The Saga of Melanie Daniels (a fantasy) - part I


A telephone call started it all in the middle of the night.

Erase. Rewind. Not remaking NY Trilogy ‘City of Glass’.

A telephone call rang while after dining with a fine party of friends, mostly feminine. No, exclusively feminine. Two women, right. Which is good enough, right.

“Sorry, I've to take it” I told my girlfriends. The call is coming on the special line. You know, the red line. A red light was flashing on the room.
My friends didn’t look annoyed. They were playing their own games anyway. All the best, I left them in the large bed, went to the kitchen, hooked up on the phone. Lighted a cigarette.
The lights of the Waldorf-Astoria on the other side of Central Park were bathing the kitchen in the dark with flashy signs of bigger parties than mine; some future President was maybe on the move at this very moment over there.
I thought: could be the President. Let’s take a serious stance. I arranged my hairs with my hand. Should always keep a comb somewhere. No comb.

A the other end of the line, I heard a feminine voice, very soft:
"Christo?
- Yes
- Melanie here...
- Hi Melanie! What can I do for you?

Who was this Melanie? Melanie… Didn’t get who she was yet without a lead. Yet.

- ... Hmm... It's about our affair...
- Our affair? Ok. I tried to put a convincing tone in my voice. You mean Melanie. An affair… what kind of affair? (I thought a love affair, stupid, the voice so soft, at the first impression, too quick, no)… You mean, that kind of affair I’m dealing with in my business? Right.
- Yes Christo, that kind. Last year. Special investigations. Bodega Bay.
- Last year. Last year. Yes.

A bit of a shock in my stomach... I stayed calm. Last year. Melanie, I had never met her, always worked through an agent. Had to lookup classified information for her. No business for a private eye, still something blurry I managed to do.

- Yes Melanie, tell me more about it.
- ... not here... can you join me quickly?
- Where?
- At Bodega Bay.
- I'm coming."

Never say ‘No’ when asked so kindly by a voice like a peach in my throat and soft hairs like angels sweeping dust over my face;

and so I went there/// 

Bodega Bay.
Had heard strange stories about this place, rumors, spooky stuffed sausages of nanny stories mixed with sweet grass, healing herbs from the prairies, kind of bed stories told to sticky boys like me.
I remembered Bodega Bay.
Crows
Crees
Indians from the Plains.
They appeared between the clouds in high-altitude, came down with a message.
Came down. Birds. Melanie said they were the seeds of a future life tree. She was writing weird letters to me. Found something in the public library of L.A. Came back.

Bodega Bay. Not an easy trip. What did she say? You come here.
Took first flight at LaGuardia for Denver, then L.A., then a used car, my favorite, Pontiac Blanche 1958, convertible.

Felt like a piece of ripped paper, but this time, this time it was about meeting her straight in the eyes.

(to be continued)


Tippi Hedren, The Birds - Alfred Hitchcock, 1963

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