The kitchen as a bar

Chapter 32

             Alone now, Celia and Harold as Harold again, with the remains of dinner yet on the table between them, spoke seriously and drank the local type beer of Harold's youth.

    A Midwest breeze that came in the window overwhelmed Harold near to tears.

    “You know, to my surprise and deelight dontcha know, on a night like this, with a breeze like that, each crop is distinct, identifiable to me.  I'm surprised to find I didn't lose that. Celia my Celia, this moment is as content as I have been in 30 years. You have my gratitude and my loyalty.”  Clink.

     “Nice to be on the receiving end for once” Celia said draining her glass politely half suppressing a hearty burp. “Pardon. Now tell me Harold my Harold, you're here, you're Gwendolyn, you're footloose and fancy free. Do you have a plan or you gonna just re-live your first 15 years in drag?” Celia got a smirk out of Harold as they both reloaded.

    “I might ask you, do you have a plan? How will you make this grand resistance work? One mistake from you and your mother will put a fence around the town and charge admission.”

    “Bitch would do just that don'tcha know. Everybody in the crew knows where we at. Loosely, very loosely, we just plan to make it impossible for any usable footage to be produced. Delay equals budget attrition. That's what Miles the genius says. Additionally, extended periods away from bad coffee emporiums, gyms, pollution, too small apartments and large gobs of tubercular spit in the subways will cause many or most of the TV crews to basically fall apart. 

    Slow'em down enough and the Network will just pull the muthafuckin' plug, dig?”

    “Hmmm......pretty good plan not plan I'd say. Speaking for myself and Gwendolyn, I think my time best spent here should be running interference between everything happening on your end and Morrow. I shall distract Morrow. Douglas, he said I may call him Douglas,” Harold smiled Puckishly.

    “Get the fuck out. Douglas???”

    “Yes Dear”, now in Gwendolyn's voice, “Douglas” 

Now Harold again, “I didn't pack a whole lot and this affair will take weeks at least. Is there somewhere nearby I can get essentials? Clothes and make up and whatnot, you know?”

    Celia drained her beer and seemed in her gaze to be examining the wonder of everything. “Make a list. Whatever you need. No problem.” 

    And everything wondered back.

  "Fourscore and seven years ago our fathers brought forth on this continent a new nation, conceived in liberty and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal. Now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that nation, or any nation so conceived and so dedicated, can long endure. We are met on a great battlefield of that war. We have come to dedicate a portion of that field as a final resting-place for those who here gave their lives that that nation might live. It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this. But, in a larger sense, we cannot dedicate — we cannot consecrate — we cannot hallow — this ground. The brave men, living and dead, who struggled here have consecrated it, far above our poor power to add or detract. The world will little note, nor long remember what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here. It is for us the living, rather, to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who fought here have thus far so nobly advanced. It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us — that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion — that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain — that this nation shall have a new birth of freedom and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth."