“Oh come on now. You know you’re not really mad at me. And even if you are, you’re not gonna stay that way for long!”
“And why the bloody hell not?”
“Because you’re in love with my mischievious yet innocent personality, my well-developed mind, and my care-free cynicism. Oh, and let’s not forget my little friend….”
< wiggles tail seductively>
“ No fair, you know I can’t resist it when you turn on your primate charms. After all, I always was a sucker for a girl with a tail.”
“I know. That’s why I’m surprised that I never caught you with a transexual.”
“What!?”
“Nothing!”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Angela Meyers AKA Simia AKA Bingo
“ As the snow flies, on a cold and gray Chicago morn another little baby child is born, in the ghetto, in the ghetto…”
“What’s that sweetie?” Mr. Meyers asked, placing a gentle hand on his daughter’s shoulder and promptly causing her to black out the eye of the braided youth she was carefully sketching on the back of a carry-out bag procured from the cheap hamburger stand where she and her father had just finished lunch.
“Shit,”
“Funny, sounded more like a John Denver song to me,” he mumbled, knitting his eyebrows and looking genuinely perplexed,” Guess I need to go and get my hearing checked again.”
“Sorry, Daddy. You just got me a little freaked,” she said hurriedly.
Hurriedly, for her concentration immediately switched back to the raw hunk of sexiness that was her current obsession in life. In fact an entire wall of her room was covered with pics of this boy, her Duo and all she ever seemed to do was draw pictures of him and read fanfics about him and his universe. A quiet way to escape from the doldrum of her repetitive life in the quiet backwater town where she had thus far matured. She had always wondered, why, as successful as her father was, her family chose to reside in such a small town as Morriches, New York. After all, her father was the leading scientist in the field of Primate Genetics. He had traveled around the entire world, spending time sketching the mating habits of silverback gorillas in the African Congo, and sleeping in trees with families of orangutans in the tropical rainforests of Borneo. He had rubbed elbows with the greatest of Ape-enthusiasts including Jane Goodall and the late Diane Fossey. Take all this into account (not to mention the fact that Angela’s maternal grandparents were loaded) and her family should have been literally rolling in dough.
So, why then, did she live in a single-story middle-class house in the ghetto, where the most interesting piece of lawn ornamentation was a decrepit white van that housed a family of homicidal super-cats. Why wasn’t her life interesting?! Why did her siblings suck so much?! Why had there only been three episodes in the anime series Dragoon?!
Anyways, back to the story. Drawing was her release from everyday life and a pretty damn good one at that. On a normal day, an hour alone with a sketchpad and pencil was as good of a fix as breakfast cooked up in a teaspoon. But, unfortunately, today had been anything but ordinary. It had been much, much worse. . .
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Angela, wake up. . . I NEED YOU. . .”
“Just a minute Duo. . . Can’t we just make out for five more minutes? I just want to hold you some more. . .”
“And I want you. . .”
“To get up and get ready quick, Hun. We’ve got about fifteen minutes to get outta here before we’re late, and you know how long it takes to get through C.H.I.M.P.S. security on a normal day, let alone on such an important day like this! You have to look extra special, because I know you want to make a good impression on my colleagues today. We both know it’s not every day I get to take my little monkey girl to work with me! You wouldn’t want to embarrass your old man, would you.”
Angela cautiously cracked open the lid of one eye and slowly let the other follow suit. As soon as she had ascertained that she really was back in her own room and not in sprawled out on a grassy hilltop watching the clouds with her long-maned love, she answered, rather groggily,
“ Wha?”
“That’s what I thought. I’m glad we agree!” Dr. Meyer’s voice bounced back to her from the living room, the distance nearly doubling the obvious absent-minded detachment that was so apparent in any conversation that one attempted with him.
After roughly disentangling herself from her My Little Pony sheets, she rolled out of bed and one-third walked, one-third fell, one-third floated out into the hallway and to the bathroom. Even in her post-slumber haze she made sure to cut a wide swath around the two huge black rolling suitcases in which her eldest brother kept his collection of anime porn. As the last vestiges of her subconscious poly-morphic universe were swirling away down the drain ( along with about half a bottle of bubble gum flavored Plax ) the full import of her father’s rambling hit her in the stomach like a deranged street-bum who thinks you’ve given his location away to the little aliens that live in the phone booth.
“It’s today?” she whispered glumly, not expecting an answer, and most definitely surprised when one came from the linen closet behind her.
“Sure is!” her father exclaimed, promptly causing her to slip in a rather large glob of toothpaste. Nevertheless he continued the conversation with Angela incapacitated on the bathroom floor.
“But why so surprised? You seemed really excited about it on the phone with Jessica last night.”
Actually, she had been excited by the fact that she did not have school for an entire week, due to a rather larger cut in school funding. Something about some huge, foreign conglomerate going belly up, on account of the mysterious disappearance of it’s wealthy American owner. Jessica, not one to really concern herself with school related matters (mainly due to the fact that she didn’t have to attend school) was remarkably enthused and had suggested a huge shopping trip at a mall on the coast, all costs diverting themselves to Jessica’s purse. Well, so much for that idea.
Angela pushed herself high enough off the floor so that she could manage to reach a comb and begin to run it through her long blond hair. Only eight more inches to go and she’d have it at Duo length; then she could start braiding it (until that point though she would consider it reminiscent of blasphemy to even consider styling her hair in her heartthrob’s trademark plait, so her hair remained unbound.)After she was done with the ritual unweaving of her rat’s nest, she made a quick stop in her own room, grabbed her favorite shirt, her starred jeans, and her trusty Duo action figure, and made a hasty getaway to the car, via her bedroom window.
As the car began to roll backwards out of the driveway, a question popped into her mind: ‘What the hell does C.H.I.M.P.S. stand for any ways?’ Regarding the activities that were planned for the day she thought it would be prudent to ask her father this question. Turning her head away form the window, her mouth started to form the words,
“Daddy? What does C.. Jesus Christ!!!” she yelped, throwing herself across the front seat and slamming her hands down on the brake. The car had not started rolling because her father had started the car, it had started rolling due to the fact that the emergency brake was still in the driveway, where as, the car was halfway down the street.
“Why God? Why?”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
After an, otherwise, rather uneventful morning of touring the C.H.I.M.P.S. (which turned out stood for Corporation for the Historical Improvement of Medicinal Practices and Shit) facilities and having to help the new assistant feed the test animals she was more than a little tired and cranky. The assistant, Airhead or whatever the hell his name was had been extremely moody and disagreeable almost as bad as her mother on one of her periods.
Talk about anal-retentive! Apparently, for every mixture she had gotten correct she had an infinite amount of minute mistakes. The pH balance was wrong, that granola had too many oats, the yams aren’t fluffy enough, dammnit!!!
“You did it again.”
“What?”
“You added the oats too fast. Now the paste is going to be too dry and you’re gonna have to start all over again.”
“Jesus Christ! Who pissed in your Cheerios asshole?”
“I heard that.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You should be you littl-“
“I’m sorry you’ve mistaken me for someone that cares.”
“Go feed the gibbons their tofu and get away from me, brat.”
“Fine by me. Hope your surgery goes well.”
“What surgery?”
“When you go to get that steel pylon removed from your ass!”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Needless to say, Angela was pissed. And now, as she sat there waiting for her father to finish off his six .39 cent cheeseburgers, a question bubbled forth, spilled over the lip of the cauldron that was her brain, and came spewing out of her mouth.
“Is there even any point to what you do, Daddy?”
“Whaf feetmart?” he inquired through a mouthful of doubly-processed oatmeal and soybeans.
“I’ve been following you around that fucking zoo all morning, and the most I’ve seen you do, of a scientific nature is try to clean your ears out with a vacuum pen!”
Dr. Meyers swallowed noisily.
“Well that’s a silly question! That’s easy! You see I….well, I……what I’m trying to say is that I….yeah.”
Dr. Meyers swallowed again, “ Well, you see honey, it’s not so much work as it is being paid for time and services.”
“You don’t know, do you?” Angela said, rolling her eyes.
“Not exactly, no.” Dr. Meyers replied.
“That’s what I thought.” Angela said, narrowing her stormy blue gray eyes, ”You probably don’t even know who you work for!”
Dr. Meyers was taken aback by his daughter’s scoffing and replied (without thinking):
“I do so! I work for Dr. Victor Von Doom!” he cried triumphantly, before add, “That sounded a little too maniacal, how about `Yeah, I’m one of Doom’s lackeys. What’s it to ya?’?”
“Dr. Doom?!” Angela yelled, “But he’s evil!!!”
“Ya, and your point is…..?”
“That, therefore, vicariously, that makes you evil!” she said, as if he had a mental handicap.
“What, do you think I can’t be evil and still lead a normal life?” Dr. Meyers challenged, “I still do all the things I did before I was evil! I go to the evil grocery store, wash my evil clothes at the evil Laundromat. Hell, this job even paid for your brothers to go to Evil Dr. Doom’s Evil Academy for Young Men Who Also Happen to Be Evil! Being evil is a pretty damn good life if you ask me, so don’t be giving me no more of your lip Devil Woman!!!”
That pretty much ended the conversation. On the drive (actually it was more of a coast) back to C.H.I.M.P.S. Angela decided that something drastic was going to have to be done to snap her father out of the hold that Dr. Doom obviously had over him. Something that rang of righteousness, something that smacked of good. A plan began to form in her mind….
To Be Continued