Lady Churchill's Rosebud Wristlet No. 23 Read online

  * * *

  Small Beer Press

  www.lcrw.net

  Copyright ©2008 by authors

  First published in 2008, 2008

  * * *

  NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.

  * * *

  CONTENTS

  The LoveSling

  The Problem of the Traveling Salesman

  Heliotrope Hedgerow

  The Chance

  In the Name of the Mother

  Holden Caulfield Doesn't Love Me

  A Wizard of MapQuest

  Marie and Roland

  Ana's Tag

  Three Poems

  The Leap

  The Girl With No Hands

  About the Authors

  * * * *

  Lady Churchill's Rosebud Wristlet #23

  TABLE OF CONTENTS of an item that, surprisingly, given that the date is

  NOVEMBER 2008, does not require A FEDERAL BAILOUT

  fiction

  Nick Wolven, The LoveSling

  Kat Meads, The Emily(s) Debate the Impact of Reclusivity on Life, Art, Family, Community, and Pets

  Susan Wardle, The Chance

  Jodi Lynn Villers, In the Name of the Mother

  Daniel Lanza, Holden Caulfield Doesn't Love Me

  Alex Wilson, A Wizard of MapQuest

  Kirstin Allio, Marie and Roland

  William Alexander, Ana's Tag

  Mark Rich, The Leap

  Angela Slatter, The Girl with No Hands nonfiction

  Ted Chiang, The Problem of the Traveling Salesman poetry

  Christa A. Bergerson, Heliotrope Hedgerow

  Kim Parko, Three Poems comic

  Abby Denson, Jingle Love spot illos

  Anna Sears, Chris Nakashima-Brown cover

  Kevin Huizenga

  Makers: Gavin J. Grant, Kelly Link, Jedediah Berry, Kendall Diane Richmond, Michael J. DeLuca, Sara Majka, Danielle Baldassini, Anna Brenner.

  Lady Churchill's Rosebud Wristlet No.23, A Celebration, November 2008 (but actually December—and very much looking forward to January 20, 2009). ISSN 1544-7782. Since 1996, LCRW has usually appeared in June and November from Small Beer Press, 150 Pleasant St., Easthampton, MA 01027 [email protected] lcrw.net/lcrw

  Subscriptions: $5 per single issue or $20/4. Please make checks to Small Beer Press. Library and institutional subscriptions available through EBSCO. LCRW is available as an ebook through Fictionwise.com, lcrw.net, and lulu.com, and as a trade paperback from lulu.com/sbp. Contents © the authors. All rights reserved. Submissions, requests for guidelines, & all good things should be sent to the address above. No SASE: no reply. Printed by Paradise Copies, 30 Craft Ave., Northampton, MA 01060. 413-585-0414.

  Thanks for reading.

  The LoveSling

  Nick Wolven

  1

  The package was larger than they had expected.

  It took up nearly the entire foyer: a battered cardboard box sealed with packing tape. They had to push it down the hall to the bedroom, sliding it over the wood floor. In the bedroom, Andrew cut the packing tape with a key. He reached into the box and drew out a card.

  "The LoveSling,” he read. “A dramatic new tool for mega love increasement. For bringing couples together and aggrandizing overall joy. Hooks into most things with facile assembly.” He lowered the card. “It must be from a foreign country."

  "They had a picture in the catalog,” Amy said. “It looked kind of like a spider."

  "And why do we need this thing, again?” Andrew said.

  "To give the bed a rest, stud.” Amy knelt by the box. “I thought it would be fun. A new house. A new spouse. A new suite of romantic positions. We've worked through three books and two foreign DVDs; we've even taken tips from your perverted crew of friends. We've exhausted the potentialities of all level surfaces.” She pushed her hair back. “I thought we should effect a comprehensive paradigm shift."

  "I love it when you talk dirty,” Andrew said, and kissed her ear.

  * * * *

  * * * *

  That night they had Tuscany chicken and risotto with parmesan and peppers. They shared a bottle of Sauvignon-Blanc. They went into the bedroom and looked at the box.

  "There's an awful lot of bubble-wrap in there,” Andrew said.

  He squatted and excavated the package, yanking out wads of paper and inflated plastic pillows. Styrofoam peanuts clung to his forearms. He lifted a baggie. “There's a lot of screws involved."

  "That's the idea, all right,” Amy said. She helped him pull straps and plastic tubes from the box. “Is there an Allen wrench anywhere? I think we're going to need an Allen wrench."

  "I don't see any instructions,” Andrew observed.

  "There was a picture in the catalog. It looked kind of like a rosebush."

  "Where does this hose attach?” he said.

  They spread the contents of the package on the floor.

  "I'll get a screwdriver,” Amy offered. “I'll get tools."

  She left the room. While she was gone, Andrew stood with his hands on his hips, surveying the black apparatus at his feet. When Amy returned, he poked the mass with his toe.

  "It looks kind of like an octopus,” he decided, scratching his neck.

  They drove the screws into the ceiling, and attached the hooks. From the hooks they hung the tube-like things, and from the tube-like things they hung the harness. The harness had pointy things. They plugged these into the pointy-thing sockets. The pointy-thing sockets supported the saddle, and the saddle seemed to be attached to everything else.

  Andrew tugged experimentally. “It seems to be secure.” He squinted at the ceiling. “I think I found a stud."

  "Are there studs in a ceiling?” Amy said. “Or only rafters?"

  Andrew tugged again. “It's not falling down."

  Amy put her arms around him. “I think I found a stud."

  They laughed, kissed and cuddled. They took off their clothes.

  "Are we sure this is safe?” Amy said. “How does this work?” She gave the sling an experimental poke. It swung away and then back.

  Andrew seized one of the microfiber straps. “I think one of us climbs in, and the other—you know.” He blushed. “Stands in front.” The card was at his feet. He stooped and picked it up. “It says here it's ‘like something you have no experience.’”

  "Sounds marvelous,” Amy said. She was already climbing into the harness. She slipped a leg through the straps, adjusted a breast, brought her arm around behind her head. “Is this how?"

  "I think you have to—"

  "Wait."

  "No."

  "Do this."

  "No."

  "I'm stuck."

  "It seems like you have to loosen that buckle,” Andrew said.

  "What buckle?"

  He slipped an arm behind her. “Here."

  She wriggled away from his fingers. “Did you get it?"

  "Not quite. I've got something.” Andrew gave a pull. “Uh-oh,” he said.

  "Is that supposed to come out?"

  Andrew held a long, twisted strap in his fist. He pulled on it steadily. A black mass emerged from behind Amy's back, bulging like a birth from the guts of the sling. Andrew prodded it uncertainly. He said, “It's a net."

  They considered the situation.

  "Maybe,” Amy said, “the net go
es under us. In case we fall."

  "But the net is attached to the sling,” Andrew said.

  "Right,” said Amy.

  "And the sling is attached to the ceiling,” Andrew said.

  "Right,” said Amy.

  "So if the sling falls out of the ceiling, the net falls too."

  "And then we land in the net,” Amy said.

  Andrew looked at the ceiling. He looked at the floor. He looked at Amy. “Right,” he said.

  He threw the net over his shoulder. It fanned out like a cape. He stepped forward and reached behind Amy. “If you just hold on, I can loosen this strap. Here, take my hand.” He took her hand. Her skin was hot. So was his. “Now pull,” he said. “Now lean. Now swing."

  "Don't do that,” Amy said.

  "Why not?"

  "You'll get caught."

  "I won't."

  "You will."

  "I won't."

  "You will."

  "I won't. I'm caught."

  "What did I tell you?” Amy said.

  Andrew lifted a foot, and braced it on one of the pedals. “I think if I climb on there with you, I can get through to the other side."

  "And what's the advantage of that?” Amy said.

  "A fresh perspective,” said Andrew. He hopped off the floor. Holding Amy's hand, he pushed off the pedal. The sling swung. The screws groaned. Andrew took his foot from the pedal, and put it on Amy's knee. He lifted his other foot from the floor. He flailed wildly at the straps. With a sound like a saw, the screws tore from the ceiling. The sling and its occupants crashed to the floor.

  They writhed in the tangle of cables and cords. Andrew tried to move his arm, but it was pinned under Amy. He tried to move his leg, but it was tangled in the net. He shook his head, dazed with pain. “I thought I hit a stud."

  Amy twisted to glare at him. “I'm about to hit you."

  Andrew squirmed against her. “If you just move your leg..."

  "If you just move your shoulder..."

  "Your butt is in the way."

  "Now your butt is in my face."

  "I'm turning the other direction."

  "You're twisting my wrist!"

  "If you would just let go of my hand..."

  "No, no; don't let go."

  "I can't see what I'm doing!"

  "I think we're in trouble,” Amy said.

  * * * *

  They lay on the floor as the hours advanced, as the window darkened, as the world changed around them.

  The world did not change for them. They were tangled in the sling.

  "I'm learning things about you I never noticed before.” Amy spoke to Andrew's heel. “You have the world's hairiest toes."

  "And you,” said Andrew, “have a smelly lower back."

  "A smelly back? Who has a smelly back? Nobody has a smelly back,” Amy said.

  "I can tell you one person who has one,” Andrew said. “It smells like cheese."

  Amy wrestled and wriggled. “We have got to get out.” She pressed Andrew with her nose. “If we just work together..."

  "Put your hand on my back. We can prop ourselves up."

  "We can use that pole."

  "We can turn ourselves over."

  They turned themselves over, and over again.

  "I thought of something,” Amy said to Andrew's heel. If we can get to the phone, we can call my sister. If we call my sister, she can drive over here. If she comes over here, she can help us get out."

  "I don't think your sister deserves this,” Andrew said.

  "You didn't know her,” Amy said, “when you were ten.” She kicked Andrew in the elbow. “Here, help me grab that pole."

  By using the poles, they were able to cross the bedroom. They pushed themselves like a horrible gondola down the hall. At the end of the hall, they had a revelation. If they held the poles correctly, they could use them like stilts. They gripped and pushed, pushed and shoved. They groaned and panted, adjusting hands and feet. They lifted themselves from the floor.

  "Now,” said Amy, “we can walk. I think."

  They walked like a crab on their poles and feet, across the living room to the den.

  "This is actually kind of fun,” Andrew said.

  Amy laughed.

  Her phone was in the den, on top of the computer.

  "I think,” said Amy, “if you just use that hose..."

  "I think if you kick, like—"

  "I think if we jump."

  They jumped, and they kicked, and they used the hose.

  "Woo-hoo!” Andrew cried. “We are awesome! We're awesome!"

  "When you shout,” Amy said, “your breath tickles my loins."

  "I'm sorry,” Andrew said.

  "Oh, no. Do it again."

  * * * *

  Amy's sister lived across the city. She arrived two hours later. By that time, Amy and Andrew could run and jump with ease. They could somersault and skip. They could climb up stairs.

  By using the hose, they could take things off counters. By using the pedals, they could roll on little wheels. By using the screws, they could climb up walls.

  Every time Andrew spoke, his breath tickled Amy. Every time Amy moved, she rubbed Andrew's back. When Andrew breathed, Amy felt it with her skin. When Amy rubbed against Andrew, Andrew laughed with joy.

  They were in the front hall when Amy's sister arrived. They heard the spare key in the lock, and crouched on the floor. Amy's sister entered, set her bag by the doorway. She saw the thing in the hall.

  "Oh, my,” she said.

  "It's great!” said Amy. “We can turn on faucets!"

  "It's great!” said Andrew. “We scared the cat!'

  "Every time she moves, it makes me shiver."

  "Every time he talks, I get the chills."

  They demonstrated. Andrew sighed. Amy cooed.

  "I think I should leave you guys alone for a bit,” said the sister.

  "Oh, no!” said Amy. “Stay awhile! We'll make tea.” They went into the kitchen. “Is lemon zinger okay?"

  Amy's sister followed them. She had her disapproving face on. She pointed at a spot between Amy and Andrew. “Looks like if you move that hook, you'll be okay."

  "Oh, no,” they said. “That's really not necessary."

  Amy's sister pushed up her sleeves and knelt beside them.

  "No, no,” they said. “We like it this way!"

  Amy's sister reached between them, and took hold of the hook.

  "Please,” they said. “That's really not a good idea."

  Amy's sister pulled. She frowned. She pulled again. She squatted beside them. “Uh-oh,” she said.

  * * * *

  * * * *

  2

  On the street that led to the ice cream parlor, Mr. and Mrs. Plinth strolled hand in hand. They were old and liked to go for walks at night, when the air had cooled and the streets were less crowded. They always made a point of sticking to the same course, because deviation was bad for the stomach.

  Mr. Plinth pointed down the street. “Well. Look at that,” he said.

  "It looks,” said Mrs. Plinth, “like a piece of modern sculpture. Like one of those things your brother used to make."

  Mr. Plinth frowned in disapproval. “It certainly does,” he said.

  They strolled along at a steady pace, watching the object advance.

  "Are those people inside it?” Mr. Plinth said.

  "I believe they are. One, two ... at least seven. They shouldn't be doing that,” said Mrs. Plinth, “on this street. They'll set off the car alarms."

  "They're certainly very fit.” Mr. Plinth sighed deeply. “I remember when I was that fit. I took gymnastics before men did that sort of thing. I could go into a bridge from a standing position. But I never rolled around, doing somersaults like a fool, with seven people in a giant black net!"

  "Ten,” said Mrs. Plinth. “There are at least ten in there."

  It was against their habits, but they stopped to watch the object. It was bigger than they had
first realized. It took up the whole sidewalk. Its top brushed the lower branches of the trees along the street.

  "They're coming right toward us,” Mr. Plinth observed.

  Mrs. Plinth nodded. “Maybe they want to say hello."

  "They probably want money. Artists always want money."

  They stood holding hands as the object loomed over them. It was like a beetle, like kelp, like an exercise machine. It tumbled and squeaked and rattled and moaned. Now and then it let out a sigh of pleasure.

  "They seem awfully excited,” Mrs. Plinth said, “about something.” She reached out to prod the advancing black mass.

  "They're going to roll right over us,” Mr. Plinth complained.

  And then Mrs. Plinth's finger made contact with the object. And they realized its true intentions, and they screamed.

  * * * *

  It traveled the city, and it traveled the country, and it traveled the endless suburbs in between.

  It found a man who was looking for adventure, and a boy who couldn't leave well enough alone.

  It found two girls in a street holding hands, and two women in a bedroom who were holding much more.

  It found people hugging, and people too shy for that.

  It found a man with a heroic and altruistic nature, who ran after it shrieking about rescue and salvation. He caught up to it and didn't shriek anymore.

  It found people committed to the destruction of unnatural things, who tried to disassemble it, and tried only once.

  It found people committed to the study of natural things, who tried to disassemble it, and tried only once.

  It found people who knew what it was and ran to join it.

  It found people who knew what it was and ran away. If they really meant it, they usually escaped. But there were only a few who really meant it.

  It pulsed, and it throbbed, and it wriggled, and it moaned. It rubbed, and it wiggled, and it quivered, and it sighed. Its stimuli were the searching hand, the inquiring touch, the finger that wandered where it was not meant to be. It learned to hunt and it learned to flee, and it learned to find and keep the things it loved.

  It moved and it grew, and eventually it found Dr. Luo.

  3

  Dr. Luo arrived with her escort in a blue sedan. They crossed a field of orange cones and stepped over a line of police tape. They passed a checkpoint and received special passes. As a genius, Dr. Luo had special privileges. As a genius, she had obligations, too.