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From: PJcocoa@aol.com
Subject: {ASSM} NOT A KNIGHT In Shining Armor... [VBC] {Gary Jordan} (nosex, voy)
Date: Thu, 14 Mar 2002 16:10:05 -0500
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For The Virago Blue Challenge

NOT a Knight in Shining Armor...

by Gary Jordan

I admired the new piece of furniture my boyfriend had bought me while
I prepared for a bath.  A lovely piece, one of those things that's
half-drawers, half closet.  He'd picked it up at a movie lot auction. 
It had an impressive history.  "Best Little Whorehouse", "Shakespeare
in Love" (though that scene was cut) - it had even been used in a Jack
Nicholson horror movie.

I thought of Billy when I looked at it.  A strange piece of furniture
from a strange, if thoughtful, beau.  Someone needed to rescue him
from his impulse purchases, and more and more, that looked like me.  I
smiled as I removed my panties.

I carried all the soiled clothes to the hamper, and checked the tub.
Plenty of hot, bubbly water.  I closed the faucets and eased myself in
and down.

The woman who invented the bubble bath should be immortalized in song
and story.  Nothing on this earth beats the caress of the hot water,
the silky feel of the bubbles... Billy's tongue is a close second,
maybe even a tie (and now I have the mental image of Billy and me in
the tub together - shivers.)

Wait, those weren't my shivers -

Earthquake!

My mind leapt into high gear.  Wasn't the bathtub a good place to be
during earthquakes or tornadoes?  Fuck!  Only if it was a cast-iron
tub, not a flimsy fiberglass job like mine.  Cracks were already
appearing in my sixth-floor walls.  I needed to move!

Climbing from a tub full of soapy water during an earthquake is best
described as Charlie Chaplin and the Three Stooges meet the Marx
Brothers.  Pure slapstick and pratfalls.  but somehow I managed it and
made it to the doorway as the exterior wall, including my tub,
disappeared in a deafening roar.  As if that wasn't bad enough, the
doorway began to distort and more cracks appeared in my bedroom floor.
I feared I was on the wrong side of the fault line and dashed into the
bedroom.

The ground-driven tremors had stopped, but the building continued to
disgorge enormous chunks.  I freely admit to terror as most of my
corner apartment fell away.  I found myself standing wobbly-kneed on a
narrow jagged ledge abutting an interior wall.  All that survived of
my apartment was a reproduction of a Robert Wood painting, Billy's
dresser thingy, and me.

Straightening the painting may not have been the sanest thing to do
under the circumstances, but it helped to calm me.  Looking out
through the settling dust, I could see the tenants of adjacent
apartment buildings rubbernecking through their windows and sliding
glass doors.  Some of the bolder (or stupider) ones came out on
balconies.  I waved at them frantically.

I finally got someone's attention.  She held up a cell phone (or maybe
a cordless), put it to one ear and yelled and waved back.  Thank God
someone knew I was here.  From what I could see, I doubted that any of
the tenants above or below me survived, unless they weren't home.

My neighbor disappeared briefly, to return with a large drawing tablet
and a magic marker.  She wrote, "HELP ON WAY," in large bold letters. 
Then she flipped the page, scribbled and held it up again.  "Y U
NAKED?" it said.

I looked down.  Oh, Shit!  A girl tries to relax in the tub and ends
up showing her goodies to the whole world.  Who'd believe this?  And
pretty soon, every camera, camcorder and telescope in the facing
buildings would be trained my way.  When help arrived, they'd be
accompanied by television crews.

There was only one thing to do, and I signaled my intentions to the
Samaritan across the way, and she wrote back, "I TELL 911 WHERE YOU
ARE."

And that's the story of my night in "Shining" armoire.

The End

Copyright 2002 by Gary Jordan.


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