People with Bad-ass Names - a Novella

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Humor  |  House: Booksie Classic

Mr Winterbottom meets Miss Muffi Amore. Slowly the awkwardness ends.

Chapter 1 (v.1) - People with Bad-ass Names - a Novela

Submitted: February 07, 2008

Reads: 1046

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Submitted: February 07, 2008





Chapter 1

Heath Winterbottom who arrived in New York from northern England in late 1742 left a huge problem for children born with his family name. From Ackley’s time and down to present-day generations the females married very early to secure an acceptable change of name. Few of the males experienced ready access to sex because women were not looking to jump into a marital bed with a Winterbottom and have their male children so branded.
There were exceptions, of course, but 21st Century Chicago bar owner Ackley Winterbottom was not one of them. Approaching forty, Ackley fretted at being a bachelor. Fortunately, he’d not gone without sex, the lucky females dropping on to their knees on the preliminary action to bring a smile to Ackley’s face after buying the line that his surname was unpronounceable.
One exciting prospect, Virginia Nowaki, actually went for gold with him seventeen nights in a row but on the day they were buying the wedding ring, the insensitive tart fled from the jeweler’s store after reading the name Ackley J. Winterbottom on his gold card. Distraught and seeking to kick ass, Virginia raced to Ackley home, ransacked his apartment and fled with the loot before heavy-hearted Ackley opened the door to experience further despair.
Ackley cleverly kept a supply of receptive vaginas on hand by engaging foreign-speaking women on temporary entry visas to serve tables. The first word he’d teach each new recruit was ‘boss’, pointing to himself, and of course securing their understanding of words such as ‘beer’, ‘wine’, ‘whisky’, ‘this glass is dirty’, ‘tips’,’ no work tomorrow’, ‘don’t be late’, ‘smile’, ‘pool the tips’ and finishing on the more decisive sentence, ‘Sex with the boss is okay, yes?’
It was hard going. Ackley had spend $50 at a county fair ground to have a fortune teller advise he’d ‘marry very soon’ and later handed across $1500 to a marriage arranger to finally be told to change his name to Jones or Smith and he’d probably meet his fiancée that night. But Vic’s problem was he didn’t wish to change his names. He liked Ackley, hated Akka, and would not change the name Winterbottom for love or money. It would be an insult to the family and cause a problem to his descendants wishing to link up with relatives or on finding their place on their rightful family tree should Ackley had changed his surname to Jones or Smith It was near impossible to hire good American girls as bar staff because none wanted to work at Winterbottom’s Bar. The drinkers and diners of course didn’t mind the name of the place where they ate and drank because it was irrelevant and anyway more than half the people inhabiting bars don’t know the name of the joint.
Then came another upset. Ackley hired a friendly American divorcee, on the bones of her ass financially. She’d walked in looking for a job, not noticing the name of the bar. Vic took her into his office and Angel was so hot for sex that she asked the question and being the gentleman Vic obliged and placed Angel on her back across her desk. But she found him too big and too strong for her, the reasons for her divorce and yet on the verge of another bad decision by almost deciding to stay she noticed an envelope on the desk from the IRS addressed to Ackley Winterbottom. That was the end of Angel. When they locked up that night Angel slipped away, never to be seen again, the day’s takings in her bag as well as three bottles of gin.
Ackley decided he was in the wrong vocation in the wrong city, in the wrong state and carrying the wrong name. He decided to quit Chicago, stick with his name and head east even if that meant selling the bar at a loss. But being late spring, there were people keen to invest in a business like a popular bar with authority to operate eight tables with umbrellas on the edge of the sidewalk. Three such buyers contested to purchase the facility and the price finally negotiated left Ackley’s eyes watering. Did this signal his luck was on the upturn?
Two days after his arrival close to his birthplace, taking a reasonably good room in Midtown Manhattan, Ackley answered an advertisement for a bar/restaurant manager. He thought if hired he could then spend time figuring out where his future lay.
Looking in the cracked mirror, Ackley was pleased he wasn’t a short, balding freak with yellow teeth and no conversation. He’d showered and shaved and slapped on something called Mayo Musk and combed his wavy, thick black hair. Ackley was well muscled – being a gym regular because his engagement with females was infrequent so he had time to spare to during early mornings. His shoulders were wide and he stood a touch under 6ft 3in, just the physique to be a bar manager in a nondescript bar that, at times, might require him to throw muscle with authority. The checked shirt was new, the jacket recently laundered and his well-fitting trousers looked smart with double pleats. Bending, Ackley could see the blur of his face in the shiny black shoes. All in all, he felt he was dressed well enough to apply for a position in the Bank of America. Yeah – assistant doorman, he grinned, showing white and a gold filling.
The Midtown bar was big and rather up-market and was locked, but the side-entrance was open for staff and deliveries. Ackley was not the only job seeker up early with initiative to use the side-entrance. Five guys were waiting on bar stools, either short and fat or tall and lean and all non-smiling and had the overall appearance of being unemployable. Ackley felt he looked superior and was the only one who didn’t appear to be an alcoholic although perhaps each of the candidates had that same thought about all applicants but himself.
A tall, broad-shouldered guy of about sixty were ushered out by presumably a bartender, who looked and walked rather femininely. The guy being shown the door was reminded, “You will be advised in due course.”
“Of course,” said the elderly guy politely.
“Who’s next?”
No one answered so Ackley stepped forward and immediately one of the other candidates shouted, “He’s just arrived.”
“Well, you other guys should have reacted more quickly. This is not nursery school. Come with me sir,” the bartender said respectfully, running an eye over Ackley, looking a little too long just below the belt for Ackley’s liking.
Making the introductions, the barman said, “Sir, this is the boss – she prefers being called only be that name.”
“Hello Applicant Number 2. And what my I call you?” smiled the good-looking bone blonde in her mid-thirties. Ackley thought quickly, with that meaty chest and dyed hair she was probably sensitive to males teasing her and she should watch his mouth and look at her eyes and forehead instead of focusing on her tits. Also she was probably thinking he was wearing a corset to conceal a potbelly and had a small dick.
“You can go now Leyland – I just wanted you to stick around while I was interviewing that last creep.”
Ackley answered the boss’s question now she was looking at him. “Call me Applicant Number 2 for the time being. If we reach an understanding about me being hired I’ll reveal my name then.”
“Okay, this is very unusual but I consider myself a flexible person. You realize of course I’ll see you name on your CV and references?”
Ackley knew he must concentrate and fire back quick answers otherwise she could think he was a fake. He looked up at the ceiling to frame his next words. She looked up at the ceiling and asked, “Spiders?”
Ackley grinned and looked deep into her dark blue eyes. “Look, please trust me. Twelve years ago I took over my parent’s bar in Chicago after my parents and sister walked out, taking the nine thousand bucks I had to my name in return for my having my parents legally assign ownership and all debts to me. I borrowed from friends, began marketing through them and two years later the place was running hot as a trendy place for people in their twenties. Then it changed when my friends and I turned thirty and it became a trendy, though not so hot bar for people in their thirties. I sold out three weeks ago and surprised myself at the price I received in excess of the assessment figure. Businesses like that sell well in late spring. I decided to return home – I was born and completed high school in Manhattan – to work as a bar manager until I eye up a new business venture although that could take some time. My understanding it’s become difficult to get a liquor license in New York these days.”
“And you expect me to believe that with no documentation?”
“Yes, because I’m sitting in front of you. I will provide documentation later; I have my now cancelled liquor license with me, in my suit pocket. Regarding your reluctance to take me on my word, consider this. If you’d told me on the phone you were a dyed blonde with great tits I’d believe you because you have a great voice because through being a bar owner I’m attuned to bad people and rip-offs.”
“I’m disgusted to have my breasts called tits.”
“No doubt you are but I was speaking frankly to impress. I figured I could startle you with that one without you slapping me and telling me to leave. I did say I could read people.”

“Well, call them breasts do you hear?”
“Okay, does that mean I’m able to talk about them again providing I refer to them as breasts?”
“Yes – oh God, I mean no. You listen here, if you can read me so well tell me something about me.”
“You’re thirty-six with great breasts and a surprisingly small ass and only a little rounded belly. You are single, are rather uptight about men but being in the business world know you have to back off and deal with them positively. You had a small bar, probably upstate judging by your off-center accent, and you came here and purchased this business and your partner either died, or left you – something like that and you are somewhat uptight about that because the size of the business has rather over-powered you. Now your bar manager has up and left, placing you in a bit of a panic, but that’s still not all. Something else, something much bigger is bugging you. You’re not married and presumably don’t have kids.”
“My God, who have you been talking to or have you been spying on me?”
“Oh yeah, that’s likely isn’t it? I only arrived two nights ago from Chicago and didn’t know this place existed until I arrived not yet an hour ago in response to a newspaper ad.”
The boss snorted, “Then explain yourself!”
“I just have. Didn’t you listen to me?”
“Watch your mouth Applicant Number 2 or else you are out of here.”
Ackley realized he’d made a great impression on her but that was beginning to slip away. Time to change tactics. He eyed her breasts, caught the movement of her head and looked up to see her looking down at her breasts. The boss looked up and catching his steady gaze slowly turned pink.
“God you are frustrating to deal with and your are so confrontational.” 
“Well, there’s something about you Boss that I have difficulty in explaining. Although I read people you seem to mirror me so much that it rattles me. I see a yearning, a hole in your life and quite a bit of frustration. I have similar secret emotions and this leads me to take a big guess.”
The boss shifted in her chair and said he wasn’t making sense.
“If you believe that I’ll really be surprised.”
Her face shot to pink again. “You are attempting to confuse me but it won’t work. You’ve been remarkably accurate with some of your comments about my situation and me. But if you think you’re going to get the pants off me you are making a big mistake.
“What is your name?”
The boss didn’t hesitate: “Muffi Amor.”
“Oh God.”
Although looking grim she didn’t appear to hear that. “And your name?”
“Ackley Winterbottom.”
“Oh God.”
Muffi produced a faint smile. “The difficulty of attracting dates, the way they evaporate on you, two propose marriage but second thoughts within hours and off they go?”
“Yes, and the despair, the deep hurt and refusal to change one’s name that would easily solve the dilemma.”
“Exactly and that why for some reason you thought I mirrored you?”
Muffi smirked, “So what now?”
“I’m out of here. Working for my mirror don’t seem natural.”
Snorting Muffi said that was ungrammatical. “No one said you must look at a mirror. Hold up while I fetch coffee and get rid of these other applicants.”
“Why should I stay?” Ackley frowned, looking at her breasts.
“For one thing I don’t believe you are lying to me, that you have been a bar owner since a young age. The second thing is I would like your mouth over these,” Muffi said, holding up her puppies and shaking them at him, widening Applicant Number 2’s eyes.
“What should I be interested in those? They’re turning to fat and will weigh six pounds each when you hit fifty and by then you’ll top 160 pounds.”
“Shut your rude mouth. For your information the Amor family genes gives it’s women big tits and small asses. Any complaints.”
Ackley licked his lips. “No complaints ma’am.”
“It’s miss. You even got that right. As you did other things. I come from a just south of Niagara from a town locals call Viagra. After my mom died last year my dad came here with me, set up a company to purchase this business with me as partner and then promptly died. I registered the change and the State Liquor Authority issued a new license. The existing bar and grill manager stayed on but then left when I had a premises name change approved.”
“To what?”
“Didn’t you see it as you arrived?”
“No, I just noticed the address of the store before the bar and entered your side entrance.”
“It’s called the Odd Name Bar. I’m known around here as Miss Amor and people who ask why I gave the bar that odd name scream with laughter when I tell them my first name is Muffi. I gather you are worldly enough to know one of the names for a vagina is muff.”
“I certainly do but don’t use that name – I prefer pussy.”
“So do I – I’ll fetch coffee.”
As Muffi left the room Ackley hear her say to the bartender, “Dorsey, get rid of the others, I’m hiring this guy. He only has to present documentation to prove who he is and he’s in.”
“Yes Miss Amor.”
 To be Continued

© Copyright 2018 Grigor McGregor. All rights reserved.


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