Saturday, May 16, 2009

The Marriage Show 2

For the previous Morning Show Post, go here. 

"How are you going to show us?" Mr. Jenkins sneered, shoving his plastic glasses up on his nose. 

"I refuse to go anywhere with you. That's kidnapping." The woman smiled. 

"I never said I was taking you anywhere." 

"Is it at least going to have noises?" the DJ asked, looking worriedly at his producer. "This isn't TV, you know. We've only got audio, Mrs.--" The woman in red waved her hand, tossing her golden curls behind her shoulder. 

"Don't worry, Mark. And don't call me Mrs. I'm not married, darling." Her laugh filled the studio, making all the men blush. 

"What should we call you?" Mr. Drake asked, narrowing his eyes as though he was trying to read every word of her thoughts. 

"Call me Venita," she said, her blue eyes flashing with mischief as she choked back a giggle. 

"That should be easy enough for you." The pastor narrowed his eyes. "Listen, Venita, I am a God-fearing man," he snapped. "I don't believe in magic and mysticism. How do you claim to show us things without taking us somewhere? I don't like this. I don't like this at all." 

"You're not supposed to like it," Venita chided. "Who among us likes change? But growth, particularly where love is concerned, is necessary. It is the sun, the air, the water of love."

"We're not talking about love," Mr. Jenkins snarled. "We're talking about marriage. Two totally different things." Venita's red lips spread into a semblance of a smile that terrified every man in the room. 

"Is it then?" she asked. "I don't think you believe that." Mr. Jenkins gaped at her. 

"Have you read any of my work?" he shouted. "Have you been listening to anything I've said? I told you--love is a chemical imbalance and marriage a archaic institution that"-- Venita held up a hand. 

Mr. Jenkin's mouth opened and closed, his tongue flopping uselessly in his silent mouth. Pulling a tiny golden bell from her cleavage, Venita shook it over her shoulder in a manner so causal one would have thought she was calling a waiter. A strange hum filled the room. The walls of the studio melted away. Gaping, the men looked around. They were still in their chairs, still attached to their microphones. The DJ poked his blinking board, jumping when a commercial blared behind his head. 

Suddenly a young man with knobby elbows and knees galloped by, chasing a pretty young girl with red pigtails. "Alice!" he cried. "Alice!" She giggled. 

"Jeremy Jenkins, you'll never catch me!" she shouted, ducking around a oak tree. Shrieking with delight, she pretended to be annoyed as he wrapped her arms around her. Leaning her head under his chest, she traced her finger on his breast. "Promise me we'll always be like this," she whispered, gazing up at him. "Promise me we'll always be this happy." 

The skinny man kissed her, his gawky smile like a beacon of hope. "Through college and beyond," he promised, his braces glinting in the sun light. "We'll be two old people rocking on the porch before you know it." 

"With bowls of cookie cream ice cream and potato chips," the girl added. "That's very important." 

"With cookie cream ice cream and potato chips," the man repeated with a smile. They kissed again, a faint bell ringing through the air. The bright sunlight faded and with a slam of cold air, the studio walls rose around them. The men blinked, staring at each other in shock. Sauntering over to Mr. Jenkins, Venita perched on the table next to him and crossed her arms. He scuttled away from her, his plastic glasses sliding down to reveal fearful eyes.

"So what was all this bluster about love and marriage, then? I believe you owe us an explanation." Venita smiled.
To be continued...
The Blond Duck

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