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  “Great, I’ll pester him so bad he’ll want to self-mutilate his ugly useless body.”

  “That’s a bit harsh, and not to mention gory, Tina, go easy on him,” LisaAnn decided.

  The last part was the shoplifter’s Uncle Ferny Ridelle. This was played by a twenty-five year old American man who’s missus had just shot through in real life and was denied access to his own daughter of three small years due to his illness of ten years – Manic Depression. He took his place quietly beside the others, a little frightened.

  John reassured him it was just stage fright, he asked for his nightly dosage of the wonder working syrup earlier. It was given to him, although it was to take twenty minutes to completely kick in, he began to feel more and more at ease, as his role made him feel a real V.I.P.

  “Pretend, James is the policeman, come forward Sir,” John invited with glad reception.

  After a brief huddle in one corner behind a Bolshoi screen whispers of directions were heard by the V.I.P. students.

  Out tiptoed young Meakin Ridelle to centre stage as if sneaking through the toy store, she’d grabbed the stuffed toy from the top shelf after a five minute decider, she walked out through the doors, James dived out the moment John made an electronic beeping sound coming from the button attached to it, he arrested her handcuffing her with real cuffs, taking her behind the desk in the corner of the room that became the jail.

  Imaginary time of two days passed before the belly-achin’ task of contacting her parents by telephone. Heartbroken and ashamed she had to explain what happened. The viewers were guided to concentrate on the three different responses to the predicament.

  “Each response is very different as you’ll notice,” John mentioned. “Response number One: Firstly, her mother answers the call. Tina puts her heart and soul into her reaction.”

  “You disappoint me girl. I think there is something wrong with you, perhaps there is a defective chromosome inside you?”

  “With an angry attitude she lashes out even more.”

  “You are one big problem. Perhaps I am to blame, I should’ve brought you up more strictly, I must get wiser, Meakin, Meakin, Meakin, where did I go wrong?” “Morrisey was as mad as a meat-axe with herself and walked away slightly depressed.”

  “Response Number Two: Jolly displays the angry-ant attitude when he discovers what she has done. When it is his turn on the telephone, he storms down the line blaming her totally, “You are completely out of control. You are a thief, you can’t go anywhere without messing things up.” “He slams the receiver into her uncle’s hand, Meakin shaking like a leaf on the other end.”

  “Response Number Three.” The actor was too shy to participate and too drowsy to speak.

  “Uncle Ferny is not as energetic with his response. He is hardly upset at all. He understands her needs and that her parents had not given her the money for what she wanted the most. After he got off the phone he explained that he thought they were being too hard on the littlun’ and to pay bail and bring her home to stay with him, they did and in no time she was staying at her uncle’s, he looked after her and she never did that again. Did you all catch the difference between her Mother’s passive ‘I must be wrong,’ and the agro blame her father put on her and the calm assertive reaction of her uncle?”

  They all nodded.

  LisaAnn explained to the group, that when there is no tearing-down of ourselves and others self-esteem is well nourished.

  The actors and actresses returned to their seats.

  “Finding blemishes in our own characters as in the passive response may not involve disagreements with others but could lead us where?” John challenged.

  Tina shared her brain-storm, “Like when a girl refuses a man, she will not accept him as husband. He then turns on himself and refuses to accept himself for who he really is, he rejects himself. I wish at times I could push myself away or destroy myself when I feel I am at fault.”

  “As a V.I.P., Tina, the mid-point of assertiveness focuses on ‘my rights’ in an important way, plus, not expecting too much of others and being ready to listen to the other party. It is difficult to believe in oneself when we are filled with aggression, we begin to doubt ourselves and our abilities, we need to maintain a personal power of directing and restraining,” John highlighted.

  Pastor Amos was called upon to give a graceful conclusion to all that was taught: “The Psalmist records that God’s anger is but for a moment, His favour is for life. True forgiveness holds no record of wrongs the unfavourable act is thrown into the sea of forgetfulness and is remembered no more we are all VERY IMPORTANT PEOPLE, go in peace.”

  The V.I.P’s now embraced a new direction, the blowing desert sands of strength carrying them from the backside of a barren wilderness to the beach of self-respect where the tide of heartfelt thankfulness laps at their feet.

  Holly Hobby’s bag was placed gently on her lap with a wink from John.

  Whilst the workshop was in progress, the Receptionist had crept into John’s therapy room and tidied his desk, storing away the excess paperwork in drawers and reports floating around in the filing cabinet, warning him on his return to, “Put away piles of paperwork immediately and manage the mess, don’t let it manage you, you are the controller,” she told him in a stern tone.

  The pot plant in that position it was explained would help him retain his right to his own region by expanding active ‘chi’ (inventive zeal), which augments formation and success.

  Then he retorted, “Next you’ll order me to rip my gear off and tip-toe in the rain to drown bad luck.”

  “Oh, you are a funny man,” she laughed and took off for home.

  A telephone call from Lamb Island worried the new parents of Joey-John and Lisa-Marie. Apparently they were so stressed from being “deserted” they could hardly keep down their expressed Mother’s milk, it just wasn’t the same as having Mommy to snuggle up to. After the last patient left, they raced home, the American team right behind them.

  When they arrived, they could hear the screaming from across the lawn. Their little taste buds tingled as their eyes feasted on nature’s overflowing milk bottles. At last they had found their little bit of heaven they thought they’d lost. A strange thing happened whilst the little fella suckled. His little hand had formed a tight fist, and he kept punching as hard as he could on LisaAnn’s right breast as if to punish her for leaving them.

  “Oh John, do you know I can never leave them again, not at least until they reach toddler years.”

  “Yes my love, you must stay with them, they cannot bear to be without you.”

  Following a half-hour nap, the babies awoke at the beachside. Soon their socks were off and their tiny toes scooping up the soft grains of faintly coloured sand.

  The sun slowly passed from sight behind the rugged headland, a faultless scene framing Josef the lone fisherman casting a line.

  “Do you know my darling John, since taking the St. John’s Syrup my sex drive has soared. How is that?”

  John gave her a tender kiss saying sweetly, “Mid to high dosages of St. John’s Syrup increases brain levels of dopamine remember, it is a neurotransmitter that is closely knitted to sensuous enjoyment, leading to a more ardent climax of sexual excitement, whereas the lowest dosage has the opposite effect.”

  “You are so brainy. You know just how to turn me on.” They got up and nursed a baby each on one arm and walked hand in hand along the unspoiled shore over the mixture of water-worn pebbles and sand, the cool refreshing water washing over their bare feet.

  A wild splash of colour varying from crimson to orange stained the Western sky like a rash. The surface of the bay as clear as a window, as far as the eye could see, imitated the flare, lamplighting the tranquil underwater jewels until the last chink of the burning candlelight faded into the smoky onset of night.

  “Nip my fat, am I in the Garden of Eden?” James asked John and LisaAnn in a state of supreme bliss, the rest of the gang smoothly cruising up behind
them.

  The moonshine bounced off the fine diamonds of her paramatta mini-skirt, the sparkles on the fabric flashing on and off, as the silky fabric rippled and waved in between her gorgeous legs, hugging her beautiful buttocks, her hips wiggling to the beat of her footsteps.

  “You’re American through and through,” John laughed out loud, noticing the guy’s eyes travelling all over his lover’s body.

  “What thought-provoking beauty,” James hammered.

  They felt so at home amongst the storytelling and moving pictures of this time-honoured place frequented for the purpose and quality of health, holiday, sandy mountains and bayside.

  “It is said, the wakeful Bay Island’s breeze drifts your concerns across the waters with every knot you sail and drowns them,” John’s description fanned all.

  After a stroll through the busy rainforest they returned to the sacred shore, to find Josef had gained the ultimate package, a barrel of batfish.

  Rachel and her potbelly bear helped scale the fish as the baby waves flushed over her teensy tootsies.

  Whole batfish were wrapped in foil with whole potatoes, buried under hot coals and baked.

  Drowsiness from the end of a day of play and tasty sea-fare had the children curled up in the middle of a fish net hammock, strung between rainbow trees, the splashing of the dachshund in the crystal waters relaxing them into deep dreams of the spectacular view.

  Nature never let them down, a family of exotic curlews and ducks awakening them with quacks and squawks to the fabulous confusion of aromas dallying in the soothing air, a dessert of sweet chilli squid frying on a hot plate, the fragrance of the ginger flowers blooming through holes of petrified wood that had washed up onto the sands and bubbling fresh coconut milk.

  Six foot long, blue and silver grey dolphins chased flying fishes, catching them for their evening meal, the star performers entertaining them with their tricks, whistling, clicking and barking bye-bye to the assembly of spectators.

  Rachel and twins in hammock

  Chapter Four

  Nothing is easier than losing one’s heart to an old world romantic who’s flaming heart flutters with the peace dove over an island of quietude.

  A burning message of passionate love carried by the peace dove warms the heart of a lost soul where the flame of tenderness once flickered, but died, leaving nothing but ashes of ruin.

  Doctor John Wright picked up the fallen ashes and reformed the psyche, the spirit and a whisper of ardour, the essence of personification, to a fallen angel. He ended the war of waste along with its futility. LisaAnn’s life, a precious piece to her mother, a scrap to her father.

  LisaAnn decided to reveal most of what her father had put her through to her friends and the rest of her family, her uncle was shocked to hear the truth and reassured her he would always be there for her.

  A sad song was gathered together by all present for the girl whose tenderness for others moved their hearts despite her helplessness escaping the wrath of the felon who took away the motherly one, who showed her the way. Marshall-Justus played her mother’s violin to accompany the beautifully varied voices of the men.

  “Once upon a time,

  a rough lawless turbulent desperado,

  numbed your mind,

  and tore your heart apart.

  Through those long years in captivity,

  you somehow endured the stoning,

  desperately clinging to life,

  we discovered you paused and reflecting on,

  that dreadful day he murdered your mother,

  the mother you worshipped and adored,

  unable to pick up the threads and start again.

  In need of nurture and protection

  your body and soul cried out for balance

  and harmony

  You gave to us, we gave to you, a whirlwind of

  Love.”

  It was a tear-jerking examination of a crumbled life the romance of a rescue-scene swept away. The music of the soul, well balanced and radiant, no one understood better than herself and its constructors.

  Jayne had stopped working and drove down from Yorkstone to stay with LisaAnn and family for some rest and recreation a few months later.

  The babies’ reflexes were put to the test one day in an action identified by their father as the grapple obsession. Now almost five months old, they grasped anything and everything, including each other’s hands and feet and their father’s private parts in the bath and what a strong grip it was.

  “This grapple obsession stems back in time when Adam and Eve carried their babes on their backs, picking fruit from trees and foraging on the ground for root vegetables, the little ones had to learn to grip or slip,” explained their father to the rest of the clan and stroking the soles of their tiny feet until their toes coiled.

  “Yes, it took an entire month of singing ‘This Tall Soldier Went To War’ to embolden their fingers to slacken and unlock to clinch a toy,” LisaAnn pointed out.

  Jayne rubbed her bulging tummy adding, “I’m looking forward to my twin girls to carry out their survival techniques, such as inhaling, exhaling, drawing milk into their mouths by making vacuum motions with their muscles and their lips and rooting.”

  “Dick, dick, dick, cis-cis-cis-cis,” came a deafening, stubborn summons from a chaplet of brilliant red leaves, high and lordly in the blue sky.

  “Are you being disgusting Josef?” erupted John as he sat on the threshold of the back door, legs wide-open, flaunting his lumps and knob before a scorching Ann-Marie with no grip on her lusty gearbox.

  “How long is it?” LisaAnn implored.

  “About six inches long,” Josef replied in earnest.

  John was busy eavesdropping in on the lively conversation, but somehow part of the conversation going on in the kitchen mysteriously disconnected.

  “What colour is its plumage?” came the next queer question as Josef stole a good hard look at LisaAnn’s bushy wishing well struggling for freedom through the diamond shaped gaps of her hair net knickers as she bent over and cleaned out the cupboard under the kitchen sink, totally unaware a fan in the corner blew up her flared skirt.

  “Ooh aah umm!” Josef stumbled as his eyes, aslant, twisted for a closer shot. “A streaked greyish-brown, varied by a yellow breast, bright chestnut wing patches and a conspicuous black crescent on the…..throat.”

  “Is it a good layer?”

  Josef rushed outside, peered into the nest perched on a branch near the ground, counted the eggs and quickly returned to answer the busy bunting.

  “There appears to be five eggs in the nest.”

  “What’s the nest built of?”

  “Leaves, grass, hair and roots, lots of roots,” he squawked after sticking his nose in her business box a second time.

  She turned around with a fright just as jealous John stormed into the room screaming, “Stop fishing for information about my little Dickcissel, that’s no way to get to know her better!”

  “We were talking about the bird in the tree outside,” LisaAnn told him with stormy eyes.

  “I knew that all the time,” he explained, red with embarrassment, liar, liar, pants on fire, written all over his guilty face.

  “Is that the name of that tiny seedeater,” Ann-Marie asked from the porch. Once everything was under control John returned to his seat, all sweaty and flushed at the sight of Josef’s lady satisfying her wildest desires with a flesh-toned vibrating falsey, and busily stimulating her stiff nipples sizzling from beneath her latex boobless top secretly hiding underneath her lamb’s wool vest.

  “Time for bed,” suggested John maturely.

  “Do you think I’m old enough to share your doona and your bed?” asked Ann-Marie seductively.

  Coldly, John corrected, “I think you are old enough to snuggle up with your own doona and share your own bed with nobody else but you.”

  “You’re going through a fascinating stage in your physical development,” Josef told her, helping pu
ll John to a standing position.

  “How long have you been spying around the corner?” she asked him.

  “Long enough!” Josef bellowed, waving his arm at her to follow him to his place and threatening to confiscate her toy tool.

  Together they ran down the grassy slope. John shut the door relieved he did not give in to her evil desires.

  The twins made funny noises, funny smells and wriggled in order to get picked up. Their nappies were changed and after a quick cuddle were put straight to bed.

  Wide-eyed and restless, Rachel was allowed to stay the night. She was bathed, put in her pyjamas and tucked into the guest bed next to the nursery.

  “Sing me a song Uncle John,” she requested. He picked potbelly bear off the carpeted floor, dusted him off and stuffed him under the sheet beside the tot.

  She seemed anxious about the dark, so LisaAnn switched on the nightlight and gave her some warm cow’s milk to drink and a few drops of lavender oil were sprinkled on a hanky and put near her pillow. John cleared his throat and sang quietly:

  “Baby let me rock you to sleep,

  it’s bedtime, it’s bedtime.

  Potbelly Bear don’t you weep,

  it’s bedtime, it’s bedtime.

  Birdies don’t you chirp in the birdhouse,

  it’s bedtime, it’s bedtime.

  Hansom Hiawatha stop chasing the mouse,

  it’s bedtime, it’s bedtime.”

  But before he could finish the second verse her eyelids dropped, they kissed her and colourful dreams ended her day.

  The clock struck nine-thirty. LisaAnn entered the bathroom and washed the botanical make-up off her face, pat dried her delicate skin and refreshed her body for a long time under a cool shower.

  Two eyes stared from the opened window, focusing on the pretty picture through the clear shower curtain. Like the eyes of a housefly, each compounded eye had over four thousand lenses. Each formed the image of her naked body, like a camera lens, so instead of one statue of worship, he saw several.

  He ran his long fingers nervously over his shaved head and twirled his braided lock that hung down one side of his head.