From: aa811@cleveland.freenet.edu (Terri M. Librande) Newsgroups: alt.ql.creative Subject: The Mercury Theater Is On The Air! Date: 11 Sep 1993 04:25:28 GMT Organization: Case Western Reserve University, Cleveland, Ohio (USA) Message-Id: <26rjvo$ihc@usenet.INS.CWRU.Edu> Okay gang, thanks for all the notes. This will be installment one of my story and please--no comments until I get to the end-- this is pretty well fleshed out. I have to explain that this is an 'alternate universe' story. A 'what if' story. Al is the Leaper--as if he'd continued leaping after Leap Back. I apologize for the delay between parts which will invaritibly happen ---I am typing this in by hand as the source was another computer. "The Mercury Theater is On The Air!" By: Terri Librande October 30, 1938 I don't think I could get used to Leaping. Once upon a time, when I was the Observer, I envied Sam. Here he was, Leaping through time, doing good deeds, all those fabulous women--wasted on the Prudent Prince. The Straight Squire. I quickly discovered, after three or four leaps, that it wasn't as easy as the kid made it look. He'd always been a people person; not that he spoke in public with the greatest of ease, but with most folks the kid could hold his own, and adapt to any given situation. Like Silly 'Putty, y'know, the way it picks up the comics and gives you that mirror image? Sam is like that, in a way. I'm fumbling around out here, seemingly doing fine these first couple of leaps, but not as smooth as Sam was. My inherant skepticism of the good in man kept me from being as intuitive as he could be. As Observer, there was a little problem with me seeing the whole picture. God, I missed my cigars, and Tina. I even missed Gooshie, bad breath and all. And air conditioning. This time, as the blue light faded, I heard a steady, metallic knocking, then a sharp whistle of steam. Almost spat out the pipe that was clamped in my teeth in surprise. My butt was planted firmly in an overstuffed armchair, the room around me just as cozy as a bug in a rug, whatever the hell that means. That phrase fit. A framed drawing of Roosevelt--Franklin Delano--was on the wall above the big Philco radio below it. Gold light shone from the round tuning dial, a warm brightness that I really loved as a kid. Sometimes I'd turn the light out just to stare at that glow for hours, listening to show after show. That was before Mom left, and Dad. Sometimes, later on , I'd sneak into the nun's office at the orphanage, keeping the lights off, turning the radio volume low and pressing my ear to the crisp mesh of the speaker. The Shadow. I Love A Mystery... What was playing as I leaped in was a comedy program...one I sort of remembered and thought was damned silly, then and now. Charlie MCDonald's...no, McCarthy. Never liked the idea of ventriloquists, making inanimate objects speak and move around. The damned dolls gave me the creeps! "Daddy, look!" The sight of a blond haired doll sprang in front of my eyes, making me nearly fall over the back of the chair and onto the radiator. "Auntie got me my doll!!! Isn't she beoootiful???" Anotehr second, and the little brunette was in my lap; she was no more than five or six years old, missing a few teeth, and cute as a button. I tried not to flinch from her exuberant hug, and it wasn't difficult to return the embrace. In her footie pajamas she looked like a doll herself, long hair in ringlets, pink bows, the works. Before I could say another word, a woman strode in, plopping in the matching chair next to mine, snatching up a ball of yarn and knitting in one smooth motion. "Shirley, you have to send your Aunt Irene a thank you note for that doll." She had a New York accent you could cut with a butter knife--Brooklyn, I thought, or the Bronx. Her smile was indulgent, something I couldn't get tired of looking at soon. Huge brown eyes, golden hair pulled up and away from her face on the sides, the rest in one smooth flood that fell below her neck. "How was dinner, Honey?" she asked me. Honey. Of course, we had to be married. Discovering that our rings matched was a plus. Sam'd be proud of me. "It was, uh, great,"I responded, wishing I'd had some of it. My stomach felt as empty as my memory did at times. "You hate red cabbage, but it was all I could figure out for tonight. Before Edgar Bergan." Her needles clicked in a very homey, comfortable way. I could get used to this very easily, kid cuddled in my lap, the radio playing softly, just the hint of Fall in the cool breeze that blew in from the barely cracked window. "How was work?" she asked, which left me at an odds. "You work at a brewery, Al. Tell her it went fine, then we can go talk." Sam was at my shoulder, looking pensive, more so than normal. "The usual, Hon." She gave me a grin, wrinkling her nose. Cute. I had a cute family. Sweet and simply bizarre--like out of an old fifties comedy show. "I think I'll go outside for a while and get a bit of air." There. Anywhere but the bathroom, for Christ's sake. "It's a nice night," I added, as Shirley popped off my lap and onto the floor, her world centered around her new doll. "It sure is. Don't be long." She put her face up for a kiss, and I obliged, without hesitation. She tasted of lipstick, lots of it, and some kind of mint; Sen-Sen, I thought. Used to pop a few of those to cut the cigarette breath, not that Sister Mary Margreta would let anything by her nose. She made Margaret Hamilton look like a debutant, with a nose to match! I went out on the fire escape, Sam joining me in a moment. "You look a little agitated, kiddo, " I said,leaning against the brick wall, knocking the end of my pipe against the wrought iron railing. "What's up?" "I'm still getting used to all this, Al. You don't know--how could you? Or you do, and I"m just spouting off." He smiled, just a little embarrrased at his outburst. "I'm trying to figure out how to get you home, and doing this--maybe I'm working too much. I need a vacation. How the hell did you keep up with the pace? "Well, for one, " I said, playing a hunch, " I didn't spend every spare moment digging in Ziggy for answers to things she has no idea how to fix. It was tough enough just keeping up with you." end of part one part two to follow...watch this space Terri in Cleveland -- "Girls who have glasses have lots & lots of energy!" Al--Single Drop of Rain Terri Librande aa811@cleveland.Freenet.edu--Assistant Sysop The Science Fiction and Fantasy Sig--Go SCIFI