Tuesday, September 21, 2010

Holy Water for the Soul? 5-23-09

CALCUTTA-BENGALI TIMES:  ENTERTAINMENT NEWS
5-23-2009


Holy Water for the Soul?

Ahhhh but the Indian lassies (not to be confused with lassis) will miss Scottish actor Gerard Butler now that he has finally departed our fair shores. You could almost hear the sounds of a few hearts breaking when we learned his departure was imminent.

I, for one, shall miss the tumultuous excitement that seems to follow him everywhere he goes these days and there are several people we know who will miss his company, hopefully even the one he would wish to "fuse and merge" with.

From reading a blog by one of our talented writers, it leaves us wondering exactly which lady really caught the fancy of the Scottish hunk. While the money is on lovely Bollywood beauty, Priyanka Chopra, those who read with different eyes wonder if his taste has shifted to the more cerebral qualities of someone equally well known to us.

The effusive Mr. Butler has the kind of temperament that unnerves the more propriety-conscious souls among us and, from all indications, the lovely Nandita Das even resorted to singing a bit of a famous Indian love song to one of her friends in an attempt to not be left alone with the ailing, but handsome as ever, actor who came aboard a certain yacht to say a final goodbye to attachments he has made while visiting India and her holy sites.

We can only hope that he had the foresight to avail himself of some anti-virals, anti-parasitics and antibiotics prior to drinking the holy waters of the Ganges during his pilgrimage. This is a case where practicality and spirituality are hand maidens of that part of us that knows we must live another day to continue the search for inner peace by spending time with the people and places that fill us up, and to sate our thirst for the knowledge that will help us expand our minds and unify our dual natures. It is also common knowledge that oneness helps to quiet the ants in one's pants so that we can sit still and focus on the important tasks at hand, such as remembering your lines and mastering other accents besides your own.

Mr. Butler was overheard telling Ms. Das that the latter was one of the reasons he came to India, "in addition to the added lure of the scenery, of course." Ms. Das said she was not sure whether he was speaking of scenery in the pastoral sense, or of the Bollywood beauties he is said to admire.

During his visit with Nandita, we are told he also gave Hritik Roshan's wife Suzzanne, who was also aboard the yacht, advice on how to kill the "ants" that had been plaguing her, only to laugh it off with a big OH...when told that these particular "white ants" were in reference to the unsavory rumors that Hritik was romantically involved with his recent Kites co-star, actress Barbara Mori.

Yes, we shall miss Gerry and his lively, effervescent presence.....and , when he fully recovers from what ails him, we hope he will look back on us fondly. As we know, "nothing ever ends"...but hopefully, in Butler's case, that will only apply to the memories and friendships he has made in India, which we hope he will carry in his heart, and not to any little critters who may have set up domicile in the more vulnerable regions of his G.I. tract.

Alavidha and caio Gerry!

Sigh.....

Lakshima Liesalota


Disclaimer: This is a work of pure fiction that exists only in the twilight zone of the writer's mind. Any and all resemblance to any person living or dead is purely coincidental.


Songs out of tune, the words always a little wrong...Canzoni Stonate

Bollywood Parties 4-01-09

CALCUTTA-BENGALI TIMES:  ENTERTAINMENT NEWS

May 1st, 2009

BOLLYWOOD PARTIES

As promised, the first snippets of Priyanka Chopra's party for her friend, Scottish actor Gerard Butler, are starting to spill out.

First of all, as was reported by another Bengali news source, the police were summoned to quiet down Ms. Piggy Chops revelers when they got a little too noisy for some of her neighbors. This has happened once before and the actress was overheard saying to one of her guests that "she had sent said neighbors a note telling them she was having a party and asking them to please turn down their hearing aids for the evening."

Today her spokesperson issued an apology to all hearing impaired persons and said the actress was making a little joke at the expense of her older neighbors, who had perfect hearing but were jealous they were not invited to her parties.

One of our spies, who attended the party with an invited guest, tells us that Ms. Piggy's guest of honor seemed to be having a great time and, in addition to providing the guests with a Karaoke rendition of "Light My Fire," the Scottish hottie danced with almost all of the Bollywood A list actresses present and even a few of their chaperons too. It seems Mr. Butler was able to win even that stern contingent over, as they were overheard giggling and comparing notes later in the evening. The consensus seemed to indicate his charm (along with the promise of an autographed photo of him in full 300 garb) had garnered him the CSA (Chaperon Seal of Approval).

The most interesting conversation of the evening though, seems to have been the one Butler was enjoying with actor Shahid Kapoor, Priyankas rumored boyfriend, as they retired to a corner of the room. Making herself invisible, our source was able to eavesdrop a little and tells us that the conversation ran into the realm of spirituality and vegetarianism, with Shahid, a well known vegetarian and teatotaller and Butler, a non drinker and former alcoholic, weighing in on the pros and cons of each. Discreetly flipping the switch of her hidden mini recorder and despite the noise, she was able to tell us the conversation, while not verbatim, went something like this:

Kapoor: " Really, Gerry, you should try to become a vegetarian. After a while you will find your mind clearing up all the debris that animal fat produces in your arteries and that will aid you greatly on your spiritual quest to achieve clarity of thought and the immediate responsive oneness of body. "

Butler: "Believe me, I've tried Shahid, but after awhile ah gotta have a regular meal. I think ah'm a pretty strong pairson, givin' up alcohol an' even after a million times, finally smoking... because I know it will eventually kill me, but that doesn't stop me from wantin' to light up every time ah get a whiff of it. It's like eating fish. I know it's good fer me in the long run and ah like it a lot, but even a steady diet o' fish gets old an' ma body stairts hankering for a big hunk o' beef.  Don't ye ever feel that way?"

Kapoor: "I hear you Gerry, but trust me, that big hunk of beef will get you into trouble if you're not careful."

Butler: "Speaking of fish, have ye been able to convince Priya to go the vegetarian route? I've seen the girl wolf down a steak in five minutes flat. She's gat some healthy appetite fer a lass."

Kapoor: "Now see here Gerry, are we speaking about food here or something else?"

My source tells me the conversation continued for a while longer but at this junction, noticing her presence, she was forced to move on and was unable to tape Butler's reply.

That reply would have been interesting in the extreme but unfortunately lost to us unless we hear from other sources.

Today the excitement is building up for the big party being thrown by wealthy actor and businessman, Shah Ruka Kahn. Though more intimate and harder to access by the exclusivity of the guest list, we have hopes of being able to report on that as well and perhaps some more tasty tidbits from Ms. Piggy Chops party as well.

Lakshima Liesalota 


Disclaimer: This is a work of pure fiction that exists only in the twilight zone of the writer's mind. Any and all resemblance to any person living or dead is purely coincidental.



Songs out of tune, the words always a little wrong...Canzoni Stonate
 

When Your Rashee is Not Just a Rashee (with comment) 4-30-09

CALCUTTA-BENGALI TIMES:  ENTERTAINMENT NEWS

April 30, 2009

WHEN YOUR RASHEE IS NOT JUST A RASHEE

And when we speak of Rashee these days, it seems to pertain to visiting Scottish hottie, actor Gerard Butler. One has to have been sleeping behind the proverbial bush not to be aware of the buzz he is causing on his visit to these parts which started several days ago, first by coming down with "heat rash," which we now know was not "really" a case of heat rash at all, but had to do with Ashutosh Gowariker's comely personal assistant and an allergy to dosha oils and, secondly, for his announcement of plans to bring either Tom Cruise or Penelope Cruz to India to co star in a musical.

And to top off matters, not only has Butler thrown his hat in the ring of "dueling boyfriends" for the affections of Bollywood actress, Priyanka Chopra, but now he is the object of "dueling parties," with the arrival back in town of another of Butler's admirers, Shah Ruka Kahn, who upon reading of Butler's "heat rash" episode and Piggy Chops' decision to throw a party in Butler's honor, decided the best way to cheer up his new friend was by throwing another bash in his honor. Our sources tell us this will take place on May lst and the exclusive guest list includes a who's who of Bollywood beauties.

Butler and actor Shah Rukh became fast friends when they met in Dubai last November at the launch of Atlantis The Palm and met each other again at an Oscar bash earlier this year.

Will Kahn be able to outdo Ms. Piggy Chops tribute to her friend? We will know when news of Priyanka's party starts leaking out to the press.

In the meantime, our sources tell us that Butler is keeping himself occupied visiting spiritual sites to further his education in oneness and his guide has been spotted leaving his hotel room in the early hours after providing the actor with instructions on how to meditate to elevate his consciousness to a higher plain and remain in a state of oneness for longer periods of time.

Lakshima Liesalota 

Disclaimer: This is a work of pure fiction that exists only in the twilight zone of the writer's mind. Any and all resemblance to any person living or dead is purely coincidental.



Songs out of tune, the words always a little wrong...Canzoni Stonate



by NigelPod 18 hours ago (Thu Apr 30 2009 19:49:06)





Ah the Belle of the Ball! As for his mediation to elevate his consciousness ( is that what we are calling it these days?) to a higher plain..and remaining ina state of oneness for longer periods of time....my only question left...or right hand? 
by zonistonate 12 hours ago (Fri May 1 2009 01:04:50)





Nigel, I posed your question to columnist Lackshima Liesalota in the comments section and this was her answer:

"As to the question, a little more imagination here is indicated, please. One must get past linear thinking.

The word was meditation and nothing so crude is involved in bringing the subject to a higher level of understanding of their pleasure centers. We are talking a whole different kind of sophistication in sensory stimulation that is achieved first through relaxation and complete surrender, followed by abandonment of one's notions of what real intimacy means.

Our sources tell us these sessions require great skill to administer...I mean teach... and that achieving that kind of oneness with oneself, much less another human being, is extremely rewarding and the reason Butler keeps returning to India. Once he masters this technique, he will be able to share with others.

In the spirit of sharing this discovery with his friends, it has been clarified that he was literally talking of bringing a cruise (as in ship) to India, but as with many things when dealing with another culture, the real meaning was lost in translation. As a shrugging Mr. Siegel told us, 'Gerry was blabbering on and on, and when he mentioned a "panoply" of something or other, I thought he said Penelope. You know how it is?'

I have been told that Butler's team was trying to figure out how to expand on the cruise idea. Mr. Siegel intimated that there was no reason something so instructive and desirable should not also help to further the art of making quality motion pictures."

Lackshima 
Disclaimer: This is a work of pure fiction that exists only in the twilight zone of the writer's mind. Any and all resemblance to any person living or dead is purely coincidental.


Songs out of tune, the words always a little wrong...Canzoni Stonate



More on Butler's Rashee 4-29-2009

CALCUTTA-BENGALI TIMES:   ENTERTAINMENT NEWS

April 29, 2009

MORE ON BUTLER'S RASHEE

Further developments on the mysterious rash acquired by visiting Scottish hottie Gerard Butler keep coming in, as another anonymous source came forward to inform us that the dark haired beauty, who originally made the call to the front desk summoning physicians to the actor's room, was none other then the personal assistant of filmmaker Ashutosh Gowariker. It seems that Gowariker had sent her to try to put a damper on Butler's plans to film an American version of his current movie "What is Your Rashee?" in India next fall. While originally pleased with the idea, Gowariker began to have second thoughts when he learned that the film was to be a musical and set to star Butler and academy award winner Tom Cruise as the time challenged lovers.

A phone call to Cruise's management yielded the information that Cruise was very excited about doing a musical with Butler, since he'd "already done just about everything else" and that he "figured if Travolta could do it, he could too!"

However, stepping in to set the record straight, Butler's partner, Producer Alan Siegel said the project, tentatively titled "Where is Your Moon?," was set to star Gerard and academy award winning Spanish actress Penelope Cruz, not Tom Cruise and that the Times of India reporter had got it all wrong. Siegel also accidentally let slip that Butler's first choice for the project had been our own Piggy Chops, but after receiving a note from her current boyfriend Shahid Kapoor telling her that if she starred with the skunky Scottish actor, she could kiss their relationship goodbye, Priyanka declined the role

Shahid Kapoor denied the allegation and said he hopes to work with the "hunky" actor himself some time in the future.

Ms. Piggy Chops was unavailable for comment. We were told she was busy getting ready for her party in honor of her friend Gerard.

As for Butler himself, we hear that he is still confined to his bed and is receiving round the clock student nursing care from the Bengali Tantric School of Nursing.

Lakshima Liesalota 

Disclaimer: This is a work of pure fiction that exists only in the twilight zone of the writer's mind. Any and all resemblance to any person living or dead is purely coincidental.


Songs out of tune, the words always a little wrong...Canzoni Stonate



Some Fun With Gerry's Visit to India - Gerard Butler's Rashee?

CALCUTTA-BENGALI TIMES:  ENTERTAINMENT NEWS


April 29, 2009

GERARD BUTLER'S RASHEE?

And we don't mean his Zodiac sign either. An unnamed source, who has been traveling around southern India with the actor, tells us the Scottish hottie broke out in a mysterious rash late last night.

Butler, after enjoying a late dinner at a local restaurant with friends, returned to his hotel room with an unnamed Indian beauty who was also a dinner guest. Several hours later the actor's companion placed a call to the front desk asking them to summon a physician because the actor was not feeling well and had several red spots on his face and elsewhere on his body, possibly due to something he had ingested at dinner.

After being taken to the local hospital it was determined that it was not a case of food allergy, as had been suspected, but that apparently the actor was allergic to the scented oil his unnamed guest had been rubbing on him to "calm" his dosha.

This morning when asked how Butler was feeling, his camp said he was resting quietly and recovering from heat rash and overexertion.

The actor is to be honored at a party thrown by his friend Priyanka Chopra before leaving India and Ms. Piggy Chops told us she hoped he would be recovered sufficiently to attend.

Lakshima Liesalota 




Disclaimer: This is a work of pure fiction that exists only in the twilight zone of the writer's mind. Any and all resemblance to any person living or dead is purely coincidental.



Songs out of tune, the words always a little wrong...Canzoni Stonate

The Outlandisher - Chap. 11 McRandall Does Manhattan

August 17, 2009 
Chap. 11.
McRandall Does Manhattan

If Gerremy McButler thought things were going to improve with sun up, he was very much starting to doubt it now.  Forgetting to close the shutter before collapsing on the bed, he had awakened to a pigeon roosting on the bedstead, cooing at him. His head ached ferociously, probably as a result of the Ambien-Whiskey cocktail he had mistakenly drank the night before.

His body aches, from slumping over the table half the night, had only been aggravated  by the lumpy mattress and his unattended knees hurt from the fall in the street the previous day.  To top it all off he had a stuffy nose, probably as a result of the cold room and the thin blanket that barely covered him.

He was used to strange things happening to him and,  Murphy's law being what it was, they usually did.  But this one was by far the most bizarre.  He felt like this might just be another movie he was filming, only this one had no director and no crew.
 
Sitting up and surveying the room in daylight, he noticed that his visitor from the night before had left a few things behind on his departure.  Still laying on the back of the chair was the Captain's red coat and his sword and belt.

When he got up to use the chamber pot, he also noticed the captain's trousers on the floor in front of the twin replica of the "fun house" antique mirror which had been the travel conduit through which he found himself in this predicament in the first place.

Where the hell had the man gone without his trousers, he wondered?   Could it be he had found his way through the mirror  to another time?

With this possibility in mind, he went over the mirror, trying to find any weak spots, but with the same frustrating result as before, nothing happened.  There had to be some trick to it and he just didn't know it.   The only person with a clue or answer to the riddle had to be Jamie McFraser and he would have to find him first.


Perhaps Claire would be interested in coming along with him to find Jamie.  She might even offer some clues too.   After all she had made a similar trip once herself.

Stretching  and studying his figure in the mirror, he noticed a few of what looked like flea bites on his torso.  Absently scratching them, he decided he was pleased with his naked reflection.  True to what Jamie had said, he had forcibly dropped several more pounds since he had been here....wherever here was today.

 Relaxing his abdomen, he was pleased it was leaner and  not the flabby paunch he sometimes saw between movies.  Sticking his pelvis out, he admired his manhood and hugged it protectively with his hands, almost in appreciation that he hadn't lost it the night before.   He'd seen the madness in the dragoon's eyes when he had screamed out and had no delusions that the man got off on inflicting pain and God knows what other mayhem.

Smelling the back of his arm, he realized he still smelled of piss and thought he would almost give anything to have a hot shower.  He'd had to remove the fallen privacy curtain which was covering the chamber pot before using it and the whole room smelled like stale urine.

He hugged himself, shivering from the cold and,  looking for a change of clothes, decided the Captain's discarded pants and jacket were better then the bloody, urine soaked Kilt he was wearing the day before.

He threw some water from the pitcher over his face and torso and after drying himself off, he managed to struggle into the Captain's trousers which, due to his size, fit extremely snug through the thighs and crotch and instead of coming down to his ankles, hit him mid calf.  He was unable to close the top two buttons of the flies and decided the linen shirt, which was still serviceable,  would cover it the two he couldn't manage.  Pulling on his boots, which hid the shortness of the pants, he looked in the mirror and felt he was at least, passable.

It was too much to hope that the jacket would fit and indeed it was tight across the shoulders and barely slid over his biceps.  The sleeves were much too short, but if he rolled them up with the shirt, it wasn't too bad.  Of course he could not close it, but that didn't matter.  At least it gave him a modicum of warmth and he'd be damned if he'd freeze to death.

 Slapping on the sword, the outfit was complete and sheathing the big knife, he felt he cut an adequate, if not dashing figure. 

He rolled up Jamie's soiled clothes in a ball and tucked them under his arm.  He would return them to Claire and hoped she would feed him breakfast in return.  Getting ready to go out the door, he  spied the sporran containing his precious Ambien and strapped that on as well.  It served to protect his vitals in case they decided to pop out of the pants, which they threatened to do at any moment.

Eyeing the mirror once again,  he made a face.

GMcB:   Dinna go anywhere, ye blasted horror!   Ah need tae find out how tae book my return ticket back tae sanity an' ah'll be back wi' the travel agent as soon as ah kin locate the bastirt!

He opened the door and went out, being on the alert for one naked, deranged dragoon.

New York City

Captain F. Neil McRandall of his Majasty's Dragoons rubbed his eyes vigorously and blinked again, afraid he was losing his mind.  He was standing before a bank of large windows and gazing down several stories at what had to be a hallucination.  Clad in a linen shirt and little else,  he had been drawn to the windows as the only source of light  after finding himself sitting bare-assed on a wood floor in a semi-dark room. 

Thinking he had fallen and banged his head he reached out and been reassured by the presence of the ornate mirror he had been leaning against.  It was a false reassurance, because the mirror had been the only familiar object in all this.
The last conscious thing he remembered was staring lustily at the unconscious figure of Gerremy  McButler,  whose very tempting backside was once again scenically positioned to afford him a delicious view of the object of his desire. Glancing down at himself and deciding the situation required him to proceed without McButler's cooperation,  he had stepped back and using the mirror to steady himself, had removed his trousers when suddenly he had heard a loud "whooshing" sound and felt himself being sucked into a vortex that had deposited him here, wherever here was. 

Well, wherever it was, he was alive and the sight that lay before him,  unreal.   He was looking at a street lit by what looked to be some kind of light source hanging from large overhead poles stuck in the ground.  It was obviously late evening, but there were several people walking about below and something had just whizzed by, a carriage of some sort, but moving without any visible means of propulsion.  Where were the horses?

There was another one 

He turned back to the room with the intent of locating some candles to explore the situation more closely. There was just enough light to make out what looked like a settee near the infernal mirror.

Perhaps he should wait until daylight?     Chances are he hit his head when he fell and he was dreaming all this anyway.

 He walked to the settee and discovering it was soft, sat down.  Perhaps he should lie down and see if it would clear his spinning head?  The settee was large enough to accommodate him and then some.  He realized there was some kind of fabric draped over one end of it, and pulled it over himself for warmth.  He forced himself to close his eyes.


Claire McFraser's Cottage, Inverness

Claire Avoyant McFraser sat by the kitchen hearth, drinking a cup of tea and frowning.  She had returned with a slab of bacon to go with the eggs she had collected from her two chickens that morning, to find Gerremy McButler missing.

She wondered for the umpteenth time what the hell was wrong with her that she had this effect on men.  First Jamie had flown the coop and now this McButler had done the same.  Perhaps he had returned to the Inn he had been babbling about?
She smiled at herself, remembering the scene from the previous evening.  He wasn't Jamie, but he had a certain naive charm that was hard to resist.  He had certainly proved his metal at Inverness Castle among the other lairds, but there was still a boyish quality that lurked close to the surface and in that large frame of his, it was very appealing. 

 She wondered whether he would be back?  She still had so much to ask him about the future that had changed so much since her own WWII recollections.
Well, she couldn't sit here all day.  She had to harvest some of her herbs if she was to prepare more of her healing balms and tinctures.   She hadn't had any patients for a few days, but she knew they would start to trickle in soon enough.
  
Clearing the table, she pulled her basket over her arm and went out to her garden.

Small Hamlet near Edinburgh

Jamie McFraser had always prided himself on being good at whatever he set out to do, however this acting thing was a little harder than he had bargained.  Wearing a dark wig and sporting a charcoal blackened beard and some fake blood, he strolled onto the makeshift stage and bowed to a fat little man dressed in flowing robes.

McFraser:  Yer lairdship, the battle is o'er an' ah am the only one left to tell the tale.  The English knew we were coming so we lost the element o' surprise we counted on.
  
Fat Man:  Are ye telling me we've a spy in our midst, MacGillicutty?

McFraser:  Aye.  Tis exactly what I'm tellin' ye.  It is imperative ye find who's passing on information or ye will see a repeat o' today when we attack again come the morn.

Fat Man:  Very well!   Send in Captain MacRyan and go get your wounds taken care of.

Turning to go, he had stubbed his toe on the uneven boards and stumbled badly to the amusement of the gathered crowd, one  who had shouted out "Grace be thy name, ye big lout?"

Unable to contain himself, he had retorted in kind to the jeering man.

McFraser:   My grace may leave something tae be desired, sir, but yer face looks like yer mother sat on it to keep ye quiet when ye were but a wee bairn.!

Of course, the man had jumped on stage and the melee that had ensued, as others got involved, had ended his chances of continuing with this particular troop and so thus had put a damper on his acting for the moment.

He had to eat, so he was now forking hay into a horse stall at the local blacksmith.
He wondered how Gerremy McButler was faring wi' Claire?  Thinking about it, he found himself feeling a stab of jealousy.  Would those two go that far?  He dinna ken McButler all that well, but he was sure Claire could protect herself from any o' his advances.  But would she want to?

He smiled to himself thinking of his feisty wife.  Just then,  however, the dark haired daughter of the smithy peered her pretty head around the corner with a cup of ale and some bread.  She sat down next to him as he ate it, cute dimples in evidence as she smiled shyly at him.
  
Hmmmm.  He was hungrier than he thought.  Putting Claire out of his mind for the moment, he thought the bread tasted a little better all of a sudden.

New York City

Allaine Seigelson looked up and made a face as he entered Gerry McButler's loft in Manhattan.  The Sistine Chapelesqueness of the ceiling was a little too ornate for his liking, but he had never said as much to his friend, which was quite unlike him.  McButler had been so excited to show him, he hadn't had the heart to say what he really thought about it.
Thinking of Gerry now, he frowned.  He had tried to reassure Rusty the day before, but truth be told, he was very worried about his lengthy disappearance.  It was only 9:30 a.m., but he hadn't been able to sleep and felt he needed to check Gerry's loft for any visible clues to his whereabouts before letting anymore time go by.  Perhaps he had left something on his desk to indicate where he was going?
As he walked into the Great Room he was surprised to find a tartan on the floor next to the sofa.  He noticed the ugly mirror that Rusty had told him about and a pair of boots, still in a box, sitting in a chair nearby.  Picking up the tartan, he draped it over a corner of the sofa and noticing a pin in the shape of a lion that had slid behind the cushion, he laid it over the tartan.

This must be the Scottish finery that  Marta was speaking of and GB's Dressed to Kilt outfit. He noticed the white shirt hanging on the back of the chair where the boots were.  All that was missing was a kilt....
Suddenly he heard a noise coming from Gerry's office and thinking it might be his friend, called out.
Allaine:  Gerry is that you?  Where have you been damn it!  You had us worried to death here.

Getting no response, he headed towards the other room, only to see a strange man, clad only in a long shirt, standing at the door with one of Gerry's antique candlesticks raised over his head.

Allaine:  Who the hell are you?   Where's Gerry?

Sizing up Allaline and finding him non threatening, McRandall slowly lowers the candle stick?

McRandall:  Gerry?  You mean McFraser's friend?   The big fellow with the funny haircut?

Allaine:   Don't think I've ever heard of a McFraser among Gerry's friends, but then I don't know all of his Scottish chums.  I've been trying to reach him for days, though and he's not taking my calls.  When did you see him?

McRandall:  Last night?

Allaine:    Really?   Where?

McRandall:   (shrugging his shoulders)   The  Red Bull Inn in Inverness.

Allaine:  (surprised)  You mean he's in Scotland? 

McRandall:  Where else?
Allaine:  So you just flew  in today, eh?   Nice of Gerry to let you use his apartment, but the little shit should have let me know he was going to take off.  He was supposed to stay in New York until after Dressed to Kilt.

McRandall:  (incredulous)  What?  New York?   You mean the colonies? 
 
Allaine:   That's kind of provincial isn't it? (laughing)  It's 2009 and some of you Brits floor me still calling us the colonies.  You're English, of course?

McRandall:   2009?

Stunned and trying to make sense of what's happened to him, he nods slowly so as not to make Allaine suspicious.  He looks like a friendly sort and he needs a friend at the moment.

Allaine:  I understand you're probably still a little groggy.  Flying makes me nervous and even taking something,  the trip is exhausting.  I  can never figure how Gerry can sleep on the plane anywhere he goes.   By the way, did he say when he's coming back?

 (mumbling  to himself)  I hope to hell he called Connery and let him know he wasn't going to do the show before taking off. 

Another thought striking him, he look at McRandall.
Allaine:  Was he alone?

McRandall:  Alone?

Allaine:   Yeah, I mean was he hanging out with anyone else?   A girl, maybe?

McRandall:   A girl?   I'm not sure you can call her a girl, but he seemed to be very cozy with McFraser's  crazy wife.

Allaine:  Wife?  Exactly what do you mean by cozy?

McRandall: I observed him leaving her house in the early morning and McFraser was nowhere in sight or I would have known. 

Allaine:  Oh fuck!   Damn it Gerry!   If the tabloids get wind of this, true or not, it's going to cost him the other 50% of his fan base. (mumbling to himself again)   It was bad enough when they thought he was schtupping Shana Moakler.....

Looking at McRandall again.

Allaine:  Say, have you eaten yet?   I'm starving.  There's a place on the lower east side that makes a wonderful toasted bread with a hole in the middle filled with eggs and truffles and cheese.  They make great coffee too!  Why don't you join me for breakfast and tell me all about it?   What did you say your name was?

McRandall:  It's McRandall.   F. Neil McRandall.  I'd love to join you, but I seem to have misplaced my pants and  have nothing suitable to wear.  I can't very well go like this, can I?

Allaine:   Airline  lost your luggage, eh?   Can't trust them to get your bags to your destination anymore.

McRandall shrugs.

Allaine:  Come on, let's see if we can find something of Gerry's that might fit you.    You're a slim fellow, but there's got to be something from his skinny days.  The kid never throws anything out....



'inoteca
Seated at a popular lower east side eatery called 'inoteca, and enjoying the morning sun, Allaine Siegelson munched on a brunch time favorite, the decadent Truffled Toast, while sipping on a just right, strong cafe latte.

Looking across the table at Gerry's new friend. who was having the same, he had to admit he found the guy strangely puzzling ....and in some of the circles he'd moved in, that was really saying something.

Though a nice enough looking fellow, there was something paradoxical in that while something about him suggested a worldly sophisticated decadence, the look didn't mesh with the really innocent questions coming from his mouth, questions that suggested small town naivete. 

A good judge of character, Allaine would have sworn this was a man of dark tastes and anything but naive.

He had been able to fit him with a pair of Gerry's smaller size jeans and with the help of several strategically placed safety pins, they served him well enough to be carried off with a practiced ease, though the way he eyed everything around him in wonder, again sounded some strange alarm bells in Allaine.

McRandall seemed to know little of Gerry's life and still less about life in the big city, although he claimed to know London quite well and,  what had been immediately apparent to Allaine after watching him get google-eyed over several tight jeaned young models walking by, was that F. Neil McRandall definitely preferred  men over women, weather he was ready to admit it or not.

Thinking of the many things he had to do, he felt the best he could do for the fellow was orient him to the big city and point him in the direction of his appetites....which judging from the looks of him, were turning out to be considerable and perhaps hereto unexplored in any great depth, though he knew darn well that New York had nothing on London in this regard.

Perhaps the guy was still in the closet and afraid to operate in his home town, in which case the city could offer him a modicum of freedom in which to explore his wild side.
 
Well, he would be frank with McRandall and if Gerry had trusted the guy with his apartment, he would do the same.  But first he had to find out exactly where Gerry was and get in touch with him. 

With that in mind, he leaned forward and engaged F. Neil McRandall in conversation once more so that he could figure out what the hell to do next!

Disclaimer: This is a work of pure fiction that exists only in the twilight zone of the writer's mind. Any and all resemblance to any person living or dead is purely coincidental.


Songs out of tune, the words always a little wrong...Canzoni Stonate

Monday, September 20, 2010

The Outlandisher - Chap 10- Chickens You Say?

June 12th, 2009

Chap. 10  
"Verra well ye crazy fuck!"
Chickens You Say?

Sometimes life has a way of handing you a lesson you thought you had learned before, but knowing deep in your gut that you had only played lip service to having learned it, while not really having learned it at all and knowing full well that little error was eventually going to cost you big time.

This was one of those times for actor Gerremy McButler. Had he been in a state of oneness, which he constantly aspired to be since his many visits to India, he would not be here now, bent over a table and hog tied and trussed like a Turkey ready for the oven and the cook being none other than one deranged and sexually frustrated English Captain named F. Neil McRandall.

Allaine had told him his big mouth would one day get him into real trouble and he was wondering if this was the moment of truth. While he had occasionally given thought to hypothetical situations where he might one day be the victim of some deranged fan, he never envisioned this scenario in a million years. And what bothered him on top of all of it, was the fact that he was serving as a second string understudy for one Jamie Lee McFraser, he of the red hair and know it all wife, for a man who didn't even know or cared who the devil Gerremy McButler was.

How the hell was he going to get out of this? He had played the big hero in many a movie and he should be able to call upon some of his training to help him. But of course, there was no script here to show him the way and with all his gifts of blarney, he hadn't been able to sweet talk this particular antagonist to come around to his way of thinking.

When he had seen the man at his door, the alarm bells should have gone off immediately. But, of course, they hadn't. He had anxiously answered the knock, thinking it might be McFraser, or even the lovely Claire herself. But when the Captain had told him he had something he wanted to talk to him about, he had invited him in, glad to see a familiar face.

Things had gone from bad to worse after he had offered the Captain a drink and treated him to a few of his dirty jokes, which were always a good way to bond with his fellow males. He had even shared a story about a cross dresser he had tried to pick up at a bar once, quite unaware that it was a man at the time. The fact the captain had smiled wickedly at this story and run his boot up his leg under the table should have been the first clue. Unfortunately, by the time he realized what was going on, it was too late.

Said antagonist was at present, taking off his sword and looking him over like he was "literally " the last supper. McRandall was also absently rubbing the big lump on his forehead where he had been the recipient of a McButler Glasgow kiss. He himself had a matching one on his own forehead, when to his chagrin, he'd come to find out that said Captain had an equally hard head and, apparently, an even larger pain tolerance.

A couple of other things the Captain had, that he himself didn't, was a very big and very sharp hunting knife, which he had threatened to plunge into McButler's breast immediately after cutting off his testicles and stuffing them in his mouth if he didn't cooperate, and one very polished, if antique looking, silver pistol.

McButler, hands aching and going numb, thought he'd better come up with something fast or he was going to be the man's dinner. He had visions of being carved up like the turkey he felt. He'd better use his talents quickly and the only part of his talent that wasn't tied up was his mouth.

GMcB: Now let's be reasonable about this mate. Ah get it that ye like blokes an' specifically me at the moment. An' though ah dinna normally go that way, ah'm perfectly willin' tae help ye out in a bind, since ma dear cousin Jamie's no' available at the moment....But thare's really no reason tae tie me up like this. Ah mean, ah might enjoy it a little more if ma wrists werna tied so tight.  Besides ma scraped knees are rubbin' against the table an' , tae be frank, they hurt like hell. Could ye no' see past lettin' me wash them off a bit before we proceed?

McRandall's laughed diabolically and the sound of it made McButler's hair stand on end.

McRandall: You are missing the point entirely, my dear man. It is your pain that gives me pleasure. Besides I thought you said you and Jamie were not related?

McButler was really scared now, but that would only make matters worse, so he struggled to control it and went on matter of factly, trying to sound as reasonable as one could in his situation.

GMcB: Well, yeah, ah get that. Ah dinna mind a little pain maself, but it all depends on what kind o' pain an' where it is,  if ye know what ah mean?

Suddenly getting an idea, he follows that tack.

GMcB: Ye know what would really tarn me on tae this whole thing? Hows about we play doctor?

McRandall is taking off his coat and hanging it on the chair.
.
McRandall: (curious now) Doctor?

GMcB: Aye. Ye know doctors make ye feel better before they make ye feel worse sometimes? Well, furst ye could clean up ma knees an' say soothin' things tae me, an' then ye kin tie me up again an' dae what ye want wi me?  It's more fun if it's a game, wi' a little role playin' , ye ken?

McRandall: (looking dubious) Role playing?

GMcB: Yeah, ah'm really guid at that stuff.  As a matter o' fact, if ye untie ma hands ah could even show ye how grateful ah am, while ye doctor ma knees.

Gerremy can see the wheels turning in McRandall's brain.

GMcB: Ah'd be foolish tae make a break fer it, since ye have all the weapons an' ah've none tae speak o'.

McRandall: You have a point. Very well. Just give me your word as a gentlemen that there will be no more of that childish head butting?

GMcB: (grinning) Ah gie ye ma wort as a gentlemen.

Taking his knife, McRandall cuts the rope tying Gerremy to the table.

GMcB: What dae ye say tae another drink? Ye barely touched yers an' ah could surely use one.

McRandall looks at him and reaching over for the bottle on the other end of the table, pours out a drink for him.

McRandall: Sit down a moment and let me see what I can find to clean up your knees.

GMcB: Arna ye goin' tae untie ma hands?

McRandall: Not until I'm good and ready.

GMcB: Verra well (lowering his voice) ye crazy fuck!
McRandall: There is nothing wrong with my hearing. What is this "fuck?"   I heard you use it earlier.

GMcB: Ye're no' familiar wi' the wort?

McRandall: (narrowing his eyes) Never heard it used.

GMcB: (unable to suppress his ironic humor, even now) It's what ye call a real piece o' work.

McRandall: (pleased with this explanation) How appropriate.

As soon as McRandall's back is turned, McButler fumbles in Jamie's sporran for the Ambien he had tucked away. Struggling to get the cap off with the limited motion his tied wrists allow, he manages to pull out several pills and drop them in McRandall's drink with a fervent prayer that the high alcohol content of the whiskey will dissolve them quickly.

Seconds later McRandall returns with a small piece of the sheet he has ripped off and kneeling before Gerremy, he turns up the bloody kilt. Dipping a corner of the rag into the whiskey, he starts harshly rubbing it on the open abrasions of McButler's knees.

Giving out a blood curdling scream, McButler bites his lip when he notices the ecstatic look on McRandall's face and the rising bulge in his trousers.

McRandall: Mmmmm. I'm starting to see your point in this role playing thing, but I thought you said you liked a little pain?

GMcB: (through clenched teeth) Yeah, but how about that drink now?

McButler tries to push down his kilt as McRandall picks up the glasses and hands him one.

McRandall: Let's drink a toast to "playing doctor." I think I like this game.

Raising his cup, he downs the contents in several gulps and sits there waiting for McButler to do the same.

McButler sees no choice but to go along with the game and takes several swigs of the amber liquid.

McRandall: Drink up man. There are many more pleasures ahead here.

McButler: If ye dinna mind, ah think ah'll save the rest fer after some o' em, aye?

McRandall: Suit yourself. Now where were we?

Carefully, he starts unbuttoning McButler's shirt, while Gerremy watches him closely for signs of the drug and alcohol taking effect. There was enough there to fell a horse, and he should start feeling it any minute.

Taking the knife from it's shield, McRandall illustrates the sharpness of his tool by shaving off a band of McButler's chest hair and holding his hand in the air, letting them float down like a shower over his head.
Dreamily, he repeats the motion again, only this time a little lower and, watching Gerremy close his eyes, he thinks it is from the pleasure he feels.

GMcB: Ohhh fv-ck!

Gerramy McButler's chin falls to his chest and several seconds later when the first snore comes, McRandall realizes his "patient" has fallen asleep.

Insulted, he shakes him harshly, only to get a low moan and another snore.
Angry now, he jerks the snoring McButler to his feet and roughly drapes him over the table, pulling his kilt up around his shoulders and slamming the knife into the table near his head. McButler opens one eye to see it, then passes out again.

McRandall: You bloody, damned Scot! There is no way you are going to sleep your way through this. I shall have you asleep or awake!

Stepping back he drops his trousers and leans against the mirror to step out of them, directing his rage at the snoozing McButler.

McRandall: We'll see if you can sleep through what I have in mind for you, you stupid...Scottish (fumbling for a word, he tries a new one) fuck!

The mirror behind him turns shimmery as the vortex opens up and sucks him in, bare ass first, before it closes behind him leaving Gerremy McButler completely alone again, indignantly exposed, and snoring like a baby.


New York City



Caffe Falai
Sitting at a table at Caffe Falai on Lafayette Street, Rusty Elvaino was having lunch with Allaine Siegelson, who had flown out late the night before to figure out what to do to track the missing Gerremy McButler. Not wanting to alarm anyone, he had counseled Rusty not to call the police in just yet and decided it would be prudent to make the trip and see what could be done.

Digging into his Agnolotti Formaggi with gusto, he was watching Rusty pick at the aromatic Linguini Vongole, while they sipped a nice vino rosato the waiter had recommended.

Siegelson: Stop worrying Rusty. He's bound to show up soon. Perhaps he went to some weird retreat where they don't let you use your cell phone. You know how some of those things are.

Elvaino: I wish I could. You know Gerry. They'd have to pry that BlackBerry from his cold, dead hand to get it away from him.

Sielgelson: I suppose you're right. But you never know. He's really into this Indian stuff at the moment.

Elavaino: You don't suppose this Preyanker chick he's in love with knows where he is, do you?

Siegelson: (shaking his head) I called her people. Said she hadn't heard from him.

Elvaino: What about his mom?

Siegelson: First place I called. Hey, you know this pasta isn't half bad. How's yours?

Elvaino: It's good. Very tasty. (looking around) No wonder Gerry likes this place. It's full of women.

Siegelson: Nice, eh? I like the decor. Good vibes. By the way, have I told you the latest funny from Gerryland?

Elvaino: Now what?

Siegelson: (laughing) You remember the comment Gerry made after The Hangover premiere?

Elvaino: How can I forget? I laughed my ass off when I read it.

Siegelson: Well my assistant was checking out some of the fan sites for feedback the other day and she stumbled onto one who was having a fundraiser. Digging a little deeper, she discovered that one of the fans had knit these little things she called the "Gerry Butler Cock Cozy" in the shape of a chicken and was selling them on e-bay, and apparently making a killing too.

Elvaino starts laughing uncontrollably.

Siegelson: (grinning) And you haven't heard the worst of it yet. Her pitch was "For the Gerry Butler fan who has everything, this is the one item your significant other can wear to turn you ON! After all, every cock needs a chicken!"

Elvaino: Oh my God. Where do these women get these ideas? Can you imagine a bunch of grown men running around naked wearing knitted chickens on their pecker?

Siegelson: From Gerry, apparently. (laughs) And you'll never believe what charity the proceeds are going to?

Elvaino: Save The Chicken...Buy a Cozy?

Siegelson: (with a straight face) Gerry's Herd: Goats for Appalachia.

Elvaino: (laughing) Even when he's not here, the man is funny. I wonder where the hell he is?

Siegelson: Hopefully keeping his pants on and staying out of trouble.

Elvaino: Well, this morning when I checked the news headlines on my laptop I saw the headline "Star's Strange Activity Stuns Scientist" and actually clicked on it, thinking they might be talking about Gerry.

Allaine: (laughing) And they weren't?

Elvaino: Naaah, it was about a shrinking star in the Orion constellation.


Hollywood TMZ Headquarters

"Let's bring out the big guns."
  
Misc.Pap: Hey Harley, there are some serious rumors floating around that Gerard Butler has disappeared. He hasn't been seen out at any of the clubs lately and we've got all the usual spots covered.

Harley Levine: I wonder if he's gotten tired of our little piece on him and is taking extra measures to avoid us?

Misc. Pap: No, seriously. The rumor mill at IMDb and the fan sites have been going crazy trying to dig him up. If those people can't find him, no one can. His management is not commenting. 


Harley Levine: Okay. We may have to outsource this. Let's bring out the big guns. If she can't track him down, no one can.


Scotland

Late that night Gerremy McButler awakened in the dark, still lying over the table with his hands and feet bound. He was disoriented and freezing his arse off, literally. His hands and feet were numb and his back ached. As the situation he was in slowly came back to him, he wondered where the crazy dragoon was?
His arse was so cold, he couldn't tell whether anything had happened to him or not, but he was still alive and that was something, under the circumstances.

Trying to piece together what had happened he realized he had drunk the cup with the Ambien and that was the last he remembered.

He turned his head to the other side with difficulty, as his neck was stiff. Luckily, though numb, his hands were tied in front of him. He tried to straighten up and finally managed to do so with some difficulty. Opening and closing his fists, he tried to work some blood back into his fingers. After a few minutes he remembered the last thing McRandall had done was slam the big knife, point first, into the table a few inches from his head to scare him. If he could find it in the dark he could try to cut his bonds loose, hopefully without cutting himself and bleeding to death. Groping around in the dark and careful not to move lest he fall over, his hands found the blade end of the knife first and felt it slice into one of his fingers.

GMcB: Ouch! Damn it!

Carefully sliding up the blade, he was able to put his hands over the hilt and using all his strength, pull it out.

His wrists were bound so tightly, there was no way to cut through his bonds, but at the angle he was holding the knife, if he could find the bench, he could sit down and cut through the leather strap binding his ankles. Once he could walk, he could find someone to free his hands.

Taking a little jump backward in the direction of where he thought the bench was, the back of his legs came in contact with nothing but thin air. He was still a little disoriented, but perhaps McRandall had moved the bench? He took one more little jump backwards and then another larger one, only to drop the knife as he plunged backward, bringing down the privacy curtain that hid the chamber pot, which overturned contents he was now lying in.

GMcB: (angry and frustrated) Fv-ck! Fv-ck! Fv-ck!

Although the curtain had broken his fall, he was now drenched with urine and thinking that matters couldn't get worse. But if there was a bright side to this whole horrible nightmare he was living, he rationalized that it indeed could have been worse, had the contents of the chamber pot been more of the solid variety. Well now he would have to find the knife again and figure out how to get up without the use of his hands. This was perhaps one way staying in shape with yoga and being pounds lighter for this movie coming up, if he was ever to return to his world, that was, was going to pay off.

He easily brought himself into a sitting position. Bringing his bound wrists down to the floor on his right side and letting his elbows drop to the floor, he was able to get on all fours and, with some effort, push himself to a standing position.

Once standing he remembered he hadn't looked for the knife.

GMcB: This is a test, isna it God? Ah know ah shoulda spent less oan that bluidy mirror an' given' some o' it tae that homeless shelter, eh?

He felt like crying, the frustration was so strong.

Crouching down and getting on his knees again, he starts carefully feeling for the knife. Luckily, this time he came upon the handle quite quickly, picking it up and as he moved forward on all fours, banged his head on the bench he was looking for.

Laying his arms, elbows down, across the bench, he pushes himself up. Turning around, he sits down on the solidness of the bench and takes a deep breath.

By this time his already abraded knees were raw and stinging furiously and he was shivering with cold from being wet.

GMcB: (grumbling) No one is ever goin' tae believe this *beep*

Reaching down carefully, knife securely in his right hand, he starts cutting through the bond around his ankles, freeing them with a few strokes.

GMcB: Whew! Now if ah kin figure oot....

Standing up and walking to where he thinks the table is, he holds the knife towards his body, blade up and with a very light pressure against it, he manages to cut the strap around his wrists without cutting into his flesh.

GMcB: (sighing in satisfaction) Okay, God or whatever ah'm tae call ye, ah owe ye one.

Feeling his way to the wall, he flings open the shutters and thanks to a three quarter moon, he is able to see the room and ascertain there is no one else there with him.

GMcB: Well ma arse is about the only thing that isna sore. Ah wonder where that screw loose idiot went to? (moving towards the door)   If ah ever run intae him again, ah'm goin' tae show him what real pain is, an' he isna goin' tae enjoy it either.

Putting his hand on his chin.

GMcB: Hmmm. Whare have ah heard that line before?

Bolting the door securely and putting the big knife on the table next to the bed, he strips Jamie's urine soaked clothes off and plunks down on the straw filled mattress, groaning. Anything more can wait until daylight.

He turns and smells the bedding with distaste and shivers.

GMcB: Ah naiver in ma life thought ah'd say this but....Scotland stinks! ....Big time!


Next: McRandall Does Manhattan!
 


Disclaimer: This is a work of pure fiction that exists only in the twilight zone of the writer's mind. Any and all resemblance to any person living or dead is purely coincidental.

Songs out of tune, the words always a little wrong...Canzoni Stonate

The Outlandisher - Chap. 9 - An English Captain

June 6th, 2009

"Lice?  Oh ma Gude!"
Chap. 9

An English Captain

On the carriage ride back from Inverness Castle Gerry McButler was fitfully dreaming he was being pinched to death by a gaggle of overzealous fans who had wrestled him to the ground. Flailing his arms and crying out, he awakes to find that the carriage has stopped and Claire is shaking him vigorously.

Claire: Are you alright? You looked like you were in the fight of your life.

GMcB: (scratching himself, he shivers) Brrrr. Ah was havin' a bad dream.

Seeing they have arrived back at her cottage, he opens the door and helps her down from the carriage and over the threshold.

Claire looks at the carriage and back at McButler.

Claire: (reluctantly) I suppose you'd better stay here for the rest of the night. I'll start a fire and ye can sleep on the floor near the fireplace.

GMcB: On the floor? Ye got tae be kiddin'. Ah dinna think ma body kin take the floor. Ye've no' got another bed?
Claire: (laughing) Are you serious? This is 18th century Scotland, remember? And Jamie is a laird without a castle. 
GMcB: (scratching his head) Well then ah think ah'll take ma chances leukin' fer the room wi' the bluidy mirror. Ah know there was a bed in it.(shrugging) Ah dinna remember the name o' the place, but if ah found ye, I kin probably find it if ah walk around a bit an' get ma bearings.

Claire: (incredulous) In the dark? Are you mad? You'll probably be set upon by thieves and get your throat cut.

Thinking it over and not finding the prospect attractive, he eyes the fireplace again, then goes out and dismisses the driver.

GMcB: (scratching under his arm ) Have a heart. Kin ah no' share yer bed if we put some pillows between us? Ah promise no' tae touch ye. Since ah made this movie about the Spartans, ah gat a touch o' arthritis in ma shoulders an' when it flares up, there's the devil tae be paid.

He scratches himself vigorously again and Claire frowns.

Claire: You know that little romp of yours with yon lassie back at the castle?

GMcB: (blushing) Er, what about it?

Claire: By the looks of you, I would wager you have picked up a few bugs here and there.

GMcB: Bugs? Ye mean like an STD kind o' bug?

Claire: STD?

GMcB: A sexually transmitted disease.

Claire: Interesting..... In 1945 we were still calling them venereal diseases.

GMcB: (nervous) Ah repeat, how dae ye know fer sure the lass wis infected wi' one? She seemed fine tae me an' dinna leuk tae be more than 17 or 18.

Claire: Dear man, the kind of bugs I was referring to are the crawling kind, as in lice.

GMcB: (jutting out his bottom jaw) Lice? Oh ma Gude!

Suddenly he starts scratching again and looking down at his clothes.

Claire: And there is no way you are sharing my bed like that, no matter how many promises you make. It's hard enough keeping Jamie deloused with all the scrapes he gets into....

Gerry is too busy scratching himself furiously to pay attention to what she's saying.


GMcB: (scratching his crotch) Lice er crabs?

Claire: One and the same.

She wants to laugh, as he shudders at the thought.

GMcB: What dae ah do? Ah know a shower is askin' too much for this backward place, but dae ye think I could get a bath at least before they bite me tae death? ..... Please? Somethin'. Anythin'?

Claire: As luck would have it, Jamie spent all summer carving a bathtub for me out of a solid tree trunk. It took him forever and almost cost him a finger. Good thing I was able to sew most of it back on. It was tricky, but...

GMcB: (humoring her) He did say ye were guid at patchin' people up. Ye're a woman o' many talents. Now what about that bath?

Claire: It's up to you, but you're likely to freeze to death trying to bathe this time of night. The water is cold enough in the day time.

GMcB: (eyes wide) Cold water?

Claire: (thinking it over) I suppose I could heat up some water for you in the cooking caldron. Do you now how to start a fire?

GMcB: Ye got a lighter?

Claire: (laughing) Sure. Here.

She hands him the flint box.

GMcB: (looking at it blankly) What the hell is this?

With a facsimile of one of Jamie's guttural sounds, she snatches the flint box from him.

Claire: Never mind. Give it to me!

She hands him the large caldron hanging over the fire.

Claire: Go to the rain barrel in the back and get some water. I'll start the fire.

She goes to the fireplace and starts mumbling to herself.

Claire: I can't believe I'm doing this for another Scottish clod head. You're an idiot Claire McFraser!

An hour later, in a room lit by several candles, Gerremy McButler is sitting in a small, half filled tub of tepid water vigorously scrubbing himself from head to toe with lye soap . He was also thinking that he was hungry again and wondered if Claire had anymore of that boiled beef she had served him this afternoon? He was craving a hamburger with french fries, but anything would do at this point. A cup of tea might be nice too. At least with boiled water he didn't have to worry about picking up another kind of bug.

What he wouldn't give for a coca cola right about now.

Face full of soap, he closes his lids to keep the stinging soap out of his eyes. Hearing a knock on the door, he opens one eye to see Claire coming in with another caldon full of water so he can rinse himself. Instinctively he covers up his genitals and getting soap in his eye, quickly closes it.

Carrying the container of steaming water Claire smiles at the sight of him, hair thick with soap, eyes closed and hands in his lap covering himself. She couldn't help admiring the big muscled arms and shoulders, but clears her throat loudly as she approaches the tub to warn him.

Claire: Are you ready? The water's nice and warm.

GMcB: Aye, please hurry! Ma eyes are burnin' an' ma skin is about tae fall off. What is this soap made o' anyways? Turpentine?

Claire: You're close. Ready or not, here it comes.

Lifting the large caldron over his head, she pours some of the steaming water over him.

A little hotter than either of them expected, he jumps up with a loud yell, banging his head on the caldron and almost knocking it out of her hand, then grabbing his privates in an attempt to shield them again.

GMcB: Damn it wumman! Furst ye try tae geld me an' now ye're tryin' tae cook me. What is it wi ye? Dae ye hate all men or is it just me?

Claire: (laughing) Oh for God's sake sit down, you sissy! A little hot water never hurt anybody. Besides, it will help kill the lice.

GMcB: (under his breath) Yeah, an'  their host too!

Chastised and still covering himself with one hand, he lowers himself down into the tub again and obediently lets her pour the rest of the water over him while he awkwardly attempts to rinse the pungent soap from his body with the other.

Putting the kettle down, Claire notices the smooth skin on the back of his neck and back. She can't help but compare it to Jamie's equally broad, but badly scared one and feels momentarily guilty for having the thought. Dismissing it just as quickly, she turns around to leave the room.

Claire: When you've finished drying yourself, here is one o' Jamie's shirts you can slip on. Come downstairs and I'll check you for any strays.

GMcB: (wiping the water from his eyes) Ah hate tae ask, but ah'm really hungry again. Dae ye have anythin' tae eat an' maybe some hot tea or sumthin'. Ah'm thirsty.

Hands on her hips, she turns around to face him again from the door.

Claire: You're determined to eat me out of house and home, aren't you?

GMcB: Ah'll pay ye back somehow. Ah promise.

Claire: Very well. I'll see what I can find.

GMcB: (giving her his most angelic grin) Ye're an angel.

Claire: I've been called a witch, but never an angel.

She goes out the door and leaves him to his privacy, thinking how easily this almost perfect stranger managed to get his way with her. She wondered if maybe by some quirk of fate he might not really be related to Jamie McFraser.
Ten minutes later, Gerry McButler (for he had asked her to call him that) is sitting near the fireplace while Claire combed through his hair looking for any signs of live lice. She thought it might be a little early for any nits. They had emptied the tub and while there were plenty of dead ones in the water, she couldn't find any on his scalp. The fact he wasn't squirming or scratching any other body parts was another good sign.

Putting out several bannocks with gooseberry preserves and some vegetable soup she had made from the few vegetables she was able to grow in her garden, she cut him a piece of cheese.

Gratefully, he ate in silence, lulled into a stupor by the warmth and the sudden sense of well being. Realizing there was little he needed to do at the moment, he was looking forward to an untroubled sleep. He would worry about his present circumstances in the morning and return to the inn and the mirror and see if he could find his way back to his own time. He knew there had to be a way. He just had to find it. He wished he could recall the name of the inn now. He'd know it when he saw it.

Meanwhile, he found himself enjoying the company of this straightforward woman who, though married, was very easy on the eyes. He could clearly see her charm for someone like Jamie McFraser and thought he would have given her more than a second look himself, had he run into her in his own time. As it was, it was nice not to worry about having to make a conquest of her and just be himself.

Finishing up his plate, down to the last crumb, he drinks what is left of the soothing mint tea she had freshly brewed from leaves gathered from her garden.

Claire: I don't know about you, but I think it's time to go to bed. The sun will be up soon. Do you think you can bank the fire here, while I see what arrangements I can make upstairs?

Unconsciously getting up and stretching himself in front of the fireplace, he doesn't realize that the long linen shirt he is wearing becomes almost transparent.

GMcB: Ah don't suppose ye have a spare toothbrush, dae ye? (grinning) Ma dentist , Dr. Zoom, says ah gotta brush an' floss every night before bed if ah wanna keep my movie star smile.

Claire averts her eyes to keep from staring at the outline of his manly contours.

Claire: Floss?

GMcB: Yeah, ye know...the bitty thread, tae get in between the teeth to keep yer gums healthy. If ye've ever had a root canal ye'd know the importance o' it. Though it's a pain in the arse, ah'm no' about tae go through that again!

Claire: Well I've got some silk thread I use for medical purposes, but you'll have to reuse it, as it's hard to come by. As for the teeth, you'll have to make do with some salt you can apply with these leaves. They work if you are diligent.

She hands him several leaves and some grains of salt and going to her medical box, cuts a small length of silk thread and lays it on the table. It was nice to see a man who cared about dental hygiene for a change. She had taught Jamie and his family how to brush, and also how to eat a variety of greens to keep their gums healthy. So many of the eighteen century citizens lost their teeth at a young age to tooth decay. It was unfortunate and ruined even the nicest smile.

GMcB: Well, it's not ma Sonicare, but ah guess it will have tae do.

Claire: Sonicare?

GMcB: Ma electric toothbrush that spins an' does everythin' but wipe yer arse.....The stuff we take fer granted is amazin' isn't it?

Claire: Yes. I'd settle for a good old l945 brush and some mint tooth powder I didn't have to make myself.

GMcB: Ye know, in ma time they even bleach yer teeth tae whiten them. There are all kinds o' tricks fer gettin' a Hollywood smile. (giggling) If ye only knew.....

Claire: (yawning) You'll have to tell me more about it tomorrow. Right now I'm going up and get ready for bed. Knock on the door before coming in, will you?

GMcB: O' course.

Ten minutes later, after rinsing his mouth and his little piece of precious silk thread in a little of the water left in the kettle, he carefully put it away in the sporran she had loaned him. He also banked the fire, as she had shown him and, taking the candle left on the table with him, goes upstairs.

He didn't think he would need an Ambien tonight. Better to save them for another day. God knew how long he was going to be here.


New York City 

Letting himself into Gerry's loft , Rusty Elvaino is greeted by Noly, padding in to see him, followed by Gerry's cleaning lady Marta, who is carrying a mop.

Nodding at the woman, he bends over to lift up the little dog now rubbing up against his leg.

Elvaino: What's wrong girl? You happy to see me?

Marta: I'll bet she is. Where the devil is Gerry? I found this poor thing practically starving to death and little puddles of her urine and something else all over the hardwood floor.

Elvaino: I dunno. Wish I did though, because it's not like him not to call someone to feed Noly and take her out if he can't do it himself.

Marta: Well I called Mr. Baines to come an' get her and I'll leave a note for Gerry telling him, cause if he doesn't show up soon and she keeps peeing on that floor, he's going to have to refinish it again. ..... Besides, I told him I don't pick up dog poop.

Elvaino, Yes, well, I'm sure he knew you were coming today, so he didn't worry. I'm going to check around with a few people this afternoon if I don't hear from him by then. Tell Baines to keep her until he hears from me, okay?

Marta: Were do you think he's gone off to? He left all his Scottish finery sittin' around his room, so I though maybe he'd just stepped out.

Elvaino: I have no idea Marta, but I'm going to leave this little box on his desk. If he shows up while you're still here, tell him to call me, will you?


Claire's Cottage - Scotland

It's late morning and Gerry McButler awakens gasping for breath and flings the pillow sitting on his face aside. Suspicious, he looks over to see the other side of the bed is empty. 

Claire was fast asleep when he entered the room the night before to find the bed had been divided by a big lofty quilt down the middle. Thinking how pretty she looked lying there, he had tiptoed in quietly, blown out the remaining candle, and slipped in under the top quilt to quickly sink into the feather mattress. After sneezing several times in the darkness and listening to Claire's quiet breathing for a few minutes, he had fallen into a deep sleep.

Wondering about the pillow on his face, he vaguely remembered someone shouting at him and telling him to turn over, once or twice, but deep in the arms of Morpheus, he had been unable to respond.

He stands up and scratching his bottom absently, he disappears behind the curtain and pees in the chamber pot. 


Thrusting open the shutter to a sunny, if crisp day outside, he shivers and hugs himself. As he stands in the light of the window, he looks down at the shirt he is wearing and realizes you can see through the fabric. Grinning to himself, he decides he'd better get dressed before going in search of Claire.

He eyes a bowl and pitcher of water across the room and uses it to wash his face and rinse his mouth, careful not to swallow any. Looking around for the clothes he was wearing before going to the castle, he sees that she has put out a fresh, if worn kilt, another white linen shirt and a pair of striped socks next to his boots. There is a warm, tartan folded next to them as well. He dresses quickly, feeling the draft up his thighs and wishing mightily he had his comfy designer underwear again, not to mention a pair of his jeans.

Once downstairs, he discovers Claire is nowhere in sight but has left some bread and cheese covered with a cloth and a glass of what looks like fresh buttermilk for him. Quickly wolfing it down, he decides it's time to do a little more exploring and see if he can find his way back to the inn. Not finding anything to leave her a note with and figuring he will stop by later and thank her properly, he goes on his way.

He hasn't gone far, when he realizes that some one is following him. It is that second sense he has developed over the years of having to watch out for stalking fans and paparazzi that now alerts him to the stranger, dressed in what looks to be some kind of red military coat, who is curiously dogging his steps.

GMcB: *beep* What the hell is this guy tailin' me for? If ah dinna know better, ah'd think he was a pap.

Speeding up to try and lose him, he ducks behind a stack of barrels being unloaded from a wagon. The wagon driver, sees him and barks out menacingly...

Wagon Driver: Binna ye leukin fer mischief thare, ah expect ye tae be movin' awa maister.

Stepping back quickly to avoid the beefy man, he decides to duck into what looks like an alley, only to startle a huge black Mastiff who immediately bares his teeth and growling deep in his throat, starts inching slowly towards him. Reminded of the mechanical wolf from 300, Gerry has enough sense to be scared.

Thinking it prudent to stay calm, he talks to the dog in a soothing voice.

GMcB: Calm doon thare boy! Ah'm no' interested in yer business, whatever that is.

Deciding to take his chances with the stalker, he slowly backs out of the alley and runs right smack into the man.

Frank Neil McRandall was not as tall as Gerremy, but lean and compact, with a sensual mouth and dark eyes. He wasn't a bad looking man, but the look on his face as he address McButler, gives one the impression of hidden dangers.

McRandall: (condescendingly) Ye clumsy oaf! (pointing) Look what you've done to my boots!

GMcB: (angry at his tone) Well if ye hadna been breathin' down ma neck I wouldna have stepped on yer, f-uckin' dirty boots!

McRandall: They were clean before you put your big, ugly feet on them, you menace! (putting his hand on the hilt of his sword) I should teach you a lesson for assaulting an officer of the King's army.

GMcB: (angrier still and balling his fists) Ye've the nairve tae call that an assault? Ah'm thinkin' ah should really give ye somethin' tae write home about, ye imbecil.

In their argument they had both forgotten the big Mastiff, who was now inching forward, drooling profusely and growling loudly at them.

They both turn to the large dog at once and looking at each other with fear, start backing up slowly, watching the dog carefully and hoping he is not going to give chase.

After a few feet they both slowly turn and start running in different directions.

As luck would have it, the dog tears off after Gerry, who has no weapon to defend himself with. Not used to running in the ill fitting boots, he trips on a cobblestone and flying through the air, lands on his stomach with a thud, while the dog, who had just leapt in the air to attack him, sails right over him, landing in a water trough used for watering the horses.

Only momentarily deterred, the dog jumps out and is busily shaking the water from his thick coat. This gives a winded McButler just enough time to get to his feet and see Frank McRandall, who has appeared next to him, raise a musket and fire at the animal. The shot whizzes past the dog, just close enough to scare him, and he takes off with a yelp. 
18th century dragoon
McRandall: Are you alright?

GMcB: Aye, thanks. (dusting himself off) Cep fer the knees.

The words between them forgotten, Gerry looks down at his bloodied knees and notices a big tear in Jamie's worn kilt, which is now hopelessly smeared with blood and mud.

GMcB: Crap! Ah ruined bluidy McFraser's kilt.

McRandall: McFraser? Jamie McFraser?

GMcB: (looking up) Yeah, ye know him?

McRandall: Well, to be truthful, I saw you coming out of his house. You've a look of him about you. Are you two related?

GMcB: Not saes ah know, though ah guess anything's possible. Ye a friend o' his?

McRandall: (grinning) We've had our moments.

GMcB: Ah dinna ken where he is, if that's why ye were followin' me.

McRandall: I wasn't following you, but perhaps I was a little curious. You say you don't know his whereabouts?

GMcB: I havena' a clue, but thanks fer scaring off that mutt. He was as big as a bul......

Suddenly, as if a light goes on in his head, he remembers the name of the inn and blurts out...

GMcB: Say, ye ever heard o' a place called the Red Bull Inn? I wis tryin' tae retrace ma steps from Claire's house, but now ah'm confused.

McRandall: It's two blocks over and one block down. (with interest) You staying there?

GMcB: Ah guess ah am....

Eager to get going now that he knows his way, he turns to McRandall and puts out his hand.

GMcB: Hey, thanks again, mate. Sorry aboot yer boots.

McRandall: (pleasantly) It's forgotten already. Think nothing of it.

GMcB: Cool. Well, ah'd best be goin' now. See ye aroun', aye?

Seeing the palm of Gerry's hand is muddy from his fall, McRandall takes his fingers lightly and shakes them with something akin to distaste.

McRandall: (under his breath) Sooner then you think.

McRandall watches him walk away until he is well out of sight.

Not one to fret and happy to have escaped another catastrophe and gotten his bearings again, Gerry McButler takes off whistling a tune.

GMcB: (singing low) ...." kickin' down the cobble-stones,..... lookin' fer fun an' feelin' groooooo ...vy ..."

Suddenly he stops, sure he's forgotten something he should remember.... but not remembering what it is, he decides it must not be important and continues walking to his destination with purpose.

Next: "Chickens You Say? 



Disclaimer: This is a work of pure fiction that exists only in the twilight zone of the writer's mind. Any and all resemblance to any person living or dead is purely coincidental.

Songs out of tune, the words always a little wrong...Canzoni Stonate