Exc. novel extract: Dreams of Sun - Bethany Studd gets perceptive at Pikes; House/Disco Mix - 4 Burgers; Poem - Don't Know: Tales From The UniversE 72 - newsletter exiled from the beaches of LA
An arcadia of imagination
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1. Kid Paradise’s Summer 24 Late Beach Bar is here and has hit August like The Paradise Kid is born again a zillion times each moment
VUNDERBAR early-Aug is here and
what else
to do
than listen
LOUD
to Kid P’s tuuuuunnnnnnnneS???
‘four burgers’
Kid Paradise In The Mix Is Handing It Out!!!
2. It is all art, baby
LAX, LAX, LAX, LAX, 23 July, 2024
3. Poem:
you don’t know
when you don’t know where you are;
this is a gift
4. Novel Extract:
Dreams of Sun - chapter 12
there is a dream of sun
we all dream and know
Sant Antoni de Portmany, 1.02pm
Bethany clocked the Pikes hipper-than-painfully-hip crowd. They started to enter Monday afternoon loaded-ville. Mercury Rising was later - DJ Harvey would don his spandex, spin his disco.
Around the pool bar, white isle glitterati, freeloaders, punters, day-tripping-to-the-finca rubberneckers .
Ignaci Guillem Novella and daughter, Dolors. Quaffing with them, too – David Naranjas, deputy chief of detectives, the Metropolitan Police Service of London.
Bethany recognised them from the file; this the first time she set eyes on any of the trio.
Ignaci a pompous type whose PR schtick was to project a sensitive side. Try to. Who lacked the gumption to see others saw clear through it. Openshirted to near his naval, silverwhite chest hair wisping. A forced laugh that kept emanating - like he was in on some joke you knew could never be funny.
Drinking a rainbowcoloured cocktail. Lord of the manor-ing it up.
His modus operandi. Existence.
Dolors, the daughter; an intriguing scion. Glasses, all kinds of teeth to contend with. Offering tells of selfconsciousness. She drank a pink cocktail with a yellow paper umbrella. Bethany chalked her off as vacant yet somehow sensitive. Trapped in her own personal trap.
She moved to David Naranjas. He was below average for ranking Met fuzz. Naranjas wasn’t short short; he was midsized midsized. His expression - quasi-irritated; his eyes - roving. Garbed in an offwhite suit, black shirt with frilly collars, pointed Cubans. Like he landed from a 1970s drogas dealer C-movie, knew it, and last gave any fucks some time ago.
Bethany wowed again at the file Frederick gave her. He was bent police, he was slick police. His notes had these items down expert. Ignaci/Dolors/Naranjas came to life precisely how the Fredster characterised.
Naranjas got his glass and downed his Ban Martes and Bethany, now, saw he palmed an orangecoloured pill and tried to neck this and gagged and tried again and this time forced it down.
She laughed - loud.
Naranjas turned, was insta-dazzled by the sight of Bethany Studd. Any concern about being seen doing a pill in broad daylight at poolside in Pikes skedaddled.
Ignaci and Dolors seeing Bethany now too.
Naranjas said, “I’m glad you find me funny senorita.” A wink, a smile. He tapped his head. “A poco headache. Always a problemo swallowing pills.” Another wink and an offered hand. “I am David Naranjas, this is Ignaci Guillem Novella and his lovely daughter, Dolors.”
Handshakes all around, Dolors teeth a sheer riot.
Naranjas said, “Ignaci is one of the island’s most prominent and respected gentlemen. He owns Ephemeral Bar here in San-An. He’s a property owner and shareholder in many other businesses. He donates large amounts of the folding stuff to charity - unannounced of course.”
Bethany hit eye-contact with Ignaci a first time. He laughed his laugh at Naranjas’ introduction. Said: “Ignore what David tells you about me, more important is what he has failed to say - about my darling daughter, Dolors, how she-”
Naranjas flushed. “I was coming onto-”
“Save it,” said Ignaci. To Bethany: “Dolors is my life. I am an old man and it is through my enchanting daughter that I live now – in Catalan we say, indirectament – vicariously. As you may or may not know she is running for mayoress against a senyor called...”
A mock finger-click like his memory vamooshed a moment.
“Ah yes, Narcis – Narcis Rodolfo I Joan. A rather old man, too, like my humble self. Owner of, among other things, Sleaze Fairy. But Senyor Narcis holds stale ideas close that you would never find me or, more importantly, Dolors entertaining.”
Ignaci laughed again, eye-contact dipped. Bethany got a vibe – he wasn’t dazzled by her like Naranjas, like men usually were. She got why: women didn’t do it for him. This wasn't in Frederick’s file; would make Ignaci a different type of challenge.
Dolors flashed her smorgasbord of teeth, gnashers gnashed, her own personal Stonehenge-in-minature fought for space. “Papi, you forgot to mention Uncle Narcis is my uncle.’
She addressed Bethany. “And I am very fond of him.”
“Sure my darling,” her father said.
Dolors: “Whoever wins the election will deserve their victory, for sure.”
“You will be victorious because you have to be – for the good of the island.”
Naranjas smiled – over-eager; the pill he dropped started to kick in.
Dolors threw Bethany a smile. “What my father really means is for the good of my father.” She laughed – teeth swarmed more, Bethany warmed to her, Dolors is no spoilt brat scion.
Dolors: “We have been so rude - we’ve been introduced, but what is your name? I must say, I adore how you are dressed.”
Bethany blushed genuine. “I’m Bethany Studd, thank you very much for your kind words. You, too, are lovely.”
Naranjas, fighting the pill: “And what brings you to our wonderful island – I detect an accent that is not Spanish. English, I believe?”
Following with a near-manic smile like he discovered some never before revealed truth as life got recast as stupendous. As David Naranjas, Met Police deputy chief of detectives, rid obvious and powerful E rushes.
“Yes, you’re right,” said Bethany. “I’m English. And I…”
Bethany inhaled deep; time to Oscar nominee her part. Give the not-sure-how-being-an-adult-film-actress-will-go-down act. “I am here primarily to work- on a film. In a film.” She lowered her voice. Went conspiratorial. “A porn movie.”
All three rubbernecked; Bethany pressed on. “I have actually met Senor Narcis Rodolfo I Joan, who you mention - Dolor’s opponent to be mayor of Ibiza. I did some extra work at Sleaze Fairy when-”
“Ah,” Ignaci said, “this is where I recognised you from. Really David, you’re the police detective – high up apparently – and you didn’t recognise this lovely young thing…”
The Ignaci laugh pointed at Naranjas. Pointed, too, at how Naranjas was presenting - for once his laugh flagging something genuinely comic: Naranjas a near-mess now. Naranjas’s face his own personal olympics - sweaty temples, lip judders, eyes pole-vaulting endless.
Naranjas went for cool, control. Tried to. His face refused to have it. His face a swarm of contorted features, as his limbs spasticed, his breath went breathless as he veered close to hyperventilating.
“Ignaci – Ignaci,” Naranjas said. Voice tremors. “How do you know I didn’t recognise this lovely young thing? How do you know?”
A violent chin-gurn on “know” got a group howl. His mouth Mick Jagger-ed. For a transfixing second his visage rictus-ed into a clown/the Joker love child.
Bethany: “I’ll have what you’ve had detective. That is the kind of pill that would ease my headache quick.”
Ignaci, hilariously, foolishly, not giving a proverbial, pulled a bag of the orange Es he just popped.
“Your wish is my command, dear.” He dropped to a low whisper. Hoped to. “Just don’t tell the police. Especially the Guardia.” A manic wink; more sotte voce: “Their job is to stamp out the evil drogas that infect our tourism, don’t you know.”
Ignaci threw Bethany a look and Naranjas caught it and gurned prodigiously and palmed Bethany a bar-snack, palmed Ignaci and Dolors one, too.
Bethany reminded herself again of the undercover role: method act the method act. Her unit’s motto, do whatever it takes.
She popped the pill, chased it with a glug of Ban Martes. Ignaci kept giving Bethany the look, Naranjas gurned more, told her: “Ignore him. You however, my dearrrr-”
Slurring now; the E total dominant. “Dearrrr” punctuated by Naranjas jerks of arms, legs. Ignaci rolled eyes, Dolors giggled, Bethany-
What-
The jerks threw Naranjas forward. His head rocked back and up and down and he gurned ridiculous and Bethany saw what he did. He was dancing. Attempting to. The now totally bazooked deputy chief of detectives off it complete.
What a sight.
Behind Naranjas’ out-of-control moves, Bethany noticed the Pikes beside-pool DJ booth.
The DJ somehow familiar.
Who-
She flashed on Frederick’s file, a photograph pinned in it; a snap of a lad with long hair.
The Pikes DJ’s hair shorter.
Getting it now, the face, a match. Who the lad is.
Elvis – Elvis Street. Frederick’s son. She recalled the note underneath the photograph. Written in capitals, tongue-in-cheek the Fredster-style:
LIVES FOR HOUSE MUSIC. WILL DJ EVERY FUCKING PARTY GOING DOWN.
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