12 comments/ 5273 views/ 10 favorites Alfonso Greene, Suburban Lion Tamer By: Cromagnonman One of the downsides of the political correctness that has taken over this world in which we are forced to live, is that it has resulted in the demise of that group of people once known as 'eccentrics'. That group that, because they did not fit inside the square, whose behaviour could only be described as bizarre, made life less dull and boring. They were, in the most part, harmless, not harming anyone, just living in their own world. This story is of a couple of just such people, who by their speech, intelligence, actions, dress and bizarre behaviour, could quite easily fit into the category of 'Autistic Savant'. My business card read: 'Alfonso Greene, Suburban Lion Tamer.' For that was my line of work. Business has been a little slow of late, I mean I ask you, how long has it been since you have seen a wild, or even a moderately angry lion, wandering the streets? I have been much too successful for my own good. I am going to have to make a decision soon; do I move on to greener pastures, a town where there are still lions to be found, do I find a few lions and set them loose in this town, or find some other wild beast to tame, elephants maybe. The money was not a problem for me, I had inherited a substantial sum from my grandfather when he died, much to my father's disgust. My father, a bank manager, was of the opinion that I would squander my inheritance on frivolous pursuits. What does he know? The one thing, and this encompasses everything he says and does, about my father, is that he lacks imagination. "Do your homework son," He always called me 'son', it was as if remembering my name brought back painful memories, "If you don't study, you'll never get a good job, and if you don't get a good job, you'll never have any money." What he didn't realise was that I'd rather have a life. "And," There was always an 'and' when I got this particular lecture, "I don't want you going off somewhere with your grandfather on some fool's errand." "I don't think that learning about life, the universe and everything is a fool's errand, as you put it." "Is that so? What wonderful thing did you learn today?" "That when there's a howling gale, it's a waste of time having lunch before you catch the ferry across to Manly. You should have heard the other passengers chucking their guts over the side." (The ferry from Circular Quay to Manly has to cross Sydney Harbour just inside the Heads, and when there is a storm running, and the whole of the Pacific Ocean is trying to force its way through that narrow opening, the swell is so huge that if you stand on the top deck of, in this case, one of the old ferries, the waves pass at eye level, and the swell is beam on to the ferry. Get the picture?) "I don't want you doing things like that. You have your whole life ahead of you, and shouldn't be wasting it on frivolous things. In future, if your grandfather shows up at school with one of his hare-brained schemes, you are not to go with him. Do I make myself understood?" "What's the point of having a whole life ahead of me if I'm not allowed to live it?" "You will do as you are told young man, and that's an order." He always calls me young man at times like this, it's like he's trying to shame me into accepting adulthood. "Now go to your room and do your homework, and I want to check it when you've finished." Father must really have been pissed off with today's effort, because he informed the school that, should my grandfather appear wanting to take me out of school, permission was not granted. What my father could not get his head around when it comes to me, was that I was more than a financial investment in his future, someone to acquire the income to support him in his retirement. That was his philosophy on life, everything had a fiscal value, even his marriage to my mother. My parents were both bankers, their marriage was what could be best described as a fiscal imperative, something that existed while there was a balance of financial input. When the bank that employed my mother suffered as a result of the financial melt-down caused by a surfeit of bankers' greed, her only recognisable contribution to the marriage ceased. While this was not life threatening as far as providing for the family's day to day needs, it did upset the fiscal imperative. My mother saw this as a chance to gain a financial advantage from the divorce settlement. Father fought her every inch of the way but eventually had to concede defeat. He was left with the family home, his job and me, in that order of importance. The other thing that my father could not get his head around was that I was smart, something I inherited from Grandad, and I had what could be described as a photographic memory, which means that information goes down a one way street, and that once inside the cul de sac that is my head, it is there for keeps, neatly filed for easy access when required. I breezed through my homework in less than ten minutes and then spent the rest of my time listening to a replay of the Goon Show. When I thought that sufficient time had elapsed for a normal lad to have completed the work, I took it to him to check. "Hurrumph." He hurrumphed as he handed it back. This was an indication that he could find no errors, and this was because I couldn't be bothered slipping one in for him to find, just to make him feel good. At the moment I couldn't care less if he felt good or not. My final grades were nothing spectacular, after all, I didn't want him getting his hopes up of me finding a great career and making spectacular amounts of money. If money is his guide to success, then there is no way that I ever harboured any desire to be successful. Enough for my immediate needs, and the ability to acquire more when required was my career goal. No-one other than Grandad knew that the reason that the Dux of the school could not accept his award in person at the graduation ceremony, was that he simply did not exist. I had invented a ficticious student called Fred Quimby and submitted work under his name, I responded to his name during the weekly roll call, as well as taking all tests for him. The teachers were so over-awed by this student's brilliance that they could never contemplate the fact that such a person existed only in my mind. The day that the university placements were announced, and Fred gained the highest place in Medicine, Fred and I disappeared off the face of the earth. No, come to think of it this would be all too easy, Fred and I beamed up to an alien space craft, to be used by aliens as an example of an intelligent humanoid life form, to be probed and otherwise examined so that they could gain an insight into Earth life? No, that would be just too convenient. How I managed to disappear was Grandad's idea. I disappeared in plain sight, in this case a large, brightly decorated motor home bearing signs on all sides and the roof, proclaiming it to be 'Professor Orville Newton's Travelling Emporium of Human Knowledge.' With smaller signage stating that, 'If you can stump Professor Newton on any known subject you will win a prize.' In even smaller letters; 'For one whole dollar, you can challenge the Professor's extensive knowledge. If he does not know the answer to your question, you will collect the jackpot which currently stands at': There was a space where the current jackpot was written, and it currently stood at: '$7,553,597'. In even smaller letters was the disclaimer that 'Professor Newton was the sole judge of whether or not he did not know the answer'. Blinded by greed, no-one ever read this disclaimer, and no challenge was ever lodged. This was Grandad's take on the old snake oil salesman or travelling carnival side show, so obviously a scam that no-one could possibly be taken in by it, unless, and this was what Grandad was counting on, the punters were sucked in by the greed presented by the opportunity to win such a fantastic amount of money, simply by asking me a question that I could not possibly answer. We would set up in shopping centre car parks, and I would appear, seated on my 'Throne of Knowledge', until the gathered crowds forced the police to move us on. Grandad would commence his pitch. "Roll up, roll up ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, I have the honour to present to you, direct from his sold out appearances way across the seas, the amazing, the incredible, the miraculous, memory recall of Professor Orville, I know it all, Newton. From the ripe old age of 1 whole year, Orville Newton has embarked on the task of learning and absorbing every miniscule bit of knowledge known to mankind. When he was 18 months old he could recite any passage in the Holy Bible, he knew the Bible in its entirety. By the time that he was 2 years old he had committed to memory the entire Encyclopaedia Britannica! At 3 years of age he began his formal education and by the time that he was 4 he had graduated High School. His 1st university degree course took up most of the next year. It was at this time that the educators reached the conclusion that they had nothing more to teach him. Professor Newton has decided that he should bring the benefits of this prodigious capability to answer, correctly, every possible question asked of him, to you, the people of this country. Ladies and gentlemen, without further ado, I ask you to form an orderly line so that you can ask your question of the Amazing Professor Orville Newton!" After the introduction, all bullshit of course, I was 15 when I graduated university, the next year I spent acquiring several post graduate degrees. He would set up at a table and begin to take money from the punters, before allowing them to approach me and to pose their simple questions. Given that the majority of small town residents' knowledge was limited to Sports Stars and Music and Movie performers, I had no difficulty in answering all of their simple questions. We had been on the road for three years, and had just pulled in to a parking bay within a couple of kilometres of the next town, the sign said Langton Springs, to have breakfast and plan the day ahead. "I think that it must be time that we found a new source of income." I said to Grandad. "I have been having that very same thought. Do you have any ideas?" "I have a mind to learn to play a musical instrument so that we could put on recitals." "Did you have any particular instrument in mind?" "I thought the piano, there has been so much excellent music written for the piano." "Very well, we will buy you a piano. How long will it take you to learn the complete works of Schubert, Liszt, Mendelssohn and Beethoven?" "If we buy a piano today, I should be proficient by this time next week." "That's it then, after your show this morning we'll go shopping for a piano, and not just any piano, it has to be a grand piano." The question and answer session at Langton Springs had been going for about half an hour when I heard this small voice ask an unusual question. "When are you going to marry me?" I had looked into her eyes as she approached, to ascertain if I could anticipate her question, I was obviously wrong. There were two other things that I was not expecting in this town, they were this girl, so astonishingly attractive to me at least, and her almost childlike voice, for she was clearly no longer a child. How should I respond to this question? Should I question her motives for asking it, should I ignore it and give her money back to her, hoping that she would accept it and not claim the prize, or should I give her an answer, and if so, what answer should I give? The resolution of this conundrum took three and a half nanoseconds. "The day after tomorrow, I'll marry you the day after tomorrow." She threw herself at me and kissed me, also a new experience for me, and behind her I could hear the good townspeople, "The crazy girl has gone and done it now.", "At least we won't have to put up with her any longer.", "Life can return to normal now." What I found strange was that these comments came from only the women, the man remained strangely quiet on the subject. Having resolved a problem that had blighted their existence for some time, the people of this town decided that they were no longer interested in us, so they left us, the three of us, in peace. I looked at Grandad, he looked at me and then her, she looked at me but not Grandad, at least not until he spoke to her. "Tell me young lady, what shall we call you?" "My name is Katarina Penelope Madrigal Jones. You can call me 'Kat' with a 'K'." "Very well Kat with a K. Do your parents know that you intend to leave home to marry Professor Orville Newton, known to his parents and various educational institutions around the country, but not to himself or, for that matter my good self, as Peter Jackson, a singularly unimaginative name? He prefers, if required to use a mundane name, to be known as Phillip Bartholomew." "To use the vernacular of the lower classes, to which my parents belong, they don't give a flying fuck what I do. They will be pleased to see the back of me, as will the good folk of this blighted town." I have to admit that the words that she used were not unfamiliar to me, but I have never heard them used in such a sequence as she had just done, therefore the context of her statement left me in some confusion until I was able to establish the correct and contextually accurate meaning. This took approximately half a second. "Now, you may be able to help us," Grandad said, "We have a problem that needs an immediate solution, is there a place in this town where we can purchase a grand piano?" "Why yes there is. Just down the street here is Brown's Emporium of Musical Instruments. There you will find a grand piano, and at a very reasonable price. Why do you want a grand piano?" "My grandson, and your intended husband, Phillip here, has decided that instead of answering the same tedious questions over and over again, he will give recitals of the great works for piano by some of the greatest composers of all time." "So, along with being smart beyond measure, he is proficient on the piano?" "No, he is not yet proficient. But he will be, he will be." "Can he play at all?" "No, not yet, he has not yet learnt the piano." "So what sort of time line are we looking at before he has reached the required standard of proficiency?" "Next week." "Okay, I could accept that except for one minor little detail." "You interest me young lady," Grandad said to her, "what detail could you possibly have in mind? I can assure you that I can think of none, and I am very proficient at planning, down to the minutest of details." "That would have been true of course, until I entered upon your lives. In two day's time your grandson and I shall be on our honeymoon. I can assure you that his mind will not be on gaining proficiency at the piano." While this discourse was taking place I was taking in the finer details of my intended bride. Even by my standards her attire was 'interesting', consisting of several layers of flimsy, bordering on transparent, material, all of them a variety of bright hues and patterns, and draped seemingly haphazardly over the top part of her body, and flowing down almost as far as her knees. From where I stood, I could just make out the shape of her upper body, and the dark dots of her nipples. She wore no bra, nor did it appear that she needed the support of one. The lower part of her body was covered by flesh coloured panties, either that or she wore none, for there was no sign of a bush down there, and given the colour of her hair, if she had one I would have thought that it would have been of a similar bright blue to the hair on her head. Her legs were clad in brightly striped stockings, and she wore bright red sneakers with purple laces. On a 'normal' person this colour palette would look frankly ridiculous, but on my bride to be it looked perfect. "Tell me, Kat, you are obviously an intelligent young lady, what do you do, do you have a job, do you study, what is that you do to while away the time?" "I am an observer of life in this town. Because of the reputation of my parents no employer is game to offer me a job. As for study, I see no need for a formal education to be an observer of life, at least not in this town." "Why do you say that?" Grandad asked. "When the human life form is as obvious as the good residents of this town, it takes no great intelligence to read their every thought. For instance, the young men of this town, given the fact that my mother has had sex with all of their fathers, and probably grandfathers, all thought that I should be as free with my sexual favours as she. I am not, in fact I am intact, a virgin. That's not to say that I don't know what to do and how to do it, I am after all a proficient observer." "You say that your mother has had sex with all of the men in this town, what does your father think of this?" "Oh he has been servicing the women, they even compare notes as to who was the best fuck. Not surprising, the men who were proficient, were married to proficient women, and both sought out my parents to compliment their own sexual activities, to spice them up. Those that weren't proficient, probably did it so that they didn't feel left out." "You will have to appreciate that Phillip is also a virgin, but unlike you, he has not had the opportunity to observe the sex act. His parents, if they did it at all except to procreate him, did so in private. So you can see the dilemma that we are faced with, your first time may be a disappointment to both of you, unless . . . ." "Unless that is, we have some instruction beforehand." "Yes." "That will not be a problem, I have seen it done and am prepared to instruct him as we go." "When you are quite finished talking as if I am not here, I do have some knowledge of the sex act, I have after all read many books on the subject, and while I have not experienced sex with a woman, I have felt a stirring in my loins as I read some works on the subject. I presume that a hard penis is an important factor in the process." "You presume correctly. Now that we are betrothed, I can't see any reason why we should not undertake some research into the subject of sex." "And you want me to leave you in peace, is that it?" Grandad said. "That would be an appropriate course of action, yes. I don't know if either of us will be able to perform in front of an audience." "Very well then, I shall wander down to Brown's Emporium of Musical Instruments and inspect their grand piano. I shall leave you two to your own devices." With that he left us. If I had thought that her throwing herself on me and kissing me earlier was enthusiastic, I was very much mistaken, her hurling herself on me, forcing me back onto my bunk bed was twice as enthusiastic. I could not complain at her ferocity even if I wanted to, because her mouth was pressed hard against mine and her tongue was forcing its way between my lips. The longer she stayed in this position, the harder my penis became, and the harder she pressed her hips against mine. My hands had, of their own volition, found their way underneath the layers of material and were caressing the smooth skin of her back. It seemed only natural that Kat should make room for me to move my hands from her back to her breasts. I had read that girls liked their breasts being caressed, in particular their nipples. I had no idea how gentle or hard I should caress them so I went for the gentle option. This seemed to work because her hips became more animated until her body was overcome by spasms. "Oh my god, I am so wet, I need to get out of my clothes." "I'll join you." I said as we scrambled off the bed and hastily shed our clothes. I was right, she wore no panties. "You wear no panties, why is that?" Alfonso Greene, Suburban Lion Tamer "What is there to see? If I wore panties everyone would see them, and dirty old men would perve on the fact that they could see them. Now people don't know whether I have flesh coloured panties or none." "None works for me." I said as I followed what I had read, and ran my hand between her legs, my fingers between her lips, feeling the dampness of her body. This caused further writhing. "This is nothing like I had expected it to be." Kat whispered as she caressed my now very hard penis. "What did you imagine it to be?" I asked. Having had no previous experience in coitus I could think of no other way than we had been doing it. "It all seemed so rushed when I watched my slut of a mother going at it. They'd start with a bit of kissing and then they'd scramble out of their clothes, she'd suck his cock while he had a couple of fingers in her going like mad, and then they'd lay on the bed or sofa or whatever, the floor even, and he'd shove his cock into her and they'd thrash about for a bit, she'd tell him things like he was built like a horse and she'd never had better, until she'd look at her watch, yell out 'I'm coming' and scream while he lunged into her. They'd puff and blow for a few minutes and then separate. It was all over in minutes. He'd give her money and leave." "So she was a prostitute then?" "That's not how she described herself, she said that she was a horny chick that did it for fun, but if a man offered her money then she'd take it. I think that she assumed that they would all offer her money. All the men that I saw her with certainly did." I was shocked by her revelations about her family life, and I certainly understood her desperation to get away from that environment, but my thoughts were; was her wanting to marry me just an excuse to get away from them, or was it a real love of me. Her stroking of my penis had me leaning to it being real, but what did I know? "You're wondering if this is my desperation to leave my parents or the real deal. It's real mate. I have been waiting for years for someone to come along that I could feel comfortable with, that I could understand, and that could understand me. You are that person, and the fact that I should meet you so early in my life is a bonus." "Speaking of early in my life, just how old are you?" My concerns on this matter caused my penis to lose interest in her manipulations. "You have nothing to worry about on that score, I am legal." He took an interest again. "My chronological age is eighteen, my educational age is at least forty, not as old as yours, but near enough to make life interesting. My social age is not so brilliant, because I have little interest in the social life of the plebeians of this town, I don't join in with them at any level, that's why they are so glad to see the back of me." She led my penis to her vagina, rubbing it between her lips. "You may now enter me." I pushed into her, at least for a short distance until I met an obstruction. This must be her hymen. My reading had told me that she would feel some pain when my penis penetrated this barrier. "This could hurt somewhat, are you sure that you are ready for this?" "I couldn't be more ready, believe me." She flinched. "Ooh." She said softly. "Aah." She said as my penis breached the last bastion of her virginity and was fully into her. "Just hold it there for a little while." I held it there deep inside her. "Now move it in and out slowly, I want us both to feel the full beauty of this moment, it will never happen again." "What do you mean? Is this to be the only time that we have sex?" "No silly, but this is the only time that I will lose my virginity. By the way, when two people really love each other, this is more than sex, this is making love." "I know that, I read a romance novel once, and I got the message." I had to admit that the reading that I had done on this subject had not prepared me for how wonderful this felt, and it was getting better. We had been going at it for some time, I don't know how long, it could have been thirty minutes, it could have been thirty seconds, but I doubted that, what I'm trying to say is that I had lost all track of time, when Kat pulled my body in to hers, her body that was convulsing, and at the same time adding a new sensation to my penis, so much so that, and I'm guessing here, I had an orgasm. "I think I just orgasmed." I whispered to her. "I don't think that I did." I couldn't believe what I was hearing. My reading had told me that the spasms, that her body had so recently had, were indicative of her having had an orgasm. "I know that I did, and it was the most amazing feeling that I have ever experienced in my entire life." My relief was palpable. "If mine was not equal, it ran a very close second." "My concern is that I enjoyed it so much that I'm in danger of becoming a slut like my mother." "To do that you would have to have sex with many men, and charge them for the privilege. The fact that you will want to make love with no-one other than yours truly will make you becoming a slut impossible." The door opened and Grandad entered with a smile on his face. "Before I tell you the news of the piano, you must tell me yours." "It may please you to know that we are no longer virgins." "Good for you. Now, tomorrow we are taking delivery of the most magnificent grand piano that you will ever have seen. I am confident in saying that because I know that neither of you has set eyes on one. Having said that, she is a very good one, a Steinway no less, what do you think of them cookies?" "What we have to do now is to make room for this piano in this confined space." I said. "How are we going to work this out?" "You two are not going to take up any more room than you did, that is as I assume, you will continue to share the same bed." "That was our intention, yes." Kat said. "But a grand piano does take up a huge space." "It will indeed." He looked at me. "We did not think this through very well, did we?" "I have actually been giving it some thought," I looked at Kat. "It was before we met you, so don't think that I have allowed my mind to wander from you. We cannot give recitals from this motor home, we will need a concert stage. How would it be if we were to have a trailer made up to carry the piano, which can be converted into a concert platform?" "That sounds perfect. Is there anywhere in this town that can manufacture just such a trailer?" He asked Kat. "Yes, there is an engineering workshop just around that corner there," she indicated an intersection a hundred metres away," Mister Robertson will be able to make a suitable conveyance." "This will probably mean that we will have to spend a couple of days longer in this town. I hope that this will not cause any problems with your parents." "I can't see why it should, it's not as if they have tried to stop us leaving up to now." Just then there was a banging on the motor home door. "Open up, it's the police." Grandad opened the door. "What is it Sergeant?" "Have a warrant for your arrest, along with the young man, Professor Orville Newton, if that's his real name." "And what might be the charges? I can assure you that our business is completely legal." "The charges are that you have abducted a juvenile, one Katarina Penelope Madrigal Jones, against her will, and that said Professor Orville Newton has engaged in sexual intercourse with an under-aged girl, said Katarina Penelope Madrigal Jones." "Do you have proof that this girl, who is here of her own free will by the way, is under-aged?" I asked. "Not with me, no. But her mother, who swore the affidavit on which the charges are based, stated that she is definitely under-aged." "What proof have you, other than the word of a mother who has shown little interest in her daughter up to this point?" Kat slipped an ID card into my hand that showed clearly that she was eighteen years of age. "Sergeant, for the purposes of this exercise, I suggest that you formally charge my grandfather and myself with whatever it is that you are going to charge us. I suggest that you also take into custody Katarina Penelope Madrigal Jones on the grounds that, on the evidence provided by her mother, and that she is here of her own free will, she is a neglected child and should be placed in the care of the Juvenile Authorities." "If that's what you want, then come along with us. You can drive your," he looked from the front to the rear of the motor home, "Whatever you call this contraption, and park it at the police station." We started and Grandad drove towards the police station. "Why do you want him to arrest us? Grandad asked. "Because, and I'm guessing here, given that the only other proof of identity that her mother could use is a Birth Certificate, which she probably doesn't have, and will need to get a copy of, and that will take days. If it is a fact that Kat is under-aged, it means that her mother lied about her age when she was enrolled at school. I want to force the issue in court tomorrow, before she can obtain a copy of that certificate." "I know why she is doing this." Kat said. "She has plans for me that are predicated on my being under-age, and which involve at least twelve men in town and a lot of money." "If you mean what I think you mean, I think that I will have a lot of fun tomorrow. Now what I will need is details of the plan and a list of the men involved." "You got it. I think that I am going to enjoy myself immensely." She kissed me. "That will probably have to hold you until after the court hearing tomorrow." As it turned out, due to a lack of accommodation we were in adjoining cells, and we got to kiss through the bars several times during the night. During the night Katarina told me the real reason that she was desperate to leave her family. She had overheard a conversation between her parents and the good Sergeant, that she was able, from her concealed vantage point, to record, in which plans were being hatched for her 'unveiling' on the coming Friday evening. She wanted no part of this scheme, and the only way out of it was for her to get the hell out of there. That her escape conduit included meeting the love of her life was a distinct bonus, she kissed me again at that point, just to emphasise her pleasure. Before the court hearing I requested, and was granted, access to certain public records pertaining to our defence. Thus armed I entered the courtroom with Grandad and Kat behind me. We sat where indicated by the Clerk of the Court and waited for the arrival of the Magistrate. His opening remarks did not bode well for a fair and impartial hearing. "It comes as no great surprise to see you before me Katarina, you've been nothing but trouble to your parents, since you were a little kid. Clerk, would you read out the charges." The Clerk rose, cleared his throat, and intoned. "In the matter of the Crown versus Septimus Jackson and Peter Jackson, the charges are as follows; that you both did abduct and forcibly hold against her will, Katarina Penelope Madrigal Jones, of this town, and that, further to these charges, said Peter Jackson did have unlawful sexual intercourse with said Katarina Penelope Madrigal Jones, again against her will. The charges against Katarina Penelope Madrigal Jones are that she is a delinquent minor." "How plead you to these charges as outlined by the Clerk of the Court?" "Not guilty, your Honour." We chorused. "Do you have legal representation?" "No, your Honour." I said. "Do you require time to seek legal representation?" "No, your Honour. I will be conducting the defence for all of us." "You of course know of the adage that he who conducts his own defence has a fool for a client." "I am aware of that, but I am perfectly capable of conducting our defence." "We shall see." He looked at the Solicitor representing the Crown. "Do you have any opening remarks, Charles?" This exchange seemed to be all very matey and informal. "Yes, your Honour. Sergeant, can you tell this court what happened yesterday afternoon?" "Yes. At around four yesterday afternoon, Mrs. Violet Jones came into the police station and told me that she was concerned for the safety of her daughter Katarina. It seems the she had been observed, by several people, being forced into the motor home belonging to the defendant Septimus Jackson, by him and a young person believed to be his grandson Peter Jackson, who conducts a carnival show whereby he supposedly answers any and all questions posed to him, clearly a scam." "Objection!" "You object?" The Magistrate peered in surprise over his glasses at me. "The nature of my livelihood, and that of my grandfather, is not germane to the conduct of this trial. I ask that it be struck from the record." "You do?" "I do." "Very well. You do realise that this is not a trial by jury." "I am aware of that. I just thought that we should not include in the trial transcript, anything that could indicate a negative bias on the part of the Crown witness, and which could overturn on appeal, a guilty verdict in the unlikely event of that occurring." "Smartarse." I didn't need for him to vocalise his thoughts. "Do you wish to question this witness?" "I do indeed." I smiled at the Sergeant. "Tell me sergeant, do you have proof that Katarina is under-age?" "No but . . . " "No is sufficient. Do you have any proof that Katarina was forced into the motor home by myself and or my Grandfather?" "Not as such, no, but . . ." "That is sufficient as an answer, you do not need to go into any details. I have no further questions of this witness." "Charles, do you have any further questions of this witness?" "No, your Honour." "Do you have any other witnesses?" "No, your Honour." "Very well then, on the charge of . . . " "I object!" "You object? On what grounds do you object?" "On the grounds that, we the defendants in these matters, have not been afforded the opportunity to defend ourselves against these totally spurious charges." "As far as I can see it is your word against that of this child's mother. Do you have any proof that contradicts that?" "Yes, your Honour, I do. I notice that Katarina's mother is in this courtroom, I wish to call her to the stand." "Violet, would you step up here." Violet walked to the front of the court and stood in the witness box. "Do you solemnly swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?" "I do." "Over to you." He said to me. "Your full name is Violet Blossom Jones, is this correct?" "Yes." "And you are the mother of Katarina Penelope Madrigal Jones, is this also correct?" "For my sins, yes." "Can you tell this court, what is Katarina's date of birth?" "She was born in February 1990." "And this being 2007, that would make her seventeen years of age, is this correct?" "You're good, you can add sums without using your fingers." She smirked at me. "Do you have any proof of that?" "As I told the Sergeant yesterday, I don't . . . " "A simple yes or no answer is all that I require." "No, but . . " "No buts. So it is reasonable to say that you do not have any proof of her age." "No." "That's all I needed for you to say." I took Kat's student ID card from my pocket and gave it to her. "Do you recognise this card?" "Yeah, it's her student ID, but that proves nothing, anyone can fake an ID." "So the date of birth on that card is not her real date of birth, is that what you're telling me?" "Yeah, that's what I'm telling you." "Very well." I took a sheet of paper from the folder on the desk and handed it to her. "I have here a copy of Katarina's school enrolment form, filled in by you, is this correct?" "Yeah but . . ." "Yes or no. Is that the enrolment form completed by you on the day that she enrolled in school for the very first time?" "Yes." "And the date of birth on that form, is it the same as that on her student ID card?" "Yes but. . ." I knew that she was going to say that she had falsified the date of birth so that she could enrol her precocious daughter before the proper age for enrolment. "Yes is all that we need to hear. Your honour, it is obvious that, for whatever reason, this woman, Katarina's mother, can not be relied upon to tell the truth, and, as the Crown's case is based solely on the evidence of this woman, I humbly suggest that all charges be dismissed. If they are not dismissed I will be forced to reveal the real reason that this woman wants to prevent her daughter, her of legal age daughter, from leaving home and seeking a life and career outside her dysfunctional family." "If you have any evidence to suggest an ulterior motive for Mrs Jones to bring these charges against you, I suggest that you reveal them." "Your Honour, may I approach the bench?" The Magistrate signalled for me to approach the bench. "I have, in my possession, evidence that could convict Mrs Jones of illegal acts." "What sort of evidence?" "The evidence we have presented to this court is that Katarina Penelope Madrigal Jones is of legal age. As well as that, a medical examination will show that she is no longer a virgin, when she lost her virginity is irrelevant by the way. Now, are you aware of a certain function scheduled for this Friday evening, at which, for a substantial charge, a member of this community is to be given the privilege of deflowering Katarina Jones? An additional eleven prominent men, for a lesser charge, will be given the opportunity to engage in either vaginal or anal sexual intercourse with the recently deflowered Katarina. The high fees charged are contingent on Katarina having not yet reached legal age, and with her hymen still intact. Now, two scenarios can play out here. The first is that you drop all charges against the three of us and allow, ensure even, that we are free to leave this town unharmed. If however, you choose the second scenario, and allow these charges to proceed, then I will be forced to advise a colleague to forward copies of the information, which we have, to the Attorney General and the Police Commissioner. In which case, several men, well known to you, one in particular very well known to you." His facial colour went from white to red, and then a strange shade of green, when he realised that I was inferring that he was on that list, which he was. "Will find themselves charged with several counts which relate to the procurement of a minor for the purposes of sexual acts. The choice is yours." I turned and walked back to my seat. The sound of his gavel was loud, almost like a gunshot. "It is the judgement of this court that the charges brought against the defendants have no foundation in fact. It is my decision to dismiss them." "You won't hear the end of this!" Katarina's mother had just witnessed a very large amount of money vanish before her eyes, for she had not only planned to charge for participation in this event, but had arranged for the whole session to be videoed and released on the Internet. Fame and fortune was hers, and then it wasn't. "Mrs. Jones, would you approach the bench." When they were face to face he began in a slow, measured voice, to tell her where she stood right now, and where she would be standing if she did not drop her allegations. His final words were, "If you go ahead with these charges, you are fucked. Give the money back and we'll all be happy." The emphasis was on the 'all'. "The fucking little bitch, she has been nothing but trouble since she was a little kid. Good riddance I say." She hissed at the Magistrate. She stalked from the court, pausing briefly to hiss, "Bitch!" at Katarina on the way out. Given the recent events, we were forced to purchase a standard model enclosed trailer, secure the piano inside to make sure that it was not damaged in transit, and leg it out of there. Modifications to the trailer would have to wait until we were safely away from Langton Springs. Alfonso Greene, Suburban Lion Tamer Learning the piano was harder than I expected, apart from first learning to sight read the sheet music, I had to learn the instructions that went with it that gave the piece character. The most important, and time consuming, part of learning the piano was to establish the muscle memory needed to play the many long pieces without music, and this required playing the piece several times, until my fingers automatically went to the right keys, and in the right sequence. This is not something that can be down loaded at several hundred megabytes per second into my memory like a computer, it had to be learned in real time. My arms ached and my fingers were sore, but I kept at it, my stamina refuelled by coffee and kisses from my intended. This was another thing that had taken longer than expected, the obtaining of a Marriage Licence so that I could make an honest woman of the love of my life. In the mean time Grandad had arranged for the modifications to the trailer, so that one side could be lowered to become a part of the concert platform. The piano was moved forward to provide the right acoustic balance, and lighting was installed. At the first town we stopped at after this work was completed, and to test my muscle memory, I practised with the trailer set up for a concert recital. We had soon drawn a crowd, not all of whom were classical music aficionados. I had several requests to play pieces that were more indicative of the locale; "Play the Pub With no Beer", was one such request. It was then that Kat stepped in. "Maestro Bartholomew is on a mission to bring the classical repertoire to small country towns such as this. Now you may not know the pieces that he is playing, but you will have to concede that the music is pleasant to listen to. At present he is playing Schubert's Nocturne in G minor." She looked at me and I nodded in agreement to let the crowd know that she got it right. "What's a fucking nocturne?" The male voice came from the middle of the crowd. "Bruce, you're making a fool of yourself," the female voice came from somewhere close to him, "if you don't shut up, I'll tell your pisspot mates that your real name's Nigel." This brought laughter from the crowd, resulting in him attempting to slip from the crowd un-noticed. "See ya later Nigel." Someone yelled at his back. "Do ya wanta drop by for a chardy?" Yelled a woman (chardy = chardonnay, looked on as a girly drink by the serious pissheads) "This is just a small taste of what we will present to you this evening. Maestro Bartholomew has just begun his tour around the backblocks of Australia to bring classical music to the masses, so you people of Yakanbandra (Yeah, I made that name up) are in for a treat tonight. Tonight, and tonight only, we will present a free concert, just for you. From here on in, we will be charging for these concerts, so you would have to feel privileged to get it for nothing. Just bring your chairs and be set up by seven, and look forward to two hours of magnificent music by some of the most famous musical geniuses, played for you by the soon to be famous musical genius of Maestro Bartholomew!" "I don't know if I'm ready for this." I said to her after I had finished, and the crowd disbursed. "You're ready, believe me, you are note perfect. I've been following your playing and you've got it down pat. Tonight you're going to knock 'em dead." Even I have to admit that the concert went better than expected. The word had got around that there was a free show on, and it seems as if the whole town turned out. After the first couple of pieces the crowd forgot about their chairs and pressed forward to get closer to the music. I had begun softly with 'Fur Elise' and worked my way through the more common classical pieces, I even threw in the opening few bars of 'William Tell' until some clown yelled 'Hi ho Silver, away', so I switched to Beethoven's Pastoral Symphony. After two hours I had to call a halt, I was exhausted, but the crowd weren't about to let me go, so Kat stepped in. "Shove over." She told me, and launched into the Rachmaninoff's Second, a technically difficult piece for even an accomplished pianist, and she nailed it. My bride to be never ceases to surprise me. "When did you learn the piano? I asked from somewhere near her neck. "I started a week ago. While you were resting I sat at the keyboard and practised by just touching the keys. Tonight was the first time that I actually hit the keys with any force. Did I do good?" "You did better than good, you were perfect. If we had two pianos we could play duets." "We could try some piano four hands pieces until we can find a way to incorporate two pianos." "We'll discuss it with Grandad tomorrow, but now I need to come down from my adrenalin high." "And just how do you intend to do that?" She was holding my cock. (Yes I've started to call it that, and her vagina is now her pussy). "Like this." My finger found her wet pussy and worked on it until she was ready to receive me. Love making with Kat was a sublime experience for me, and from what she whispered in my ear from time to time, it was just so for her. We were growing impatient at the bureaucratic masculine bovine excrement that was delaying our nuptials, Grandad was beside himself the next morning. He had returned from the Post Office with an official looking envelop. I tore it open, an in my rush tore a little of the form inside, It was my Birth Certificate, and Kat's, necessary documents to enable us to apply for a Marriage Licence. "What is this?" I pointed at Kat's Birth Certificate, and her date of birth in particular. "Does this mean that you were under age when we first made love?" "Only by a couple of days. Look, before you get angry with me, I had to get away from home before that Friday night, and the only way that I could think of achieving that was to hook up with someone who could help me. Luckily for me, you two came along, and my problem was solved." "But, what would have happened to us if your mother had kept a copy of this?" I said, pointing at the certificate. "I knew that she didn't, and I figured that you were smart enough to get a decision from the court before she could get a copy. That's why I had my student ID on me. Her haste to get me to school and out of her hair so that she could entertain men during the day was her downfall. I was so proud of the way that you conducted our defence, it was almost as if you were one of those fictional lawyers who manage to save the innocent with his courtroom pyrotechnics, only you were better." I have to admit that I was angry at first, but then, hell I loved this chick. I remember reading that line somewhere, and like everything else it stuck in my memory, and this seemed as good a time as any for me to regurgitate it. I kissed her, just to show her that I forgave her and that her deception had caused no hard feelings in my mind. "Do you forgive me?" She asked as she returned the kiss. "How could I not?" "So, there's no hard feelings then?" "No, none at all." "Then all that's left is for us to apply for the licence and find a celebrant to perform the ceremony." Grandad said. It took all morning to apply for the licence. If we were in a city or major town, it would have been simpler and quicker, but in small towns signatures have to be obtained from different people for different forms. Why they can't design forms that one person can sign is beyond me, but then I'm not a public servant working for a department wanting to establish its importance in the overall scheme of these things. Two days later I had a wife, and not just any wife. Kat was exactly what I wanted in a woman, she was as spontaneously crazy as I was, prone to flights of fancy, to weird ideas that we could spend days developing before realising that they would never have worked and consigning them to the recycle bin. We still hadn't bought a second piano, the logistics of transporting two grand pianos was something that would require some contemplation. In the mean time it was fun for Kat to come and join me at the piano to play pieces composed especially for piano four hands, and some that we composed ourselves, and that we really had fun with when we played them. We were nothing like traditional concert pianists, we eschewed the formal garb required, there was no way that I was going to wear a stuffy dinner suit, choosing instead jeans and shirt. Kat was a litle more flamboyant, choosing bright colours and lots of layers of filmy material. We had bought a sewing machine and she made most of her clothes, not to save money, that wasn't necessary, we were doing quite nicely, but because she could not find suitable off the peg clothes, or any dressmaker that could understand what she wanted. As for the relationship side of marriage, it could not be better, our loving was increasing day by day, and we would often express our love for each other in new and exciting ways, at times getting strange looks for those nearby, not that we made love in public, although the thought was out there. We ran foul of conservative convention a couple of months after we had begun our concert tour. We had just pulled into a large country town, and went to the town council offices to apply for a permit to perform, and ask after suitable venues, when we noticed that a professional orchestra was also performing in the town. We thought no more about it, we just went ahead as usual and put on our first performance. The crowds were down on the usual first night crowds, we were used to smaller crowds on the first night, but this was small by our standards, given the size of the town. The local paper had reviews of both our performance and that of the professional orchestra. Given the cultural bias towards the professional orchestra, our review was as good as we could expect, damning with faint praise was a term that sprang to mind, but it wasn't bad. We were not expecting anything more than a modest increase in crowd numbers on the second night, so we were shocked at the crowd that rolled up. We were really going to need the amps and speakers that we had bought to get the sound to the crowd at the back. The applause at the climax of each piece was, to put it mildly, tumultuous, and we had to play several encores. The next day it fell apart in a big way. A man arrived with a court injunction preventing us from performing, on the basis that the professional, and government funded, orchestra somehow had priority scheduling. They were quite happy for us to re-schedule for after their season was finished, but, and this was the point of the injunction, not what it said, they were not about to compete with some amateur ivory tinklers. The upshot of this was a heated exchange between Grandad and the Orchestra management, containing words such as restraint of trade. This resulted in Grandad throwing down a challenge to them, prove that they were better than us, and we would leave them to it and move away. This led to another series of discussions as to how this could happen, before it was decided that I would be involved in a 'blind' playoff against the professional pianist. We would each perform a piece, the same piece, seated behind a screen so that the audience would not know which of us was playing. We were to let them choose the piece, and it came as no surprise that they chose the Rachmaninoff, and the winner would be based on audience acclamation. The other guy went first and I had to admit that he was good, in a conventional way, his playing was a little stilted. The audience reaction was moderate. It was now my turn. I was, as I had come to expect, note perfect, the difference between us was that my playing was more relaxed, and the notes just seemed to flow from the piano. The audience was much more enthusiastic after my performance had finished. It looked as if we would not be moving on. Looks can be deceiving. In the early hours of the morning we heard a loud explosion, and woke to find our trailer well alight. We called the fire brigade, but little could be done to save the trailer or piano. This part of our adventures had finished, neither of us felt any enthusiasm for starting over again. We left town with the police investigation into the fire stumbling along. Charges would eventually be laid against the pianist from the orchestra. We learnt from that not to piss off a professional. Grandad was showing signs that the constant travel was taking its toll on his health, so we decided to head back into town and live in his house that we had left years before. I loved this place, it reeked of Grandad's personality, nothing was 'normal' in the conventional sense. But then what was normal in the conventional sense would be totally out of place in Grandad's world. The house contained examples of his artwork, paintings whose techniques would rival the masters, sculptures that could not be compared with the traditional masters, because they did not resemble in any way those of the masters. Don't get me wrong, they were brilliant, but in a different way. "Wow! This place is amazing." Kat said as we walked through the house, earning several hundred additional brownie point from Grandad, not that she needed them, she was already his equal most favourite person in the whole world, me being the other. One of Grandad's hidden talents was his mastery of the barbeque. We went shopping for food to restock the larder, and Grandad was giving us advice on what to get. "Only buy fresh produce if possible, when buying meat choose the best cuts and resist the cheaper thin cuts. For the barbeque you must have thick slices or else it's too easy to overcook it. When buying chicken the best is often the cheapest. For some reason you can pick up thigh cutlets for about a third of the price of breast fillets. Of the two cuts, the thigh, because it is one the most used muscles, has the best flavour and doesn't dry out like the breast fillets do, it is also very good value for money, the flesh to bone ratio is much better than drumsticks or Maryland pieces that are equally flavoursome. With lamb go for the palest, and therefore youngest, and shop for the best price. With pork go for shoulder of leg roasting pieces and learn how to make crackling." We moved on to the produce section and he showed us how to select the best fruit. Your nose is the your most important tool, sniff the fruit, find out what variety of the different fruits you prefer and don't just go for the ones that are popular. Take for instance mangos, the most common is the Kensington Pride, but unfortunately many of these are picked much green and have no flavour. Of the other varieties I prefer, in order, R232, Honey Gold and Calypso, all of these have smaller seeds for their size, and if ripe are much sweeter than the others." "If you must have breakfast cereals, don't go for the fancy processed varieties, they are grossly over-priced and tend to have far too much sugar. I make up my own muesli from plain ordinary rolled oats, cheap as, oat bran, and a mixture of dried fruits and seeds. I know most people will tell you that eating muesli is like chewing on wood shavings, and just as tasty, but I make mine up the night before with home-made yoghurt and milk, and in the morning I slice a banana onto it, yum." It is lucky that Kat and I could remember all of this, because the lecture continued until we had our trolley filled with what Grandad told us constituted a good, wholesome and most importantly, flavoursome and balanced diet. "Eat this and get regular exercise, although I expect you already get enough of that, given the noises I hear in the night, and you'll stay fit." I have to admit that his efforts with the barbeque were by far superior to my father's feeble efforts. The meat was tender, seared on the outside and almost raw in the middle, the fresh salad complimented it beautifully, and he broke open a bottle of Shiraz that he told us he had saved for a special occasion. "There is something that has bothered me a little of late Kat." "What would that be, Grandad?" She has taken to calling him that, him being for her, the closest thing to family. "You don't eat much, but you seem to be stacking on a little weight, you wouldn't be pregnant, would you now?" "We were going to tell you, but what with everything that has happened lately, we just didn't seem to get around to it, but yes, you are about to become a great-grandfather." "This calls for something other than Shiraz, bubbles are in order. Wait here." He returned with a bottle of champagne and three flutes. Expertly pulling the cork without the usual explosion and stream of wine, he carefully poured us each a glass. "I wish to propose a toast. To Phillip and Kat, the two people that I love most in this world, the two people that have made my life, what I have left of it, worth living, and who have given me hope for the future. You two have that spark in everything that you do, which makes the decision that I will have to make shortly so much easier. Here's to the two of you." We touched glasses and sipped the excellent, I would have expected nothing less, champagne. Something was bothering me about Grandad, it was the almost fatalistic way that he was going through life at the moment, and that speech confirmed to me that something was worrying him. "Grandad, something is bothering you, what is it?" "Tomorrow, we'll discuss it tomorrow." Tomorrow was a long time coming, and when it arrived it changed everything. It began over breakfast. "Have you two given any thought to what you're going to do pre and post baby?" "Yes, we were discussing it last night. I have not very fond memories of my father sitting on the edge of my bed, attempting, not very successfully I might add, to carry out what he saw as his paternal duties to me, by rushing through a kids' book in record time, before going back to what he enjoyed most, money. By age two I could recite 'the Very Hungry Caterpillar', I couldn't read it, yet, but I knew it by heart, and do you know the saddest part of all of this? When I recited it, it was at the same speed that he read it to me. So, I have it in mind to write kids' stories, among other things." "And I looked at your collection of art work around this house, and have decided that, because I was good at painting, and even though I haven't done any paintings for a while, that I should launch myself on a career as an artist, but not just any artist, I want to make a statement." "What did you have in mind?" Grandad asked. "When I was younger, I was good at copying other artists' works, so," She paused for dramatic effect, "I plan to copy as accurately as possible, famous art works and add something to them. For instance, I could copy, well enough to be considered a forgery, the 'Mona Lisa' and then add a pair of bright red Botox lips, as a comment on the perception of beauty. Or a Constable landscape and insert a large SUV into it." "That sounds interesting, and I approve. But one request that I will make before you launch your new careers is, that both of you come with me today. You might as well know that I don't have a lot of time left, so I must prepare for the eventuality, the certainty of my death, and that includes ensuring that my son cannot get his sticky fingers on my money, and, believe me he will try." "Where are we going?" I asked. "You shall see when we get there." It was all very mysterious. He ushered us through the front door of a rather unpretentious office where we were greeted deferentially by a Receptionist. "Good morning Sir, they are waiting for you." "Thank you Nadine." We walked down a corridor to a doorway, through which we entered without knocking, to be greeted by five men who rose to their feet as we came through the door. "Sit down, you know how much I hate that ceremonial bullshit." Alfonso Greene, Suburban Lion Tamer He sat at the head of the table, and we were seated either side of him. We were quickly introduced to each of them. "I have called this meeting today to discuss our future. This will probably be my last such meeting, so I am not going to muck about here. I want you all to meet the future of this company. On my right is my grandson Phillip Bartholomew, and on my left is his wife Katarina, she prefers Kat, so feel free to call her that." "Now you all know the philosophy that I have instilled in each branch of this enterprise, that of grooming a successor for each position from within. You were all prepared by your predecessor to take over when he retired or shuffled off, so am doing the same thing. From a very early age I have been grooming Phillip to take over from me when the time comes, and that time is upon us. Now, he does not know much about the company and how it operates, but by tomorrow afternoon you will be able to ask him anything about it and he will know it all. He is the son that I never had, and he has the ethos that I brought to this company and that I think that I have instilled in this company. You all know that I have given each of you a great deal of autonomy, this will not change in the future." He paused to take a breath. "No detail of the operation of this company will change, apart from a small stipend to meet their modest day to day needs, they will draw no salary from the company, and all of the profits will be channelled back into its running. You and your staff will continue to receive moneys from the profit sharing arrangements that we have in place, and your salaries will continue to rise along the lines of inflation. Do you have any questions?" "How is Phillip going to learn all about this company in a couple of days, that would take months?" "He will surprise you, believe me." "Tom." I looked at the man called Tom, "How is the CSIRO going with the dry climate grape technology?" This came as a surprise to him, because when we were introduced, we were not told which department they each headed. "What? Oh yes, we are getting some very good results with our newer hybrids, the breeds that are just coming into production are showing great promise." "And the water requirements, what are the figures looking like?" "They are down approximately fifty percent on the regular varieties." "And tonnage per hectare, how is that looking?" "It's early days, but they are already showing an increase on the regular varieties." "Does this increase in production over water usage equate to cost effectiveness in replacing existing vines, or will it be confined to new plantings?" "At this early stage, I would restrict the implementation to new plantings. In the future, if the regular vines are showing a decline in production then we would look at replacing them." "Thank you, that would have been my decision." The others in the room looked at me in amazement. How could I know about all of that, when there had not been a lot of publicity given to it outside the industry? "Right, I'll leave you to discuss the running of this show, I have an important appointment to keep. I should be back by lunch time. What do you reckon, pizzas on me?" We all agreed to that. By lunch time we were involved in a many faceted discussion with these men on the business and its ethos, and how it seemed to be diametrically opposed to the commonly accepted business model. The major difference being that there were no shares in the company, it was wholly owned by Grandad, who was not paid a salary as such, but a modest by CEO standards allowance, and which was less than the salaries paid to the executives. The pizzas were great, washed down with a bottle of the company product, an unassuming young Shiraz that I was told was a year or so short of its potential. Grandad stood up. "Right, what do you think, will all you be able to work together to continue to make this the amazing company that it is?" There was a unanimous agreement to that. Kat and I had been wholeheartedly accepted by all of them. "Okay you two, come with me, we'll leave these miscreants to doing what they do best, making shit loads of money." This was his standing exit line. While they made a comfortable income, the vast majority of company earnings were ploughed back into the company. We left his offices and went up in the lifts to the top floor of the building. His Lawyer's office was what I would have expected, wall to wall leather bound legal tomes, a large polished mahogany desk behind which he sat in a leather swivel chair. There the expectations ended, we were not confronted by a formally dressed man puffing on a cigar, behind the desk sat a well dressed young woman. "Sally, this is my grandson Phillip and his lovely wife Kat." We shook hands all round and sat down in comfortable chairs arrayed around the desk. "Would you run through our discussions, I want these two to be perfectly clear as to y intentions." "Very well. This morning your grandfather came to me to update his Last Will and Testament. The why it is that I am outlining its contents to you at this time will become clear as we go, so could you hold your questions until I have finished?" "Yes." We agreed. "Good. The first thing is that you, Phillip, are to get everything, the house, control of his company and the income that ensues from it, all monies held in his bank account, and the artworks held in various galleries around the country. That's the broad picture, but that is not all of it. He has, tucked away from the vultures, a contingency fund. This is a cash fund, and it is not in a bank, it does not draw interest, it earns no money so that the Tax Office cannot get there sticky fingers on it, and more importantly, your father cannot gain access to it. This will probably cause some problems because, while he is unsure of its existence, he has an idea that it does exist, and he will move heaven and earth to prove that it does exist. When the time comes, your grandfather will tell you where it is. We fully expect that your father will not be happy that he gets nothing, and will rush off to his lawyers to get an injunction and dispute the Will. He will not succeed. He might think that there is more than there is on paper, but he will never be able to prove it. That, in a nutshell is it, any questions?" "I have one." Kat said. "Why the undue haste to get his estate in order, surely he doesn't plan to go any time soon?" "I have less time than you imagine." Grandad said, "A month tops." He saw the shocked expression on our faces. "You already knew that there was something wrong, well I have cancer, and there is no hope of a cure or even remission at this stage. It has been a struggle to get through the last year or so, but I had to do it. Phillip, you probably weren't aware of it at first, but I have been grooming you to take over my empire. All of those stupid things, according to your father, that we did, were a part of that process. I have to say that you have exceeded all of my expectations. And you Kat, you could not have shown up at a better time, and been a better person. If I was sixty years younger he wouldn't have stood a chance. You made me feel so much younger, and made these past months more tolerable. But it's time to go, and I leave you with my blessings, and don't ever lose that spark that you have, either of you." This sounded like a farewell address, and it was. It took some three weeks for him to let go of life, but it was a happy time, albeit with a shadow hanging over it. It took less than a day for my father to insert himself into our lives. He arrived on our doorstep on his way to work, so he couldn't stay long. "Who is this?" He asked pointing to Kat. "This, Father dearest, is your daughter Katarina." "What? How long have you been married, and why wasn't I told?" "Because, we chose not to tell you." "And when is this thing. . ." He waved his finger at Kat's belly. "Due?" "Soon." "I will have to begin making arrangements for the sale of this property, you won't be able to stay here, so you had better start looking for somewhere to live." "Aren't you jumping the gun here, shouldn't you wait for probate before you think about kicking us out. In the mean time we are staying put." Kat informed him. "We'll see about that." He didn't even say good-bye. "This is fucking bullshit!" I had seen my father pissed off, but this was beyond pissed off, it was beyond angry even. "You mean to sit there and tell me that my father has left me nothing in his Will?" "He left you nothing." Sally said in a calm voice. "Do you also mean to tell me that, as well as leaving my worthless son and his whore, his house, he has left him all his money?" "He left Phillip and Katarina Bartholomew, your son and daughter all of his money, that is correct." This was delivered in the same quiet and measured voice. "Just how much money are we talking about here?" "Let me see, his bank account at the time of his death contained one thousand, two hundred and seventy seven dollars and fifty three cents." "That's bullshit! He was loaded with money, he was worth millions." Sally pushed a copy of the bank statement across the desk. "His personal worth was very moderate, he lived quite frugally." "What about the company, that must be worth billions, surely?" "The company is a separate entity from his personal worth, it was set up that way. It paid him a moderate stipend, and if he needed more he had to request it from the company board. Apart from salaries and the profit sharing, of which he was not a participant, all, and I repeat, all earnings of the company a ploughed back into the company's research and development programme. That sir, is why the company is worth what it is worth. Any attempt to liquidate this company will lead to disappointment, because you will not find a buyer prepared to purchase a company that returns so little on investment." "I suppose that he," pointing to me, "Will be receiving money from the company." "As Directors of the company, both Phillip and Katarina will receive a stipend sufficient for their day to day needs. If they want more then they will have to apply to the board, just as your father did." "I still think that this is bullshit, and don't think that I will not rest until I get to the bottom of this." He stormed out of the office. A month after this happened there were two important events in my life. The first was that my father reluctantly conceded defeat and withdrew his objection to the Will, and himself from my life. The second and more important event was the arrival of Sebastian Louis Bartholomew, our son. That was two years ago. We have a daughter, Mirabelle Katarina, who is going to look like her mother, lucky her. Katarina has had quite a lot of success with her conceptual art. The purists of course dismissed it as almost art heresy, but it sells well enough to art galleries around the world. And I have had some success with my writing, particularly my kids' books, one of which I am just about to read to Sebastian; "My business card read: 'Alfonso Greene, Suburban Lion Tamer.' For that was my line of work. Business has been a little slow of late, I mean I ask you, how long has it been since you have seen a wild, or even a moderately angry lion, wandering the streets? I have been much too successful for my own good." "I am going to have to make a decision soon; do I move on to greener pastures, a town where there are still lions to be found, do I find a few lions and set them loose in this town, or find some other wild beast to tame, elephants maybe." Ps: I checked on Grandad's contingency fund that had remained untouched since he inherited it from his father. It was something north of five million dollars. It will remain untouched.