Moments with the Ralphwits

   Roger steadied Crissy's hands as she looked down the barrel of the rifle. The Wydmark rifle was considerably different from Crissy's shotgun, but it only seemed right that she learn how to use one since her husband was now president of the company that made the rifle. Roger and Crissy stood in the front yard as he tried to help her zero in on a target nailed to a tree across the dirt road that ran by their house. Any vehicle would be heard long before it arrived, so there was no risk of hitting a car. Crissy was enjoying the lesson, as it meant Roger wrapping his arms around her and speaking softly into her ear.

   "Take aim," Roger gently pushed the barrel toward the target, "don't rush. Aim for the bullseye, not the target board. My sergeant explained it to me, if I aimed for a button on a uniform, I'd be sure to hit the body. Now. Squeeze, don't pull." Crissy lined up her shot and squeezed off a round. At Roger's prompting, she fired off a few more shots.

   Roger held up Crissy's target for her to inspect. "For someone who only used a shotgun up to now," he mused, "you've got perfect grouping." Crissy smiled in satisfaction as she saw her shots had all hit so close to center of the target that she would qualify as a marksman in competition. 

   "Do you think it's possible I have a natural aptitude for this sort of thing?"

   "It's entirely possible. I rated marksman on my first try. The Army then made sure I got even better."

   "Maybe this isn't me as much as it is you holding the rifle for me."

   "I only helped set you up. The next three shots were all you. Look at the target again."

   "Could be the gun," Crissy smiled slyly, "I've always heard that Wydmarks were the best rifle in the world. I never thought for a second that I'd be married to the head of the company!"

   "Unfortunately," Roger checked the rifle to make sure it was unloaded before carrying it back inside, "this means I have to make a trip to the plant once a month for board meetings. I expect things will flow smoothly enough, though. They've been running the company without me all this time."

   "Where will we stay when we're in Kentucky?" Crissy asked as she carefully rolled up her target sheet.

   "Well," Roger slung the rifle over his shoulder, "there's a lake house where Pop used to stay. He built it to stay close to the plant when he needed to. I don't expect to use it much, though. Most of these trips will pretty short. Fly in, attend the meeting, fly back. Unless there's something special going on, it should just be a day. Frankly, I think it'd be pretty boring. We may have to arrange a longer trip just to take advantage of the cabin."

   "Who needs to get away from it all when one already lives away from it all?" Crissy scanned the area. "We already have a cabin on the river." Roger stepped closer and put his arm around Crissy as he took in the scenery.

   "You make an excellent point. I don't see how we get such good TV reception out here." Crissy sighed as she snuggled up to Roger. He guided her back into the house. 

   Later that afternoon, Crissy splashed in the lagoon. Roger sat by the shore enjoying a cigarette as he watched her frolic. She playfully swam over to him and smiled. 

   "Why don't you join me?"

   "You know how long it takes me to dry off. The only drawback to being an annie is that most of us males are covered in fur. You girls get a break by not having to worry about getting wet."

   "Suit yourself." Crissy giggled as she pushed away and dove into the water. Roger smiled as he flicked away the remains of his cigarette. Below, Crissy opened her eyes and looked about the crystal clear waters of the lagoon. She considered swimming on into the river, but wanted to stay close by Roger. She broke the surface and took a deep breath before letting herself sink back to the bottom. She opened her eyes again, the water so clear that she could see Roger standing on the shore and looking down at her. Crissy rested her head in her hands and crossed her legs, taking on a relaxed pose as she touched bottom. Roger waved her back up. Crissy poked her head out of the water only inches from where Roger was crouched next to the water.

   "Come on, Esther Williams, I want to take you to dinner in town." Crissy smiled and extended a hand for Roger to help pull her up. Once she was on her feet, she wrapped her arms around her husband and pushed her cheek against his chest.

   "We can stay in if you want." She offered. Roger chuckled.

   "I'd love to, but I already paid for tickets to tonight's movie."

   "What's playing?"

   "Safari picture. About a lion that terrorizes a native village."

   Roger and Crissy sat close to the screen, both of them dressed to the nines. Although this wasn't a monster movie in the traditional sense, it had been filmed as if it were one. As the lion stalked helpless natives, Crissy kept covering her eyes and hugging Roger for protection from imaginary danger. Eventually, the big game hunter shot down the beast and saved the glamorous lady scientist, with platinum blonde hair no less, from getting eaten. Just in time for the co-feature, which found our world soon to be enslaved by invisible Martians which inhabited the bodies of the recent dead. In between was a cartoon starring Minerva Mallen.

   Roger and Crissy eventually found themselves in the same nice restaurant where they'd had their first date. It was such a nice night, lit by a huge full moon and caressed by a gentle warm Summer breeze wafting through the air. The couple ate on the restaurant's patio to enjoy it. As Roger looked at Crissy in her elegant dress, he had to chuckle when he remembered the way she looked when he first saw her in the kitchen that morning. She was so cute as she was dancing to the music coming out of the radio, while dressed only in her undies, socks, and a loose pull-over. She was so carried away with the music, having so much fun, that she didn't even notice Roger standing in the doorway. This happened most mornings. And most mornings she let out a yelp when she finally opened her eyes and caught sight of Roger. This was Roger's wife. Equal parts care-free kid and sophisticated lady. 

   "What do you think about those jungle huts?" Crissy asked.

   "How do you mean?" Roger was a little confused by the query.

   "When I was little, I remember seeing a jungle picture and falling in love with the idea of moving to the jungle and living in a hut. Oh, I wanted a nice hut, but I thought it would be the berries to live in a jungle like that."

   "You feel that way after tonight's movie? After seeing the lion break through the wall of the Chief's hut?"

   "Well, I no longer want to live in the jungle. Although I kinda do already, if you think about it. Maybe not the African jungle, but the area around our house is certainly lush enough to be a jungle."

   "Well, Cris, if you want a hut, we can build you a hut on the property. We can find some spot nestled in some thick trees and build the hut of your dreams."

   "I know you're kidding me, but I do like the sound of it."

   "Actually, it might make an interesting guest house if we did it up real nice. We could make the best hut in the world. You can live out your childhood dream and sleep there every now and then."

   "You'd willing to sleep in a hut from time to time?"

   "We'll make it a really, really nice hut. Our vacation home, that's what it'll be. Then we can take vacations and still be close to home."

   "All kidding aside, Rog, would you really build a hut for me just so I could live out some dream from childhood?" Roger leaned close and touched Crissy's chin.

   "I'd do anything your little heart desires. You're adorable when you're happy, you know." Crissy bit her lip as she hunched down in her chair, both embarrassed and charmed. She was adorable.  

Wendy Marco

There's a Song in Here Somewhere...

   Jeannie quietly walked into her room and sat on the edge of her bed. She sat there for a while without moving. She was hurting. Finally, she reached over and opened the drawer to her nightstand. Next to her Bible was a stack of love letters which had been collected over a span of years. Jeannie held them out with the intention of ripping them in half. She could only stare at them as she gripped either end of the letters. She couldn't bring herself to rip up the letters. Not just yet. She'd only had one romance her entire life. Was it really over?

   Jeannie replayed his words in her head. It was over, alright. He'd made it perfectly clear that he'd met another girl, and that they were getting married. In all the years he'd been dating Jeannie, he never asked her to marry him. She took for granted that they eventually would wed, but now that Jeannie was really thinking it through, she had no reason to figure it that way. He wrote her very pretty letters claiming his undying love, but his romantic actions had remained largely the same as they'd been since the seventh grade. They kissed when they saw each other and they held hands, but there was never any serious discussion when it came to getting married. When Jeannie thought it through, he really seemed to see her more as a close friend.

   Jeannie considered how Beverly would have handled the relationship. Bev was more forward, one might even say fiery.  If she had invested years into a relationship, it would have been with full understanding of where it would eventually lead. And she would have made sure that she didn't have to wait long. Beverly would bait the hook with a tight sweater or a short skirt, grab his interest, then make clear that only a ring on her finger and a chat with the minister would allow for things to get any more serious. There was a certain cleanness to Beverly's direct approach. Jeannie had to wonder if the other girl had used a similar tactic.

   Jeannie wasn't as forward as Beverly. Having had Beverly for a sister all her life, patience was the first skill Jeannie acquired -or rather, it was the first grace she had been blessed with. Besides, boys were indeed interested in her, it's just that Jeannie always had to turn them away because she thought she already had a fella. It's not that Jeannie couldn't find a better man, it's just that Beverly wouldn't have wasted so much of her life without knowing if it was going to work out. This got Jeannie to thinking. Beverly had never in her life been shy about giving Jeannie advice, asked for or otherwise. Yet, she never once questioned Jeannie about her romance, or gave advice on what to do about it. Beverly seemed to understand that romance was one area of Jeannie's life which was none of Bev's affair. Jeannie had to wonder what might have happened differently had Beverly taken an interest. But this was a sign of something. 

    Beverly rarely showed it, but she had tremendous respect for her sister. In a way, she'd always envied Jeannie's lasting relationship as it hinted at a serious connection Beverly knew she couldn't truly create by relying on her physical charms. Beverly basically presented herself as a prize to be won by the man who respected her enough to play by the rules. Jeannie really was a prize, though, and Beverly knew it. Guys could see it, too. What they didn't know was that there really wasn't the serious relationship Jean thought she had. How many better suitors might have come her way if she hadn't believed that she was spoken for? Really, Jeannie wasn't mad at him for calling it quits. If he met a girl who was better for him, it was a plus for him, and a plus for Jeannie since it kept her from making a mistake by staying with him. Yes, Jeannie was close to him, and had shared with him thoughts she never told anyone else, but their relationship was more habit than romance.

    Jeannie took another look at the letters. While he didn't want her, it was hard for Jeannie to dislike him. He'd broken things off respectfully. And he'd never once tried anything funny with Jeannie. He was really a perfect gentleman through it all. And he was a perfect gentleman as he ended it. His new girl was within sight of Jeannie when it happened. She'd stood by with an expression of honest concern as he'd spelled it out for Jeannie. Jeannie at first thought the other girl was concerned about herself, or even him, but reflecting on it now, the girl seemed genuinely concerned about Jeannie's feelings. She didn't want his former flame to be hurt. The sudden love between the two seemed to be a surprise to everyone involved. 

   Jeannie mulled it over. Yes, her feelings were hurt, but she hadn't burst into tears or anything. Surely she would have if the relationship were as important as she figured it was. Maybe this was actually a good thing. He met a girl he was evidently in love with. Jeannie knew it was politic to step aside gracefully. And really, there was no reason not to. Sure, her heart would ache for a while, but more for the loss of a relationship the thought she had than for the loss of the relationship she actually had.

   Jeannie sat the letters down on her bed and reached for the telephone. Rather than destroy the letters as Beverly surely would have done, maybe the better thing to do was to return them to him. There might be some lines in there he could use on his bride-to-be. And if he didn't want them, at least Jeannie would have a chance to tell him she was okay. Even if he loved another girl, he would want to know that Jeannie was going to be okay. They were friends, after all.

   After the telephone conversation, Jeannie actually felt pretty good. She might've lost a romance, but her friend was gaining a spouse. Jeannie was truly happy for him. How to move forward, though? Beverly might doll herself up and hit the town to see if a better fella came along. Jeannie wasn't the type, though. She'd go through the usual routine that night, and carry on her life as normal, trusting God to send along the man who really was right for her. She was in no rush. After all, aggressive as Beverly was when it came to finding the right man, she wasn't walking down the aisle yet either. Jean's turn would come, just as Beverly's would.

   A new world had opened up, though. The next time a boy came around, Jeannie could actually encourage him rather than discourage him. Granted, she didn't know how to do that, exactly, but it couldn't be that difficult. She'd seen Bev in action. Jean's style might not be as aggressive, but there might be something there she could use to take notes from. In a round about way, this helped Beverly. Many times she'd wanted to set up a double date, but Jeannie was out of the running. Now, however...

   Unfortunately, not everybody learns of recent events at the same time. When Beverly caught sight of Jeannie's boyfriend kissing another girl at the malt shop, Bev saw red. Before she knew what she was doing, and certainly before he knew what was happening, Beverly leaped onto him and began clawing and kicking and biting. It was a very embarrassed Beverly who learned the truth after the Sheriff had driven her home in the back of his patrol car.  

Raw issue 1 cover art, and the origin of Cartoon Cuties

   The whole thing started as a comic strip which ran in magazines produced by Main Enterprises. Actually, the roots are found in a strip I had been doing for Main Enterprises PRESENTS by name of Betsy The Bookwriter. The strip used as a frame the efforts of a struggling authoress to come up with a book which she could sell. This allowed each episode to parody a different genre, though most of the gags were based in the movies rather than any literary source. One episode was going to be published in full color as opposed to black and white, so I and inker Jeff Austin figured the best possible idea for our color episode was to parody THE WIZARD OF OZ. 

   It was there my first "femanimal" saw print, as the pulchritudinous series needed a character to stand in for the Cowardly Lion. This resulted in Daisy Poise, billed there as The Milksop Mouse. I had no interest in drawing cheesecakey funny animals, but Daisy proved so much fun to draw that I developed another strip centered around Crissy Carrots. Only two episodes of Crissy Carrots were published, but I had mapped out a larger story arc concerning her relationship with love-sick Roger Ralphwit -a hungry wolf who had fallen madly in love with Crissy upon setting eyes on her. Cartoon Cuties issue 1 began life as a simple graphic novel for which I could use the story. And that really came about because I decided that I needed to learn to ink my own work (as I previously was only a pencil jockey). 

   I needed to develop my skills, but on a subject which would be easy to start with. Cartoon characters seemed an obvious choice, so I took my pencil sheets from the planned graphic novel and created ink sheets for the new project. When InDELLible picked up my book, the plan was changed from creating a one-shot graphic novel to producing a continuing series. This meant creating new characters and expanding a universe which I at first put little thought into. A re-designed Daisy, at first slated only for a cameo in acknowledgement of her being my first "annie" character, became one of the featured players and pushed into a short intro which more established the world of the book. 

   I hadn't originally figured the book to be a period piece, but it felt like the right move. That's why there are a few anachronisms in the main story of issue 1, as my first thought was that the universe depicted would be more timeless and mix aesthetics from the 50's and the 80's. This is why the bikini worn by Crissy is styled like one the later period would offer. Trying to explain this actually went a long way in establishing the universe of the franchise, as the solution was The Creek Bend Bikini Company, as explained in issue 2 (a much simplified summation of the situation mentioned in the prose story Questions And Answers posted right here on The Cartoon Cuties Log). 

   The world in which the series takes place fell together fairly quickly (I work in such a slapdash manner that any credit for cleverness or actual structure goes fully to the Holy Spirit). I settled on a period circa 1959. I developed the movie studio idea for the variety of story ideas it presented. I didn't want to lose the rural setting, however, so the idea of a small town bordered by a large movie studio came into being. This allowed for the perfect mixture of Hollywood glamor and Everytown USA sensibility. I knew I needed a word to call my cartoon characters for the sake of brevity, but I wanted to avoid "toons" as it was so closely connected to established franchises. It was Mark Holmes who helped me come up with the term Annie. The word has two connotations, reading as either a derivative of "animal" or "animation."

   Of course, once I knew what to call the annies, I still had to figure out what exactly they are. Influenced mostly by old Warner Brothers cartoons, the first Crissy Carrots episode published by Jim Main saw the characters as far more a mixture of man and animal. I simply didn't put much thought into it, but was basically doing what so many who came before me had done. With Cartoon Cuties as a continuing series, I had to develop further what exactly Crissy was. The answer came partly from Disney newspaper strips published in the 1940's. There was presented a world populated by human beings, cartoon characters, and regular animals. That seemed a good starting point. Annies aren't quasi-animals, but human beings that have animal features (basically the way Donald Duck was portrayed in the comic books). Of course, no matter what they were drawn to resemble, most cartoon characters were but symbolic stand-ins for regular people. I basically took that idea and inverted it, so that the cartoon characters ARE regular people.

   From there, just for basic story purposes, I had to figure out why the annies look the way they do if they're actually human beings no different from you or I aside from their obvious physical traits. That will be explored in the comic book series, God willing. Issue 4 will explain behavior issues which have been discussed in some of the prose stories, while issue 6 will finally explain the full origin of the annies.

   Meanwhile, there's the basic look of the annies, which was largely made up as I went along. I knew I didn't think a girl with nice legs should be covered in fur, so I gave all the girls skin. Males look more traditionally cartoony, so many of them ARE covered in fur. Basically, I made the girls more human in appearance and let the males be the more familiar type of cartoon character. Whatever their appearance, they're presented as completely normal in their daily actions and motivations.

   To explain why the girls look so different than cartoon characters always do, as well as to give C.B. International Pictures a bit of a hook, this prompted the notion that annies have almost always been presented on film only as comedy figures. Female annies were always placed in special make-up and bodysuits to make them look more animal-like. The fuzzy-face look was the standard for all cartoon studios until C.B.I.P. developed the glamor approach for annies during World War 2. (This is explored in issue 2. Happily, there's a certain logic to this which seems based in reality. One can imagine that had cartoons during the War featured characters that looked like Crissy and her peers, they would have been popular with G.I.'s.)

   Amusingly, after I'd figured all this out, I used a more traditional aesthetic for a one-shot book I drew in tribute to animation legend Don Bluth (God willing, InDELLible will eventually be releasing that book as well). After drawing a book which used the typical fuzzy cheeks and hands with only four digits, I better understood why the look had caught on in the first place. It carries with it an enhanced sense of cuteness I'd been trying to capture while avoiding the traditional look completely. I actually found myself wishing I'd adopted a similar look for Cartoon Cuties, but the first issue had already been published and the aesthetic for the book established.

   That more or less brings us to the point where you, the reader, is joining me as the first issue has been released. As of this writing, the second issue is in post-production and planned for release very soon.I do hope you'll join me for further adventures with Crissy, Roger, Minerva, Wendy, Daisy, and a host of new characters. There's probably two dozen featured players in the first 13 or so issues I've drawn so far. To those of you who check out the book, my extreme thanks. God bless you!

Saying Goodbye

   Doris Flowers packed her bags. It was time again for her periodic flight to England. While Doris was flattered that an English cartoon studio thought so much of her to arrange a regular loan-out from C.B.I.P., and she wanted to honor her British fans, the all-American farm girl turned cartoon star was never her happiest when she had to jump the pond. Compared to the bright, sunny climate she was used to, the climate of merry old England didn't have a lot to offer Doris. London fog seemed three times thicker to her than it did to the natives. And then there was the permanent overcast the country was known for. Doris wasn't looking forward the change in living conditions for the next month, but she wasn't going to focus on that part of things either. She knew full well how blessed she was. What it meant to have fans, and fans around the world at that. Who ever would've thought the cute little cartoon chipmunk would be such a hit with the Queen's subjects?

   Doris closed her suitcase and hoisted it toward the door. Her timing was good. Steve was coming to drive her into L.A. to catch her flight, and he'd be arriving in a few minutes. Doris took a last look around the room to make sure she hadn't missed anything. She checked herself in the mirror before shoving the luggage into the hallway. Although Doris tried to travel light, a month overseas meant a fair number of cases. A steamer trunk had been donated to Doris by Misty Carter, but that really required two large men to carry when full. Doris was so tiny that she'd probably squash herself if she tried to carry it alone.

   Doris stepped outside to wait for Steve. He'd called earlier and would be on scene soon. Doris lit a cigarette and paused to look lovingly at the lush rural surroundings which she would be absent from for a month to come. It was sunny and warm, a Technicolor hue of blue filled the sky. Doris let her eyes scan the old wooden fence which ran alongside the dirt road which passed her house and ended at the sprawling modern farmhouse where the rest of her family lived. She'd always liked this spot, and delighted in building a cozy cottage on this hilltop when her parents gave her the plot of land in celebration of her signing a studio contract. Doris leaned against one of the posts which supported the roof of her porch. A gentle breeze, nice and warm, caressed her as she took another puff of her cigarette.

   It was going to be hard to say goodbye to all of this, even if it was only for a short time. Doris had to, though. Steve's car could be heard closing in. As Steve drove into view, Doris had her attention called back inside the house when the telephone began ringing. When Steve got to the door, Doris was just finishing up the call. Doris looked a bit shaken as she returned the receiver to it's cradle. Steve stopped in the doorway, as his wife Patty stepped up behind him.

   "Is everything okay?" Steve asked. Doris turned toward a close chair. She staggered, and would have fallen to the floor if Steve hadn't rushed over to steady her. Doris seemed dazed, but she took a breath as she placed a hand on Steve's shoulder to assure him she was alright.  He helped her into the chair. Patty stood by, worried. Ed Carter stepped in behind Patty. He'd come along to help move the luggage, particularly if Doris was taking along the steamer trunk. Seeing Doris trying to get her bearings, Ed leaned in and tapped Patty on the shoulder.

   "What goes on?" Ed whispered.

   "We don't know yet," Patty whispered back, "she was like this when I came in." Doris took another deep breath and collected her thoughts.

   "I'm okay," she assured everyone, "I just got a call about Ruth Coppert. I'm sure you saw her at the studio before. She's a friend of mine. She's the one that started up that fan club for me. She was flying to England to meet me there, wanted to take some behind the scenes shots of the cartoon I'm making. She didn't make it. Her plane had engine trouble and ditched in the ocean. Everybody made it into the liferaft but her. Ruth went down with the plane." Patty crouched in front of Doris's chair.

   "I'm so sorry," she sputtered, "is there anything we can do?" Doris could barely wrap her mind around the events related to her over the telephone. She shook her head.

   "I don't know. She was so young. Her family must be devastated. I've got to call them." Doris reached for the telephone and dialed. The others stood by as Doris spoke to Ruth's mother. Doris felt partly responsible. If not for her, their daughter wouldn't have been on that plane in the first place. It wasn't a long call, but Mrs. Coppert was grateful that Doris had reached out to the family. As she hung up, Doris turned to Steve.

   "I want you to do something for me, Steve."

   "Anything."

   "Call the studio, in England. Make arrangements for me to go over there a little later than planned. There's no way I'm going to miss Ruth's funeral. I have to be there to pay my respects."

   Steve nodded. 

   It was another beautiful day as Ruth's family buried an empty casket in the family plot. Doris stood by quietly. Mr. and Mrs. Coppert thanked her for being there.

   "I couldn't stay away," Doris told them, "Ruth was so very special. I remember when I first met her. I'd never given any thought to fan clubs, but this pretty little teenager came to me and told me that she was president of a club organized to celebrate me. Little me, who never sought to be leader of a group. It meant so much to her to have me sign that stack of stills for her and the club, and then to have them invited to the set to watch me actually shoot a cartoon. I got used to seeing them there. The members came and went, but Ruth was always there. Always with that big grin on her face. It meant so much for her to be there, just to be around the set. She came to my house for dinner, she even told me about the boy she liked and I tried to give her advice on how to approach him. She really felt like a little sister to me. There was no way I was going to miss this. As much as it hurts me, I can't imagine what it's like for you. If there's anything, anything at all, that I can do for you. Please, don't hesitate to ask. Ruth has given me some of my happiest memories of being an actress. Of being a friend. It's going to be so very strange trying to go on without her always being there."

   "She spoke about you non-stop," Mr. Coppert sighed, "it really did get to the point where you seemed to be her big sister. I never thought much of actors, actually, back when she told me she was starting the fan club, but when I first met you, well, that changed my mind. I know you have a lot on your plate, and that you had to go out of your way to be here. I really can't tell you how much we appreciate it." Doris hugged both of them before turning to the car. Doris was in no shape to drive, so Yvette had come along to taxi her. Doris sat quietly in the passenger seat, staring at the floorboard. Yvette turned the key.

   "You want me to drive you home?"

   "No. I want to go somewhere else. You know that malt shop on the square?"

   "Sure."

   "That was where Ruth held her club meetings. The first thing she always did when she got there was to order a chocolate malted. Whatever she was doing, just hanging out there or conducting club business, she always had that malted in her hand. I know it's not much, but I want to order a malted in her honor."

   "Mind if I do likewise? I didn't know Ruth as well as you did, obviously, but she spent so much time at the studio that I did get to know her a little. One in a million, that girl."

   Ruth had touched many at the studio. As Doris stepped into the malt shop, she found numerous peers of hers had packed into the place to order chocolate malteds. Actors, cameramen, technicians, producers, and directors huddled together in silence. Henry Chestnut sat at a booth near the door, his wife Sugar at his side. Normally, they shared whatever they were drinking, but each had ordered a chocolate in Ruth's honor. Henry slid out of the booth and stepped forward to greet Doris and Yvette in.

   "We felt it was best to let the family handle the funeral in peace." Henry noted. "If all of us had shown up there, it would have turned into a circus when the papers got involved. Then newsreel crews, the local reporters. The story would have ended up being about us. Ruth deserved better than that. She was president of your fan club, Doris, but we all got to meet her when she was by the studio. We all liked her. We all loved her. It was meeting a sweet, star-struck kid like Ruth that made the whole business of acting seem like it's actually something important. I hope you'll forgive us for not going to the funeral, but we felt this was a better way of paying our respects."

   Doris smiled and nodded. "I think it's wonderful, Henry. C.B.I.P. is something special, and this is proof of that. I think Ruth would be honored. I'm sure she IS honored." The assembly had waited for Doris to show up before they made a toast to Ruth. They knew she wouldn't want to miss it. 

   It's easy for actors to either become self-absorbed or increasingly bored by what seems more play than work. It's the fans like Ruth that make it mean something. They keep an actor humble and remind them that what they're doing has worth to someone out there. If a fan is going through a hard time and remember something they saw on the screen and it brings a smile to their face, the players that caused that smile have done something good. It's not about people like Doris or Yvette or Henry, it's about people like Ruth. The people at the studio all knew how much they owed to Ruth, and to those like her. It was an honor to raise a glass in tribute.    

Doris Flowers ink sheet, before and after edits

Crissy and Roger, newlyweds forever

A page for issue 3, colors/letters by Jim Ludwig

Diamond Doll

   Crissy waved to Roger as he entered the office building. While he was getting the legalities of taking over his father's estate sorted out, Crissy knew she'd best help him by leaving Roger to the work in front of him. Crissy didn't get into the city very often. This seemed like a good chance to do some shopping. Her thoughts were always on Roger, so her idea of shopping now was on what could she find in the local shops that he might like. A new projector? A nice wallet? Maybe some nice lingerie for herself. That would really be a present for her husband, after all. Crissy stopped in front of an alley to look over the little map she'd thought to grab at the train station. She was glad she did. This was such a large metropolitan center that it made carrying a map of it vital. This wasn't even the deep part of the city, either. 

   Crissy suddenly felt a hand clasp over her mouth. She was dragged into the back area of the alley, around a corner which had been fenced in. Crissy found herself surrounded by five men. At least one of them was waving around a gun, an exceptionally nice 1911. They all looked like they came from central casting, with suits that were very nice but seemingly tailored to say "I'm a gangster" as loudly as possible. Only thing was, this wasn't the studio back in Creek Bend. Crissy had really been snatched by criminals.

   "That's her, alright," one hood pointed at her face, "the little white rabbit with the big diamond." So that's what this was about, The Eye of Heaven. Roger's family had a few treasures, but the most impressive was the giant diamond which had been traded from collector to collector for centuries. Claimed to be the largest diamond in the world, Roger had given it to Crissy. She rarely wore it, though, it was so large and awkward. These guys had figured out that she was the owner of the fabulous gem, however, and waited for the right moment to strike.

   "Alright," the guy who seemed to be the leader of the gang motioned to the man next to him, "you find her husband in the Willet building. Tell him we put the snatch on his girl and if he doesn't want we should hurt her, he hands over the diamond." Neither Roger nor Crissy had ever advertised that they had The Eye of Heaven, but anything that valuable was on public record. They'd even loaned out the diamond to an L.A. museum for a glass copy to be made for display purposes. 

   Crissy had questions. These guys must've followed the Ralphwits for some time, but why make their move here in the city? The Eye of Heaven was back in Creek Bend, in a box under the bed! Was this the first time Crissy was away from Roger long enough for them to grab her? Had they really invested so much time and money in this venture? They'd make back the cost with the diamond in their possession, but Crissy didn't see how. It was too famous to fence, to valuable to cut. They'd be stuck with a rock worth millions that could never be collected. Maybe they were working for someone else. Another collector of rare gems? 

   Roger had gotten the diamond from his dad. It was more valuable to him for that reason than for it's monetary value. While Rog didn't become a collector of gems himself, he did do his research on the subject. His giving the diamond to Crissy made news in certain trade papers, and probably would have been a bigger item in local papers had the gem not been overshadowed by Roxy and Mala attempting to kill and cannibalize Crissy before the wedding.

   At the moment, the five men were fairly close together. The one man put away his gun when he realized that Crissy wasn't going to give them any trouble. She'd remained perfectly quiet this whole time, knowing it would be safer not to kick and scream. One thug kept his arm around Crissy, his other hand clasping her mouth. Two men were lined up directly in front of Crissy. The leader and his errand boy were close by, but a few steps away. Crissy took a deep breath.

   Crissy executed a perfect high kick and took out the man in front of her before grabbing the arms of the man holding her down and flipping him forward. This thug hit the third with enough force to take both out. The remaining two gangsters looked on wide-eyed as Crissy innocently shuffled over to them.

   "Miss Namikawa's karate class." Crissy smiled cutely. "I was also a cheerleader. Gooooo TEAM!" As she cheered, Crissy jumped up and extended her legs, resulting in her feet kicking into the faces of both men. Her attackers were spread out across the alley. Crissy wasn't waiting for them to remember that they had guns. She darted out of the alley and onto the sidewalk in search of a policeman. As she scanned the street ahead, she knew that she needed to get back to Roger as quickly as possible. The gangsters would get away if she went directly to Roger, though, and she'd be attacked again at some point. Crissy stopped in her tracks and ran back to the entrance of the alley. The men around the corner were just beginning to get back on their feet.

   Crissy's mind raced as she scanned the area around her. The alley was blocked off back there. The fencing that surrounded the area was too tall and slick for anyone to climb over it in a hurry. If she could block the entrance to the alley, the men would be trapped until the police came. But how do you block an alley opening? A panel truck was parked across the street. Crissy would have to act fast. She darted across the road and jumped into the truck. In back of the truck, it's driver was unloading a crate of bottles. Imagine his shock when the truck roared to life and sped away from him across the road and into the alleyway.

   Crissy jumped out the back of the truck. She waved her arms and shouted for someone to call the police. The gangsters were trying to squeeze around the truck. Providently, a squad car was driving by at that moment. Crissy ran out in front of the black and white and flagged it down. It was a dangerous thing to do, but it worked. None of the bad guys got away.

   Shortly, Roger and Crissy were at the police station as the criminals were being processed. They had indeed been hired by a collector of rare gems. They didn't know his name, however. He remained anonymous by conducting all his business over the telephone. Roger was sure he'd been contacted by the man in question. He'd been offered a rather large sum for The Eye of Heaven, but had to inform the buyer that the diamond now belonged to his wife. She had no plans of selling it, either. It was the most valuable thing in Roger's life until he met Crissy, which is why he gave it to her. Crissy could never let something like that go, no matter what it's economic value. 

   As the men were herded toward the holding pen, Roger stopped the officer in front of them and made a point to address the crooks.

   "You guys were smart enough to wait until I was away from Crissy when you grabbed her. It's a good thing you did. She took care of you excellently, but had I been there, I would have killed you to a man. And should you ever get out of the pen and think The Eye of Heaven so valuable as to try a stunt like this again, remember that I am now the owner of the Wydmark Rifle Company. Should you ever get back in contact with your boss, be sure to tell him that. I really don't care about the diamond, but if you touch my wife... Just don't do it."

   On the train back home, Roger was upset with himself. He couldn't forgive himself for letting Crissy get into a position where her life was so threatened. Yes, she handled the situation, and did so admirably. Ironically, the karate lessons that helped her out of the situation had been taken in the first place because Crissy wasn't sure she could trust Roger when they were dating. Now she knew she could trust him, and trusted him with her life. He felt he'd betrayed that trust by letting the situation in the alley ever come to pass. You can't plan for everything, he knew, and it was folly to try, but everything he knew about being a man was wrapped up in being there to protect those who trusted him to do so.

   Crissy stood in the doorway to the bath compartment. Her robe was open over a stunning selection of lingerie laden with bows and laces. She watched her husband sympathetically. He sat in his seat, outwardly calm but fuming to himself as he watched the scenery go by the window. Crissy had an idea what it was that had him so upset. It wasn't pride, really. He knew that Crissy could handle herself if she had to. It was the thought that she had to at all, the idea that he had let her down by not being there when she needed him most.

   "I love you." Crissy said softly. Roger looked up at her, still a little ashamed but seeing that she was trying to tell him that everything was okay. He smiled.

   "I'm sorry I wasn't there when you needed me. But it is comforting to know that you can do what you did. Not to me, I hope."

   Crissy giggled as she stepped over to Roger and curled up in his lap. She twirled her finger through the hair on his chest as she rested her head beneath his neck.

   "I was the one stupid enough to stand with my back to an alley I'd never seen before. This is all on me." Crissy felt Roger take a deep breath.

   "It's nobody's fault. I'm sorry for sulking. I know I can't be at your side every minute of every day. I guess I got shook because when you told me about what happened I felt helpless like I did when Roxy and Mala took you away. I never want to go through that again."

   "Like you said," Crissy sat up to look Roger in the eye, "we can't be at each other's side every minute of every day. Trust God, not yourself. That's what it all comes down to." Crissy leaned forward and sprawled herself across Roger as she reached up and stroked his cheek. She kept her eyes locked onto his as she smiled. "And as for those moments where we ARE at each other's sides. Let's just make the most of them..."

Fast Pace, Slow Pace

   Trudy Kitten hoisted the box onto the desk, setting it down with a thudding blow that caused the papers on the desk to scatter. Steve Morrow eyed the box on his desk, while Trudy took a breath and rubbed her arms.

   "What exactly am I looking at, Trudy?"

   "A very heavy box of film reels," Trudy popped her knuckles and limbered her fingers, "the home movies the Boss wanted to see."

   "Oh, yeah, I forgot about that project." Steve opened the box and pawed through an assortment of 16mm cans. Each had been carefully labelled so it could be returned to the owner after the project had been completed. It was a fun idea, Steve thought, assembling snippets from home movies to give the audience an inside look at the annie stars.

   "Most everybody contributed a reel," Trudy said, "Wendy, Doris, Sugar, Missy. Yvette said she didn't have any home movies, but just about everyone else is in there. Daisy, Minerva, Lois, Misty, Dixie." Steve opened one can and inspected the film in the light.

   "All color film?"

   "Most of it. Some girls said all they had was black and white. We did all seem to be able to dig up the kind of shots the Boss wanted, though. Trips to the beach, the lake, the pool. Plenty of cheesecake."

   "I'll go through them with him tomorrow, probably. I'll be sure to keep track of the reels, so you'll all get back what's yours."

   "Showing home movies of the stars really isn't that fresh of an idea, is it?"

   "Nobody has done this sort of thing for annies yet, particularly for our glamor starlets. We can assemble a featurette for screen or for television, and it'll practically be free. All we need to fill in is some host segments."

   "I think Misty would be best for that."

   "Why Misty?"

   "She's so glamorous."

   "She is that," Steve mulled things over as he put the film back in it's can, "but I have a feeling the Boss may want to play up the every-girl aspect that most studios overlook. I think we need someone sweet and instantly lovable."

   "Who do you have in mind?"

   "Nobody yet. What do you think?"

   "It could be an interesting idea. I take it the whole point is to show the stars as regular people. Maybe that's what it needs, a hostess who's not a star."

    "Not a star," Steve thought aloud, "but looks like one. Warm and friendly, natural charisma, an annie... I think I know just the girl. But, I don't know if she'll do it. The Boss has been trying to sign her for a while now, but no soap."

   "Do I know her, Steve?"

   "If you don't, you probably heard of her. Crissy Carrots. Well, Crissy Ralphwit now. She married the son of the annie who founded the Wydmark Rifle Company. As soon as they settle the legal stuff, he'll be the owner of the company."

   "Oh, yeah," Trudy nodded, "she's that cute little rabbit who married the wolf. I remember seeing their picture in the papers... Something about a murder attempt on her, and he saved her life."

   "The Boss has been wanting her to join the studio for a few years now, ever since he met her in the market."

    "Not interested in being a star, eh?"

   "I think she enjoys her life too much to give acting a second thought. Having her host the home movie clips is a pretty good idea, though. I'll stop by her place and see if I can talk her into it. You should see her house, Trudy. Right on the river, with a big lagoon right in the back yard."

   "I'm not doing anything for the rest of the day. If that's an invite to tag along, I'd be happy to." Trudy was indeed impressed by Crissy's house. As she looked out the back door onto the lagoon only feet away, Trudy could see why Crissy would prefer it to a pool. Beyond the lagoon was the river itself, and beyond that a serene riverbank before a picturesque spread of wilderness. It was a paradise.

   "How'd you ever find this place?" Trudy asked as Crissy sat at the table with Steve and Roger. Crissy puffed her cigarette as she looked out the open door to see what had Trudy so impressed. The sight through that door never failed to put a smile on Crissy's face.

   "I found it by accident, really," Crissy offered, "I got lost one day and couldn't find my way back onto the main road. When I saw this spot, I knew I wanted to build my dream house here."

   "And what a cute house you built," Trudy grinned, "I never would've thought to build a house under the roots of a tree."

   "I wanted to hollow out the whole tree and have a second cottage up in the branches, but doing so would have killed the tree. That wouldn't be as picturesque."

   "We could even use some of your home movies, Crissy." Steve tried to get the conversation back to the movie. Crissy thought it over.

   "We really haven't taken a lot of home movies since we got married," Crissy offered, "at least not anything we'd want to share with the public. I appreciate the offer, Steve, but I'm really not interested in getting into the movies. Why not use Trudy here?" Trudy turned back from the door again.

   "The idea is to have a hostess that isn't already a known personality. I may not be Zsa Zsa Gabor or anything, but I do have a face our audience is familiar with. If a civilian, as it were, was hosting the clips, it would better reflect the way life is here in Creek Bend."

   "You know," Roger mused, "a documentary about Creek Bend itself would be pretty interesting. How many small towns have a suburb and a movie studio?"

   "Crissy would be the ideal hostess for that, too," Steve ground the butt of his cigarette into the ashtray, "despite living out here in the wild, I think you could make a case that Cris is really the face of Creek Bend."

   "How do you figure that?" Crissy tilted her head in curiosity.

   "Your family is such a presence in this town," Steve said, "as well as parts of Ludley and Amsterville, but the main street of Creek Bend has the Carrots name all over it. You worked for your relatives in various businesses as a teenager, you became a regular sight. You may not get into town as often as you used to, but you leave an impression. People like you, and most everyone in town knows you."

   "Say I could talk Crissy into doing your picture," Roger reached out and took Crissy's hand, "what exactly would she have to do? How long would it take?"

   "Not long. Maybe four days. All she'd have to do is walk around a set and talk to the camera. And her lines would all be scripted."

   "It would take four days to talk to a camera?" Crissy wondered.

   "Well, we might try to spice things up so it's not just someone walking around on a bare set. We could have a set made to look like a living room, and Crissy could be manning a projector while she makes her comments. Some of the stars could even come in to help set up the clips. Most of our girls are friends with Crissy anyway, so it would make perfect sense for her to share scenes with them."

   "Let me tell you something, Steve," Crissy sighed, "and then tell me if you think I should really go through with this. Back in high school I did a lot of the school plays. I tried to have fun, but I was really only there because the other kids drafted me into the female lead. I never liked having all those people watching me as I pretended to be someone else. I'm not against acting, but it isn't for me."

   "You'd be playing yourself. You'd even have final say on the lines we want you to read."

   "You know me, Steve, I'm always willing to help, but I'm just not interested in being on camera." Crissy turned to Roger. "What would you think about it?"

   "I have no strong feelings either way," Roger shrugged, "I've never dreamed about being married to a movie star, but I'd not hold you back if you wanted to be one."

   "I'm not sure I'd like it. Trudy, honestly, tell me what it's like to do what you do."

   "Well," Trudy thought, "I enjoy it, but then it's something I wanted to do. I will say this. If you were just to try it out to see if you wanted to do it more, this would be the perfect project. If everyone in town already knows you, I don't think starring in one movie is going to change your life that much."

   "You'd get more mail," Steve offered, "that's about the only immediate impact I can think of."

   "All I can do is promise to think about it, Steve" Crissy said, "I'll call you tomorrow afternoon, okay?"

   On the drive back to town, Trudy marveled at the beautiful scenery. She turned to Steve.

   "I don't think she'll do it."

   "Why not?"

   "Best case scenario, she's a hit and the Boss finally talks her into a contract. She becomes a star and has to move closer to the studio. I don't think I'd give up all this if I lived out here."

   "I guess it's a good thing you were already an actress before you moved here."

   "I thought I had a nice place in town, a relaxing atmosphere and a quiet pace. After seeing the place Roger and Crissy have, I still feel like a big city girl."

   "I guess it really is all relative. Patty and I moved here from L.A. and we enjoy the privacy. It's nothing compared to what Rog and Crissy have, though. I don't think I'd want to leave it either."

   "Maybe some girl from the TV station would be a better fit. Someone who isn't known to the world at large but has some experience with the technical side of the process."

   "That's a thought. Or even one of the wives of someone at the studio. Really, we're getting ahead of ourselves. We don't even know yet how much of that home movie footage is going to work for this little project of ours."

   "You know, more of us should take these quiet drives in the country. To remind us of just how fast we live our lives in the picture business."

   "I can't argue that." 

Horror movie blunders

   These two images were drawn as promotional artworks to be printed in InDELLible's horror title, Tales From The Tomb.

Haunting Beauties

   Jeannie carried a big bowl of popcorn into the living room. Beverly was seated on the couch in front of the television set. She looked through the TV listings as Jeannie sat the bowl down on the coffee table before taking a seat next to her sister.

   "How was the movie you and Ted saw last night?" Jeannie scooped up a fist full of popcorn.

   "Had it's moments." Beverly thought about the picture a little as she grabbed a handful for herself. "I'm not sure how long it's going to take me to get used to Joe DeRita as a Stooge."

   "He's a step up from Besser."

   "Granted. Maybe I was conflicted. I wanted to see the new James Mason picture."

   "Did you tell Ted that?"

   "I didn't have the heart. He was so excited to see the Stooges that I wasn't going to ruin it for him."

   "You must really like Ted. You don't usually hold your opinions back like that."

   "I'm trying to get better at that sort of thing. What would you like to watch tonight?"

   "I haven't had a chance to look at the listings. What's on the box?"

   "Well," Beverly scanned the paper again, "there's a Charlie Chan movie, or a Gene Autry picture, or The Twilight Zone. After that is a ghost movie of some kind."

   "I'd be game for either, but the Twilight Zone show would probably be my pick."

   "Mine too. Turn to KLOR."

   A storm rolled into Creek Bend that night. The area didn't get a lot of storms, but those that popped up tended to be doozies. Jeannie didn't really notice the thunderclaps coming closer and closer. She was almost asleep. In her room across the hall, however, Beverly was still wide awake. She didn't usually let her imagination run wild, but after a particularly spooky Twilight Zone episode, and a pretty effective spooker about ghosts that take over human bodies, Bev was finding her thoughts increasingly uneasy as the storm was rolling in. These were the conditions where one suddenly hears in the house sounds that normally go unnoticed. When shadows begin to take on menacing shapes. At least Beverly knew that it was all in her mind, although somehow that reality had trouble staying in focus. She was grateful she hadn't been around when Orson Wells made his infamous Martian invasion broadcast. 

   Jeannie stirred from her sleep as a lightning strike came close enough to illuminate the whole room. The resultant boom of thunder rattled the bed. Jeannie was still groggy as she pushed herself up to a seated position. She wanted to go back to sleep, but felt it might be a good idea to make sure the television had been unplugged. Rather than grab her robe, though, Jeannie just bundled her bedsheet around herself and staggered toward the door. She bumped into the wall. This helped bring her to a less sleepy state, but the noise could be heard in Beverly's room. Beverly listened intently. She could hear a door opening and somebody shuffling down the hallway. So caught up in the spooky atmosphere was she that Beverly had forgotten entirely that her sister's room was just across the hall.

   Logic would tell Beverly that Jeannie had just left her room. Another close lightning strike overrode any logic, however, and Beverly wrapped her bedsheets over her head. What was she to do? Was there an intruder in the house? What if Jeannie was in trouble? Beverly at least remembered that Jeannie was in the house, but failed to deduce that her sister might actually be the one walking the halls. Beverly kept herself bundled up as she searched the room for some kind of weapon. Stepping on a hairbrush she'd dropped earlier made her pause to slip on her socks.

   Beverly cautiously slunk down the stairs. She was still bundled up in her bedsheet, which made it awkward to carry her softball bat. She eyed the living room as the stray flash of lightning lit the area like a flickering spotlight. Jeannie was crouched behind the television set, unaware that Beverly was now in the same room. The set had indeed been unplugged, and Jeannie was relieved. She got back to her feet. What Beverly saw was a shapeless mass rising from behind the television set. Beverly froze. Another streak of lightning allowed both girls to see one another, or at least the vaguely human shapes created by their sheets.

   Both girls let out a shriek which further terrified the other as they ran in opposite directions. Beverly dashed into the kitchen, where her socks lacked much traction and caused her to slide into the counter. Jeannie ran headlong into the door to the coat closet, knocking herself out. Beverly was bent over from having slammed into the counter. She made a squeaking sound as she tried to take a breath before collapsing into the floor. She hit her head as she did so, rendering her out cold as well.

   Jeannie was the first to come to. She wasn't sure what had happened. The room looked empty of any other bodies. Jeannie got back to her feet, pausing to rub her head and moan, and walked back to the stairs. Beverly began to stir, letting out a moan which caused Jeannie to stop in her tracks. Eyes wide, Jeannie slowly turned back and listened for another sound. Beverly started to shake off her stupor and reached up to grab the counter for balance. This caused a plastic glass to tip over, which made an interesting sound as it bounced onto the floor. Jeannie cautiously moved to the doorway to the kitchen. Beverly turned to leave the room. Another lightning flash lit up the room and let the girls see themselves as they shuffled toward each other. 

   Another round of screaming and running ensued, but in the process both girls dropped their sheets and took flight in their pajamas. Jeannie tripped when she got to the stairs, which fortunately were carpeted. Beverly was clawing at the kitchen wall, trying to find the door. Jeannie came to her senses first.

   "Bev? Are you down here?" Jeannie called. Beverly heard and spun around, keeping flat against the wall.

   "J-J-J-Jeannie?"

   "Where are you?"

    "In here. The kitchen. I think there's something in this house!" Beverly remained frozen as Jeannie flipped on the lights. It all became clear when both girls noticed their sheets crumpled in the doorway that connected the kitchen to the living room. Both sighed in relief. Beverly then marched over to gather up her bedding.

   "Don't you ever tell anyone about this," Beverly warned, "or I'll kill you." Jeannie thought the matter over for a second.

   "I think we should write it down, Bev."

   "What? Why?"

   "Because if it happened to someone else, it'd be hysterical. I think it'll make a dandy cartoon!"

   Beverly mulled over the idea. "I'm not getting back to sleep tonight. Where's the typewriter?" 

Ink sheet

Zelda

   Minerva Mallen positioned her beach umbrella, though she was sure she wouldn't really be using it. She liked spending time in the sun, even when the beach was particularly hot like it was today. Annies don't tan for some reason, otherwise Minerva might've felt self-conscious about her bone-white complexion. Her pale skin did seem perfectly complimented by her purple Creek Bend bikini and matching bow tied around her neck. She was certainly stunning, with her adorable annie face atop one of the most perfectly proportioned bodies to ever be encased in the town's signature swimwear. Her hair was black with a white streak running through it, a similar streak running the length of her long tail. The only colors she seemed to possess were tiny details like the pink of her nose and inner ears. She'd painted her fingernails red, but her eyelids were naturally violet. A strange thing about annies, at least the female ones, was that they possessed natural coloring over their eyes. It did simplify the make-up needs of female annies, certainly.

   Minerva meant to spend the day on the beach, but not actually in the water. You probably wouldn't spend much time in the surf either, if you had a long bushy tail like Minerva's. These long tails miraculously didn't pick up much dirt or dust as they were dragged along behind their owners, but getting them wet meant taking a long time for them to dry back out. And while they were wet, these long tails were prone to picking up all the lint and dirt they somehow avoided when dry. Each type of annie had their own unique issues where this sort of thing was concerned. Minerva and other annies with long tails had to learn quickly how to maneuver them to keep them out of doors or keep them from being tangled up in one's feet. Fortunately, this was picked up pretty fast and most annies with such tails had them under control by the time they were four years old. They aged quite normally until they matured, then they didn't seem to age at all. Some males aged a bit when they got older, but not many seemed to.

   Getting back to the issue of tails, only the really long tails seemed to offer much of a learning curve during the developmental years. Girls like Crissy and Doris had little tufts which required only minimal attention. This was fortunate, since these girls seldom saw their tails unless they took effort to bring them into view for grooming. Although they could get ruffled in their sleep, a little brushing and their tails seemed to hold their shape all day. Some annies had bird features. Sometimes these girls had tails which were composed of what looked like a couple of feathers the same color as their hair. These "feathers" seemed resilient enough, as they were constantly being crammed into seat backs and coming back to their original shape without effort. They weren't actually feathers, either. They weren't fur tails like the other girls had, though. They held their shape but were very soft. Everybody called them feathers because it was just easier that way. For some reason, only some birds had to deal with this. Yvette Pond, with the features of a duck, had no tail at all. Lois Teppert had a tail, but her sister didn't. 

   Compared to all that, some might think of Minerva's long tail as something of a burden. After all, annie mice could at least swim without worrying about the matter since their tails were skin rather than fur. Still, Minerva's tail gave her a certain balance of proportions which was aesthetically pleasing. She may have looked like some kind of mutant skunk, but the resemblance was only physical. Fortunately, she didn't carry an odor like a real skunk would. It would certainly hinder one's social life if that were the case!

   Minerva rested on her beach blanket as she mulled over these facts, her tail off to the side from her legs. While she could move it to some degree, it wasn't prehensile or anything. It was more decoration than anything else. It could be stepped on by someone else if she wasn't careful to keep it close to her body, though. Minerva stretched out and closed her eyes. She could easily nod off if she let herself, she was so comfortable. The sounds of the surf rolling in were soothing, so much so that Minerva was quickly on the verge of falling asleep. 

   She stirred when she rolled over and felt something under the blanket. Her hand brushed by something hard, but it didn't seem to be a rock or a sea shell. Minerva pulled back the blanket and ran her fingers through the sand. There was something there, alright, something machined. She pulled up a metal box roughly the size of a cigarette case. The box was silver, beautifully tooled with all sorts of overlays in a floral pattern. It looked pretty valuable, too, and must've meant a lot to whoever lost it.

   Minerva sat up and examined the box as she brushed the sand off of it. A small latch held one end closed. Minerva pushed back to tiny hinge and opened the box to find it contained a beautiful diamond ring nestled on a soft fabric pillow. Inside the lid was an inscription. "To my darling Zelda, the brilliance of thine eyes shine more than all diamonds. Thy loving Tom. 1930." This was special, alright. Was it lost at the beach when it was presented? Had it been here for nearly thirty years? Minerva pictured the girl who received this ring, frantically searching the beach at night to find the box she'd dropped. Possibly it had fallen overboard and washed up on the beach years later. Who was this Zelda, and how could Minerva find her?

   Steve Morrow and his wife Patty stood by Minerva as she waited in the courthouse lobby. Maybe the city records had a clue, although there was no certainty that Zelda was a native. Still, it was the only thing the three of them could think of. Two names, Tom and Zelda, weren't a lot to go on. Steve examined the case.

   "If we could determine if this ring and box were crafted locally we'd have a better clue. The man who built it might have records on who bought it."

   "A tall order after almost thirty years," Patty sighed, "but it's possible." Minerva turned away from the desk and took another look at the case. There didn't seem to be any markings of manufacture, but the bottom of the case had been rubbed down quite a bit. Minerva held the case close to her face.

   "Say," Minerva squinted, "I think there might be a tiny tool mark on the latch we missed." Steve inspected. There was something there. A very tiny mark that at first glance looked like decoration. It was stylized enough to be a logo of some kind, however. Patty put her head next to Steve's. Both squinted.

   "Is that a sword?" Patty asked.

   "Looks like one," Steve said, "it'd be easier to tell with a magnifying glass." This examination paused as the official finally returned from the record room.

   "I checked the names with the year of 1930," he reported, "I have no record of a wedding involving a Tom and Zelda, no recorded students by that name during the period, either. I went as far back as 1925. Only Zelda I have on record is a widow who died that year."

   "I see," Minerva sighed, "thank you anyway." Minerva turned back to Steve and Patty. Steve continued to hold the silver case.

   "You know," he announced, "if we could track down this metalwork we might still be able to find something. Let's go back to the studio and check it under a glass." Moments later, the trio were huddled over Steve's desk. They scrutinized the latch under a magnifying glass. Patty looked intently at the mark and then made a sketch of the logo.

   "I don't think it's a sword," Minerva looked at the logo, then to Patty's sketch, "at least no sword I've ever seen."

   "Looks rather expressionist, doesn't it?" Steve offered. Patty puzzled over her drawing.

   "Looks sorta like a carrot or something." The three of them came to the same realization at the same moment. Carrots Jewelers had a thriving business in Creek Bend, and had even operated successfully during the Depression in such rural surroundings. The branch office in Amsterville didn't hurt, either. Still, none of the friends assembled remembered the company ever using a literal carrot as the company logo. They knew someone who would know, however.

   Crissy examined the silver case as Roger stood by. Minerva, Steve, and Patty waited anxiously to hear Crissy's report. She nodded.

   "Uncle Nestor used a logo like this for a few years, I think. It'd been replaced with another logo before I was born, but I remember when working in Unc's office that he still had some items with this mark on them. I can't say if he'd still have his records going back that far. It's possible, though. He might even remember the job itself. A silver case like this would've been pretty special so soon after the crash." Crissy picked up the telephone. Soon, Minerva, Steve, Patty, Crissy, and Roger were crammed into a record room with Uncle Nestor. He was pawing through the records for '29-'31 to find the receipt. Everything else he seemed to remember perfectly, though.

   "I remember Tom," Nestor recalled, "dapper young fella from Beverly Hills. He'd fallen in love with Zelda when they met in Amsterville. He was on his way into a meeting with a friend of his, seeking investments to build a new type of passenger plane. Zelda was the cleaning woman in the same building. He fell madly in love with her at first sight. She was a poor girl at the time, but a sensible girl too. There was only one opulent thing she dreamed of owning since childhood. A diamond ring. Tom made sure she got it. That's the ring he paid me to make for Zelda in '30. Broke her heart when she lost it. A thief stole her purse in '33, and she had the ring and the case in the purse. The police caught up to the guy, but he put up a fight and there was gunplay. The crook still had the case, but in the action he dropped it on the beach. The police looked for it, but never found it. Zelda spent the next few years trying to find it. Tom enlisted after Pearl, was killed in '43 in the Pacific. Zelda spent a few more years trying to find her ring, hanging onto the memory of when Tom gave it to her. Oh, he bought her another ring, but it wasn't as special. Zelda wanted her first ring back. Never got it, though. Lives in Los Angeles now, I think."

   As rambling as Nestor's recollections were, they cut to the quick. Minerva realized that what she held was indeed very special. She had to get it back to Zelda, no matter what. "Do you have the address?" Minerva asked. Nestor pulled out a faded sheet of paper.

   "Got an old address, and an old name. Tom Haydens. I'd say it's enough of a lead for the Los Angeles police to track down Zelda Haydens. I kept up with her story for a while, it was so tragic. Don't know if she ever remarried. May still be using the same name."

   "Thank you, Mr. Carrots," Minerva nodded, "I'm going to see she gets her ring." Minerva and her friends placed a few calls before the lot of them drove into L.A. to find an old mansion where Zelda Haydens lived. Zelda was still a striking woman. One could see how Tom would have been instantly drawn to her, even in her uniform. While her husband's house was an opulent one, her tastes still remained rooted in her humble beginnings. The one opulent thing she wanted was the ring Tom had given her. Zelda got misty as Minerva presented the case to her.

   "I'm sorry this took so long, Zelda." Minerva held out the case for the woman to take into her trembling hands. Zelda was overcome as she opened the case and saw once again the ring which she had searched so long for. She'd combed the beach for years, then held onto her memories. The thought about the ring again that morning, and prayed she'd get to wear it again. Her prayer was answered. She couldn't contain herself and hugged Minerva. 

   "Thank you, young lady. You have no idea what this means to me."

   On the drive home, Minerva looked out the window. The rest of the car was filled with couples. Steve and Patty shared the front seat with her. Roger and Crissy held hands in the back seat. Minerva almost felt out of place. She knew how blessed she was, though. How out of place must Zelda have felt after Tom was killed in action? She had a lot to remind herself of Tom, but it was that ring which meant the most. It was the first gift Tom had given her. She felt so lost without it. She'd be going through a lot of emotions tonight. Joy, sorrow, everything in between. 

   Minerva was grateful that she'd found the case in the sand, and that she'd met Zelda. You never know what's going to happen when you go to the beach.

Yvette Pond

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