Episode 12

MY V.I.
(a soap opera)

Storm clouds were gathering and

a crowd was forming outside the V.I.

It seems that Olga Renderklott, the haughtiest of all Balboa Island residents, had decided to appoint herself the unofficial spokesman of the "YES on underground utilites" movement.

"Wake up, fair citizens of Balboa Island. For safety sake you must vote YES for underground utilities," proclaimed Mrs. Renderklott into her bull horn.

Olga Renderklott - of the San Marino Renderklotts - was an abrasive, pretentious, long-time resident of Balboa Island. She and her husband, Raymond, resided in a shamelessly gaudy home on the south bayfront: a massive, double-lot, bastardized tudor/moroccan/moorish style concoction of her own design and - had they posessed less money - someone might have told them so but right about the time anyone came close to calling her out or questioning her bulldozing ways she would shrewdly make a substantial donation to a charity or cause close to the heart of the offended party.

She was always looking for something to promote, protest or preside over; and the underground utilities issue was right up her alley . . . so to speak.

"I'll never forget the time that a vicious wind arose and the decrepit, sagging eyesores - or power lines, as some refer to them, began to sway violently. I happened to be standing directly beneath them waiting for my driver to pull around into the alley behind my home and whisk me off to a charity dinner to benefit the Deaf & Dumb Motivational Speakers Society (their motto is 'listen & speak up!') and as I stood there, terrified, I began to watch the wires swinging madly to and fro. Soon I was hypnotized by their evil swaying motion and unable to free myself from the power of their persuasive, visual grip. This quickly lead to profound nausea and caused me to vomit all over the new John Galliano dress I was wearing which I had planned to return to Neimans the next day. Well, needless to say, my evening was ruined and I was forced to keep the dress! Now you see why we must have underground utilites."

The various people in the small but curious crowd surrounding her each reacted differently to her street corner confession. Five elderly Taiwanese tourists took several photographs of her while the handful of V.I. customers who'd stepped out front to smoke kept their own opinions about Olga and the issue of underground utilities to themselves . . . except for one.

Bilge, who'd lived his whole life on the island in the small cottage his grandfather built in the 200 block of Tourmaline, decided to speak up.

"Olga, you old bottom feeder! What are you doing out here on the corner babbling like a lunatic? You and the rest of your snooty 'SoBaFro' friends can take your 'bury the wires' crusade back down to the 100 block."

Olga glared at him and demanded to know, "WHAT did you call me, Bilge Donahue?"

"Snooty?" he replied.

"No . . after that."

"Oh! 'SoBaFro?'

"Yes . . . Soho, or whatever you said."

"It's 'So-Ba-Fro' - I called you a snooty SoBaFro . . . . South Bayfronter."

Her whole body raised up as she hissed, "WELL! I never!"

With a slight smirk on his face, Bilge stared directly in her eyes and winked, "Oh really, Olga . . . not even once?"

In an instant her face went from red to white as a ghost. Without a single word she turned and stormed off down Marine Avenue.

Bilge had managed to psychologically defeat all of her wealth, pomp and prestige by silently reminding her of her most humiliating fleshly failure which took place thirty-two years before during the Boat Parade and involved the two of them, a couple of bottles of Lancer's Rose and a chilly rendezvous on the swim deck of a neighbor's yacht . . . . . Feliz Navidad!

TUNE IN NEXT TIME FOR ANOTHER EXCITING EPISODE OF MY V.I.!