Considering that we are in the midst of a pandemic, going to a movie theatre seems like the least like thing to do.
Hundreds of people packed into a small space for a few hours, just the sort of environment the Coronavirus loves.
Well, we may have zero cases and zero local transmission, ans the theatres can open, theses just a few details first.
Social distancing means areas of seating are blocked of so you and your partner are like sitting on an island. So limited seating. Social distancing in all queues, rubber gloves and masks on all attendants, and hand sanitiser at the door, in passageways and in theatres.
Overkill? Maybe.
But despite the fact there are no blockbusters coming out, there a few interesting films about, one of which was ‘Honest Thief’
It has Liam Neeson in it so how bad could it be?
Actually for starters there were four of us watching the movie in what we designated Gold Class, very comfortable recliner seats and waiter service. And by the way the food cost more than the movie tickets
But back to the movie. Like I said, i came expecting a kick ass movie and that’s just what I got.
The premise is a man who returns from the war, used to being in high risk situations not knowing if the next day is your last, finds he doesn’t fit in, so as all similar people do, you rob banks, and very successfully.
Until you fall in love
Of course you may, by the end of it decide that being in love is not all that it’s cracked up to be, but it’s certainly a good reason to stop.
Until things get serious and you want to fess up.
The bad guys, well they’re bad, and the one man wrecking ball, well, he does what Liam Neeson does best. Think Taken and take it from there.
I always take notice of the others in the film, and was a welcome sight to see the actor who made Michael Weston in Burn Notice famous, playing such a different role. Loved the dog, too. Then there was the bad Terminator guy who just seems to get older, and now playing what might be called character roles. The love interest I didn’t recognise, but later discovered was Kate Walsh, who, I think, once graced Grey’s Anatomy.
As for everyone else, I didn’t recognise them, but no doubt they’ll turn up on TV soon enough.
For me, any Liam Neeson kick ass film gets five stars, and a pity perhaps that it will not get a chance to be seen by more people.
Huka Falls is located in the Wairakei Tourist Park about five minutes north of Taupo on the north island of New Zealand.
The Waikato River heading towards the gorge
The water heading down the gorge, gathering pace
until it crashes over the top of the waterfall at the rate of about 220,000 liters per second. It also makes a very loud noise, so that when you are close to it, hearing anything but the falls is impossible.
Every time I close my eyes, I see something different.
I’d like to think the cinema of my dreams is playing a double feature but it’s a bit like a comedy cartoon night on Fox.
But these dreams are nothing to laugh about.
Once again there’s a new installment of an old feature, and back on the treasure hunt.
My mother was happy that I’d been given a job, and when I relayed Benderby’s message, she said she would have to call and thank him.
It was in a tone that surprised me, and if I had not known better, I was left with the impression she might actually go out with him. Aside from the fact Benderby was married, he also hit on every woman he could, especially those at work.
I shrugged. My mother was old enough to look after herself.
Boggs came around, having realized I was not going to answer his calls and demanded to know what my problem was.
“Some of us have to work, Boggs. It’s taken a while but I realize my mother cannot do it on her own.”
“But working for Benderby, that’s like selling out to Satan.”
“It’s one of the few places where there still is work. Besides, I’m not shoveling the shit, just taking inventory of it. Pencil pusher. I have to make this work so anything we do will have to be outside working hours.” Then, another thought came to me, one that might appease Boggs. “In fact, you could think of me as your inside man. Working there, I should be able to keep an eye on the Benderby’s and finds out what they know, and are doing, if anything. Don’t you think?”
He looked both skeptical and reluctant, but, saying it out aloud made some sort of sense.
“I’m not putting the treasure hunt on hold, Sam,” he said, in that sulky tone he used when he didn’t get his way.
“Don’t expect you to, but I wouldn’t get to carried away with it. I heard Rico trying to sell Alex Benderby the map this morning.”
“Where?”
“In the employee car park. Alex reckons the map is a load a bunk. You still got it?”
I saw his hand go over his back pocket. “It’s safe.”
“And you reckon it’s real. Maybe that was not the sort of thing you should be talking about in front of Rico. He wants it, but peddling it to Alex wasn’t his best play. You know what’ll happen if he gets his hands on it.”
“Rico will get cut out.
“So will you.”
“Not if I keep a copy and sell him the original. We’re going to need money to carry out our own search.”
I shook my head. “You will not come out ahead. The Benderby’s of this world always win and the likes of us always lose.”
“That may or may not be the case, but we have to take control of this. At least it will take Rico out of the equation. I’ll work on a plan. Thanks for the tip. And, as you say, you can be my inside man. That way we might be able to keep one step ahead of them.”
If they decided to be players. But, would be no stopping him.
I sighed. This whole map thing was going to end badly.
I remembered a bang. I remembered the car slewing sideways. I remember another bang, and then it was lights out. When I opened my eyes again, I saw the sky. Or I could be under water. Everything was blurred. I tried to focus but I couldn’t. My eyes were full of water. What happened? Why was I lying down? Where was I? I cast my mind back, trying to remember. It was a blank. What, when, who, why and where, questions I should easily be able to answer. Questions any normal person could answer. I tried to move. Bad, bad mistake. I did not realise the scream I heard was my own. Just before my body shut down.
“My God! What happened?” I could hear, not see. I was moving, lying down, looking up. I was blind. Everything was black. “Car accident, hit a tree, sent the passenger flying through the windscreen. Pity to poor bastard didn’t get the message that seat belts save lives.” Was I that poor bastard? “Report?” A new voice, male, authoritative. “Multiple lacerations, broken collar bone, broken arm in three places, both legs broken below the knees, one badly. We are not sure of internal injuries, but ruptured spleen, cracked ribs and pierced right lung are fairly evident, x-rays will confirm that and anything else.” “What isn’t broken?” “His neck.” “Then I would have to say we are looking at the luckiest man on the planet.” I heard shuffling of pages. “OR1 ready?” “Yes. On standby since we were first advised.” “Good. Let’s see if we can weave some magic.”
Magic. It was the first word that popped into my head when I surfaced from the bottom of the lake. That first breath, after holding it for so long, was sublime, and, in reality, agonising.
Magic, because it seemed like I’d spent a long time under water. Or somewhere. I tried to speak, but couldn’t. The words were just in my head. Was it night or was it day? Was it hot, or was it cold? Where was I? Around me it felt cool. It was very quiet. No noise except for the hissing of air through an air-conditioning vent. Or perhaps that was the sound of pure silence. And with it the revelation that silence was not silent. It was noisy. I didn’t try to move. Instinctively, somehow I knew not to. A previous bad experience? I heard what sounded like a door opening, and very quiet footsteps slowly come into the room. They stopped. I could hear breathing, slightly laboured, a sound I’d heard before. My grandfather. He had smoked all his life, until he was diagnosed with lung cancer. But for years before that he had emphysema. The person in the room was on their way, down the same path. I could smell the smoke. I wanted to tell whoever it was the hazards of smoking. I couldn’t. I heard a metallic clanging sound from the end of the bed. A moment later the clicking of a pen, then writing. “You are in a hospital.” A female voice suddenly said. “You’ve been in a very bad accident. You cannot talk, or move, all you can do, for the moment, is listen to me. I am a nurse. You have been here for 45 days, and just come out of a medically induced coma. There is nothing to be afraid of.” She had a very soothing voice. I felt her fingers stroke the back of my hand. “Everything is fine.” Define fine, I thought. I wanted to ask her what ‘fine’ meant. “Just count backwards from 10.” Why? I didn’t reach seven.
Over the next ten days, that voice became my lifeline to sanity. Every morning I longed to hear it, if only for the few moments she was in the room, those few waking moments when I believed she, and someone else who never spoke, were doing tests. I knew it had to be someone else because I could smell the essence of lavender. My grandmother had worn a similar scent. It rose above the disinfectant. I also believed she was another doctor, not the one who had been there the day I arrived. Not the one who had used some ‘magic’ and kept me alive. It was then, in those moments before she put me under again, that I thought, what if I was paralysed? It would explain a lot. A chill went through me.
The next morning she was back. “My name is Winifred. We don’t know what your name is, not yet. In a few days, you will be better, and you will be able to ask us questions. You were in an accident, and you were very badly injured, but I can assure you there will be no lasting damage.” More tests, and then, when I expected the lights to go out, they didn’t. Not for a few minutes more. Perhaps this was how I would be integrated back into the world. A little bit at a time. The next morning, she came later than usual, and I’d been awake for a few minutes. “You have bandages over your eyes and face. You had bad lacerations to your face, and glass in your eyes. We will know more when the bandages come off in a few days. Your face will take longer to heal. It was necessary to do some plastic surgery.” Lacerations, glass in my eyes, car accident, plastic surgery. By logical deduction, I knew I was the poor bastard thrown through the windscreen. It was a fleeting memory from the day I was admitted. How could that happen? That was the first of many startling revelations. The second was the fact I could not remember the crash. Equally shocking, in that same moment was the fact I could not remember before the crash either, and only vague memories after. But the most shattering of all these revelations was the one where I realised I could not remember my name. I tried to calm down, sensing a rising panic. I was just disoriented, I told myself. After 45 days in an induced coma, it had messed with my mind, and it was only a temporary lapse. Yes, that’s what it was, a temporary lapse. I would remember tomorrow. Or the next day. Sleep was a blessed relief.
The next day I didn’t wake feeling nauseous. Perhaps they’d lowered the pain medication. I’d heard that morphine could have that effect. Then, how could I know that, but not who I am? I knew now Winifred the nurse was preparing me for something very bad. She was upbeat, and soothing, giving me a new piece of information each morning. This morning, “You do not need to be afraid. Everything is going to be fine. The doctor tells me you are going to recover with very little scarring. You will need some physiotherapy to recover from your physical injuries, but that’s in the future. We need to let you mend a little bit more before then.” So, I was not going to be able to leap out of bed, and walk out of the hospital any time soon. I don’t suppose I’d ever leapt out of bed, except as a young boy. I suspect I’d sustained a few broken bones. I guess learning to walk again was the least of my problems. But, there was something else. I picked it up in the timbre of her voice, a hesitation, or reluctance. It sent another chill through me. This time I was left awake for an hour before she returned. This time sleep was restless. There were scenes playing in my mind, nothing I recognised, and nothing lasting longer than a glimpse. Me. Others, people I didn’t know. Or perhaps I knew them and couldn’t remember them. Until they disappeared, slowly like the glowing dot in the centre of the computer screen, before finally fading to black.
The morning the bandages were to come off she came in bright and early and woken me. I had another restless night, the images becoming clearer, but nothing recognisable. “This morning the doctor will be removing the bandages over your eyes. Don’t expect an immediate effect. Your sight may come back quickly or it may come back slowly, but we believe it will come back.” I wanted to believe I was not expecting anything, but I was. It was probably human nature. I did not want to be blind as well as paralysed. I had to have at least one reason to live. I dozed again until I felt a gentle hand on my shoulder. I could smell the lavender, the other doctor was back. And I knew the hand on my shoulder was Winifred’s. She told me not to be frightened. I was amazed to realise in that moment, I wasn’t. I heard the scissors cutting the bandages. I felt the bandage being removed, and the pressure coming off my eyes. I could feel the pads covering both eyes. Then a moment where nothing happened. Then the pads being gently lift and removed. Nothing. I blinked my eyes, once, twice. Nothing. “Just hold on a moment,” Winifred said. A few seconds later I could feel a cool towel wiping my face, and then gently wiping my eyes. Perhaps there was ointment, or something else in them. Then a flash. Well, not a flash, but like when a light is turned on and off. A moment later, it was brighter, not the inky blackness of before, but a shade of grey. She wiped my eyes again. I blinked a few more times, and then the light returned, and it was like looking through water, at distorted and blurry objects in the distance. I blinked again, and she wiped my eyes again. Blurry objects took shape. A face looking down on me, an elderly lady with a kindly face, surely Winifred, who was smiling. And on the opposite side of the bed, the doctor, a Chinese woman of indescribable beauty. I nodded. “You can see?” I nodded again. “Clearly?” I nodded. “Very good. We will just draw the curtains now. We don’t want to overdo it. Tomorrow we will be taking off the bandages on your face. Then, it will be the next milestone. Talking.” I couldn’t wait.
When morning came, I found myself afraid. Winifred had mentioned scarring, there were bandages on my face. I knew, but wasn’t quite sure how I knew, I wasn’t the handsomest of men before the accident, so this might be an improvement. I was not sure why I didn’t think it would be the case. They came at mid morning, the nurse, Winifred, and the doctor, the exquisite Chinese. Perhaps she was the distraction, taking my mind of the reality of what I was about to see. Another doctor came into the room, before the bandages were removed, and he was introduced as the plastic surgeon that had ‘repaired’ the ravages of the accident. It had been no easy job, but, with a degree of egotism, he did say he was one of the best in the world. I found it hard to believe, if he was, that he would be at a small country hospital. “Now just remember, what you might see now is not how you will look in a few months time.” Warning enough. The Chinese doctor started removing the bandages. She did it slowly, and made sure it did not hurt. My skin was very tender, and I suspect still bruised, either from the accident or the surgery, I didn’t know. Then it was done. The plastic surgeon gave his work a thorough examination and seemed pleased with his work. “Coming along nicely,” he said to the other doctor. He issued some instructions on how to manage the skin, nodded to me, and I thanked him before he left. I noticed Winifred had a mirror in her hand, and was somewhat reticent in using it. “As I said,” she said noticing me looking at the mirror, “what you see now will not be the final result. The doctor said it was going to heal with very little scarring. You have been very fortunate he was available. Are you ready?” I nodded. She showed me. I tried not to be reviled at the red and purple mess that used to be my face. At a guess I would have to say he had to put it all back together again, but, not knowing what I looked like before, I had no benchmark. All I had was a snippet of memory that told me I was not the tall, dark, and handsome type. And I still could not talk. There was a reason, he had worked on that area too. Just breathing hurt. I think I would save up anything I had to say for another day. I could not even smile. Or frown. Or grimace. “We’ll leave you for a while. Everyone needs a little time to get used to the change. I suspect you are not sure if there has been an improvement on last year’s model. Well, time will tell.” A new face? I could not remember the old one. My memory still hadn’t returned.
If ever I needed a reminder that my understanding of women was appallingly bad, was the after I took Jennifer Eccles home.
Of course, I didn’t read the signals, that the invitation to come in for coffee was an invitation to explore where a relationship might go.
Instead, I dropped her off and said I would see her in the morning. It was an informative if not frosty day and in the end a nice enough parting, but not one that I interpreted as an opportunity to move forward.
Friends, I’d said, and friends of a sort it was.
Because she was in sales and I was in marketing, our paths crossed constantly, so there was no room for animosity or regrets. If things didn’t work out, if that is, things were to ever to progress.
And to be honest, I was careful not to let romance rule what happened at work. My father had made a mess if his life with an improper office romance, and I was determined not to let it happen to me.
So, after the tour date, if you could call it that, we reverted to being just colleagues, but it was evident we got along very well, to a point where it had been noticed, and asked to work together, side by side, rather than in different areas.
Something else I’d noticed about her, she toyed with all the boys, some might say she was a teaser, but I think it was her manner to be extroverted and flirt. It was on us not to misinterpret her actions and act accordingly.
And, after about six weeks, relaxed in each other’s company, there was a slight shift in the relationship, where for a moment, our eyes met and lingered.
I blinked first.
“Would you like to go for a bite, talk about something other than work?” I asked.
I was not sure what to make of her expression, but it went from perhaps slightly puzzled, to a wry smile.
“I’d love to, thank you. I’m a bit guilty myself with the all work, no play…”
“It’s why we’re here, I guess.”
…
I offered to pick her up from her place and take her to dinner. My choice! I suspect she would be happy with a hamburger, but that was not what she would expect.
There was something else, I was going to see what she wore, having had one girl base what she wore on where I was taking her. For that reason, we only went to a nightclub once.
Jennifer had a long, flowing dress that suggested somewhere formal, so it was going to be fine dining. Something else I noticed, once removed from the office, and taking leave of her work-based demeanor, that she was almost someone who was barely recognizable from the woman I worked side by side with up to 12 hours a day.
I had to wonder for a moment if the girl I was seeing now was Jennifer’s twin sister, or simply an alternative ego. And there was the issue I had with dating at work, that it would be easy to fall for this version.
But we were both in agreement this was not a date, just two colleagues having dinner, and not talking about work.
The question was where we expected to be in five years’ time.
It was a question that I’d not normally think about, but it was one of those questions people who were interested in other people liked to ask.
I delivered my answer with usual candor. By now she had a good idea of what she could expect, and I wasn’t going to change, or surprise her.
“Not here,” I said.
That was the one thing I was certain of. Whether we succeeded or failed, we will have all moved on to someplace else. Very few were asked to remain, either as an ordained executive on the way to the top or in a training capacity.
“Because?”
Was she interested in staying, or did she have an indication she might be one of the ordained executives? It was a nice city, smallish enough to have the best of both worlds, and the countryside was not far away. That begged the question of whether her aspirations were based on being safe, rather than taking risks.
Ambition is one thing, but real ambition always came with taking a risk or two. I knew from the outset I was not the overly ambitious type and being surrounded by a group that had only made that abundantly clear.
But that didn’t mean I didn’t have a clear idea of what I really wanted out of life. I was less sure about my ideal partner to spend the rest of my life with.
“I always wanted to live near the ocean, not necessarily in the city. In my mind’seye, there’s a large house on a cliff overlooking the ocean, the aroma of salt water when the breeze is blowing in odd the sea. Not far from the mountains, hiking in summer, skiing in winter.”
“And work-wise, where do you see yourself?”
“Preferably not in an office. The idea of working eighteen hours a day for someone else doesn’t hold much appeal. The point is, only a few make it to the top, but I have the fear if I did make it, it wouldn’t last, because you have the expectations of many on your shoulders, and you only have to make one mistake…”
“But isn’t that the reason why you aspire to get to the top? You don’t want to think much beyond that, or, as you say, you wouldn’t necessarily do it.”
A point, and a good one. Most people never think of the consequences of being so driven that everything ends up being sacrificed for what is only an ideal. I saw that happen with people close to me, and I vowed I would not be that person.
And yet, I was going down that path. It wasn’t something I’d expected to discover about myself.
All of this soul searching had been going on alongside a three-course meal with wineand topped off by French champagne, what I could only describe as a gastronomic triumph.
That voyage of self-discovery had come to the end with coffee, and Jennifer explained what her ideas were for the figure, which, like me, having put it into words, had caused moments of pause.
In the end, she stood, and it was time to go. It had been an experience, but the idea before the evening started that I would walk away with a different perspective was entirely unexpected. And that I could reach those conclusions with her, well, I never expected that.
By the time we reached the car we were holding hands, a subconscious action, I was sure, on both our parts.
It was a clear, cool night, clear sky, and almost a full moon making it lighter than normal. It was almost as if the moonbeams were directed at us.
I had only one thought.
There was a wan smile as if she knew what I was thinking.
“Right idea, but bad timing. But it’s the best non-date date I’ve ever been on. It’s going to be hard for you to top this.”
Is love the metaphorical equivalent to ‘walking the plank’; a dive into uncharted waters?
For Henry the only romance he was interested in was a life at sea, and when away from it, he strived to find sanctuary from his family and perhaps life itself. It takes him to a small village by the sea, s place he never expected to find another just like him, Michelle, whom he soon discovers is as mysterious as she is beautiful.
Henry had long since given up the notion of finding romance, and Michelle couldn’t get involved for reasons she could never explain, but in the end both acknowledge that something happened the moment they first met.
Plans were made, plans were revised, and hopes were shattered.
A chance encounter causes Michelle’s past to catch up with her, and whatever hope she had of having a normal life with Henry, or anyone else, is gone. To keep him alive she has to destroy her blossoming relationship, an act that breaks her heart and shatters his.
But can love conquer all?
It takes a few words of encouragement from an unlikely source to send Henry and his friend Radly on an odyssey into the darkest corners of the red light district in a race against time to find and rescue the woman he finally realizes is the love of his life.
In all of the goings-on, with Zoe chasing down old acquaintances in Bucharest, then moving on to Yuri, then Olga, we forget that Isobel and Rupert are on her trail, with Sebastian in tow.
It’s not so much Sebastian in charge anymore, not after going rogue and shooting his boss and John’s mother, an act that Rupert witnesses after following Sebastian on the hunch that he was up to something.
Rupert realizes that Worthington still presents a major problem, and on the basis that Worthington was going to realize it’s not Zoe shooting at him, Worthington had to be taken off the chessboard.
Unfortunately, he has to enlist Sebastian to get a crew together to kidnap him and take him to a safe house.
Meanwhile, Isobel, with a computer in hand, takes up vigil at the hospital with John’s mother, pretending she is her daughter. There she tracks Zoe via her cell phone to an address in Zurich.
Then, miraculously John’s cell phone reappears and is active long enough for her to get a location, and see that a 96-second phone call is made to a phone in Zurich, Zoe’s.
Then it disappears again.
Isobel then calls Zoe and gives her the address. It’s a short call.
Calls to Sebastian and Rupert mobilize them, and everyone is on their way to John’s location.
…
Today’s writing, with Zoe languishing in a dungeon waiting for a white knight, 2,011 words, for a total of 61,922.
To write a private detective serial has always been one of the items at the top of my to-do list, though trying to write novels and a serial, as well as a blog, and maintain a social media presence, well, you get the idea.
But I made it happen, from a bunch of episodes I wrote a long, long time ago, used these to start it, and then continue on, then as now, never having much of an idea where it was going to end up, or how long it would take to tell the story.
That, I think is the joy of ad hoc writing, even you, as the author, have as much idea of where it’s going as the reader does.
It’s basically been in the mill since 1990, and although I finished it last year, it looks like the beginning to end will have taken exactly 30 years. Had you asked me 30 years ago if I’d ever get it finished, the answer would be maybe?
My private detective, Harry Walthenson
I’d like to say he’s from that great literary mold of Sam Spade, or Mickey Spillane, or Phillip Marlow, but he’s not.
But, I’ve watched Humphrey Bogart play Sam Spade with much interest, and modeled Harry and his office on it. Similarly, I’ve watched Robert Micham play Phillip Marlow with great panache, if not detachment, and added a bit of him to the mix.
Other characters come into play, and all of them, no matter what period they’re from, always seem larger than life. I’m not above stealing a little of Mary Astor, Peter Lorre or Sidney Greenstreet, to breathe life into beguiling women and dangerous men alike.
Then there’s the title, like
The Case of the Unintentional Mummy – this has so many meanings in so many contexts, though I image back in Hollywood in the ’30s and ’40s, this would be excellent fodder for Abbott and Costello
The Case of the Three-Legged Dog – Yes, I suspect there may be a few real-life dogs with three legs, but this plot would involve something more sinister. And if made out of plaster, yes, they’re always something else inside.
But for mine, to begin with, it was “The Case of the …”, because I had no idea what the case was going to be about, well, I did, but not specifically.
Then I liked the idea of calling it “The Case of the Brother’s Revenge” because I began to have a notion there was a brother no one knew about, but that’s stuff for other stories, not mine, so then went the way of the others.
Now it’s called ‘A Case of Working With the Jones Brothers’, finished the first three drafts, and at the editor for the last.
I have high hopes of publishing it in early 2021. It even has a cover.
This is Railway Hotel in Gympie, adjacent to the old Gympie station
Just the name Railway Hotel conjured up a lot of interesting connotations. There’s one in almost every rural town that has Railway station, or perhaps a Junction Hotel, a Railway Hotel, or a Terminus Hotel.
And, once upon a time, there were nearly 600 of them, up until the 1920s, ubiquitous hotels build to house the people building the railways, and, then, when they were finished a lot disappeared, but a lot also remained to service the railway station and passengers coming and going.
These days, these old hotels that still exist are anachronisms of a bygone age, rather ornate wooden structures with big rooms and communal bathrooms, bars, saloons, and dining rooms, and only those curious about the past would stay there.
I’ve stayed in a few myself.
But, as for a story, well, the older, the better, because these would have ghosts.
They could also have infamous pasts, like a fire that destroys only part of the hotel, signs of which form part of the character.
A doorway into a now hidden room closed off because of something horrible happening there, could suddenly become a portal, where stepping through takes you back to the time of the event.
In fact, I’m in the mood to write just such a story…
A single event driven by fate, after Ben told his wife Charlotte he would be late home one night, he left early, and by chance discovers his wife having dinner in their favourite restaurant with another man.
A single event where it could be said Ben was in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Who was this man? Why was she having dinner with him?
A simple truth to explain the single event was all Ben required. Instead, Charlotte told him a lie.
A single event that forces Ben to question everything he thought he knew about his wife, and the people who are around her.
After a near-death experience and forced retirement into a world he is unfamiliar with, Ben finds himself once again drawn back into that life of lies, violence, and intrigue.
From London to a small village in Tuscany, little by little Ben discovers who the woman he married is, and the real reason why fate had brought them together.
Thrills, Spills, and just a dash of Romance 