I was fantastically famous, a born entertainer, who tore up the Hollywood scene for nearly a decade. I was brash and beautiful, and no one was more important to the world of movies and television than me. I was a queen, and everyone did my bidding. It was a dream life come true, and I had always wanted to be famous, ever since I saw the likes of Marilyn Monroe grace the silver screen oh so many years ago. I was at the top of the mountain looking down at all the little people who fawned all over me.
One morning, after being up most of the night partying with my entourage, drinking and using every drug known to man, I woke to a loud crash. I shot up in my bed, which was drenched in sweat, and lying next to me were three young men I must’ve met the night before, because I had no recollection of who they were. I thought I must have been dreaming, when I heard another crash. It was coming from the roof. Something or someone was on the roof of my beachside bungalow. I got out of bed and put on my robe. Then I took a revolver out of the night stand. My agent insisted that I keep one nearby as a precaution against crazed stalkers, I was glad he did. I crept through my house. The crashing sound grew louder as I approached the patio doors. I opened them slowly, hoping not to alert whatever or whoever was on top of my house. I stood outside looking for signs of the intruder, but couldn’t see anything. I circled the house once then, convinced the sound must have been a raccoon or something, I returned to the patio door, but found it shut and locked.
Real funny. I said, annoyed. I banged on the glass several times, yelling Open the door assholes!
Such saucy language for such a beautiful lady. I heard the strange voice come from behind me. My heart stopped. This must be a stalker. He had me, my backed turned. But then I remembered my gun. I swung around and raised the gun to shoot.
Get the fuck out of here creep! I shouted to empty air. There was no one behind me. But, I was certain I heard a voice.
Now, is that anyway to treat an admirer? The voice came from behind me again, and I wheeled around ready to pull the trigger on my gun, when I gasped at a most frightening sight. There, standing before me, with the crap end of my gun barrel square in its nose was a giant cat, or a man, or something that looked like a cat and a man. It chomped on a cigar and smiled with a hideously sadistic grin. You’ve got spunk. I’ll grant you that.
I gasped and dropped the gun. It fired and a bullet ricocheted off a nearby rock wall and went through one of the windows in my house. The breaking glass should’ve set off the alarm, but nothing happened. Oh my god, what the fuck are you?
Oh that hurts. I can excuse the sailor-like cursing, but do you people have to keep referring to me as a “what?”
Get away from me. I’ll call the cops.
No you won’t.
What makes you so sure?
You haven’t got a phone. Besides, I’m harmless.
Sure, tell that to the judge, creep.
Judge? No, I won’t be going before any judge.
The creature stepped closer to me. The patio furniture that I threw in its way moved aside without him touching a single item. What do you want from me?
Trust me, nothing like that my dear. Now calm down and have a seat. We’ve got business to conduct.
Who are you?
Shamus is the name. He said doffing his hat and taking bow.
Go away!
No.
I broke down and started to cry, to plead with the creature. Please. Please, I’ll give you money, gifts, anything, just leave me alone.
My dear lady, you’ve got nothing I want. You never have and you never will. Many have tried to bribe ol’ Shamus but none have succeeded. The bottom line is this: I’m here, deal with it.
I crumbled to the ground and fainted. A few moments later my eyes opened and I saw the creature’s face staring over me, chomping on its cigar and looking at me quizzically. Why is it you people are always fainting and falling over like that? You watch all these movies with scary aliens and monsters in them and never blink an eye, and then you see little old me and you go to pieces. Maybe it’s my breath? Shamus took out his cigar and coughed on his hand twice then smelled his palm. Nope, impeccable. Come on dear girl, the ground’s no place for a lady. Assuming you are a lady. You can’t be too sure these days, with modern medical science and all. Soon all of you will have had something changed, subtracted or added. You’re a bunch of crazy monkeys if you ask me. Oh well. Shamus helped me to my feet then he led me back to the patio door, which opened by itself. We went into the bungalow and he sat me down on the couch in the living room.
Sit right there darling, I’ll mix you a nice strong drink. I could go for some Scotch myself. Got any Scotch?
I sheepishly waved to the cabinet over the sink. Shamus rummaged around and took out a large bottle of Scotch. He opened the bottle and poured some in a glass, then brought the glass and the bottle over to the couch. He sat next to me and handed me the glass. I took a swig. He refilled my glass and then drank what was left in the bottle. Ah, that hits the spot. Now, how’s life treating you little lady?
The Scotch was calming me down, enough to pay attention to Shamus. Treating me? A seven foot cat is sitting on my couch drinking all my Scotch.
Not all of the Scotch. You had some. And I’m six feet seven inches to be exact. But besides that, how’s it going?
Uggghh! Why are you here? What the hell is going on?
Which question do you want me to answer first?
I glared at Shamus the way only a frustrated woman can.
Right. You aren’t crazy if that’s what you’re thinking. And I’m here to help you.
Help me? How?
Oh, one moment. Shamus took his hat off and reached inside to retrieve a notebook. I sat up, curious. He flipped through the pages and then pressed his finger in the book. Ah hah. Just as I thought.
What? I asked frantically.
I need to pick up a carton of milk on my way home from work. Shamus turned and grinned at me.
What about me?
What about you?
What does it say in that book about me?
Nothing. Why would it say anything about you?
But…I thought…
What did you think sugar lips?
I thought…I thought…
Yes…? You thought I was going to tell you something about you.
Yes.
Well, what a surprise Miss Hotpants, the whole world doesn’t revolve around you.
I stood up and walked over to the fireplace across from the couch. I took a cigarette from the coffee table and lit it. I puffed on it a couple of times, staring at Shamus. He just stared back at me, grinning and puffing on his cigar. I thought you said you were here to help me?
I did say that.
Well?
Well what?
When are you going to help me?
I am helping you.
I turned and faced the wall, my anger was boiling over; I could hear him snickering behind me. Get out of my house. I pointed towards the door.
No, it doesn’t work that way my dear.
I turned to face Shamus, who was sitting with one leg crossed over the other and his arm draped over the back of the couch. Get out you mangy cat!
Now, now, there’s no reason to sling insults you tumultuous monkey girl. We can be friends if you show some manners.
Get OUT! I shouted at the top of my lungs. Get out, now! I ran over to the kitchen and grabbed a butcher knife from the utensil drawer. I waved it at Shamus, who sat calmly as ever. I’ll skewer you, you wretched beast.
No, you won’t. Put the knife away, before you hurt yourself.
Hurt myself. Why would I hurt myself?
Look at your hand. I looked and saw blood. I was confused. Whose blood was this? Then I felt a sting in my palm.
What have you done to me?
Nothing. You did it to yourself. You’ve been hurting yourself for a long time now, haven’t you?
What? How dare you?
How dare I what?
How dare you…how dare you…I started to sob. I dropped the knife and it clanged on the floor. I collapsed, clutching my robes.
Oh boy here we go again, Shamus came and stood by me. That’s it have a good cry. Let it out, and don’t be ashamed. I sobbed for what seemed like hours. Shamus just stood there smoking his cigar. When I had no more tears left, I looked up at him.
What’s wrong with me?
Shamus knelt beside me. You’ve spent so much of your life trying to get others to pay attention to you, that you forgot the most important thing.
What’s that?
You forgot to pay attention to yourself. You’ve got something to do, don’t you know?
What Shamus? Tell me. I can’t take it anymore, tell me.
Sorry darling, that’s not my department. My job’s done.
I started to weep some more. I closed my eyes and went to sleep. I woke to one of the gentlemen who I found sleeping in my bed, shaking my shoulder. He saw that I cut my hand and asked if I was alright. I said no and asked him to take me to my room, where I went to bed.