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| Echoes of the Old Days | Started by: Babs on Jun 21, '25 17:20 |
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Hollywood, 1952” It had been over a decade since they’d all been in the same room. Ten long years that had taken friends, cities, wars, and false allegiances. But what time couldn’t erase — not even with distance, money, or silence — was the bond. That old, unspoken thing born in back alleys, smoky parlors, and late-night deals in a different America. Now, in the hills above Hollywood, while the city lights shimmered below like a sea of fireflies, Dynamite stood on his terrace, holding a glass of Château Cheval Blanc ’42 — a bottle reserved for ghosts. Behind him, soft footsteps approached. Lilac (MamaHope), poised and timeless, lit a cigarette with her usual calm. “Think he’ll show?” she asked, her eyes half-lidded behind cat-eye lashes. “He’ll come,” Dynamite replied. “Told him it’s a serious problem. One of ours.” She smirked. “Which means drop everything and catch the first flight west.” “Or come in cursing,” came a voice from behind. YourNextWife (Alysia) strolled in with a small record player in hand. She knelt, set it down, and placed a worn jazz vinyl on the turntable. As the first smooth notes of Chet Baker’s horn filled the air, she said with a smile, “Either way, it wouldn’t be Babs if he didn’t walk in with attitude.” ⸻ Two days later, a Douglas DC-6 touched down at Burbank Airport. Babs stepped out, squinting into the California sun. Cigarette already in his mouth, coat over his shoulder, and the same skeptical look he wore since the war. A black Lincoln Cosmopolitan waited at the curb. The driver tipped his hat. “Mr. Dynamite is expecting you, sir. Says it’s urgent.” ⸻ The car wound up the hills, and when Babs finally stepped onto the patio of the house above Mulholland Drive, he paused. From inside, he could hear jazz playing, laughter, silverware — but no voices he recognized. “This better not be some damn gala,” he muttered, brushing ash from his sleeve. The door opened. Dynamite stood there with a knowing grin. “You came,” he said. “You said a problem. You know I don’t board a plane for fun.” “Trust me,” Dynamite said. “This one’s worth the miles.” As Babs stepped inside, he froze mid-stride. There they were. Lilac (MamaHope) — hair up, pearls shining, eyes soft but unreadable. YourNextWife (Alysia) — leaning against the archway, drink in one hand, mischief in her smile. He blinked once. “What in God’s name…” “You still wear those same shoes from ’43,” Alysia smirked. “And you still smell like danger,” he shot back. Lilac stepped forward and hugged him. “I told myself I’d stay cool. But damn it, Babs…” Dynamite handed him a glass of wine. “No more problems. Just stories now.” ⸻ Dinner was served — fresh pasta, olives, crusty bread. But it was the memories that truly filled the table. Lilac started: “Remember summer of ’41? When I had that senator’s son hiding under my sewing table, and Billy thought it was my secret lover? Tried to run him over with his Buick.” They all laughed. Babs shook his head. “And how about Dynamite’s bright idea to gift engine oil to the Italian ambassador — thinking it was high-end Tuscan olive oil?” Dynamite shrugged. “Hey, I never claimed to know Italy. I speak fluent Bordeaux.” Alysia raised her glass. “Still not as bad as Babs stealing a stranger’s car, driving five miles before realizing it wasn’t his — and there was a stranger’s dog in the backseat the whole time.” “It was a test,” Babs said with a smirk. “Wanted to see if anyone had the guts to stop me.” Lilac laughed until she teared up. “And you! Alysia, the time we fled New Orleans ‘cause Billy signed our real names on a poker debt… and you tried to cross the state line showing a photo of your dog instead of ID!” Alysia waved her hand. “It was a nice dog.” Laughter filled the room like old smoke. The kind you don’t mind breathing. The jazz crackled softly in the background. A record that had survived just like they had. ⸻ When the food was gone and the wine had mellowed their eyes, Lilac lifted her glass. “To us,” she said. “And to Billy — wherever that crazy bastard ended up. Without him, there’d be no ‘us’.” The clink of glasses was soft but certain. Babs looked around at the three of them. Worn by life, but not broken. “I didn’t know how much I missed this… not until I walked in the door,” he said quietly. “This city’s got all the lights — but tonight, this… this is the only thing shining.” Lilac placed her hand gently over his. “That’s why we called you.” Dynamite, now leaning back in his chair, nodded toward the skyline. “Some stories never end. They just take a breath.” |
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