Inventing Virgins

Inventing Virgins~ Chapter Two

Knock & Doorbell  

Micheal O'Conner was not partial to either. He had  used them both to great effect over his some 50 years on the  planet. He continued to mix his oil paints with a dedication  that one might think The Knock, and again with The Doorbell  had not actually just happened. 

Indian yellow mixed cheerfully with Payne's Grey, and  were silent in the process. Justin Timberlake thumbed along in  the background, he was bringing SexyBack. A recently lit  cigar lay in its ashtray, obediently adding smoke and flavor to his little porch at the back of the house. A glass of scotch  and cream soda sat swimming with ice, a safe distance away  from the artist and his cigar; its usual look of Scottish  indignation. 

The Knock, was joined by another, this one different,  lower on the door, a little hesitant. Obviously female. Had The Doorbell been abandoned?  No..... a 3rd ring. Micheal  sought help from a higher power. "Carmen! Can you get the  door?" 

Knock and Doorbell; co-conspirators in his moment of  reflection and depth. He picked up the Cigar, jammed it his  mouth, and headed to front of the house.  Carmen sat at the dining room table, stabbing at her iPad. She was dressed in her "uniform" of jeans, an assorted  of layers of shirts, Chuck Taylors (they were green today)  and a hoodie. Hoodie DOWN, earbuds IN, and a set of  Mickey Mouse ears atop her short red hair. Her niece's name;  "Hailey", stitched across the front in the iconic Disney Script.  

"Didn't you hear the door?" she shook her head no, speaking a touch too loud because of the earbuds. "Not my  house..."  

The simplicity of her comment left Micheal  dumbstruck.  "Not your house? You are here more than your own  house. And why are you wearing those?" He asked with reference to the Mickey Mouse ears.

"Because they annoy you." She deadpanned. "Can  you stop with the cigar? Really gross."  

"Don't like it, Don't be...." Again: Knock & Doorbell interrupted. Carmen looked past her father toward the front  door. "They REALLY want to talk to you."  

He took a moment to gaze at his youngest.  Heir to the  "family business" and CEO of a patent and software empire  that he had started some thirty years ago. She had stepped  into the business with a grace and intuition that had made him  look stagnate at the time. Her two older sisters had taken after  their mother and were....were what? More feminine? Less  Butch? God, he was old.  

Knock & Doorbell.  

Micheal O'Conner had fought every expansion of his boisterous neighbor: Disneyland. A running battle of skirmishes that had lasted some 20 years. Including, but not limited to; a curfew for fireworks, limits on the use of  massive marching bands that could be heard over several miles, a reduction in the duration of the ubiquitous nightly  onslaught of the electrical parade. And of course, the crowning achievement; a synergistic sprawl of efficiency called The California Adventure. Highlighted by the increased  proximity of blight, noise, traffic and the mob, often referred  to as "vacationers". 

Visitors from the Mouse, or the City of Anaheim, were not common but they were persistent. He flung the door open  with a cloud of cigar smoke designed to swamp these  intruders. 

Two petite woman in business suits stood their ground  against the smoky onslaught, backed up by two Adonis sized,  Armani clad creatures that stood just off the porch.  

Were they wearing earbuds?  

The woman to his right began, "Mr. O'Conner? Mr.  Micheal O'Conner?"