Jazz Age Wednesdays ― Hullaba Lulu 10.1

Wednesday, June 20, 2018

Lulu Valentino chaos outside train Arrival 1

Lulu & Valentino see chaos outside the train when it passes into a Pittura Metafisica, by Rob Goldstein

Welcome back to Jazz Age Wednesdays, Sheiks and Shebas! I’m happy to see you here at the station for this diesel-punk, pantser story. Artist, Rob Goldstein created a new video that serves as a visual recap for the series up to this point. Rob’s post, Hullaba Lulu: The Music Goes Round talks about what he did. If you want a more comprehensive review, he generously made a post with links to all the past chapters.

(Click here for Rob’s entire collection of videos.)

This time I didn’t even make it to the first of the three things Rob sent for our tenth chapter… but I’m still calling this episode Chapter 10.1. It wasn’t an official “thing” but as I was writing, I realized that I needed an electromagnet. So that’s my title for this segment. The action picks up where Chapter 9.3 stopped.

Previously with Hullaba Lulu

Valentino told Gramps and Lulu that he is connected to the train and can’t be separated from it. Worse, he said he doesn’t have long to live.

“I have kept the knowledge to myself, because you did not share it,” Moon began. “But I know that your connection to the train has deteriorated. I think the damage to the Tesla coil slowly eroded as your condition became worse.”

Valentino reclining atop his Rolls-Royce outside the Cotton Club, by Rob Goldstein

Valentino’s train was out of control and headed straight for the Cotton Club. However, instead of crashing into the nightclub, the train traveled into a Pittura Metafisica mural on the outside wall of the club. That created a strange vortex, pulling the Rolls-Royce and all the angel-bots into the painting along with the train.

Do you hear Valentino’s trumpet?

All aboard!

Hullaba Lulu

Chapter 10.1

Electromagnet

Rocking horse bot pulled after train The Pyramid 1

Things being pulled behind the train as it passes into a Pittura Metafisica

As the train went into the Pittura Metafisica of the bizarre Egyptian scene, I was mortified. Valentino couldn’t be physically far away from the train. Worse he said he didn’t have long to live. So, I had to think that any separation at all would be more than he could take.

Yet I didn’t have time to focus on that thought because as the train charged into the painting it pulled the Rolls-Royce, the clockwork angel-bots, and a few nearby objects into the painting with it.

Colors whirled outside the vehicle’s windows. Valentino grew pale and his hands shook. He was telling Gramps something about “vortex” but I could barely hear them over the noise Rose and Pearl made.

Vortex, by Rob Goldstein

Giving a girlish scream wasn’t something I was likely to do, not after what Valentino said about dying back at the Cotton Club. That weighed too heavily on my mind for me to have half a thought about being pulled inside a painting.

Besides, it all happened so fast, there wasn’t time to divide one thought from the other. My pals had not been at the table. They didn’t know about Valentino. There hadn’t been time to tell them, but I figured that wasn’t mine to tell anyway. I didn’t know whether or not Valentino meant it to be a secret.

Our immediate peril became clear. Outside, two angel-bots seemed to lose their hold on the vehicle. When Ginger cried out I knew one of those bots was Dynamite. By his blueish coloring the other bot had to be Moon.

I gasped in consternation as they tumbled away from the Rolls. Then I realized that they let go of the Rolls deliberately in a rash attempt to reach the train. As Dynamite hurtled forward he grabbed hold of the railing on the train. He caught Moon’s arm and the two of them gradually climbed onto the train and hurried inside.

Bot Valentino Lulu inside train windows Flight to Egypt-4

Train entering Pittura Metafisica

Soon all the angel-bots had made a chain, in much the same way that people would make a human chain to rescue a skater who fell through the ice. Although I had only seen that done in pictures. Clumsy as I was, that was one calamity that had never befallen me. But then, I had never been ice skating.

Dynamite and Moon emerged from the train and wheeled out a machine about the size of a Victrola cabinet. It was topped with a cylinder and a lot of wires, and the cabinet had a bunch of knobs and even more wires. Valentino muttered the word electromagnet.

Moon twisted the knobs. I heard a loud hum. The automobile surged forward, connecting itself to the train. The angel-bots gathered to make sure it was firmly attached. Then they helped Pearl, Rose, Gramps, and me get on the train.

Briefly I wondered why the angel-bots weren’t stuck to the electromagnet. I supposed they really were made from gold, rather than from some fake metal. Before I could be astonished by that fact, a question from Pearl caused me to whirl away from the machine and the bots.

“Where is Valentino? Is he still in the Rolls?” Pearl asked.

Valentino with Angel-bots, by Rob Goldstein

There was commotion around the automobile. Valentino had collapsed. So many of the angel-bots surrounded him that I couldn’t tell whether he was even conscious.

I tried to follow the clockwork figures who carried Valentino, but there were so many that they blocked the corridor. I could see my grandfather’s hat. He was taller than the others. I was relieved that Gramps was with him.

Suddenly Dynamite and Ginger were beside me.

“Moon is quite skilled. He can’t cure Valentino, but I know he will help,” Dynamite said in a comforting southern drawl.

“You should get some rest,” Ginger added.

I hadn’t noticed we were right outside my sleeper car. Ginger opened my door and motioned me inside. She plumped the pillows on my bed. Next thing I knew, Dynamite handed me a snifter of brandy.

Angel-bots looking after Lulu, by Rob Goldstein

I stood motionless, gazing in fascination at the chaos that fled by my window. Wildly shifting scenes rushed past.

Then, strangest of all I saw a vast multicolored wing. Whatever it was must have been flying directly above the train.

***

The End

***

Holly Hannah! I’m glad everyone is back on the train. But applesauce! Lulu has no idea whether Valentino is okay, but I’m glad it looks like Gramps is with him. I wonder what the Sam Hill has “vast multicolored” wings? Tune in again next week to see if the “things” answer any of those questions!

Real World Notes

Westinghouse surgical electromagnet 1915

Ectromagnet. A device in which a magnetic field is produced by an electric current. William Sturgeon invented the electromagnet in 1825. Sturgeon’s device came a mere five years after a Danish scientist discovered that electricity emitted magnetic waves. Sturgeon harnessed this idea and conclusively demonstrated that the stronger the electric current, the stronger the magnetic force.

His first electromagnet was a horseshoe-shaped piece of iron wrapped with a loosely wound coil. When a current was passed through the coil the electromagnet became magnetized, and when the current was stopped, the coil was demagnetized. It could lift nine pounds with a seven-ounce piece of iron wrapped with wires through which the current of a single cell battery was sent.

I hope you’ll click over and check out Rob’s blog. You’ll find more fabulous images there, and terrific blog posts too.

Stay tuned for more spontaneously written fun. The things Rob sent to drive Chapter 10 are The Theremin, Wave Frequency Machine and Hidden Door. Your guess is as good as mine for what I’ll do with those things.

I hope to see you will be at the station again next week to catch the diesel-punk train.

Thanks for visiting. You’re the berries!

***

Now some shameless self-promotion for my other 1920s books — the original “three things” stories about Paisley Idelle Peabody, aka Pip, and her friends.

Bijou front only 2

Murder at the Bijou — Three Ingredients I

Novel-book-The Three Things Serial Story-Teagan Riordain Geneviene-The Writer Next Door-Vashti Q-spotlight-author

The Three Things Serial Story: A Little 1920s Story Kindle

This is a work of fiction. Characters, names, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, locales, or events is entirely coincidental.

No part of this work may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights.

All images are either the property of the author or provided by free sources, unless stated otherwise.

Jazz Age Wednesdays ― Hullaba Lulu 9.3

Wednesday, June 13, 2018

Lulu and Valentino dance in a Pittura Metafisica, by Rob Goldstein

Hey there, Sheiks and Shebas! Welcome back to Jazz Age Wednesdays. You already know I’m being a pantser as I write this story — flying by the seat of my pants, not planning anything. All the details, major and minor are triggered by the sets of things from Rob Goldstein, who creates the gorgeous images and videos for this series. (Click here for Rob’s entire collection of videos.)

Today I’m featuring music from the Jazz Age. There are videos for songs mentioned in this chapter from YouTube as well as some from Rob. I’m giving you those music breaks since this episode is about 2,000 words in length. That will help you save your place if you don’t have time. If you don’t like long posts — you’ve been warned.

With today’s episode of Hullaba Lulu I’ve finally gotten to the third “thing” for Chapter 9 of the series. The action picks up where Chapter 9.2 stopped.

Previously with Hullaba Lulu

Everyone but Lulu and the rose-gold angel-bot, Ginger had already left the train to go to the Cotton Club. To make up time, they took Valentino’s Rolls-Royce. Unfortunately, Lulu doesn’t know how to drive!

Valentino and the trumpet, by Rob Goldstein

This time

Valentino makes a dire revelation.

Now to Chapter 9.3. Do you hear Valentino’s trumpet?

All aboard!

Hullaba Lulu

Chapter 9.3

Star of David

The runaway Rolls-Royce ploughed down the street sign for 142^nd Street and Lenox Avenue. That slowed the automobile. On the outer wall of the building I saw a big mural that had pyramids, a sphinx, and a strange tower. I had only been to the Cotton Club a few times. I didn’t remember any murals on the outside, but the posters on the sidewalk looked familiar.

The Rolls-Royce bounced up over the curb and rolled to a stop right in front of the door to the Cotton Club.

Boom-boom had managed to bring the fortuneteller booth that housed the automaton, Sipsing. He and another angel-bot used a hand dolly to wheel the booth. I wondered at Boom-boom’s fascination with the gypsy automaton. It was not nearly as advanced as the angel-bots and it couldn’t communicate the way they did. Maybe it was like a pet to him.

Cotton Club-Egyptian outside The Flight to Egypt-12

Cotton Club with Pittura Metafisica, by Rob Goldstein

Ginger and I got out of the vehicle. I bent over to inspect Rolls. A bit of steam trickled out from under the hood, but I figured it would be okay.

A group of angel-bots ran out and hustled us into the club. As the door opened I heard the song “I Wanna Be Loved by You,” and knew that it must be Dynamite singing. He carried a torch for Ginger.

The rose-gold angel-bot walked into the club just as he sang Boop-boop-de-boop! Applause erupted from the audience when they saw Ginger. With so many bots in the crowd, the clapping sounded like hundreds of little cymbals. I gave Ginger a little push to get her up onto the stage with Dynamite.

Dynamite at The Cotton Club, by Rob Goldstein

I had a glimpse of Rose and Pearl headed backstage. I figured they would sing or dance, or both. Those Shebas loved the spotlight. My eyes found Gramps and Valentino at a table, so I joined them. Gramps commented on the mural I noticed outside when I arrived. My grandfather asked if Valentino painted it. The enigmatic man nodded.

Earlier when I wondered if the Cotton Club might be like the strange version of Atlantic City, I was right. I was pretty sure it was “sideways” too. I had never seen a more elegant, sophisticated group of people at a night club. Their clothes were extraordinary. Those weren’t just glad rags, they were ecstatic! Wild and wonderful colors and designs, they didn’t conform to any convention or norm of fashion I had ever seen.

Valentino, by Rob Goldstein

A woman at the table next to ours wore an exquisite Star of David pendant. It was made from some rare and precious metal that was unknown to me, except that the angel-bot I named Moon had the same metallic blue finish. In the center of the star was a sapphire as big as an eyeball.

When I looked at Valentino, I saw the woman’s Star of David reflected in the depths of his dark eyes.

Dynamite and Ginger left the stage. They were followed by Pearl and Rose. I took a sharp breath when I heard the first chord of the music. I hated that song! I slouched down in my chair and tried to pretend that I didn’t exist as Rose took the first part.

“You can bring Pearl, she’s a darned nice girl,” Rose sang and pointed to her friend. “But don’t bring Lulu.”

I slid farther down in my chair.

“You can bring Rose with her turned up nose. But don’t bring Lulu!” Pearl sang and they both pointed to me.

In utter mortification, my eyes wildly searched for the exit. Gramps laughed at the antics of my pals. Valentino smiled.

“Lulu, are you well?” he asked me in a puzzled voice.

My eyes and nose were the only thing above the tabletop, I had sunk down so far. I realized there was only one way around the embarrassing scene. Like the man said, “If you can’t lick ’em, jine ’em.”

With a motion to angel-bots Wicky, Wacky, and Woo I went to the stage and we sang “Back in Nagasaki.” When I belted out the words, “Hot ginger and dynamite,” the angel-bots in the audience got so excited that some of them jumped up onto the table tops.

As I went onstage, I saw Pearl and Rose move onto the dance-floor with a couple of swell looking Oliver Twists. Those four were such great dancers that I almost forgot the song while I watched them. However, I lost track of my pals while I sang. When my number was over, I went back to the table with Gramps and Valentino. The evening was beginning to wind down anyway.

“I haven’t seen you leave that train of yours without the trumpet,” Gramps commented to Valentino. “I don’t pretend to understand the many mysteries of the train, but it seems like you can use the trumpet to make the train come to you.”

The pained look on the enigmatic man’s face suggested my grandfather hit a nerve. Valentino gazed down at the brightly polished horn. He swallowed hard. His eyes were haunted as he looked from Gramps to me.

Gramps and Valentino, Tesla machine on the left

“I’m not able to go more than a short distance from the train,” Valentino began in a rough voice, but stopped to clear his throat. “Lately I can’t leave the train at all unless I have some aspect of it with me. The trumpet, the Rolls-Royce, the Ouija board, and other things are all aspects of the train.”

“When your daughter, Lauren traveled with me I underestimated her,” Valentino began with a regretful look at Gramps. “There was another passenger, the most brilliant man I’ve ever met. His name was Nikola Tesla. Your daughter mesmerized him.”

Both men turned their eyes briefly to me. Maybe they thought I would be defensive. I didn’t know how my grandfather might feel about something negative being said about my mother, but I already understood what kind of person she was.

Inside the Cotton Club, by Rob Goldstein

“Wait a minute,” I objected. “I’ve heard of Tesla. He was too smart to be undone by a choice bit of calico. Lauren couldn’t have been smarter than him.”

“No,” Valentino continued. “However, Tesla was fragile in a way. He also had phobias that Lauren used to her advantage. I’ve never seen anyone get so upset at the touch of human hair. Or the sight of a woman’s earrings… It’s no wonder Nikola liked the angel-bots.”

“Lauren dissected an angel-bot to take the part that gives them intuition. She used that plus alcohol and drugs to mesmerize Tesla. Then she used the knowledge she pulled from him, along with the angel-bot’s mind… I think she meant to take over the train and failed. But in her attempt, she altered my connection to the train. That’s why I can’t leave the train without having an aspect of it with me. Now that glitch in my affinity with the train has grown,” Valentino stated, but paused and stared down at the trumpet.

Lauren on the train, by Rob Goldstein

“As my affinity with the train deteriorates, so do I,” Valentino explained. “I haven’t much longer to live.”

Applause for the jazz band interrupted that horrible revelation. My grandfather was speaking quietly to Valentino. Both their voices had serious tones. I was too stunned by what Valentino divulged to hear what they said. I was speechless. I couldn’t even look at either of them. I stared blindly at that trumpet and desperately fought tears.

The crowd had thinned. A group was gathered around the fortuneteller booth. The familiar words of the automaton cut into my fugue. Dazed, I turned to watch.

“Sipsing the Gypsy King knows all, sees all. What would you divine?” it asked.

Question after question was posed. The automaton dealt tarot cards in response. Sometimes he made a mechanical remark about the cards. Other times he remained silent. Though I stared, I wasn’t paying attention until I realized that Sipsing’s audience had quieted to worried sounding murmurs.

Valentino abruptly stalked to the group. His long legs took him across the room in a few strides. His expression reminded me of the way he looked when he pulled me away from that Pittura Metafisica he’d painted.

The Gilded Tarot, The Chariot

“Sipsing!” Valentino commanded the automaton. “What is wrong? What do you divine?”

The fortuneteller dealt a single tarot card ― the Chariot.

Valentino went pale.

Just then Moon, the engineering-bot burst into the club. His blue-gold finish was easily recognizable. I saw several scorch marks marred the shine.

“You were to remain with the train,” Valentino challenged the angel-bot.

Moon was so distraught that could barely form a sentence. His clockwork mechanisms clicked and whirred erratically.

“It’s the Tesla coil,” the engineering-bot blurted out. “It’s shooting lightning randomly, haphazardly!”

In his excitement, Moon’s Cuban accent more pronounced than it was when I met him. However, that wasn’t what took me aback. Just before I left the train, I had nearly knocked the Tesla machine off its shelf. I caught it, but when I put it back, I wasn’t sure if I set it down exactly the way it had been.

Valentino looked at me and I tried to act casually, but I couldn’t meet his eyes.

“I noticed the Tesla coil was turned backward. Naturally that wouldn’t do any harm,” Moon added.

Bless the blue-gold bot, he gave me a quick reassuring glance. I relaxed and looked Valentino on the eyes, and then raised my eyebrows inquiringly.

“But that made me examine the device,” Moon continued. “I found that it had been changed, sabotaged. It appears the initial sabotage was done quite some time ago.”

Moon paused awkwardly, looking down at his feet. I placed my hand on his arm and urged him to continue. He looked at Valentino.

Valentino cleared his throat uncomfortably. I gradually became aware of a noise outside the club.

“Surely that didn’t cause you to leave the train,” Valentino stated.

“It’s the train!” Moon cried. “The Tesla coil triggered the train. Neither the control angel nor I could get it in check. It will break free any moment.”

At that moment the trumpet spun around on the table. Of its own accord the horn blared out the notes that had been sensuous when Valentino played them ― and it played the notes backward.

I thought Valentino’s eyes would pop out of his head. That vein in his throat started throbbing. The ground trembled. The roar of the train filled the room. I knew it must be headed right for the Cotton Club.

Everyone ran outside. I saw that Pittura Metafisica of pyramids and a sphinx that Valentino painted on the wall at some past date. My eye was drawn to the sphinx because oddly, it wore a Star of David as an earring ― and the earring was glowing. Abruptly I realized the odd tower was a Tesla tower. The picture came to life and lightning bolts shot from the tower as the train bore down upon us. The pyramid in the painting started to glow.

Image by Teagan R. Geneviene

Valentino played the trumpet furiously, but it had no effect on the rapidly approaching train.

It was in sight by then and looming large. Strangely it was the caboose that headed toward us. The train was going backward.

Valentino yelled something about the Rolls Royce. Gramps made sure Pearl, Rose, and I got into the car. Some angel-bots squeezed into the car too. We were packed like sardines.

It looked like my grandfather meant to give up his seat. He would be left behind to whatever disaster headed our way. Then Ginger got in and pulled Gramps inside to sit in her lap. Any angel-bots that couldn’t fit inside the vehicle held onto the outside.

Somebody pressed the starter switch and Valentino hit the accelerator. The Rolls shot out of the way just as the caboose rolled past. I cringed and threw up my hands reflexively because I was sure the train would crash into the wall of the Cotton Club.

However, it went into the Pittura Metafisica. I don’t mean it hit the mural, I mean it went into it!

Since Valentino said he could not be separated from the train, I was horrified. He said he didn’t have long to live. The train vanished into the painting, Valentino would surely die right away!

Wake of train travel red photo Flight to Egypt-8

Image by Rob Goldstein

***

The End

***

Bushwa! Lulu is afraid Valentino is going to die. Well, he said he would if he’s separated from the train. Will there be time to save him? Tune in again next week!

Real World Notes

The Cotton Club. It was the place to be for music in the 1920s. The club’s beginning is a bit dubious with gangsters and such. In 1920, Jack Johnson, the first African-American heavyweight boxing champion, opened the Club Deluxe on 142nd Street and Lenox Avenue in the center of Harlem. Owney Madden, a white gangster, took over operations in 1923, and renamed the venue the Cotton Club. However, it was legendary for featuring black entertainers.

Art by Rob Goldstein

I hope you’ll click over and check out Rob’s blog. You’ll find more fabulous images there, and terrific blog posts too.

Stay tuned for more spontaneously written fun. The things Rob sent to drive Chapter 10 promise to be a big challenge for me — Wave Frequency Machine, The Theremin, and The Oscillation Overthruster! Right now, I have no idea where the seat of my pantser pants will fly with those things. Wish me luck! I hope to see you on our diesel-punk train again next week.

Thanks for visiting. You’re the cat’s pajamas!

***

Now some shameless self-promotion for my other 1920s books — the original “three things” stories about Paisley Idelle Peabody, aka Pip, and her friends.

Murder at the Bijou — Three Ingredients I

The Three Things Serial Story: A Little 1920s Story Kindle

All images are either the property of the author or provided by free sources, unless stated otherwise.

It’s about “Time” with Don

Saturday, June 9, 2018

Hello, one and all. Welcome to my sanctuary. Sit down on a sofa or curl up on a cushion. Today I have a special guest — author and entrepreneur Don Massenzio.

Don has a twist in his upcoming book that he’s been kind enough to discus with me. It was not too far afield from something that had been on my mind for my own books. Most of you know that I’m editing book-2 in my Atonement series (Atonement in Bloom). For a third book I’ve been contemplating how to work with both the present and the past in one volume. There are a number of ways I could do that. So I was curious about what Don did. I’ll bring you into our discussion now.

Don: My new book, Extra Innings, did not start out as a paranormal or science fiction novel. Originally published as a serial on my blog, the story started out with the intent of becoming another iteration in my crime fiction writing efforts. As the story took shape, however, my mind kept mulling over the miserable life of my main character, Joe McLean and what his life might have become if he had made some alternate life choices.

Teagan: That’s what intrigued me, Don. It’s similar but different. The heroine of the books I mentioned has a past life in which she knew some of the other characters. I don’t want to give any spoilers, but she did bad things in that past life. So I’m curious about how you handled this.

Don: I was originally going to include flashbacks and other devices to relay the history of the main character’s family and associates over different timelines that led to his current circumstances, but I worried about being able to do this smoothly and not confuse my readers.

Teagan: I agree. Flashbacks can be confusing to the reader. I try to avoid them.

Don: That’s where the idea of using some form of time travel emerged. It was a difficult decision because I’ve spent the past several books identifying with readers as a crime fiction author. I did publish a collection of short stories in my anthology, Random Tales, that had some science fiction/paranormal entries, but this would be my first novel to explore that part of my writing.

Teagan: You’re a brave man… I don’t think I could handle that for my book. But what did you do? My curiosity is piqued. Do tell…

Don: My first step was to research some of the techniques that have been used to convey time travel in fiction.

Here are some of the theories that have been presented:

Precognition – This is the idea of seeing the future during dreams or through the feeling of déjà vu.
Time Loops – If you’ve watched the movie, Ground Hog Day, you’ve seen this time travel plot device in action. Usually the events time loop repeat until the character or characters perform a certain action to end the loop and move forward.
Time Paradox – If you watched Back to the Future, when Marty McFly went back in time and nearly prevented his parents from getting together for the high school dance, you’ve experienced this time travel device.
Time Tourism – Just like it sounds, when time travelers travel through time to witness historical events as a spectator, this is time tourism.
Time War – This is the use of time travel to conduct war over time using time travel. It could involve going back in time to change events leading up to a pivotal battle or trying to bring about a reset of events that didn’t play out as planned.
Changing the past – This is the notion of time travel that I used in my book, Extra Innings. The idea of changing the past is logically contradictory. Even though the consensus today is that the past cannot be changed, science fiction writers have used the idea of changing the past for good story effect. Stephen King used this method of time travel effectively in his book, 11/22/63, by having his main character, Jake Epping, attempt to go back in time to prevent the assassination of President John F. Kennedy. Though ultimately successful, when Epping returns to the present, he discovers that his actions have had unintended consequences.

If you enjoy time travel and the possibility of going back in time to right wrongs and do things differently if given a chance, follow the adventures of Joe McLean in my latest novel, Extra Innings.

Joe McLean hates his life. A lonely, divorced, middle-aged man, stuck in a cramped apartment, the only bright spot in Joe’s life is cheering on his hometown baseball team.

Now, the local stadium, the place of many childhood and adult memories is being replaced. Joe desperately wants a piece of this iconic venue to preserve his memories and have some memorabilia from his happier past.

That’s when unusual things begin to happen, and Joe begins to rethink the direction his life has taken. Can Joe take a different path in life?

Can he use the special ability that he has acquired to change the course of his life? Will he realize the truth about old adage, you can never go home again? Follow the twists and turns in this supernatural story, Extra Innings, to find out.

***

Images provided by Don Massenzio.

Join me in wishing Don huge success with his new book. Extra Innings is currently available for pre-order. The release date is June 15^th.

Thanks for taking time to visit. I love your comments, so be sure to say hello.

Mega hugs!

***

Here’s my own shameless self-promotion…

Atonement, Tennessee

Amazon UK

Murder at the Bijou — Three Ingredients I

The Three Things Serial Story: A Little 1920s Story Kindle

All images are either the property of the author or provided by free sources, unless stated otherwise.

Jazz Age Wednesdays ― Hullaba Lulu 9.2

Wednesday, June 6, 2018

Valentino and Lulu dance the Lindy Hop outside the Cotton Club, by Rob Goldstein

Welcome back to Jazz Age Wednesdays. You know this story is spontaneously written. Saturday I followed the impulse to do a recap… before Wednesday. I added the rewind to one of the next set of things from Rob Goldstein who creates the gorgeous images and videos for this series. (Click here for the entire collection of videos.) So, that made the recap Chapter 9.1. Today’s episode of Hullaba Lulu brings us to Chapter 9.2 of the series.

My Writing Process

Sometimes it takes me a bit of storytelling to make my way to a “thing.” That is what happened here. So, I’ve divided this chapter yet again. I hope you enjoy the ride.

Previously with Hullaba Lulu

It looked like the angel-bots were up to some matchmaking for Dynamite and his blue surge, Ginger. They were excited that the Ouija board pointed to the Cotton Club as the train’s next destination. Lulu didn’t seem so thrilled.

The automat provided money. Even though it looked wrong, Boom-boom assured Lulu that nothing was amiss, including Bolshies or Russian spies. However, based on the strange currency, the she thinks that just as Atlantic City wasn’t the same place she knew, the Cotton Club might be similarly strange.

It’s time for Chapter 9.2. Do you hear Valentino’s trumpet?

All aboard!

Hullaba Lulu

Chapter 9.2

Jukebox

Angle-bot, Valentino, and Lulu inside the train, by Rob Goldstein

“Lulu! Horsefeathers! Where did you go? C’mon. Everybody is ready to go to the Cotton Club,” Rose called.

The corridors of the train rang with Rose and Pearl separately, calling my name. They had split up to look for me. I didn’t mean to be coy. I wasn’t hiding, not exactly. I just wanted to be alone. When I should have been in my sleeper car, changing into my glad rags, I went to the darkened control room of the train instead.

Solemnly I poked around all the glosy glowy gismos. I touched the golden control angel statue with the tip of one finger – just because I wasn’t supposed to touch anything. I knew it was some sort of machine, but it couldn’t move around like the angel-bots.

My peripheral vision caused me to whirl back to face it. I could have sworn the angel’s eyes opened. Although they were closed. I walked away, then jumped around, intending to take it by surprise if its eyes were open. The eyes were closed.

Hmmm.

I moved to a device with a sphere and lightning blots that ran steadily to another machine.

The control room of Valentino’s train, by Rob Goldstein

“Hello, Miss. Your friends are looking for you,” an angel-bot commented as he entered the control room. “Do be careful. All the instruments are precisely set and require delicate handling,” he added in the typically matter-of-fact way of the clockwork creatures.

There was a subtle Spanish sound to his voice. Rather than regular gold like most of the bots, his finish had a bluish cast. He used the same manner of speaking as the others when he answered my question about his accent. He said his voice was from Cuba.

“What’s this thing?” I asked of the lightning bolt device.

“Ah! The Tesla coil. It was made by Nikola Tesla himself and gifted to Valentino,” the angel-bot explained with a tone of awe.

I had heard of Nikola Tesla. He sounded like a real grouch. No wonder Valentino knew him. Grouches of a feather… Maybe Tesla wore those pointy toed shoes too. Those dog kennels would make anybody grumpy.

Valentino and angle-bots, by Rob Goldstein

“Something seems rather off about the devise,” the angel-bot said with an inquisitive tilt to his bluish gold head. “I should—” he stopped talking and blinked at me as if I were suddenly the object of his curiosity. “Oh! Giver of Names, I didn’t realize it was you. Could I impose? I mean, if it is not too much trouble… Would you be so kind as to bestow a name upon this humble bot?”

I couldn’t help grinning. The angel-bots were downright zozzled with delight about the prospect of getting named. Again my mind went to songs in choosing a name. When the idea came to me I smiled. The clockwork man bounced on his toes in anticipation.

“Hmm, your voice is from Cuba, and there’s a bluish cast to your gold. It kind of makes me think of the— That’s it! How about, Moon? That’s from the song Cuban Moon,” I suggested.

My grin got bigger when the Orthophonic Victrola, which was part of the control room started playing the song. (Chapter 4)

Apparently Moon liked his name. In a flurry of clicks, flutters, and bounces he hurried away to tell his friends. I had no idea what he had been about to say he “should” do a moment before, but it had to do with that dangerous looking Tesla coil.

With one finger extended toward the lightning, I tried to work up the courage to touch it. Then Rose called my name from the doorway. It startled me so badly that I yelped. I jerked around, bumping into the Tesla machine as I turned. It wobbled dangerously, the lightning shot out a wild arc. I caught the machine before it could fall and hurriedly straightened it.

I wasn’t sure if the Tesla machine was facing the same way it was before. I thought maybe I placed it backwards. However, I didn’t want anyone to see that I nearly caused another hullaba calamity, as Pearl called my clumsiness. So I rushed toward the door.

“There you are! Pearl, she’s over here,” Rose called to our other friend. “Lulu, why aren’t you ready?”

“You to go ahead,” I said as Pearl hurried up to join us. “I’ll change and catch up with you in a jiffy.”

Lulu and angle-bots at bath time, by Rob Goldstein

I ushered my pals off the train and moped back to my sleeper car. It had cheered me up to give Moon the angel-bot his name, but that joy faded quickly. As I walked past the jukebox in my sitting room, “Cuban Moon” started to play. It was almost as if the machine meant to remind me of that cheerfulness, but it didn’t make me smile.

My eyebrows went up when the jukebox came on by itself. Everything on that train seemed to be fluky.

I’m no stupid tomato. From the beginning I realized the train was no ordinary engine. Although everyone else seemed to ignore that fact. Abruptly I wondered if it had anything to do with the reassuring pulse of the engine.

Could some kind of mesmerism be involved?

One thing was bothering me, making me sad. I was pretty sure that train could go anywhere. It was the only chance I would ever have to travel to faraway, exciting, glamorous places. Yet instead of going to any of the hundreds of dreamy places I could imagine, it took us to Atlantic City, where I had previously been dozens of times. Worse, it had already returned to New York, if not to my home borough. I was bitterly disappointed.

A screen concealed a changing area with a tall mirror, a cushioned ottoman, and a clothes tree. I was startled when an angel-bot stepped out from behind the screen.

“Were you unhappy with the gown, Miss? When I saw that you hadn’t changed into the black gown you wore when you boarded, I brought another,” the angel-bot told me.

The metal of that angel-bot was unique. She was rose-gold. I knew Dynamite was stuck on her.

“You must be Ginger!” I exclaimed and the angel-bot nodded. “I thought all the bots were eager to go to the Cotton Club. Why are you still here?”

“Yes, Miss. Thank you, Giver of Names,” she replied. “Yes, everyone loves the club. But I heard you were sad, so I will stay behind with you.”

How could Ginger have heard that I was sad? That as creepy as the jukebox or the Orthophonic Victrola playing the song I mentioned.

I remember how excited Wicky, Wacky, and Woo had been because they had arranged for Dynamite to sing to Ginger onstage at the Cotton Club. I couldn’t ruin that surprise for any of them.

Lulu’s new gown, by Rob Goldstein

So, I pretended enthusiasm that I didn’t feel. I admit that I actually did perk up when I saw the gorgeous gown Ginger brought. It was royal purple silk and looked like an Erté original. The rose-gold bot also brought a black boa to accessorize the gown.

“There’s a bit of a walk to the club,” Ginger began. “Will your kitten heels be suitable? Ah! But there is another way. We could take the Rolls-Royce!”

I remembered Valentino had that automobile parked on the street above my grandfather’s speakeasy. (Chapter 2) You had to admit, the guy knew how to put on the Ritz!

Ginger made sure I had the gown fastened properly and that the feather boa hung just so. Then she turned with a little dance step-kick and led me down the corridor.

We entered a dark car. The rose-gold angel-bot didn’t seem to notice the dim light. Ginger moved across the room and pulled a leaver. With a series of whirring gears, a wide door opened and a ramp lowered to the ground. Sunlight flooded the train car. The green Rolls-Royce shimmered in the light.

Ginger hopped into the passenger seat. I stood still.

“Miss, is anything the matter?” she asked.

“Well… I don’t know how to drive,” I confessed.

Lulu and Valentino with his Rolls-Royce, by Rob Goldstein

The angel-bot shrugged with head tilted and hands spread.

“Just press that button under the dash,” she instructed.

I sat down on the supple leather seat. The burled wood dash was polished to a soft glow. I wished I had a jorum of skee for courage. All I had was bubble gum, so I took some from my beaded evening bag (Chapter 1) and in short order, blew a big bubble. This seemed to delight Ginger. Her metal hands clapped together with a sound like little cymbals.

I pressed the starter button and hit the gas. The green Rolls-Royce shot out of the train and barreled toward the Cotton Club. A man on a bicycle and a guy selling hot pretzels for a nickel scattered out of our way. We were nearly at the front door of the club.

Suddenly I realized that I didn’t know how to stop!

***

The End

***

Real World Notes

Electric Starter: The first electric starter was installed on an Arnold, an adaptation of the Benz Velo, built in 1896 in East Peckham, England, by electrical engineer H. J. Dowsing. In 1903, Clyde J. Coleman invented and patented the first electric starter in America U.S. Patent 0,745,157.

Tesla Coil

Tesla Coil (Lightning Machine): A Tesla coil is an electrical resonant transformer circuit designed by inventor Nikola Tesla in 1891. Tesla used these circuits to conduct innovative experiments in electrical lighting, phosphorescence, X-ray generation, high frequency alternating current phenomena, electrotherapy, and the transmission of electrical energy without wires. Tesla coil circuits were used commercially in sparkgap radio transmitters for wireless telegraphy until the 1920s, and in medical equipment such as electrotherapy and violet ray devices.

Erté: His real name was Romain de Tirtoff, (born November 23, 1892, St. Petersburg, Russia—died April 21, 1990, Paris, France), a fashion illustrator of the 1920s and creator of visual spectacle for French music-hall revues. His designs included dresses and accessories for women; costumes and sets for opera, ballet, and dramatic productions; and posters and prints. (His byname was derived from the French pronunciation of his initials, R.T.) Britannica

I hope you’ll click over and check out Rob’s blog. You’ll find more fabulous images there. He also writes wonderful blog posts.

Stay tuned for more spontaneously written fun. Next time I’ll conclude Chapter 9 with Star of David. Be sure to listen next week when the call of Valentino’s trumpet summons the diesel-punk train.

Thanks for visiting. You’re the cat’s pajamas!

***

Now some shameless self-promotion for my other 1920s books — the original “three things” stories about Paisley Idelle Peabody, aka Pip, and her friends.

Murder at the Bijou — Three Ingredients I

The Three Things Serial Story: A Little 1920s Story Kindle

All images are either the property of the author or provided by free sources, unless stated otherwise.

#Bookreview – The Three Things Serial Story: A little 1920’s story

Applesauce! Look — my first story about Pip and her friends has a pos-i-lutely wonderful review from the inspirational and creative Robbie Cheadle! I thought I would add it to Jazz Age Wednesdays, but I couldn’t wait.

Young Lucille Ball

Robbie’s remark that Pip is “a suitable role model or female readers in our modern world of obsessions with food and extreme thinness.” Means a lot to me. Be sure to click over to Robbie’s Inspiration and check out her wonderful blog.

You’re the bee’s knees!

Robbie's inspiration

What Amazon says

The Three Things Serial Story: A little 1920’s story is a spontaneously written (“pantser”) story. Everything in it — characters, setting, plot, was driven by “things” left by readers of the blog Teagan’s Books, episode by episode. Each week readers left three more things. The story evolved according to what those random things inspired. The serial began with oscillating fan, which brought me the vision of the 1920s setting. The era and narrator continued in two more serials that followed. While it was not great literature, it sure was a fun ride! Many readers asked me to provide the serial as a book, and that’s what I’ve done with this novella. So sit back and enjoy the Three Things Serial.

My review

Teagan Geneviene is an amazing writer and has an incredible blog where she shares highly entertaining episodes of her latest “pantser” story. Here is a…

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Weekend Extra – Hullaba Lulu 9.1 – a Recap

Saturday, June 2 2018

Image by Teagan Geneviene

Hello, everyone! No, you’re not confused — this is not Wednesday. However, my Saturday post this week looks a lot like Jazz Age Wednesdays. Rob Goldstein and I have been having so much fun with the diesel-punk series, Hullaba Lulu, that it’s hard to believe the first chapter premiered March 21st. So I thought I’d use my weekend post to write a chapter that’s sort of a review.

I’m using one item from the next set of “three things” that Rob sent to drive the story. So I’ll call this Chapter 9.1. My quirky image above has some hints about what’s to come in the future. That said…

… All aboard!

Hullaba Lulu

Chapter 9.1

Bolshies

Valentino and Angel-bots in the train’s control room, by Rob Goldstein

The engine gave a steady pulse that seemed to underlie everything. It reminded me of a heartbeat. I focused my hearing, trying to listen only to that vague background sound as I walked down the corridor in Valentino’s train. When I came to the door of the dimly lit control room someone grabbed my arm and pulled me inside.

“Shhh!” Pearl hissed. “You’ve got to see this.”

My fair-haired friend motioned to the Ouiji board that was connected to the stationary angel-bot in the train’s navigation controls.

“Oh, I saw it do that the first time,” I told her. “But there was a lot of messy ectoplasm then. It’s still pretty keen.”

Rose and Pearl, by Rob Goldstein

Still holding my arm, Pearl tiptoed closer to the board, watching the triangular planchette. My grandfather and my other pal, Rose, stood near Valentino. I noticed several of the angel-bots who performed various tasks and services on the train had gathered at the back of the room. They leaned forward in what appeared to be anticipation, clicking softly to one another.

Moving steadily, the planchette pointed to the letters C, O, T. Then it made a jiggling move before pointing to T again. The quiet clicking of the angel-bots gradually increased in volume. The triangular device then pointed to O and N, with a slight pause before returning to C again.

I saw Valentino’s lips curve to a little one-sided smile. The angel-bots started to bounce up and down on their toes when the planchette finished spelling out the word Club.

“The Cotton Club? Is that where we’re going?” Rose queried.

Angel-bots and passengers at the Cotton Club, by Rob Goldstein

It was obvious that the angel-bots were eager to go to the famous night club, but I wasn’t. I hoped to visit some far off, exotic place. This train adventure was probably the only chance I’d ever have to do go someplace like Paris, or Tokyo, or maybe Istanbul, or something.

“Back to New York already?” I asked in disappointment.

The mysterious man who simply named himself Valentino had made no promises. He offered to take us away from the seedy characters who showed an unhealthy interest in Rose.

I first saw the group of men in a Ford and thought they were revenuers. That was also the night we met Valentino. Later I learned those men were actually Russian spies, who were trying to get that Tom Driberg to work for them again. Yep, Tom the journalist was a spy. Tom said the Russians meant to nab Rose, whom he called Margosha, as leverage. He also claimed that Rose used to work with him as a spy. I still wasn’t sure of that was true about Rose, but an uneasy feeling in my gut said it was so.

Valentino, Lulu, Tom Driberg, by Rob Goldstein

Valentino’s train was not an ordinary machine. It whisked us to Atlantic City so fast that it seemed impossible. However, it turned out that place was not the amusement park we had visited many times. It was a weird version of the Atlantic City we knew. Anyhow, Tom Driberg and those Russian spies managed to tag along. They tried to grab Rose, but she got away.

I glimpsed my unlamented mother, Lauren. She abandoned Gramps and me when I was small. I wrote-off my mother long before that day. Everybody deserves the chance to be around decent people — even me. However, seeing her was very upsetting to my grandfather.

The tilt-a-whirl in the park was doing crazy things. Laruen jumped onto it and disappeared in its flashing lights. Later, when the Russians cornered Tom Driberg, he also used the tilt-a-whirl to get away. We didn’t know where either Lauren or Tom may have gone. I was fine with that.

Valentino Tilt-a-Whril Tom_Travelin Sideways

Valentino as Tom escapes the spies via the tilt-a-whirl, by Rob Goldstein

Valentino kept Gramps from following Lauren (his daughter). He said it was impossible for the tilt-a-whirl to go to the same place twice, so Gramps would not be able to catch up with her.

Meanwhile the entire amusement park became unstable. Buildings started to collapse. The great Ferris wheel broke free, demolishing everything in its path. The huge wheel careened toward us. We all escaped on the train, in the nick of time, leaving the Russian spies behind. Who could say what happened to them, but no one seemed to think they would be able to follow us.

***

Lulu, Valentino, Pearl in the dining car

Dejectedly, I went to the automat. I dipped a celery stalk from my bloody mary into a tiny bowl of horseradish before loudly crunching it. Then I stirred a little more of the grated spicy root into my drink. I loved the automat on Valentino’s train. The cocktail was so delicious that I almost forgot why I went to the vending car in the first place.

Valentino told us to be sure and go to the automat to get money from a machine there. We’d need it at the Cotton Club. I was sure I had enough mazuma to pay my own way, but horsefeathers, if he wanted it to be his treat, I’d let him.

I did the Camel Walk over to the currency exchange machine, but dancing didn’t cheer me up like it usually did.

Opening the chrome and glass door of a compartment, I removed an envelope of cash. When I examined it, I noticed the dollar bills were wrong. Where the pyramid on the back should have had the Eye of Providence, it had an Eye of Horus instead.

Clara Bo (inset), Paramount Automat 1931

Then I realized that just as Atlantic City had not been the same city I knew, New York City was likely to be sideways too. That’s what Sipsing the Gypsy king fortuneteller-bot said at the amusement park when I asked him if we’d gone back in time ― sideways.

As I placed the packet of money into my beaded handbag, I heard the soft clockwork clicking of angel-bots behind me. Wicky, Wacky, and Woo bounced on their toes in what could only be excitement. I tried to say something nice to the angel-bots, but my heart wasn’t in it.

“Yes, Miss. We love the Cotton Club. Dynamite is going to sing. He doesn’t know it, but we’ve made sure Hot Ginger will be there to hear him,” Wacky told me in a conspiratorial tone.

Angel-bot onstage, by Rob Goldstein

I had to smile at the housekeeping bot’s Bronx accent. It seemed so out of place, but that’s what I liked about it. It was wacky to fit his name. I had named several of the angel-bots. A quick impulse caused me to base their names on the song, Back in Nagasaki. It turned out that they were ecstatic about getting names.

The angel-bots opened the same compartment that I had just emptied. As if by magic, it contained three more envelopes of currency. I decided I really needed to learn more about Valentino’s train. Then a disconcerting thought came to me.

“Do you notice anything… funny about this money?” I asked the trio of angel-bots. “I mean on the pyramid? It’s not counterfeit or anything is it?”

“No, Miss. The automat gives us the correct currency for whatever place the train stops,” Woo assured me in her Chinese sounding accent.

It was intriguing that despite the fact that the angel-bots looked mostly alike, their voices were apparently unique. I asked Woo about hers, and if she came from China.

“No, Miss. I my voice comes from Shanghai. But in that Shanghai Night Raid 1931 happened in 1921.

Just then Boom-boom walked into the automat. He was as excited as his fellow bots about going to the club. Woo quickly told him my concerns about the funny looking money.

“Not to worry,” Boom-boom told me in that posh British voice. “It’s not a trick from the Bolshies or any of those Russian spies who followed us to Atlantic City. The automat never fails to provide the correct provisions,” he added with a half-bow.

***

The End

I had to give a nod to one of my favorite anime series, Night Raid 1931. The artwork in it never fails to amaze me.

Real World Notes

About the “bloody mary”

Is there any wonder we often have trouble communicating? The English language can be so subjective and confusing. As a career technical editor and writer, I often tell people to choose a style and stick with it. The Chicago Manual of Style has the clearest rule for cocktail and food names: Don’t capitalize these terms unless the names literally refer to the city or person. For example, Chicago says don’t capitalize “swiss cheese” unless you mean cheese that comes from Switzerland. Also if you follow the Chicago rules, you wouldn’t capitalize “irish coffee” or the “french fries.”

San Francisco artist Rob Goldstein is taking a break from the illustrations for Hullaba Lulu. He’s worked very hard, and is having some well deserved time away. Rob has also made several videos for the “Lulu-verse” — and in doing so, he has created a soundtrack for the series, filled with Roaring Twenties songs. You can see the entire collection of videos here.

If you haven’t gotten on the train, you can catch up by clicking the Hullaba Lulu category on the right side of the page. You’ll meet Lulu, her Gramps, friends Rose and Pearl, and some other characters as they begin a journey with an enigmatic man who only calls himself Valentino. Listen for the trumpet’s call and the conductor’s announcement, All aboard! That’s here each week for Jazz Age Wednesdays.

Thanks for taking time to visit. I love your comments, so be sure to say hello. You’re the cat’s pajamas!

***

Here’s my shameless self-promotion…

Atonement, Tennessee

Amazon UK

Murder at the Bijou — Three Ingredients I

The Three Things Serial Story: A Little 1920s Story Kindle

All images are either the property of the author or provided by free sources, unless stated otherwise.

Poor Little Glad Rag Doll — Part of the Lulu-verse

Artist, Rob Goldstein illustrates the diesel-punk fantasy series, Hullaba Lulu. He often creates art that runs parallel to the series. Rob is supposed to be taking a break, but he still did this a post and great video as part of the “Lulu-verse.”

Stay tuned for Hullaba Lulu Chapter 9.1 on Saturday.

Art by Rob Goldstein

Teagan and I are on a break from Hullaba Lulu this week.

We both have busy weeks; I have a friend in surgery
today and a guest arrives from Vancouver next week.

Then there is the effect of the Trump administration
on my Illness and its symptoms.

That’s a discussion I take up in my next post.

If you are an adult child of a pathological narcissist and you are not
affected by the diseased behavior of the Trump administration,
you’re still in denial.

Lucky you! 🙂

Some Angels

In the meantime, here is a link to some angels on Teagan’s books.

A quick explanation of the video:

I was intrigued with the idea in chapter eight Hullaba Lulu of the danger of entering the world of a painting. So I played with it by importing a few public domain copies of the Pittura Metafisica paintings of de Chirico

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