Smoke and Mirrors Issue 1 - Adventures at Kent's Place
Kent's Place is a writers' bar on the seedier side of Indianapolis in an alternate universe. It's a sleazy, dangerous place where real people do outrageous things, most folks are armed, and the drinks of choice are marinis* and Staggering Highlander.
The Kent's Place Chronicles began in the RIME Writers' conference, and soon spilled over to the pages of RUBY'S* PEARLS. Not even RUBY'S can handle all the goings-on anymore, though, so we're proud to feature a branch of the Kent's Place tree.
Grab a stool, pull up a drink, and try not to ogle Brassy too obviously. Welcome to Kent's Place . . .
This is not a typo. Marinis are martinis, only more so.
Imagine a glass about THIS big . . .]
Adventures at Kent's Place
Ballard's Salon
Copyright (c) 1993
The usual crowd at Ballard's Inn and Drafthouse was enjoying a quiet afternoon. Mozart played softly on the phonograph, and the air was filled with the delightful aroma of fresh-baked croissants. Eric Loeb, Shakib Otaqui, Clark Burner, and Brian Whatcott were playing bridge, while Lyn Rust, Aline Thompson, and Miryam Gordon compared their needlepoint. Greg Kirby and Penny Plant sat in a corner booth, gazing soulfully (but chastely) into one another's eyes.
The door quietly swung open, and Bill Slattery entered. He strode purposefully to the bar, resplendent in a three-piece suit, and ordered his usual: a glass of milk. Kent procured a clean glass, poured the milk with a flourish, and waved off Bill's offer of payment. "Never mind, Slats--it's on the house. I'm feeling generous today."
Down the bar, Ms. Brass, clad in a floor-length kimono, served hot tea to Dick Burkhalter. She smiled prettily, and correctly made change. Jon Rutledge, Kent's new bartender, clumsily dropped a glass. Kent smiled, handed Jon a broom. "Don't worry about it," he said, "there are more where that came from. You've done quite a nice job today, so I think you can expect a raise at the end of the week."
Al Ruffin and Howard Palmer were sitting at another table tying flies, while Howard Belasco gazed on in wonderment. As Michael Hahn was leaving, he held the door for Ruby Begonia. Ms. Begonia was wearing her usual severe, no-nonsense frock, and carrying a stack of religious tracts.
"Oh, dear," she exclaimed, sliding into a booth across from John and Lucia Chambers, "missionary work is so demanding. There's so much good to be done in the world, and so little time."
Lucia nodded understandingly, placed her hand on Ruby's. "We know, dear. John and I really miss our work among the poor, but the animal rights movement takes up all our time these days."
Kent Ballard joined them, asking, "Is there anything I can get for you, Ruby?" She considered a moment, then said, "I believe I'd like a nice glass of mineral water, please." Kent smiled, headed back to the bar.
Ruby turned to admire the fresh cut flowers near the door. "The girls upstairs do such nice work," she commented. "How is the new project coming?"
"Wonderfully," John said. "`Sally's Finishing School and Design Academy' just graduated its third class. Why, just the other day, . . .
"aaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!"
Kent woke screaming, bathed in a cold sweat. He dug a half-smoked butt from the overflowing ashtray on the desk, lit it. Shaking, he levered himself out of the chair and walked to the door of the office. He opened it a crack, peered out into the gloom of the bar.
Ruby and Lyn were dancing on the bar again, thrilling the crowd with the dime trick. Herm Holtz was taking pot-shots at the pteradactyl, and had so far succeeded in taking off one of the moosehead's antlers. For the third time. Slattery was passed out on the floor, the orange pylons in place. Clark Burner and Dick Burkhalter were throwing darts at each other again, and everyone (except that Hahn character) was drinking Staggering Highlander that had an alcohol content of about one part per million. The new guy behind the bar, Jon Rutledge, was pouring three drinks with each hand, and still somehow managing to skim the till at the same time. Brassy's latest outfit seemed composed largely of holes.
Kent took a deep breath, slid the door shut. "Yep, it was only a dream," he mumbled to himself. "That'll teach me to drink my own booze."
-end-
