The End of Fred and Ginger

“So there IS someone else!” Ginger spits the words at me.

Seeing her lovely face all red and blotchy cuts me to the core. “Sweetheart, you know it’s not –”

“Don’t you dare call me ‘Sweetheart’ you bastard! My name is Ginger. Got it? Ginger! Not Linda. Not Julie. Not Suzanne. Ginger!”

I never tried to hide the fact that I changed their names when I edited pieces for publication. I never expected her to get upset over it though. “OK. Ginger. See, those are just pseudonyms. It’s still you in all those stories. After all, actors don’t use their real names when they play a character.”

“Hah! Actors! I knew you would bring that up. Just because people picture Astaire and Rogers when they see our names. Is that our fault? You’re the writer here. You thought this would be a good idea. It’s your fault. Yours!”

“I know Ginger, of course it’s not your fault. It’s mine. And I take full responsibility. But more than one reader has complained that these names pull them out of my — YOUR stories.”

“We don’t even look like them,” Fred adds. “In fact, we work hard to look different every week! Besides, we let you post that creepy animation a couple weeks ago. THAT was embarrassing.”

He had me there. That was embarrassing. “But, that’s part of the problem. I know you look different every week. You’re my little changelings, taking on the appearance of the characters in each story. To me, you ARE different. Not everyone can see that.”

“Pffft. If you were a better writer they might.”

Ouch! “And then,” I blunder on even with that knife in my heart, “people see Fred and Ginger two weeks in a row and think we’re continuing the same story. Do you know how hard it is to get someone back for a third week after that? They don’t need to come here to get confused.”

“See! It’s YOU, Tim. You made this mess. You said names weren’t important. I think you were just being lazy. And now you say you’re done with us?”

“I’m not done with you. You’ll still be in the drafts I write. It’s just… I need to change your names before I publish the stories.”

“Careful, folks,” Ginger waves both hands above her head, “he has an eraser and he’s not afraid to use it! Go ahead, make that stupid ‘getting rubbed out’ joke. You know you’re dying to….”

I can feel my face getting red. I’ve been pwned and punned in a single stroke. I never expected this to be so difficult… archive the old stuff, tap a few keys, a global search and replace. Now my characters are copping an attitude? What do they want from me?

“You know,” Fred chimes in, “we’ve tried to be everything for you — friends, siblings, lovers, spouses. Hell, we’ve KILLED and DIED for you. How can you just write us off like this?”

I look at them both. “I know. And I don’t want you to think I’m ungrateful. It’s just… I guess I always knew it would come to this someday. In order to grow, I need to move on.”

I move the cursor to highlight their names. My hand hovers over the delete key.

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[Note: Learn more about Fred and Ginger here. ~Tim]

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The Day of the Wedding

Fred shook with anticipation as he entered the bedroom. The wind that constantly blew in across the rocky coastline of his village rattled the windows. Or was that his teeth rattling? He had been granted one wish and this was it.

He sat on the edge of the bed and took a few deep breaths. His anticipation was palpable. The door opened and Ginger stepped inside. Fred rose to meet her. He reached out his hand and he could feel the blood rushing out of his brain when she interlaced her fingers with his. Tentatively at first, he kissed her, then hungrily, passionately. Gently, she broke their embrace to lead him to the bed.

They looked deeply into each other’s eyes while she removed all of their clothing. Taking his hand again, she pulled him onto the bed. He knew that she had experience and willingly let her take control. She lead him to pleasures he had never even imagined.

In the morning, Fred awoke alone. Today was the big day. The day of the wedding. He had the honor of representing his village. The path was lined with well-wishers as he strode toward the sea. His family and closest friends were waiting by the altar on a precipice high above the crashing surf. The wind whipped in from the cold water and it filled him with pride.

At the altar he embraced his parents and wiped the tears from his mother’s face. He turned and looked back at his village. He half-hoped to see Ginger, but he knew that by tradition she would be out of sight. Musicians struck up the wedding march. The wind howled in response and brought a salty spray over the wedding party. The sea was angry and needed to be calmed. The survival of the village was at stake. The village was offering her a husband. Fred stepped onto the altar and leapt to the water below.

[Note: Learn more about Fred and Ginger here. ~Tim]

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Lost in Space

Fred — that was the persona he had adopted on earth — floated in microgravity at the controls of his ship far above the blue planet. He knew he should shift back to his normal appearance and enter stasis for the long journey home. Instead, he adjusted his trajectory so that he hovered directly over a particular city in the southern United States. He hummed to himself and then softly sang, “Long distance information, give me Memphis, Tennessee….”

Observe and report. That was his mission. He didn’t even have to visit the surface of the planet. But he always did. Even the planets that were completely devoid of life, he thought, warranted at least a cursory personal appearance. Just so he could say he did. And he had a portfolio full of souvenir images for proof. The planets with life though, those were risky. He had to avoid interacting as much as possible and certainly wasn’t allowed to interfere. He had never counted on meeting Ginger.

While he knew that physics made it impossible, her eyes seemed to shine and twinkle with a light that came from within. Her voice was low and sweet with a musical quality to it. Music, human music, that was something else he had never counted on. He sought it out at every turn and that’s how he had met Ginger. There were musicians right out on the street here every day and night. He couldn’t believe how indifferent most of the humans were to what they were hearing. But some vocalized in tune with mechanical devices while others gyrated their bodies to the tempo. Ginger did both.

“Staring and slack-jawed” was the way she later told him he had appeared. She had said hello and reached out her hand for him to join her in the gyrations then laughed when she saw the look of panic on his face. She thought he was just too shy to dance with her. His first impulse was to turn away, get lost in the crowd and return immediately to his ship. But something kept him rooted to the spot. He had seen similar actions by humans so he tightened a couple face muscles that pulled the ends of his oral orifice upward and rotated his head laterally back and forth a couple times. And he kept staring, though he managed to tighten those jaw muscles.

Somehow, Ginger had found this endearing and when the band took a break she came over and talked to him. She used a lot of words he didn’t fully understand — they didn’t seem to match the dictionary definitions he had studied. But the sound of her voice mixed with the scent of jasmine that radiated from her body still hot from her recent activity. Fred was mesmerized. Even though his body wasn’t really human, he thought he felt an unmistakable attraction, a desire for his body to be close to hers. He had observed mating rituals across half the galaxy and he had never felt anything like this.

Fred suddenly realized he had gone way beyond just observing, that even this innocent interaction with Ginger might have far-reaching effects. Mumbling what he hoped was an acceptable excuse he left abruptly. “I hope I see you again,” she had called after him. “I’ll be here tomorrow night.” Nothing in what he knew about magnetism or gravity or nuclear forces could explain the drag he felt on his body as he forced himself away from her.

And now he hovered. How odd, he thought, that indecision stills weighs heavily even in microgravity. The longer he stayed in human form the more desperately he wanted to stay on earth and seek out more time with Ginger. If he returned home as he knew he should he certainly would never again be trusted to go off-world. He could not orbit here indefinitely, he had to make a choice. Then he realized… of course, there is only one choice….

So, dear readers, I am curious. What choice do you think “Fred” made? Did he stay on earth, return home, or realize that he had another option? Please leave a comment.

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[Note: Learn more about Fred and Ginger here. ~Tim]

Is That What the Kids are Calling It?

Ginger held her breath, put a hand on each leg and spread them gently. Tentatively, she explored between them with her fingers. Fred began with short, sharp thrusts but settled in to longer, slower, smoother strokes. He carefully gave equal attention to both breasts. Ginger breathed again. Together they were determined to serve the perfect turkey and dressing dinner to their family for the holiday.

Happy Christmas everyone!

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[Note: Learn more about Fred and Ginger here. ~Tim]

One Flew Over the Cuckold’s Nest

In her comment on last week’s post Aymiee asked whether I have considered a graphical interface for Ginger and Fred. While I’m not sure what she meant by that, it reminded me of xtranormal.com — a site that makes animated movies from your script. I dug up a draft I’ve had sitting around for a couple years. Originally, most of the story took place through instant messages between the two characters so it was already heavy on dialogue. Here then, is an update of that story and the resulting movie:

Ginger: Hi

Fred: Hi. Got time to talk?

Ginger: If it’s quick. I have to get home to the kids.

Fred: OK. Did you have a good day?

Ginger: Not really. Big fight this morning.

Fred: Sorry… Any progress on the divorce?

Ginger: No. He won’t discuss it. And you know I won’t leave my kids with him.

Fred: I know.

Ginger: I’m still sleeping in the guest room. We spend almost no time together.

Fred: You told me. It’s just…

Ginger: What?

Fred: I had a strange thought recently.

Ginger: You have a lot of strange thoughts. It’s one of the things I like about you… What?

Fred: A coworker wants to set me up on a blind date.

Ginger: Do you want to go?

Fred: No. Even if I weren’t involved with you, I hate blind dates.

Ginger: Waiting for the strange part…

Fred: Well, It occurred to me that I’m being faithful to another man’s wife.

Ginger: I told you I’m not sleeping with him. I’m being faithful to you too.

Fred: But you’re not leaving him.

Ginger: I can’t right now. I told you.

Fred: I know. What am I supposed to do? Talk to you only when no one’s home? See you only when he is out of town and your kids are with friends? And… what?

Ginger: You sound angry.

Fred: I feel stupid.

Ginger: You are the smartest person I know.

Fred: Smart people do stupid things all the time.

Ginger: And wanting to be with me is a stupid thing?

Fred: Now you’re getting angry.

Ginger: Frustrated. What do you want me to do?

Fred: I want us to be together. I just don’t see it happening. I can’t afford to support you. You don’t have a job to support yourself. It will be three more years before your kids might be out on their own….

Ginger: And…?

Fred: I don’t know where I fit into your life.

Ginger: I guess you don’t. Fit, that is.

Fred: Go home to your family. I can’t do this any more….

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[Note: Learn more about Fred and Ginger here. ~Tim]

Fred Writes Erotica

“Miranda’s breath caught in her throat. The stranger’s eyes blazed. With one hand he held her wrist. With the other he tugged at her skirt and ran roughly along her –” Sigh.

Ginger closed the manuscript and tossed it on the reject pile.

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[Note: Learn more about Fred and Ginger here. ~Tim]

The Mystery Writer Returns

Fred tapped his favorite Montblanc pen absent-mindedly while staring at the monitor. He had used the pen as a murder weapon once. Today, it was just a distraction. Ginger breezed in carrying a tray. He loved her dearly, but disliked ever having his work time interrupted. Even unproductive work time like this.

“Have some tea, dear,” she said while pouring the hot liquid. With a sigh, he rolled his chair away from the desk and accepted the cup. “It’s almond and honey flavored,” Ginger continued. “Something new!” She grinned and breathed in the steam from her cup. Then her brow furrowed. “Fred, I’m worried about you.”

“Worried? Why?” He sipped the tea and tried to hide a grimace.

“You kill someone every week.”

“I write murder mysteries. That’s not the same as really killing someone.”

“I’m afraid it just keeps your head in that frame of mind. It colors everything else you do.”

“I don’t understand. What frame of mind?”

“You seem sad all the time. Your stories are all so sad.”

“Sad? The killer is always brought to justice in the end.”

“But only after terrible things have happened to people first.”

“Not innocent people. The people that die in my stories all deserve to die.”

“You really believe that some people deserve to die?”

“In my stories? Absolutely.”

“How about in real life? Drink up, sweetie. It’s good for you!”

“Well, yeah, but I’m glad I don’t have to decide about them.” He gulped down another mouthful.

“But someone has to decide?”

“Ginger, what’s really bothering you?”

“I’ve decided. You’re leaving me.”

“What? Sweetheart, I’m not going anywhere. What makes you think I’m leaving you?”

“I don’t think. I know. You’ll be dead soon.”

“Dead?”

“Yes, Fred. Dead. Poisoned.”

His tea cup shattered on the floor.

[Note: Learn more about Fred and Ginger here. ~Tim 6 Dec 2009]

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FFF: Giving Thanks

Fred winced involuntarily from the pain as he reached across the small folding table. He handed a paper plate to each of his guests. Then he passed the food around. It was hardly traditional holiday fare — ravioli and yellow corn, both from cans — but everything in his life was different now.

The year before he had awakened on that cool, crisp Thanksgiving Day blissfully entwined with his beloved wife Ginger. The birth of their daughter Vera the previous week had precluded any traveling, but they looked forward to starting new traditions with their new little family. Vera’s demands were nearly constant but they had been preparing a small feast in the moments they could manage over the last couple of days.

Fred kissed Ginger lightly, hoping she would get a few more minutes of sleep. Then he slid out of bed and leaned over Vera’s crib. He was briefly overcome. All his senses registered — angelic face, rhythmic breathing, baby powder, the incredible softness of her cheek as he brought his lips close. He had thought he knew how powerful love could be when he had married Ginger, but his love for this child was all-consuming.

He stopped in the kitchen to put coffee on the stove and then stepped outside. He picked the newspaper up from the porch and looked eastward. The sun was just a glow on the horizon and he stood there shivering to watch it rise. It was silly, he thought, but he had made it a point to watch the sun rise every day since Vera was born. Silently he said a prayer of thanks as he breathed in the autumn morning. Mostly it was the smell of the leaves scattered across the ground. And then… smoke!

He rushed inside to find the house full of dense, black smoke and the kitchen ablaze. He shouted Ginger’s name and crawled toward the bedroom. He never made it that far. He awoke days later in the burn ward and began a long slow recovery.

When he finally got to visit the graves of his wife and daughter, he fell into an unconsolable sobbing heap. The painful rehab dragged on for months. His business closed and his insurance was about to run out. He was already a month behind on the rent for the small room in which Chuck and Dave, two other long-term patients at the rehab center, now joined him for the holiday meal.

Any summary of his life at this point would conclude that in a year he had lost everything — his family, home, business, and health. The only thing he had not lost was his faith. So he clasped his withered hands, bowed his head, and said, “Let us give thanks.”

[Note: Learn more about Fred and Ginger here. ~Tim 6 Dec 2009]

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FFF: The World’s Most Expensive First Date

Ginger felt like a fool and worse, a cliche’, sitting on the couch in T-shirt and sweatpants, holding a half-empty carton of Ben & Jerry’s Chocolate Therapy™ ice cream with The Notebook playing on the TV. When the phone rang she read the caller ID, muted the movie, and took a deep breath before answering.

“Hi, Mom.”

“Nothing, just… got home from a date.”

“Yeah. Internet-boy, uh, Fred. That was tonight.” As if you didn’t remember! she wanted to say but, of course, did not.

“Well, I think I can say I’ve been on the world’s most expensive first date. He flew here from Tuscon, rented a limo, brought me a bouquet of daisies, took me to Le Province for dinner….”

“Of course not, Mom. He’s at a hotel. He flies home in the morning.”

“Yes, I know what you told me. Meeting someone in person that you met on line is — Mom! He’s not an ax murderer or anything like that!”

“I don’t know, it was… awkward….”

“Mom, can we talk about this tomorrow?” Or even better, never again? Why couldn’t she just say that to her mother?

“Okay. I love you too. Bye”

Another spoonful of ice cream melted down her throat while a tear traced a path down her cheek. She turned the volume back up in time to hear Duke say, “I’ve loved another with all my heart and soul and for me that has always been enough.” Then her tears flowed freely.

Ginger had lied about the flowers. She was sure Fred knew that daisies are her favorite, but he arrived empty-handed. And she would never tell her mother she had paid for everything — the plane ticket, the car, the fancy restaurant, the hotel. But it wasn’t the money that made this date so expensive. Ginger was giving up hope that she would meet someone to love with all her heart and soul.

[Note: Learn more about Fred and Ginger here. ~Tim 6 Dec 2009]

Last week Estrella suggested I warn you if you might need tissues, but I just couldn’t bring myself to put a warning at the top of the story. Feel free to take one now if you need it….

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FFF: Eulogy

Ginger blinked into the bright sunlight and cleared her throat.

“Death occurs in an instant,” she began. “So in a way, losing Fred took virtually no time at all. But loss… and grief… are not instantaneous. Grief is moment upon endless moment. I am continually losing Fred. I will be losing Fred forever. He is gone, but he will never be gone.”

She felt her throat tighten and tears well up in her eyes. “The last words I said to Fred were angry words. We were having an argument. That will haunt me forever. In fact, I fully expect Fred to haunt me. It would be just like him.” She paused, hoping to draw a little laughter into the somber occasion. Fred would like that — and he would hate everything else about this ceremony. But she met only silence from the crowd broken by the sound of a siren approaching.

“Fred and I liked to hold hands,” she pressed on. “Even now I can feel our fingers intertwined. My thumb strokes the back of his hand.” The siren was louder still and a brief murmur arose. “I…” Ginger gulped at the air. “I… I’m sorry.” The sun shrank to a bright point that began flashing red and blue.

The police officer approached the vehicle wrapped around the large oak tree. He didn’t expect to find any survivors. He was half right. “Ma’am! Can you hear me? Can you unlock the door? I’m going to get you out of there. Just hold on.” With grim irony he noticed that she held tightly to the hand of the vehicle’s driver — almost the only part of him that wasn’t crushed beyond recognition.

[Note: Learn more about Fred and Ginger here. ~Tim 6 Dec 2009]

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