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A simple effective dress and lovely top

108. My Cheese The gardens behind the Old House Inn weren’t well delineated; it wasn’t clear where the grounds of the hotel ended and the public park began. It was a little strange, but that was actually the norm for most of Upper Ashfields. The whole town was filled with green spaces, and businesses were encouraged to let them all blend together so that everybody could work with the impression that they were surrounded by nature. As long as everything was well maintained, it really didn’t matter where the boundaries between one property and the next lay. I looked around the space, between lines of flowers in different colours and the trees that provided a variety of shade, and I only saw one person enjoying the sun. He looked like a typical middle-aged salaryman, with a casual suit and just the first, faint hints of a bald spot in his sandy hair. A pair of sunglasses hung from his shirt pocket, and he had a slim paperback in his hands. He looked for all the world like he could have been one of the project’s accountants, or a PR guy. I walked over and sat on the next bench over; a couple of feet away so as not to crowd him, but close enough to be easily heard. From that distance I could see the book in his hands more closely as well. It looked like it could have been some pulp romance, a thin volume that wouldn’t need too much thought, but the author’s picture on the back cover was one I recognised: a portrait of Niccolò Machiavelli. The text looked like it could have been Greek, which seemed a bit of a mismatch, but reinforced my confidence that I was talking to the right guy. He was rumoured to speak a dozen languages, and said that reading serious texts in any given tongue helped him to see the worldview of the people who were raised with it. “Mark Smith?” I said. “I’m Gabby Noel. I think you might have agreed to talk to me.” “They called me Mr Smith here,” he answered thoughtfully, “but on my booking I had to sign myself as Geoffrey. They really do take confidentiality seriously here.” “I didn’t remember the name they gave you, they changed it a dozen times before reaching a final decision. But I figured that the way you sign your name on certain forums would work better. I was never sure if ‘Mk. 2’ should be pronounced as ‘M. K. two’ or ‘Mark two’.” “Either works,” he said. “I have to admit that online I seem to regard a name as a sequence of letters, and rarely even consider how it would be spoken aloud. Should I have seen some of your messages on the lists and newsgroups?” “Not me,” I answered, shaking my head. “My exposure to your work pretty much started when Claughton asked me to handle a lot of admin. But my girlfriend is a huge fan, and she’s been trying to persuade me to check out your work for years. Now I actually started reading, I wish I’d taken her up on the offer sooner.” “At least you’re not going to say you’re my biggest fan. But I was told that you know something about my cheese habit?” “I’ve built a database to track what we’ve sent you. Trying to get a variety every day gets pretty hard when you don’t allow duplicates. Taking the list of ones we’ve yet to send, and how long it will take for them to arrive from the manufacturer, I then have to choose a selection that gives you a range while also allowing enough variety for future choices. Cheese is like so many things, you don’t realise how much depth there is until you start diving into it. I feel like I’ve learned so many things this year. About cheese, about comic books, about storytelling, even about the movie industry.” “I’m told this isn’t exactly how cinematography usually goes. Claughton are trying to revolutionise the industry, but they’ve had some setbacks. Or so I hear. My side of it is in the stories. But they’ve been very clear that they’re all about creativity, which I have to respect. I do hope you’re not hoping to get some kind of insider secrets from me? A hint about the plot of Striker?” “No,” I said with a smile and a little chuckle. “That’s the title? They haven’t actually told us anything, just that we’re supposed to be keeping all the creative types happy while you work on some project. Officially, I don’t even know that it’s a movie, although circumstantial evidence certainly points that way and most of my team have been working on that assumption. No, I’ll be happy to see your work when it comes out. But I’ve found myself in a situation where I need to ask for your help in order to fulfil one of my biggest fantasies. It’s like the chain-of-deals sidequest in some video game, where the character who has what you want just asks you to get him something else that you have to see somebody else for, going through a dozen intermediaries before you can actually deal with your own objective.” “Your girlfriend said she’ll fulfil some fantasy if you can get her my autograph?” he said with a little chuckle. “It wouldn’t actually be the first time, but I’ve never had someone use my cheeses to get to me before.” “It’s a little more convoluted than that,” I said with a blush. “But something along those lines. I can tell you the story if you’d like. I think you know Ffrances already, and she probably wouldn’t mind you knowing the surprise I’m planning for her. But I should probably give you this cheese, as it’s been out of the fridge for a couple of hours already, and I don’t know how long the packaging will keep it cool. I’d suggest putting it in the fridge unless you’re going to eat it right away.” “Now there’s a lady who has her priorities straight. Thank you, and perhaps you can tell me the story behind this mysterious cheese. Given the original message I got with it, I suspect there is another curious tale hanging there.” We went back to Kernigan’s room, and along the way I told him about the cheese that had allowed me to get to speak to him despite the security protocols that I’d helped to write. I told him about a family of dairy farmers who decided to make a variety of cheeses for special occasions, and their obsession with perfection. I told him about the matriarch’s obsession with combining the flavours of two of their most popular cheese varieties, and the hours she spent getting her family to try one experiment after another. And I told them of her eventual triumph when it seemed that she had a perfect recipe; only to die before it could be brought to market. I described this unique cheese blend being served at the wake, and the whole family saying that it was a monument to the dedication she’d shown through her entire life. And I told him about her kids' joint decision never to sell this special cheese. The old lady had said with every attempt that nobody but her could decide that the combination was ready for sale; and although she had agreed that it was excellent, she had never made that final assertion that it was ready. Kernigan had tried both of the popular blends from that particular family of cheesemakers, now with only a few family members on the board of directors. But he’d never heard of the secret cheese; the one that was made every year for the private enjoyment of the matriarch’s descendants. Including her last surviving daughter; my great aunt Collette. “That really is a personal tale,” Kernigan told me. “And I think you have some art for storytelling as well. Is that all true?” “It’s what I heard from my family,” I said. “It’s almost mythology by now, no way to know how much is true. But the cheese is special. Family only, it’s supposed to be. But Aunt Collette thought that her mother would approve if it’s a step on this particular path. Some things are worth changing the tradition for.” “Perhaps, then, you can tell me what you are hoping I can do for you. It seems that you’ve already fulfilled the sidequest to bring me something that will entertain me. So what do you need from me, and how will it help you and your partner? I feel like now that I am a part of this complex narrative, I have to know the full story.” “Well… the next person in this chain of deals is a shopkeeper in Greater Ashfields. He’s a big fan as well; he runs a shop called Malarkey and Sons, which makes a lot more sense to me now that I’ve actually read Eighth Street Pilgrims. It’s a comic shop in the real world, with row upon row of filing cabinets, many of them filled with your work. But I think he’s managed to capture the atmosphere of the shop in the books. He really wants it to feel like there’s a personal connection. Like his shop is the real one if that makes sense. But while that’s a little ephemeral, he asked if I could ask you to autograph some merch. I think he sees it more as a way of testing my resolve, to be honest. Like, challenging if I can actually get you to help me. He’d like some of the merch with your signature on; maybe a copy of Canon Flash, which we both agree is underrated.” “Normally, I would be reluctant to autograph anything for a merchant. Things like that should be personal, I feel, and not for sale. But now you really have piqued my curiosity. You said that you’ve read Canon Flash? That isn’t one that I would expect you to see if you’ve only recently developed an interest in Millhouse Underground. And your shopkeeper friend… I think I might have spoken to him online in the past, and he seems like a very interesting character. Certainly someone I would like to get to know better. So perhaps if he wants a signature, he should talk to me himself. But I would very much like to visit Malarkey & Sons, if you can find a way to smuggle me out past the security at this strange dog and pony show.” “I think he might have a heart attack if you show up without warning,” I said, laughing. And then I realised: “Even your biggest fans don’t know what you look like. Do they? So he wouldn’t even know it’s you. I wonder how long it would take him to figure it out.” “Well, why don’t we see? Would that be possible?” “Of course!” I beamed. Everything was going perfectly. It was only after Kernigan had tasted the cheese – and pronounced himself just as amazed as I had been when I was first allowed to sample it – that I started to have second thoughts. As soon as I was out of the building again, there was a call for me on the radio. There were so many things that needed to be dealt with, and the movie people who were staying in Upper Ashfields needed someone who could stay overnight. Would they miss me if I went off gallivanting with their favourite comic book author, when I was supposed to be coordinating all the administration for the conference and he was supposed to be putting the finishing touches to a script? Who would get in the most trouble if we were found to be missing? But I knew that we would have to cross those bridges when we came to them. This was too important to me, and I couldn’t give up after I had come so close. Even if Tess and Ffrances never knew how much effort I was putting in here, I was sure that it would be worth it when we were a proper family.

I've tried that once. I ended up having to help fix stuff later on. Not that there is a whole lot of stuff that cannot be fixed, but it was quite the mess. (Boss lady's husband came to my apartment because I had the phone off, telling me that boss lady needed me to come and help figure out what happened the night before. )

Nothing at the moment, since I'm at work. I ended up wearing a BetterDry Day diaper for church.  Slept in it until about 8:30, got dinner after a quick run out to the hotel around 11:30. (I was getting something from the hotel, of course one of the bigger suites set off the fire alarm while I'm there. I wet it twice after getting home and getting deep into Oblivion Remaster, and managed a small mess in it.  I cleaned up and changed into a Depends for the rest of the evening. I wet that one once or twice before changing into a Goodnites XXL for some errands. I slept in the Goodnites until close to 9pm. Showered, and came out to work.

I was more worried about the lettuce. 🤣  If I'm feeling adventurous, bacon wrapped hot dogs. If not, chicken nuggets. Fries will likely be involved, either way.