.

“I don’t get it?” He spoke like rocks belching.

“You don’t get what?”

“First she was mad at him, then she talked to her friend, now she likes him. But he didn’t like her. Then he saw her at a bookstore, and he was confused. Then he buy’d her ranch and saved that baby pig, and then they got married.” There was a long pause of thought, till finally, it spoke again. “Hunsy would have eaten pig. Yummy pig.”

“I’ll explain it to you later. Open your shirt and let me lay on your chest. By the way, this doesn’t mean anything. I need something to lay on.”

Hunsy drew the towel down his muscular thighs. “Izzabella can lay on Hunsy’s cock.”

“Easy big fellow. I’m relaxing.”

He started to pull the terrycloth back up to cover himself. Her hand swiftly intervened.

“Hey. It doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy the view. Touch yourself for me?”

Another movie came on and Issabella settled in. Admittedly, something big blocked her view for the first fifteen minutes. But soon after, stereoscope became wide screen perfection. This strange beast wasn’t so bad after all. He even smelled good. As mid-morning turned into the afternoon, a gentle rain pelted the windows outside. She drowsed off; her head, and a trail of popcorn littered across Hunsy’s big chest. This time, no hell-mouth pizza-oven with sexy dancing male demons, and… no weird scary monsters in white face paint. Only sleep. Delightful sleep.