Mrs. Jones-McGillicuddy coughed again and then croaked, "Myrtle, there is something you must know."
Myrtle leaned closer, determined to catch every word. Excitement enveloped her - maybe now she would finally learn the secret that had haunted her all her life. "Yes, mother?" she said.
"Myrtle, darling," her mother wheezed, "you are not a Jones."
Myrtle sat in stunned silence for a moment. "You mean I'm a bastard?" she asked. She felt a small seed of joy begin to grow inside of her. All these years, her father - her bastard father - was not really her father.
"No no no, don't be stupid," her mother said. She began hacking uncontrollably.
Five minutes later, after Myrtle had brought in a new box of kleenex, her mother continued.
"No, your father is your father," she said. Myrtle felt a little deflated. "But his last name isn't Jones. It's Johnson."
"Johnson?"
"That's what I said, weren't you listening? Or am I talking to a brick wall here?"
"No, I just - I heard you, I just - Johnson? Then why Jones?"
"Because your father couldn't spell."
"Couldn't spell?"
"Jesus, Myrtle, would you listen? I'm dying here, I've only got enough breath to tell this story once."
"Sorry. Okay. So he couldn't spell? But he was a famous lawyer! I mean, before the accident."
"Yeah yeah, lawyer schmawyer. Do you think lawyers do anything? Jesus, get your head out of your ass, kid. They got people that do all their work."
"Paralegals?"
"Paralegals? Oh my god." Myrtle's mother's laughter quickly turned into another fit of coughing. After she had recovered, Mrs. Jones-McGillicuddy said, "Paralegals are too dumb to wipe their own ass. No, I'm talking about secretaries. Legal secretaries. They're the ones that do all the work."
Myrtle was quiet for a minute. Finally she murmured, "My father, what a great man to have risen above illiteracy, to have achieved what he achieved being unable to read or write."
"Myrtle, christ, he wasn't illiterate. He could read, he just didn't spell. He always got bored after a few letters. So his last name, he'd just write the J and the O, and people just filled in the rest."
"Good thing his first name was Al," Myrtle said.
They laughed. Then Myrtle said, "So I'm really Myrtle B. Johnson? Wow. Johnson. Johnson as in Johnsonville?"
"Yup. The town you grew up in was named after your great-grandpappy."
"Johnson as in Buck Johnson, the boy I dated for two years in high school? The boy I nearly married?"
"Yup. He was your first cousin."
"Mother! Mother, why didn't you tell me? I nearly married my first cousin!"
"Nearly, honey child, nearly. No harm done."
"Mother, I could kill you!"
"Too bad I'm already dying." The two dissolved into laughter, upon which Myrtle's mother started choking. Five minutes later she was dead.
Five months later, the prosecuting attorney repeated his question. "I said, what were your last words to your mother?"
Myrtle glanced around nervously. Sweat trickled down her forehead.
"I said -," she began, then cleared her throat. "I said, 'Mother, I could kill you'."
The courtroom gasped.
Myrtle and the Anchoress
"You have to say the rites as you wall me in," Taffy said.
"How can I read and brick at the same time?" Myrtle said.
Taffy rolled her eyes. "One-handed," she said. "And hurry up. I'm getting cold."
Myrtle held the book in her right hand and continued building the wall with her left. She looked at the pages and squinted. "How can I read this? These aren't even letters. What's this weird half-P thing?"
"Thorn," Taffy said. "Don't you have any imagination at all? It's thorn!" She rolled her eyes again.
"Thorn, okay, great," Myrtle said. She began reading the enclosure rites, making up sounds for the characters she didn't know, all the while trying to smooth out globs of mortar with a stick. Taffy knelt on the forest floor and closed her eyes.
"Hurry up," she said a few minutes later. "My knees are hurting. And don't forget to make the window big enough and low enough for me to climb out of."
"You can't climb out," Myrtle said. "You're not supposed to ever leave your enclosure. I just gave you Last Rites. You're supposed to die in there."
Taffy smiled. "You lay people are so sweet," she said. "You really think we actually stay in our enclosures without ever leaving for the rest of our lives?"
"Isn't that the whole point?" Myrtle said. "And anyway, you're a lay person yourself."
Taffy stopped smiling and narrowed her eyes. "Don't forget to build the servant's quarters for yourself. And remember, it should only be like half the size of my place."
That first night Myrtle fell into an exhausted sleep in her half-finished room. The second night she was kept awake by the hoots and hollers of the raucous revelers in Taffy's cell. The third night she was awakened by a siren and flashing lights.
"Oh my god!" Taffy was yelling. "Everybody out! We're being raided! Run for your lives!"
Myrtle squeezed herself out of the hole in her wall and ran blindly through the woods. Not fifty yards from the anchorhold, she tripped and fell. She crawled next to a fallen log and hid behind it, listening.
"What in the sam hell is this?" a man said.
"Looks like some kind of orgy house," another man said.
"Orgy house? Come on, Sam, you think them little girls is having orgies in the woods? They're just 13 years old."
"They're 13-year-old armed bank robbers."
"I guess."
A third man joined the conversation. "They certainly aren't ordinary 13-year-old girls, and this certainly isn't an orgy house."
"What do you think it is, detective?"
"I don't know. But remember who we're dealing with: Taffy Black, a reclusive genius and expert on medieval religion, horticulture, and endocrinology. And Myrtle B. Jones, heiress to the largest artificial flower fortune this side of the Mississippi and the youngest certified architect this state has seen in over one hundred years. Together, these two little girls are responsible for three explosions, five carjackings, the introduction of black tar heroin to Johnsonville, armed robbery, and blackmail, all in the last two weeks."
"What are you saying, Bob?"
"What I'm saying is, we're dealing with two criminal masterminds. Two dangerous criminal masterminds."
"How can I read and brick at the same time?" Myrtle said.
Taffy rolled her eyes. "One-handed," she said. "And hurry up. I'm getting cold."
Myrtle held the book in her right hand and continued building the wall with her left. She looked at the pages and squinted. "How can I read this? These aren't even letters. What's this weird half-P thing?"
"Thorn," Taffy said. "Don't you have any imagination at all? It's thorn!" She rolled her eyes again.
"Thorn, okay, great," Myrtle said. She began reading the enclosure rites, making up sounds for the characters she didn't know, all the while trying to smooth out globs of mortar with a stick. Taffy knelt on the forest floor and closed her eyes.
"Hurry up," she said a few minutes later. "My knees are hurting. And don't forget to make the window big enough and low enough for me to climb out of."
"You can't climb out," Myrtle said. "You're not supposed to ever leave your enclosure. I just gave you Last Rites. You're supposed to die in there."
Taffy smiled. "You lay people are so sweet," she said. "You really think we actually stay in our enclosures without ever leaving for the rest of our lives?"
"Isn't that the whole point?" Myrtle said. "And anyway, you're a lay person yourself."
Taffy stopped smiling and narrowed her eyes. "Don't forget to build the servant's quarters for yourself. And remember, it should only be like half the size of my place."
That first night Myrtle fell into an exhausted sleep in her half-finished room. The second night she was kept awake by the hoots and hollers of the raucous revelers in Taffy's cell. The third night she was awakened by a siren and flashing lights.
"Oh my god!" Taffy was yelling. "Everybody out! We're being raided! Run for your lives!"
Myrtle squeezed herself out of the hole in her wall and ran blindly through the woods. Not fifty yards from the anchorhold, she tripped and fell. She crawled next to a fallen log and hid behind it, listening.
"What in the sam hell is this?" a man said.
"Looks like some kind of orgy house," another man said.
"Orgy house? Come on, Sam, you think them little girls is having orgies in the woods? They're just 13 years old."
"They're 13-year-old armed bank robbers."
"I guess."
A third man joined the conversation. "They certainly aren't ordinary 13-year-old girls, and this certainly isn't an orgy house."
"What do you think it is, detective?"
"I don't know. But remember who we're dealing with: Taffy Black, a reclusive genius and expert on medieval religion, horticulture, and endocrinology. And Myrtle B. Jones, heiress to the largest artificial flower fortune this side of the Mississippi and the youngest certified architect this state has seen in over one hundred years. Together, these two little girls are responsible for three explosions, five carjackings, the introduction of black tar heroin to Johnsonville, armed robbery, and blackmail, all in the last two weeks."
"What are you saying, Bob?"
"What I'm saying is, we're dealing with two criminal masterminds. Two dangerous criminal masterminds."
The Winter Cometh
The season had turned, the weather had broken, the chill in the air was no longer ignorable. Taffy shivered and pulled the hood of her parka over her head. Myrtle added some more twigs to the fire.
"Yup," Myrtle said, smacking her lips. "Yup."
"What?" Taffy said.
Myrtle didn't seem to be paying attention anymore.
"Yup what?" Taffy said louder.
Myrtle snapped out of it. "Yup, yup, I've done some things in my life I have, yup."
"What are you talking about?" Taffy said with a sneer.
Myrtle stirred her beans contemplatively for a minute or two, and then began to speak.
"Yup, I've done some things in my life I have, yup. I've seen some things, I've got some stories to tell."
"Oh jesus, Myrtle, come on. Don't start this again."
"Taffy, come on, just listen to me."
"You're not thinking about movie scripts again, are you?"
Myrtle said nothing. She stared at the flames.
"Don't you remember how this turned out last time?" Taffy said. "Myrtle, answer me!"
"Oh Taffy," Myrtle said. "It won't be like that again. I'm sure we've all grown up a bit, changed, learned things."
Taffy snorted.
"Besides, listen to this, seriously. It's so good. Okay, so you start out, big city, there's this businessman in a suit, works in a downtown highrise. It's the end of the day, he takes the elevator down. Everything seems normal, but then he becomes aware of someone pursuing him, another man in a suit. He walks down the sidewalk, quicker and quicker. The man follows. He gets on the back of a crowded bus, the man does too. He tries to fight his way to the front of the bus, he gets off, he starts running. The man is behind him. He runs, the man runs. He gets in a cab, the man gets in cab right behind him. Cab chase, ending in a spectacular fiery crash, from which the man escapes unscathed. So does the other man. Our guy runs, makes it to the shore, finds a raceboat with the keys in, races away. BUT SO DOES THE OTHER MAN. A water pursuit ensues. In the background we start noticing other boat chases going on, helicopters, crashes, things like that. The man gets across the body of water to where he lives, the suburbs, gets to his house, and it turns out the man pursuing him was his neighbor. The neighbor goes to his own house. Normal commute home. Turns out, everyone's doing this, pretending they're in movies, you know? Like, it's this comment on the bullshit of modern-day life. Like, our jobs are bullshit, the movies we watch are bullshit, you know? You know? Like what if everyone decided to live like a movie, you know? Modern-day life. Suburbia. You know?"
"God, Myrtle, that's just idiotic," Taffy said. "I'm bored just thinking about it."
"What's wrong with it?" Myrtle protested. "I think it's funny. You know, like a spoof on action movies, you know?"
"God," Taffy said.
"I got the idea watching Face-Off."
"Nicholas Cage makes me want to puke."
"Me too," Myrtle said. "Okay okay, if you don't like that, how about a movie set, like, fifty, sixty years from now, with like old people talking modern-day slang. Like us in fifty years talking like we do now."
Taffy made a grunting noise, then said, "Ugh."
"Come on, Taffy, tell me what's wrong with these ideas," Myrtle said. She was getting whiny, so Taffy complied.
"Myrtle, first of all, you have absolutely no plot. You just have maybe a setting, you have a detail, and you can't make an entire movie out of that. What's the actual plot? You know? You can't expect anyone to want to make a movie about nothing, can you?"
"I suppose not," Myrtle said sullenly. "But I can work on the plotlines."
"And that's the other thing, Myrtle," Taffy said, annoyed. "You're sitting here heating up pork and beans in a billy can over a campfire. When's the last time you took a shower? When's the last time you washed your clothes? Myrtle, you're destitute! Look at yourself! You think you're going to be a screenwriter? Seriously?"
"No, I'm sure," Myrtle laughed. "I was just kidding."
"Good," Taffy said. "Don't kid again. Okay, Myrtle, I need to get going. I have to get ready for my pedicure."
Taffy went home and began typing. Ninety-two hours later she emerged with the scripts to what would become her second and third summer blockbusters, one of which would win her an Academy Award.
"Yup," Myrtle said, smacking her lips. "Yup."
"What?" Taffy said.
Myrtle didn't seem to be paying attention anymore.
"Yup what?" Taffy said louder.
Myrtle snapped out of it. "Yup, yup, I've done some things in my life I have, yup."
"What are you talking about?" Taffy said with a sneer.
Myrtle stirred her beans contemplatively for a minute or two, and then began to speak.
"Yup, I've done some things in my life I have, yup. I've seen some things, I've got some stories to tell."
"Oh jesus, Myrtle, come on. Don't start this again."
"Taffy, come on, just listen to me."
"You're not thinking about movie scripts again, are you?"
Myrtle said nothing. She stared at the flames.
"Don't you remember how this turned out last time?" Taffy said. "Myrtle, answer me!"
"Oh Taffy," Myrtle said. "It won't be like that again. I'm sure we've all grown up a bit, changed, learned things."
Taffy snorted.
"Besides, listen to this, seriously. It's so good. Okay, so you start out, big city, there's this businessman in a suit, works in a downtown highrise. It's the end of the day, he takes the elevator down. Everything seems normal, but then he becomes aware of someone pursuing him, another man in a suit. He walks down the sidewalk, quicker and quicker. The man follows. He gets on the back of a crowded bus, the man does too. He tries to fight his way to the front of the bus, he gets off, he starts running. The man is behind him. He runs, the man runs. He gets in a cab, the man gets in cab right behind him. Cab chase, ending in a spectacular fiery crash, from which the man escapes unscathed. So does the other man. Our guy runs, makes it to the shore, finds a raceboat with the keys in, races away. BUT SO DOES THE OTHER MAN. A water pursuit ensues. In the background we start noticing other boat chases going on, helicopters, crashes, things like that. The man gets across the body of water to where he lives, the suburbs, gets to his house, and it turns out the man pursuing him was his neighbor. The neighbor goes to his own house. Normal commute home. Turns out, everyone's doing this, pretending they're in movies, you know? Like, it's this comment on the bullshit of modern-day life. Like, our jobs are bullshit, the movies we watch are bullshit, you know? You know? Like what if everyone decided to live like a movie, you know? Modern-day life. Suburbia. You know?"
"God, Myrtle, that's just idiotic," Taffy said. "I'm bored just thinking about it."
"What's wrong with it?" Myrtle protested. "I think it's funny. You know, like a spoof on action movies, you know?"
"God," Taffy said.
"I got the idea watching Face-Off."
"Nicholas Cage makes me want to puke."
"Me too," Myrtle said. "Okay okay, if you don't like that, how about a movie set, like, fifty, sixty years from now, with like old people talking modern-day slang. Like us in fifty years talking like we do now."
Taffy made a grunting noise, then said, "Ugh."
"Come on, Taffy, tell me what's wrong with these ideas," Myrtle said. She was getting whiny, so Taffy complied.
"Myrtle, first of all, you have absolutely no plot. You just have maybe a setting, you have a detail, and you can't make an entire movie out of that. What's the actual plot? You know? You can't expect anyone to want to make a movie about nothing, can you?"
"I suppose not," Myrtle said sullenly. "But I can work on the plotlines."
"And that's the other thing, Myrtle," Taffy said, annoyed. "You're sitting here heating up pork and beans in a billy can over a campfire. When's the last time you took a shower? When's the last time you washed your clothes? Myrtle, you're destitute! Look at yourself! You think you're going to be a screenwriter? Seriously?"
"No, I'm sure," Myrtle laughed. "I was just kidding."
"Good," Taffy said. "Don't kid again. Okay, Myrtle, I need to get going. I have to get ready for my pedicure."
Taffy went home and began typing. Ninety-two hours later she emerged with the scripts to what would become her second and third summer blockbusters, one of which would win her an Academy Award.
Stinking Epidemic
written and directed by Taffy Black
produced by Taffy Black
starring Taffy Black
Taffy: Hey whuts up Chuck.
Chuck: Hey sexy mama you so hott.
Taffy: Yeeeuh.
Chuck: Yeeeuh.
Taffy: I say whuts up Chuck.
Chuck: Nothing man I suspect however that my boss is full of shit yo.
Taffy: Yo whut up with that yo.
Chuck: I don't know man something ain't right he say the epidemic is being spread by underarm deodorant.
Taffy: Deodorant wtf dude.
Chuck: He say whut the one thing everyone use dude think about it
Taffy: True dat man, even in Costa Rica, a Central American country of four million people situated between Panama and Nicaragua, people regularly use underarm deodorant. It makes perfect sense, Chuck. What's your beef with you boss man yo
Chuck: Yes, Taffy, at first I too was in agreement, and I pursued this underarm deodorant theory for months with the relentlessness only a true believer could muster, until one day...
Taffy: Yes, Bill?
Bill: One day... Have you ever ridden the bus, Taffy?
Taffy: Yes, Bill, I rode it all winter. Why? What does this have to do with the price of tea in China?
Billy: The smell, Taffy, the smell! Not everyone wears deodorant!
Taffy: No!
Bill: It's true!
Taffy: Oh say it isn't so, Bill!
Bill: Hold me, Taffy.
(They embrace.)
Bill sends a memo to his boss.
Bill gets shot on the way home from work by masked CDC assassins.
Taffy at Bill's funeral: Damn dude Bill was so hott and now he done die on me man
Myrtle: Yo whuts up with that.
Taffy: His boss man man. Bill find out about the deodorant conspiracy.
Myrtle: Why yes it all makes perfect sense. Bill's boss, Harvey de Cologne, is heir to the greatest perfume fortune in the world
Taffy: Yes and with the advent of modern anti-perspirants...
Myrtle: ... and the wide array of scents we have to choose from these days
Taffy: such as Sun-Kissed Peach, for example
Myrtle: less perfume is used
Taffy: the de Cologne family fortune is shrinking
Myrtle: so what better way to stop that than...
Taffy: move to the United States from the family estate in the perfume country of France, rise to the top of the CDC, spread a deadly virus around the world, and...
Myrtle: frame underarm deodorant for it.
Taffy: People will turn to the bottle and shun the stick.
Myrtle: I know I have.
Taffy: Me too. I stink so bad yo!
Myrtle: You are a goddamn genius Taffy Black
Taffy: Thank you Jones watch out oh no!
Myrtle gets shot and dies.
Taffy: Aww damn man not again. Shucks.
produced by Taffy Black
starring Taffy Black
Taffy: Hey whuts up Chuck.
Chuck: Hey sexy mama you so hott.
Taffy: Yeeeuh.
Chuck: Yeeeuh.
Taffy: I say whuts up Chuck.
Chuck: Nothing man I suspect however that my boss is full of shit yo.
Taffy: Yo whut up with that yo.
Chuck: I don't know man something ain't right he say the epidemic is being spread by underarm deodorant.
Taffy: Deodorant wtf dude.
Chuck: He say whut the one thing everyone use dude think about it
Taffy: True dat man, even in Costa Rica, a Central American country of four million people situated between Panama and Nicaragua, people regularly use underarm deodorant. It makes perfect sense, Chuck. What's your beef with you boss man yo
Chuck: Yes, Taffy, at first I too was in agreement, and I pursued this underarm deodorant theory for months with the relentlessness only a true believer could muster, until one day...
Taffy: Yes, Bill?
Bill: One day... Have you ever ridden the bus, Taffy?
Taffy: Yes, Bill, I rode it all winter. Why? What does this have to do with the price of tea in China?
Billy: The smell, Taffy, the smell! Not everyone wears deodorant!
Taffy: No!
Bill: It's true!
Taffy: Oh say it isn't so, Bill!
Bill: Hold me, Taffy.
(They embrace.)
Bill sends a memo to his boss.
Bill gets shot on the way home from work by masked CDC assassins.
Taffy at Bill's funeral: Damn dude Bill was so hott and now he done die on me man
Myrtle: Yo whuts up with that.
Taffy: His boss man man. Bill find out about the deodorant conspiracy.
Myrtle: Why yes it all makes perfect sense. Bill's boss, Harvey de Cologne, is heir to the greatest perfume fortune in the world
Taffy: Yes and with the advent of modern anti-perspirants...
Myrtle: ... and the wide array of scents we have to choose from these days
Taffy: such as Sun-Kissed Peach, for example
Myrtle: less perfume is used
Taffy: the de Cologne family fortune is shrinking
Myrtle: so what better way to stop that than...
Taffy: move to the United States from the family estate in the perfume country of France, rise to the top of the CDC, spread a deadly virus around the world, and...
Myrtle: frame underarm deodorant for it.
Taffy: People will turn to the bottle and shun the stick.
Myrtle: I know I have.
Taffy: Me too. I stink so bad yo!
Myrtle: You are a goddamn genius Taffy Black
Taffy: Thank you Jones watch out oh no!
Myrtle gets shot and dies.
Taffy: Aww damn man not again. Shucks.
MBJ 5
The rapid clicking of typewriter keys and occasional eruptions of laughter woke Taffy from her drug-induced stupor. She staggered blindly down the hallway to the library.
"Mrffa uwwa uhhhh," she mumbled.
"Good morning, sunshine!" Myrtle said.
"Ahhh rgggah quiet," Taffy mumbled. She finally opened her eyes but had to shield them from the dim library lighting.
"I'm working on my new novel," Myrtle said. "Late night? I heard you come in an hour or so ago. So sorry if I wakened you."
Taffy sat down in a heap on the polished hardwood floor.
"So do you want to know what my book is about?" Myrtle asked her. Taffy said nothing. Her eyes were closed again.
"It's this great thriller about this epidemic going around the world killing all these people, and there's this detective guy who figures out what's spreading it. Do you want to know what's spreading the disease?"
Taffy said nothing.
"Deodorant!"
Taffy said nothing.
"Think about it! What is the one thing everyone uses?"
Taffy said nothing.
"It's deodorant!"
Taffy said nothing, but her eyes were open.
"Well, it's a really great story. The movie will be better than the book, actually."
"Then why don't you just write a screenplay?" Taffy said.
"Taffy, you have no idea about the creative process."
"Maybe not, but I also find your premise troubling. Have you ever ridden a bus? Not everyone uses deodorant. In fact, most people don't."
Myrtle huffed, and then she puffed, and then she got up and left the room. Taffy remained on the floor for a few minutes and then got up and sat at the typewriter. She began typing, not realizing that the words flowing out of her fingertips would spell disaster and ruin for everyone she knew, excluding herself.
"Mrffa uwwa uhhhh," she mumbled.
"Good morning, sunshine!" Myrtle said.
"Ahhh rgggah quiet," Taffy mumbled. She finally opened her eyes but had to shield them from the dim library lighting.
"I'm working on my new novel," Myrtle said. "Late night? I heard you come in an hour or so ago. So sorry if I wakened you."
Taffy sat down in a heap on the polished hardwood floor.
"So do you want to know what my book is about?" Myrtle asked her. Taffy said nothing. Her eyes were closed again.
"It's this great thriller about this epidemic going around the world killing all these people, and there's this detective guy who figures out what's spreading it. Do you want to know what's spreading the disease?"
Taffy said nothing.
"Deodorant!"
Taffy said nothing.
"Think about it! What is the one thing everyone uses?"
Taffy said nothing.
"It's deodorant!"
Taffy said nothing, but her eyes were open.
"Well, it's a really great story. The movie will be better than the book, actually."
"Then why don't you just write a screenplay?" Taffy said.
"Taffy, you have no idea about the creative process."
"Maybe not, but I also find your premise troubling. Have you ever ridden a bus? Not everyone uses deodorant. In fact, most people don't."
Myrtle huffed, and then she puffed, and then she got up and left the room. Taffy remained on the floor for a few minutes and then got up and sat at the typewriter. She began typing, not realizing that the words flowing out of her fingertips would spell disaster and ruin for everyone she knew, excluding herself.
MBJ 2
The car was badly damaged but Taffy was relentless. She spun the tires again, adding to the smoke that was still thick in the air.
"Taffy, maybe we could go get some lunch now," Myrtle suggested gently.
"Not until he's paid for what he's done," Taffy said through gritted teeth. She took her foot off the brake and the car jerked forward into the battered garage door, which finally fell from its hinges. The windshield spiderwebbed, the car stopped moving, the garage door enveloped the car.
"Crap," Taffy said as a burglar alarm started going off.
The engine started to squeal and flames began shooting up from the edges of the hood. Myrtle screamed and tried to find the door handle. Taffy narrowed her eyes and glared at the flames.
"Aggh!" Myrtle screamed. Her door was held shut by the garage door. "Aggh! We're stuck! Oh my god!"
"This is perfect," Taffy said quietly. "I'm going to die in a fire in my lawyer's car in stupid Fischratt's stupid garage."
"Taffy! Taffy! Aggh!" Myrtle screamed.
"Okay, fine," Taffy said. She looked around. "Don't you have a fire extinguisher with you?"
"No! Why in the world would I have a fire extinguisher with me?"
"Luckily I do." Taffy opened her purse, pulled out a personal fire extinguisher, crawled over the seat, and smashed out the back window with the fire extinguisher. "Come on, Myrtle," she said, but Myrtle was frozen to her seat, terrified. Taffy rolled her eyes, crawled out the back window, walked to the front of the car, and extinguished the fire. She pushed the wet sooty garage door off of Myrtle's side of the car and opened her door. Myrtle's legs were shaking badly but she managed to get out of the car.
"Where do you want to eat lunch?" Taffy said.
"Arby's," Myrtle said. They began walking down the street. Sirens screamed in the distance.
"Where's that fire extinguisher I sent you last Christmas?"
"I don't know," Myrtle said. "In my kitchen, maybe, along with all the others you've been sending me the last ten years."
"Myrtle, they're for your purse, not your kitchen. Please carry one with you at all times."
"Who carries fire extinguishers in their purse?"
"Me, obviously."
"Weirdo."
"Myrtle, if I didn't, you'd be dead right now," Taffy said. "And you never know. SHC will get you when you're least expecting it."
"That's an urban legend."
"Tell that to Dr. John Irving Bentley," Taffy said.
"Oh Taffy," Myrtle said. A cavalcade of police cars and fire trucks roared by, making conversation impossible.
"Taffy, maybe we could go get some lunch now," Myrtle suggested gently.
"Not until he's paid for what he's done," Taffy said through gritted teeth. She took her foot off the brake and the car jerked forward into the battered garage door, which finally fell from its hinges. The windshield spiderwebbed, the car stopped moving, the garage door enveloped the car.
"Crap," Taffy said as a burglar alarm started going off.
The engine started to squeal and flames began shooting up from the edges of the hood. Myrtle screamed and tried to find the door handle. Taffy narrowed her eyes and glared at the flames.
"Aggh!" Myrtle screamed. Her door was held shut by the garage door. "Aggh! We're stuck! Oh my god!"
"This is perfect," Taffy said quietly. "I'm going to die in a fire in my lawyer's car in stupid Fischratt's stupid garage."
"Taffy! Taffy! Aggh!" Myrtle screamed.
"Okay, fine," Taffy said. She looked around. "Don't you have a fire extinguisher with you?"
"No! Why in the world would I have a fire extinguisher with me?"
"Luckily I do." Taffy opened her purse, pulled out a personal fire extinguisher, crawled over the seat, and smashed out the back window with the fire extinguisher. "Come on, Myrtle," she said, but Myrtle was frozen to her seat, terrified. Taffy rolled her eyes, crawled out the back window, walked to the front of the car, and extinguished the fire. She pushed the wet sooty garage door off of Myrtle's side of the car and opened her door. Myrtle's legs were shaking badly but she managed to get out of the car.
"Where do you want to eat lunch?" Taffy said.
"Arby's," Myrtle said. They began walking down the street. Sirens screamed in the distance.
"Where's that fire extinguisher I sent you last Christmas?"
"I don't know," Myrtle said. "In my kitchen, maybe, along with all the others you've been sending me the last ten years."
"Myrtle, they're for your purse, not your kitchen. Please carry one with you at all times."
"Who carries fire extinguishers in their purse?"
"Me, obviously."
"Weirdo."
"Myrtle, if I didn't, you'd be dead right now," Taffy said. "And you never know. SHC will get you when you're least expecting it."
"That's an urban legend."
"Tell that to Dr. John Irving Bentley," Taffy said.
"Oh Taffy," Myrtle said. A cavalcade of police cars and fire trucks roared by, making conversation impossible.
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