There are about 450 pages in the archives. You can probably read it in an afternoon. I worked on it from July 2005-January 2013. It is a campy satire of a lot of things ranging from golden age comics, bad sci-fi shows, cheesy lesbian romance novels, ancient Greek mythology, musicals, and a bunch of other stuff that I love. I hope you love it, too.

-Megan Rose Gedris

 A bright light shone down suddenly, illuminating the girl in a bright yellow light that she could see through her eyelids. She sat up and squinted, trying to see what was going on. In the middle of the light was a shadow.

 “So, I had at least part of it right. I’m still figuring out which parts.” DeWald looked down at his camera. “Well, at least I got one case solved.”

 “What?” asked Beth, after some time had gone by. Ursula was pale as a sheet. Beth turned to her. “You said we couldn’t go to your place because you were an up-and-coming movie star and there were too many reporters around your house.”

 Beth and Ursula sat bolt upright, looking around wildly for the source of the noise. The door to the balcony swung open, and DeWald walked in, camera hanging around his neck. The girls both gasped and drew the sheets up to cover themselves. “What are you doing here?” cried Ursula.

 Ursula knocked on the brightly painted blue door of Beth’s house. Within moments, Beth answered. “What are you doing here?” she gasped, looking past Ursula to make sure no one was watching. “Come in.” She pulled the younger girl inside the house and shut the door. “I told you not to come here anymore,” Beth worried, frowning. 

 There was a knock at Ursula’s door. She put her book down, and scrambled to find something to wear. Being all alone in her apartment all the time, she often went for days without getting out of her nightgown. “Just a minute!” she cried, knowing whoever was outside would be able to hear her through the paper thin walls.

 DeWald awoke once again to the phone ringing. Unlike the previous morning, he had a hangover, and was not in the mood for phone calls. He picked up the receiver, slammed it back down again, and left it off the hook.

 Twenty minutes later, nearly two hours after she’d gone in, the woman DeWald knew as Sally Bell emerged. Her hair had come out of its neat updo, and her skin had a sheen of sweat on it. 

DeWald downed his beer and walked over to her.

“What took you so long?” DeWald asked her.

Ursula reached into her purse for a cigarette. DeWald held a match out for her. She inhaled deeply, and let out a jet of smoke before speaking. “I went in there, spy camera in hand, expecting her to be in the arms of a man, only to find her bawling her little eyes out!” 

“Crying?” DeWald asked, suspicious. 

Ursula nodded. “She said her husband knocks her around all the time, and tonight he roughed her up pretty good. She said she came here to drink, and hopefully find another gal who might listen to her problems for an hour or two.” 

DeWald’s mind digested that new tidbit of information. “Yeah, but why the bathroom? Every time she comes in, she ends up spending forever in the commode.” 

“She gets banged up by a man every day. She just likes to go to a place where men can’t follow.” 

“The women’s bathroom at Roxie’s?” 

She shrugged. “It’s better than going to the dyke bar down the street.” 

“True,” DeWald admitted. He sighed. Was it possible Mrs. Brewster wasn’t having an affair at all? Could it in fact be that it was Mr. Brewster who was the bad guy in this case? It explained her not being keen on White’s advances. The last thing abused dog wanted to see was another newspaper. Even the comics section.

“It’s late,” he said. “Let me drive you home.” “Uh... um... that’s alright. I’ll get a cab,” she stammered. “Oh, I insist. It’s the least I could do for all the help you’ve given me tonight.” If I can get her home, maybe she’ll give me a little more “help”, DeWald thought hopefully. 

She shuffled her feet, and DeWald noticed she was missing a stocking. “Really, it’s okay.” 

Why won’t she ride with me? She’s hiding something, he thought. Or maybe she’s a little wary because you’ve been drinking all night and she’s been listening to a battered woman gab for the past two hours. He decided to give her the benefit of the doubt for now, and let it go. “I’ll call you a cab,” he said.

But despite his decision to let it go, he couldn’t help but call his cabbie friend Jim to pick her up. It couldn’t hurt to know more about this dame. And he’d already been let down with an unsatisfactory conclusion to a case once tonight. DeWald watched tail lights of the cab disappear into the night before getting into his own car and driving slowly home.

 The two lay on Beth’s coat, which she’d spread on the cold tile floor of the bathroom. Beth was snuggled up in Ursula’s arms, safe and incredibly warm. Her cheeks were still flush with pleasure.

 Beth, glad to be in a situation where she could have the control, wrapped her hands around Ursula’s thighs and hoisted her onto the counter. A box of tissues and a bowl of fragrant, dried flowers went spilling onto the floor with a loud thunk. Beth ran her hands hungrily up and down Ursula’s , while Ursula kissed and bit and licked the length of Beth’s smooth, white neck.

 A dowdy older woman, fifty-ish with out-of-style hair that had been poorly dyed was washing her hands. Ursula tapped her foot impatiently as she meticulously scrubbed under each of her short-cropped fingernails.

 Ursula’s feet hurt. She’d splurged on some new shoes, black patent leather that perfectly complimented her leopard-printed satin dress that clung to every curve of her like it was holding on for dear life. But the shoes were not meant to be worn for half an hour, standing in the doorway to a nightclub. They were supposed to meet at 8. It was 8:34. DeWald was late.

He finally came stumbling up. “Sorry. Were you waiting long?”

Ursula shook her head. “About ten minutes,” she lied. “I showed up ‘fashionably late.’ You were just late.”

DeWald apologized again, and they went inside. He led her over to the bar. “What’ll you have?” he asked. “It’s on me.”

“I’ll take a sidecar,” she said, draping her coat over the back of the bar stool. “Why are we here, now?”

“There’s a woman,” De-Wald divulged. “Long black hair, pretty face, real glamorous. She’s been stepping out on her husband.” He pointed to the women’s restroom. “They’ve been meeting in there. Obviously, I can’t follow her in there. So I need you to go in for me.”

Ursula looked wide-eyed at the detective as she thrust a pen into her hand. “What’s this?”

 DeWald was on the phone when she arrived. Ursula walked in and settled into the chair across from the P.I., crossing her legs daintily and smiling alluringly at him. Aphrodite Red #4, the most sensual lipstick ever made. Ursula might have no intention of taking the man to bed, but she wanted to make sure the things she needed him to do got done.

 Ursula sat by her window, smoking and reading a Vin Packer book. Part of her regretted not giving DeWald her phone number, because it meant he couldn’t call her with news. But if he was as skilled a P.I. as he claimed to be, she couldn’t risk him tracing her number back to this apartment. So she had to go to him

She spied him on the street below, fiddling in his pocket for his keys. Ursula’s heart sped up. Maybe he found something. She stood up, her limbs somewhat sore. She had gone out last night. Sought solace in the arms of a woman, wishing the woman were Susan. What are you going to do if he brings bad news? Ursula scolded herself. You have to be ready to deal with never seeing her again.

 “Did you get a good look at the gal in green?” asked DeWald.

 “I assume you kept on her, though,” DeWald said.

 DeWald awoke the next morning to the sound of the phone. He stumbled into the living room and picked up the smooth, white receiver. He didn’t even get a chance to say hello before White was letting loose a monologue of words like they were racehorses on fire.

 It was a lucky thing White didn’t put up any more fuss, because Beth Brewster showed up early. She took a seat between White and DeWald, two empty stools on either side of her. She was wearing a dark blue satin dress that perfectly matched her blue-black hair. A gold brooch was pinned atop her ample bosom.

 DeWald and White stood in the doorway of Roxie’s, a restaurant and club down the block from the Brewster house, and a documented favorite spot of Mrs. Brewster’s. The sounds of a saxophone drifted out of the tan brick building. Mrs. Brewster had been visiting the night spot more frequently in the past week, perhaps scouting for a new boy-toy.