Mark's Detective Story

Mark’s Detective Story
7/25/02
Second draft 1/9/04
Third draft 3/4/07

It was a dark and stormy night. I was sitting in my office waiting for some excitement to fall into my lap. My name is Frank Freely. I’m a Private Eye.

It was looking to be another quiet night. I had been in my office for twenty minutes. I knew I had been there for about twenty minutes, because since I got there, I had boiled two three-minute eggs, three two-minute eggs, made seven servings of Minute Rice and sixty servings of instant pudding. I was thinking about killing some more time by watching Gone In 60 Seconds in real time or maybe just catching a 4 hour cold.

Suddenly there was a knock at the door. I looked at my watch. It was eighteen minutes until 10:32. “Come in”, I muttered under my breath. That’s when she walked back into my life. Or, into my office. You know, that was just a figure of speech. But I didn’t figure on her speech. Or rather, her figure stopped my speech. Anyhoo, there she was.

The sight of her made me forget about the majority of my motor skills. My jaw fell open and the spoon of pudding I was savoring fell out to the floor. I slowly looked her over; trying to memorize every curve in case I needed to hold her, uh, get a hold of her later. Her body was shaped like the Coke bottles that filled the back seat of my car. I suddenly wished it was her back there instead. Her lips were crimson and her legs wouldn’t quit, although I was prepared to offer them a generous retirement plan. Her long lashes draped over her Disney eyes. Wow, she was aerodynamic. She didn’t take my breath away, she put it back. I realized I hadn’t been breathing right for a very long time.

She walked up to me and planted one on my lips like I was an Arbor Day project. However, my brain was still busy surveying the real estate. It gradually dawned on me that she was making out with me right under my nose, which is where I prefer it.

She looked like Nicole Kidman, except really pretty. She was quite a dish. But with a mug like that, how could she be otherwise. And she certainly wasn’t flatware. She wasn’t supposed to be. But there was something about that mug I just couldn’t put a handle on. That’s when it hit me. Kind of like when you step on a rake and the handle slaps you right between the eyes. I’d known her before, all right.

I remembered the first time I tried to pick her up. She was sitting in this coffee shop. I noticed her curves and her steamy attitude. She was hot. She told me to get a grip, but she eventually slipped through my fingers. I hate getting burned.

I told her it was dangerous out and that I should walk her home. She said “sure” and I paid for her drink. Since she was feeling generous, I paid for her groceries. And a pedicure. And the balance on her credit card.

As we walked, she said she felt like slipping into something more comfortable. I was all for that, because yesterday, I bought some new insoles, and buddy, I tell you, I feel great. So she goes into this lingerie shop, and that’s where she gave me the slip. And that was her victorious secret. Boy, I really felt like a panty-waist.

But that was years ago. Here she was now, standing in front of me. “Are you P. I. Freely?” she asked with that sultry voice. “That’s close enough”, I blurted out. She sauntered across the office and dropped into one of the oversized bean bags in the corner. “I must be frank…” she started to say. “No, you’ve got us mixed up again.” I interrupted. She told me to stop being curt in her amiable way. “Surely, I didn’t mean it. You are ‘Freida’ tell me anything you want. Speak freely.” She said, “Sally over here and I’ll tell you about it”.

I dropped into the bag of beans next to her and felt my hands grow clammy. I thought about showing off my muscles, but I didn’t want her to get crabby. I tried to act coy, but instead, I just floundered for words and just felt kelpless. Holy mackerel, I was in over my head. Being next to her set my head swimming. I was feeling under a lot of pressure. I felt like we were sole mates, but who was I squidding. A shrimp like me didn’t have a chance.

She looked into my eyes and leaned forward. She licked her lips and moved closer. I looked deep into her eyes and down to her mouth and back again. I felt the warmth of her breath on my nose and she moved closer still. Our lips mingled together and we slowly kissed. Ever since the invention of the kiss, there have been five which were judged the most romantic. This one would have been about three million, two hundred and seventy one thousand, and one hundred and thirty eight. The best I have ever had.

She said to herself, “Hmm, pudding.”, as she licked a small blob of it off her lips. To me she said, “I am sorry I was acting so monstrously to you. I guess I had a Jeckel complex I was trying to hide”. I smiled and said, “At least it wasn’t a vampire thing. That would have sucked”. After an awkwardly sharp pause, and although I felt like howling at the moon, I wolfed down the rest of the instant pudding. Then I broke the silence by asking, “You said you needed to be frank and…something?” “Oh yes”, she responded.

She looked around quickly and took a deep breath. “I think I am being watched.”, she blurted out. “I just don’t feel safe. Maybe I am a little paranoid, but there are times when I can feel eyes burning into the back of my head”. I told her that it certainly seemed likely that any guy would like to look at such a beautiful woman. I offered to take her out to buy her a hot chocolate and we could discuss the case in more depth. Besides, I left the binoculars on the filing cabinet and had to get her out of the office.

I hurried her out into the hall. I then asked if we could spend a little time together off of the clock. She said we’ve got nothing in common, no common ground to start on. I said, “Well, what about breakfast? At Tiffany’s?” She thought about it and said, “Well that’s one thing we’ve got”.