The Royal Roger Retreat

Carefully holding the sound equipment, Judie from the A groupies, attempted preserving the babbling brook popping sound bites and discovered the closest fishing pond, filled with crackling, snapping effects created the best natural features.

“This is going to be great, my Internet fans will love it,” the B rated talent commentated, capturing her friend Laura, the resident splicer expert’s attention.

“Yeah, I hear, mouth wash companies pay big for gargle oiling footage, microcassette tape recorders pickup.”

“Laura A I will take this sample, and let Art Intelligence deal with it,” Judie A responded, “no one will ever know the difference.”

Delicately hiking the tree lined trail, leading towards a hidden cabin, the pair, wearing fashionable short and flannel shirt uniforms, both hopped in choreographed unison, clearing the splintery walkway planks, arriving safely at Royal Roger Kauffman, the King of Skin’s residency.

“Oh, Uncle Roger,” Laura A peeked inside, “we are back from our Brook Side production meeting,”

“Who did the babbling?” Royal Roger shouted acknowledging his nieces’ presence, “the anglers or the fish?”

“What’s an angler?” Judie A, whispered in Laura A’s ear.

“The one with the bait,” Laura A answered.

Heading down the brown tarnished indoor corridor Laura A and Judie A discovered the bedroom door open, “Uncle Roger,” they both screamed, “what are you doing out of bed?”

“Getting things accomplished,” Royal Roger replied.

“Your legs are supposed to be elevated,” Judie A insisted.

“I said, my angels, only once ‘the late hour should be every hour’,” Royal Roger defended the teasing slogan, “and those doctors took it seriously.”

“You closed every television movie night episode you did, saying the ‘late hour should be every hour’,” Laura A repeated.

“What are you doing anyway?”

“Just won a bidding war with a fifteen-year-old from Peoria, Mother must of come in and told the computer, ‘He was not eighteen’,”

“What did you buy? Uncle Roger,” Laura A went into the cheerleader power stance.

“The Mystery Of The Disappearing Pool 3,”

“Isn’t that the one with,” Judie A started.

“Sell Us Now Grey,” Laura A finished, “in the,”

“Luring part, her dive into the deep end was a ten,” Royal Roger completed the thought getting under the covers as the two fluffed pillows, raising the bed to the point where Royal Roger was totally upside down.

“I swear he is a vampire,” Judie A remarked.

Grabbing laptops, the two retreated finding the perfect seasonal secluded work environment on the porch where quietly Laura A, chopped and diced moving photo images by softly tapping the makeshift keyboard. Judie A, downloaded the frog symphony, she captured when Laura A was not looking, “say who was Seles Now Grey?” Judie A wondered out loud.

Shrugging shoulders, Laura A, googled, “Rhonda,”

“Oh, yeah, Rhonda,” Judie A tried remembering, “she selected her stage name honoring first time manager Mr. Grey.”

“Rhonda was not an actress,” Laura A, made clear.

“And she was not a model,” Judie A added.

“She was Rhonda from the club,” they both agreed.

Years ago, Royal Roger Kauffman known as the true reel flesh unspooler, funded the third installment, continuing the “The Mystery Of The Disappearing Pool” franchise series. Filmed utilizing one person’s backyard lagoon, the story’s opening chapter applied the same scripted scene. “Tempting, trespassing couples sneak their way, invading private property and take a dip. Only a few seductive minutes pass, and the lovers vanish, never to be seen again.”

“Uncle Roger shot the marketable version in total darkness,” Laura A recounted, “sold prints to all the drive in theaters and when no one saw a thing they got a PG13 rating.”

“Uncle Roger used his head, got some bucks," Judie A noted.

A few days later a truck dropped off a package and Royal Roger emerged, "I knew I had a mysterious camera rolling,” he smirked seeing his sibling’offsprings perspiring jogging sweat, “good morning,” the aging legend proclaimed shaking the postal contents.

Laughing Laura A and Judie A, resumed porch sitting duties, quietly stillness listening until, “what the devil?”

“Someone must have disappeared in the pool,” Laura A grinned.

“What did you do?”

“Had Marvin over in distribution put the television version in an unrated Director’s cut box,”

“Laura A,” Judie A remarked before Royal Roger pushed the screen door.

“I thought I illuminated the whole pool, maneuvering camera six,”

“You didn’t Uncle Roger, you only employed five cameras,” Laura A, corrected.

“Remember Uncle Roger, I counted,” Judie A rekindled memories, “I said, one, two, three,” “What am I supposed to do?” Royal Roger pleaded.

“Auction, and do not worry about it,” Laura A suggested.

“But” Royal Roger grimaced.

“But nothing Uncle Roger, what would Aunt Julia A say?”

“You're a dam fool,” Judie A interrupted watching Royal Roger fade away.

“So, do you want to go for a swim?” Judie A wondered.

“Do you think we need suits?”

“Uncle Roger has cameras all over the forest,”

Doing a quick stretch Judie A and Laura A departed before screaming, “Uncle Roger, where did you put the waterfall this summer?”

“A few miles farther down the path then the brook,” a voice echoed, “camera 4 has a good position for the lunch time afternoon delight shot.”