Moonlight on the Hudson - A Craven Danger Mystery

“Where the blue of the night, meets the gold of the day, someone waits for me. . .”

“Mr. Danger?”

“Yeah, Betty?”

“When you get done torturing the great American songbook, I’d like a word or two.”

“If one a them words is a negative, you can take your business elsewhere. Today, I got the music in me, and I ain’t in no mood for fencing words with you. And if it helps any, I was thinking about you when I was singing.”

“You were?”

“Yeah. I was thinking about that night we sat on that pier overlooking the Hudson river. Remember? We had a picnic?”

“You mean the night you were over-looking the Hudson river. I was just hanging on to your shirt collar while you were throwing up that rot-gut whisky.”

“No. Not that night. That was last year’s picnic.”

“Than refresh my memory. I’m still smelling cheap booze.”

“Oh, for crying out loud, Betty! It was last Saturday night. Three days ago!”

“Well, I’m sorry, Mr. Danger, but a lot’s happened since then.”

“What could be more important than forgetting a romantic midnight picnic on the banks of the Hudson with me?”

“The world’s first electric blanket.”

“Yeah, I read about that, too, Betty. But no anyone’s gonna be pulling a load of electricity over their heads on a cold winter’s morning. Sounds like a loser to me.”

“”I think of it as the man-of-my-dreams without toenails. I might get two for backup.”

“And that was more important than our romantic picnic?”

“No. The bikini cinched it.”

“Bikini? What’s a bikini?”

“It’s a two-piece bathing suit. They just introduced it in France. It’s gonna be a whole new world.”

“Two-piece bathing suit? Ain’t that like running around in your underwear?”

“Sorta. Only more colorful — and liberating.”

“Liberating? We gave you the vote didn’t we? Ain’t you people ever gonna be happy?”

“You gave? Tell that to Susan B. Anthony and all the other suffragettes who took to the streets. No, Mr. Danger. We gave us the vote. You gave us the kitchen and an apron. Than you tried to lock the door and throw away the key. Then along come World War II, and Rosie the Riveter showed you all what we were made of. Now the war’s over and it’s, back to the kitchen, ladies. We’re home now. And you did it all with a cheap smile and a pat on the rump.

“Well, Mr. Danger, I’m here to tell you we’re making a come-back. So, in your face with them old notions. I’m freeing the belly and getting me a bikini-tan this summer!”

“So, I take it you got nothing out of our romantic picnic.”

“You mean the romantic picnic where if I didn’t bring along the fried chicken, potato salad, wine, plates, utensils, napkins, condiments, candles, and a blanket, I’d be left hanging on to your shirt collar as you threw up whatever cheap swill you brought along with you. The romantic picnic where I decided I might just liberate myself from a certain somebody who ain’t giving me my due. That romantic picnic?”

“Yeah, that one, Betty. And I’m sorry. I promise I’ll make it up to you. Again.”

“You can start by rubbing liniment on the arm that keeps holding you up. It’s getting a little tired.”

When am I ever gonna learn to shut my mouth.

Picture courtesy of Wiki Commons:

https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?search=picnic+on+the+hudson&ti...