© Samsdot Publishing 2008
He glanced at a cheap-plastic watch fastened to his chubby wrist. "Twelve hours," he groused. "That's all I got left, before they demote me from a Class 3 muse to one of those dag-blamed cherubim. Can you picture me as a cherub?" he asked a curious squirrel. "All pink, chubby, and cute-like? . . . Bah!" "If they can do it, why can't I?" Wally watched as young, would-be Bernsteins, Hemingways, and Pollacks wandered through the park, scribbling notes as a Class 1 or Class 2 muse whispered inspiration in their ears. A tall, graceful, female figure glided by dressed in a gauzy, black, gown. Wally immediately stood and took off his hat in respect. She had been John Lennon's muse. She nodded her head in recognition and moved on. She was an A-1, Class 1 muse, very rare. She was in mourning. What a waste, thought Wally. There was so much more to be done. Maybe I'll try over by the Carousel, he thought, as she passed. Wally considered himself somewhat of a music aficionado. Maybe he would run across a client there; band music was popular too. "Hey, Wally, how's it goin' buddy?" Loki said. "Ya look kind a' down in the mouth." Loki was skinny as a snake, and just as slick. With his wide-brimmed purple hat, gold chains, and bright-red silk shirt, Loki was the caricature of a pimp. Wally politely smiled. Loki - troublemaker extraordinaire - always got a deal cookin', usually bad. Then Wally spotted the silver pin on Loki's lapel. Loki grinned, and polished the silver pin a bit with his sleeve. "Yup, finally made it. Got it just yesterday - an official Class 2! Got me a client. She's a singer, an understudy in that new Broadway musical, Gold Tooth." Loki glanced at Wally's lapel. "I see you didn't get yours yet - too bad. Headin' for Cherubim City, huh? Well, we can't all be Class 2's." Loki was grinning from ear to ear. Wally almost punched him out, but that would have put Wally in a place much worse than 'Cherubim City'. So wisely, he refrained. Wally just kept moving. Bless that poor understudy, he thought. Wally had been uptown and down, nightclubs, museums, on-Broadway, off-Broadway, and even next-to-Broadway. Nothing, there were no clients anywhere. He was back on his bench in Central Park. One hour until midnight, Wally was out of time. Something wet and smelly brushed Wally's leg. He looked down. "How ya doin', mutt," Wally said. Animals often saw things that people couldn't. It was a small, black, shaggy pup about six months old, one of many stray dogs in the city. Wally felt its bones under the fur. "Hungry, huh? Here, try this." Wally pulled out a doughnut he grabbed uptown for a snack and gave the pup half. The pup wolfed it down and wagged his tail for more. "Aw, here, I don't need it anyway," said Wally, patting his potbelly. "Well, pup. Gotta go." He glanced at his cheap watch again. "I got only one more hour to find a client. Know anyone that can sing?" The pup wagged his tail. "I thought not. Sorry, buddy. Clients gotta be human. That's the rules." Wally got up and walked to the edge of the park, the pup on his heels. "Watch out for the road, pup," he said, as he noticed an oncoming car. Inspiration hit. Wally stepped out into the path of the onrushing car. It came screeching to a stop, just missing Wally. The driver, a suit from the suburbs working late jumped out of the car. "Oh, my God!" he said, looking quickly around, cell phone in hand, ready to call 911. Nothing was there. "I thought ... I could have sworn ..." A whimper came from the sidewalk. The driver stepped around the car and saw the six-month old pup shivering on the sidewalk. "Oh," the suit said. "I saw a shadow. It must have been you. Are you okay, little fellow?" Wally whispered his inspiration in the ear of the suit. "He's just a poor, helpless little pup. Look how brave and friendly he is. Your wife would love him." "Boy, you are a mess," said the suit. "You certainly are a brave little guy. Shelia would love you." "Why not give him a try?" Wally whispered. "Just open the door and let him in." The suit thought for a minute. "Well, I can't just leave you here." He opened the back door of his car. "Come on, pup, hop in. I wonder what your name is ..." "Wally," whispered the muse, as the puppy got into the car. "You look like a 'Walter' to me," the suit said as he closed the car door. "Wally!" the muse said as the car drove away. "His name is 'Wally'! Get it right!" One minute to midnight. Can't say I didn't try, Wally reflected, that was a cute pup. I'm glad I could help. Too bad it was only an animal. Midnight. Wally held his breath - here it comes. 'Ping'. Wally was still sitting on his bench, but something was different. Lennon's A-1 muse was standing nearby. Wally glanced down to see a Class 1 gold pin in his lapel. "What the ...?" Wally said. "I'm a Class 1? How did that happen?" John Lennon's muse was smiling at him. "It's about love and inspiration, Wally," she said. "Something Loki may never understand." "Well, son-of-a-gun," Wally grinned. "I found my clients after all, enough of 'em to last me a long, long time. I think I'll take a walk down to the City Pound and see who I can inspire." Plaid jacket slung over his shoulder, and whistling a happy tune, Wally sauntered off to consult with his new clientele. END |