It had been a long day, and Kurt Gumbold was glad that it would be over soon. His mistress would be waiting for him not far from his office in Bern and would have the wine cold and waiting. Just one more client and he could get out of here.
The intercom buzzed. “Your last client is here, Herr Gumbold.”
“Show him in, please”, he said, trying not to let the tiredness show in his voice as the door opened to admit a grey-haired, middle-sized man who Gumbold waved to the chair opposite his. The man sat placidly, his hands clasped before him.
“Good day, Herr …?”
“Oberhauser”, the man said, “Franz Oberhauser. But in fact, that is exactly what I am here to talk to you about.”
Gumbold frowned. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”
“Let me make it very clear to you”, said the other in a tone which made it obvious that he was accustomed to being paid attention to. “I am here to legally change my name.”
“Well, I may be turning business away”, said Gumbold, “but my dear sir, you don’t need a lawyer to do that. It’s just a matter of filling out a few forms and –“
Oberhauser said, “I want more than that. I want all documents where I am named to either disappear or be declared null and void. Oberhauser was the name of my father, Hannes, who named me Franz. I wish to invalidate all connections with him, all legal documents, all trace of Franz Oberhauser.”
“You want it to appear as if that name never existed?”
“Exactly.”
The lawyer allowed a puzzled look to cross his normally emotionless face.
“Never have I had such a request before.”
“This is not a request, Herr Gumbold.”
Gumbold looked up, shocked. The client stared right back at him.
Gumbold said, “Be that as it may, have you decided by what name you wish to be known from this point?”
“Blofeld. Ernst Stavro Blofeld.”
“Ernst Stavro … I have heard that name before.”
“Oh?”
“My grandfather had a client of that name in the 1960s. Come to think of it, I’m sure he was wanting to change his name as well.”
“An odd coincidence”, said the other, unperturbed.
“It’s a story which my father told me after his father told him. This Blofeld, this Ernst Stavro Blofeld, was determined to prove his right to a title which I cannot at present remember, and the College Of Arms in London had to be involved.”
“I fail to see what this has to do with our present arrangement”, said Oberhauser.
“We do not have an arrangement, sir. That Blofeld never paid his bills and my grandfather was left considerably out of pocket in covering the fees of the College Of Arms. Indeed, at one point it looked like Gebruder Gumbold would have to cover the massive costs of a destroyed mountaintop restaurant and laboratory as well, but fortunately that did not come to pass. I am afraid that I shall have to turn down your case.”
Oberhauser sat relaxed,
“You are refusing to take on changing my name?”
“I am.”
With infinite calmness, Oberhauser unclasped his hands before him to display a ring with a curious design on it. It appeared to be a stylised octopus, and the effect on Gumbold was immediate. His eyes opened wide and he gasped a sudden breath.
“I believe you will take my case, Herr Gumbold?” said Oberhauser, as serenely as if he were asking for coffee.
“Yes, yes”, spluttered the lawyer, “of course.”
The other stood.
“I shall be sending you all the necessary information and papers tonight. You will inform me when the work has been completed.”
Oberhauser stood and left the office. Gumbold sat in his chair, unable to move. Perhaps, he thought, I will not go to see my mistress tonight after all..
Sir MilesThe Wrong Side Of The WardrobePosts: 27,912Chief of Staff
That is a fantastic piece of writing 👏🏻 loved it 😁
2005. The Owen household. Clive is pacing back and forth, never getting too far away from the telephone. His concerned wife looks on, worriedly.
Mrs Owen: Oh sit down, Clive, why don’t you?
Clive: Sit down? I can’t sit down!
Mrs Owen: Just try to relax.
Clive: How can I relax?
Mrs Owen: Let me make you a nice cup of tea and –
Clive: A nice cup of tea? How can I think of a nice cup of tea at a time like this?
Mrs Owen: What do you mean, “a time like this”? Nothing is happening!
Clive: Exactly! Nothing is happening! That phone should be ringing!
Mrs Owen: Oh, right. (Flatly.) James Bond again.
Clive: That’s it, James Bond again. My audition was just last week and they haven’t got back to me yet.
Mrs Owen: Look, darling, don’t you think that, now take a deep breath before you answer, they might have picked someone else?
Clive: That’s not possible. I know I was on a short list of three, and that Hugh Jackman was wanting a lot more money than they were prepared to pay.
Mrs Owen: Would you do it for what they wanted to pay?
Clive: Are you kidding? I’d pay them to let me do it!
Mrs Owen: Oh come on, now, that’s going a bit too far.
Clive: All right, all right, I was exaggerating – but I wouldn’t let money be the stumbling block if they wanted –
(The phone starts ringing. The couple stare at each other, then Mrs Owen lifts the phone before Clive can reach it.)
Mrs Owen: Hello? …. Oh, John, hello there … (She mouths “It’s your agent” to Clive, who mouths back “I know who John is”.) …. Yes, he’s here, hold on … (She passes the phone to Clive.)
Clive: John, hello … Yes? …. What? … Who??? … HIM? … You’re kidding … No, you’re serious, it was just a reflex … You’ve got what? Okay, sounds interesting … All right, I’ll come and see you tomorrow. Bye. (Hangs up.)
Mrs Owen: Well?
Clive: They’ve given it to Daniel Craig.
Mrs Owen: HIM????
Clive: Yes, that’s what I said. Still, John says he has a consolation prize for me. I’ve to go round tomorrow and he’ll tell me all about it…
Sir MilesThe Wrong Side Of The WardrobePosts: 27,912Chief of Staff
The cold water hit her like an electric shock, paralysing her for a moment that seemed like an hour. Spluttering, Plenty managed to get her head above the surface and breathe before swimming to the side of the pool. She clung there, breathing heavily, while trying to get her bearings and reconstruct what had just happened.
She had been in a hotel room high above with a man who had been making serious money at the gambling tables. As was her way, she had latched on to him and the two had gone for dinner before heading to his room. There, what seemed like eight gangsters all dressed in black had grabbed her and thrown her out of the window to land in the pool where she now was, instead of lying in bed with … Peter! Peter Franks, that was his name. They had kissed passionately and Peter had unzipped her dress. Remembering, she suddenly realised that she was almost naked, much to the amusement of the passersby always to be found in Las Vegas at any hour.
Plenty swam over to a pool chair with a towel laid out on it and grabbed it as she pulled herself out, wrapping it round her soaking body. She headed straight back to the hotel, intending to give someone a very large piece of her mind while her temper was still high. Straight to the elevators, marching across the lobby as though it were perfectly normal for her to be dressed this way, pressing the button then emerging at the right floor. This wasn’t Plenty’s first rodeo and she had taken a mental note of both the floor and the room number. Room 001, 002 … She stopped outside the seventh door and carefully turned the handle.
All was in darkness. She quietly walked toward the bedroom then stopped. The unmistakable sounds of lovemaking were drifting towards her. She recognised Peter’s deep tones but who was the woman? There hadn’t been any other female visible when the ten or twelve gangsters had forcibly ejected her. Her eye caught a purse lying on a small table, and she softly opened the clasp. The papers inside said it belonged to a “Tiffany Case”. What kind of name was that? Plenty O’Toole wondered. She noted the address then left the room as quietly as she had come in.
The cab was like a sauna with the heat of the sun the next morning and Plenty pressed down the switch of the power-operated window. A furnace-blast of air made her close it again.
The driver half turned in his seat. “Don’t want to do that, lady,” he said in a friendly voice. “Cab’s conditioned. May not seem so, but it’s better’n outside”.
“Thanks,” said Plenty, and then: “How much further do we have to go?”
“Round the next bend. You sure you got the right address? I mean –“
“Just take me there.”
“Okay, lady”.
Plenty alighted at an ostentatiously expensive, elaborately designed villa high in the hills. It looked like it should belong to a movie star, she thought, walking up the drive and banging on the door. When no-one answered she began looking under the pot plants arranged around the doorway, finding the key under the fourth one. Some folks never learned.
Inside she began looking through the rooms, finding a lot of clothes but no man-stealing bitch. As she stood looking out the large window she heard a voice behind her.
“Hello.”
Plenty turned, startled. Two men faced her, guns drawn. One pretty boy, one fattish man with glasses.
“Hey, what’s the idea? Who the hell are you?”
“Just walk this way, pretty lady”, said the pretty boy.
The other had slid open the glass door leading to the swimming pool. Plenty began to walk, wondering what the concrete weight beside the pool was for.
“Come this way”, said the first, indicating with his gun.
“Just you wait one moment –“
But the second man had unceremoniously hit her with his gun hard, sending Plenty to the floor. When she began to come round shortly afterwards, she tried to stand but found her feet were tied to the concrete weight. The shock of realisation struck her momentarily dumb as the two seized her and tossed her and the weight into the pool. The cool waters closed over her head as Plenty realised that this was one pool she would not be getting out of.
“An easy case, Mr Kidd,” said a voice she couldn’t hear as her struggles became weaker.
“Some things are worth the weight, Mr Wint,” said the other as they turned and, hand in hand, walked away.
I would love to see you do a separate thread - “Diamonds Are Forever, The Pulp Movie Tie-In” and write the entire movie as in the style of the post above!
Yeah, well, sometimes nothin' can be a real cool hand.
2025 (We should be so lucky.) Eon HQ, near the top of the Eiffel Tower. MGW and BB are interviewing potential directors for Bond26.
BB: Have you heard of this guy, Michael?
MGW: Yes, I’ve even seen some of his movies- “Hot Fuzz”, “Shaun Of The Dead”. They’re very funny.
BB: I’ve never been tempted to watch them.
MGW: Of course not, Barbara, one would need a sense of humour to enjoy those kind of films.
BB: Let’s get him in. (Presses a button.) Send the next director in, please.
Secretary: (On intercom.) Yes, Ms. Broccoli.
(The door opens and Edgar Wright comes in.)
MGW: Have a seat, please.
Edgar: Thanks. Would you like some chocolate?
(He holds out a box to them.)
BB: Light chocolate, I see. No, thanks.
Edgar: Oh, well.
MGW: Now, we’ve had a look at your suggested outline for the next Bond film.
Edgar: Yes?
BB: And we have a few comments to make. Firstly, this plot of yours – the villain steals a spacecraft, Bond investigates and ends up in outer space – it seems a bit, well I have to say, familiar.
Edgar: You surely aren’t implying that Bond movies haven’t repeated plots before?
MGW: No, we couldn’t say that. It’s just that the tone you’re suggesting isn’t in line with what we like these days.
Edgar: Can you give me an example?
BB: Yes, I think so. The staff back at Bond’s HQ- you know, M, Miss Moneypenny, Q, Bill Tanner –
Edgar: Bill who?
MGW: Never mind. The MI6 staff –
Edgar: Ah, the Scooby gang.
BB: We don’t approve of that term. However, in your story none of them either dies or is forced to face a dark secret from their past!
Edgar: That’s right. That never happened in any of the older Bond movies- “Goldfinger”, “Thunderball”, etc.
MGW: And also Bond does not fall in love with the one woman he sleeps with in the entire story!
Edgar: Of course not- just like in, say “Moonraker” or “GoldenEye” or –
BB: But he has to fall in love with her so that when she dies Bond is thrown into inner turmoil and depression!
Edgar: Oh, like Daniel Craig did.
BB: (Wistfully.) Daniel….
(She looks happily up at the ceiling.)
Edgar: Did I say something wrong?
MGW: No, she always does that. (He snaps his fingers loudly.) Barbara!
BB: What…? Oh, sorry. Anyway, we think you have included too many one-liners and witty jokes.
Edgar: But –
MGW: And also you can’t have Simon Pegg play Bond.
Edgar: Aw.
BB: Is there anything else you’d like to add?
Edgar: Only one thing- you should change that sign outside so it reads “Eeyore Productions”.
Sir MilesThe Wrong Side Of The WardrobePosts: 27,912Chief of Staff
Ahhh…Edgar Wright of the famed ‘Cornetto Trilogy’…I could see Nick Frost as Q 🙂
The climate in the North of France can be very agreeable most times of the year. In the summer la Tramontane, the cold dry wind from the North, is at its mildest while the warm Mediterranean winds make the temperate weather more than pleasant. Mme Dufour was enjoying working in her garden, only occasionally stopping to wipe her brow, when a black car pulled up outside her door.
It was an area where strangers stood out, and the two men emerging from the car would have stood out anywhere. Both were dressed identically in black suits, white shirts, black ties, with wraparound sunglasses concealing their eyes. One was young and black, the other old and white. She watched curiously as they walked up her path.
It was the older one who spoke first. “Mme Dufour?”
“Oui, c’est moi”, she replied, holding her rake at the ready.
“Do you perhaps speak English, Mme Dufour?” said the younger one. “My French isn’t very good.”
Puzzled, she answered, “Yes, I can speak English.”
In English, the older one asked “May we come inside and have a word with you? Our business is private.”
“I don’t think so”, said the wary femme, “right here will do just fine.”
“If you insist, of course. It’s just that we’d like to speak about your daughter.”
“Corrine? What’s the matter? Has something happened?”
Both men sighed. This time it was the younger one who spoke. “I’m afraid she has died, Madame.”
Mme Dufour inhaled sharply. “Died? No, you must have made a mistake, monsieur, my daughter cannot be dead. She is in California, working for a Mr Drax.”
The older one said, “It was Mr Drax who sent us to tell you the news. He asks that we give you his deepest –“
“Mais non, c’est ne vrai pas! It isn’t true!” said Mme Dufour, the tears beginning to run down her cheeks.
“We’re sorry to tell you –“
“What happened? It was a helicopter crash, wasn’t it? I warned her, don’t you do that training, it will be the death of you!”
The two men exchanged glances. The older one said, “No, I have to tell you that it wasn’t. Mr Drax would like you to know that he has had the two Dobermanns put down as soon as he found out, and –“
“Dobermanns? Dogs?” Mme Dufour’s wails reached a crescendo. The two men looked at each other and nodded. The younger one took a gadget which looked like an overlarge pen from his jacket and aimed it at the poor woman. A light flashed, and suddenly she stopped crying. A blank look came on her face. The men sighed and returned to their car. As they left, they could see her resume her gardening.
“I always hate that”, said the older man.
“Still, the next one’s in China. We get to do a bit of travel.”
“China? Do we have a cause of death?”
“Something to do with a piano. We can read up about it en route.”
Sir MilesThe Wrong Side Of The WardrobePosts: 27,912Chief of Staff
Smoking isn’t worth it, he thought. You get so desperate for each nicotine-filled breath that you put up with rain, sleet, or like it was now snow and wind together. Still, it wouldn’t be for long before he could get under some cover, he thought, watching the lights of the aircraft making their way towards him.
The helicopter landed and two figures stepped out. Boris walked forward.
“General! A pleasure to see you! And your beautiful companion, of course.”
General Arkady Ouromov looked on Boris with contempt. A traitor, he thought. A useful one, in this case, but a traitor none the less.
“We don’t have time for this, Grishenko, get in the copter.”
“As you say, General. And –“
But the tall striking woman passed him without a second glance, a situation which Boris had become inured to with many women over the years. Still, he knew who he would be thinking of when alone in his bed later. Wondering about how Natalya looked naked had been getting boring, anyway.
Once the others went up to the door of the building, Boris strode through the snow to the helicopter. He slid the door open and with an effort climbed inside, still puffing his now damp cigarette.
“Shut that door, you fool!” The pilot turned in his seat to spit the words out.
Boris objected, “Hey I’m smoking here and –“
“Throw that damned cigarette out and shut the door!”
Their eyes met and it was instantly clear that although Boris was far from smart in many ways, even he was not stupid enough to argue with the pilot of an aircraft he would be entrusting his life to. The remains of the cigarette went spinning out and the door was slid shut.
The General and the woman came running back, and Boris let them in without delay.
“Take off! Get us out of here!” barked Ouromov, and the helicopter leapt smoothly into the winds above.
“Did everything go all right?” asked Boris, addressing the woman who merely turned and looked out the window.
“Just be quiet, Grishenko”, said General Ouromov. “We’ll talk to you if we want to.”
Boris angrily looked away. The fools. He would show them. He would show them all! He was invincible!
Sir MilesThe Wrong Side Of The WardrobePosts: 27,912Chief of Staff
Are you auditioning for the Bond writing gig? 👀 This is excellent 👏🏻
AJB: Thank you very much for consenting to be interviewed by us, Mr Fleming - oh, we should say Sir Ian now, shouldn't we?
Fleming: Yes, it was nice of the King to hand me a title. I suppose his mother had disapproved of my books.
AJB: All 74 of them.
Fleming: Is that right? I stopped counting some time ago. The film people keep insisting that I write more.
AJB: Or at least give them titles.
Fleming: But of course. Some of the ones they have suggested would make your hair curl – “Licence To Kill”, how plain is that? And they wanted “Tomorrow Never Dies” as a title, now what does that even mean? Or even “Never Say Never Again”??!!!
AJB: Do they try to influence your plots?
Fleming: Yes, but I just ignore them. Once they wanted to make Blofeld James Bond’s brother or something. Now that is plain ridiculous, and never something I would approve of. Next thing they’d be wanting to kill Bond off, just for a gimmick.
AJB: But didn’t you want to kill Bond off yourself once?
Fleming: Well, yes, but I had the sense to leave some wiggle room so I could bring him back, which is in fact what I did. It’s not as if I had him blown to bits!
AJB: One subject very popular among fan sites such as ours is comparing the various actors who have played Bond over the years. Do you have any thoughts on that?
Fleming: Of course, dear boy, but you surely wouldn't expect me to air them publicly, now would you? Some were very good, that's all I can say.
AJB: It’s remarkable that you're still with us at age 116, considering you're still drinking a half bottle of spirits daily, not to mention smoking 70 cigarettes and making love, with rather cold passion, to one of three similarly disposed married women.
Fleming: Oh, I'm still fit. I was tap dancing with Dick Van Dyke just the other day.
AJB: Any last comments you’d like to make to our members?
Comments
2015
It had been a long day, and Kurt Gumbold was glad that it would be over soon. His mistress would be waiting for him not far from his office in Bern and would have the wine cold and waiting. Just one more client and he could get out of here.
The intercom buzzed. “Your last client is here, Herr Gumbold.”
“Show him in, please”, he said, trying not to let the tiredness show in his voice as the door opened to admit a grey-haired, middle-sized man who Gumbold waved to the chair opposite his. The man sat placidly, his hands clasped before him.
“Good day, Herr …?”
“Oberhauser”, the man said, “Franz Oberhauser. But in fact, that is exactly what I am here to talk to you about.”
Gumbold frowned. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”
“Let me make it very clear to you”, said the other in a tone which made it obvious that he was accustomed to being paid attention to. “I am here to legally change my name.”
“Well, I may be turning business away”, said Gumbold, “but my dear sir, you don’t need a lawyer to do that. It’s just a matter of filling out a few forms and –“
Oberhauser said, “I want more than that. I want all documents where I am named to either disappear or be declared null and void. Oberhauser was the name of my father, Hannes, who named me Franz. I wish to invalidate all connections with him, all legal documents, all trace of Franz Oberhauser.”
“You want it to appear as if that name never existed?”
“Exactly.”
The lawyer allowed a puzzled look to cross his normally emotionless face.
“Never have I had such a request before.”
“This is not a request, Herr Gumbold.”
Gumbold looked up, shocked. The client stared right back at him.
Gumbold said, “Be that as it may, have you decided by what name you wish to be known from this point?”
“Blofeld. Ernst Stavro Blofeld.”
“Ernst Stavro … I have heard that name before.”
“Oh?”
“My grandfather had a client of that name in the 1960s. Come to think of it, I’m sure he was wanting to change his name as well.”
“An odd coincidence”, said the other, unperturbed.
“It’s a story which my father told me after his father told him. This Blofeld, this Ernst Stavro Blofeld, was determined to prove his right to a title which I cannot at present remember, and the College Of Arms in London had to be involved.”
“I fail to see what this has to do with our present arrangement”, said Oberhauser.
“We do not have an arrangement, sir. That Blofeld never paid his bills and my grandfather was left considerably out of pocket in covering the fees of the College Of Arms. Indeed, at one point it looked like Gebruder Gumbold would have to cover the massive costs of a destroyed mountaintop restaurant and laboratory as well, but fortunately that did not come to pass. I am afraid that I shall have to turn down your case.”
Oberhauser sat relaxed,
“You are refusing to take on changing my name?”
“I am.”
With infinite calmness, Oberhauser unclasped his hands before him to display a ring with a curious design on it. It appeared to be a stylised octopus, and the effect on Gumbold was immediate. His eyes opened wide and he gasped a sudden breath.
“I believe you will take my case, Herr Gumbold?” said Oberhauser, as serenely as if he were asking for coffee.
“Yes, yes”, spluttered the lawyer, “of course.”
The other stood.
“I shall be sending you all the necessary information and papers tonight. You will inform me when the work has been completed.”
Oberhauser stood and left the office. Gumbold sat in his chair, unable to move. Perhaps, he thought, I will not go to see my mistress tonight after all..
That is a fantastic piece of writing 👏🏻 loved it 😁
That's very kind of you, thanks.
I concur, excellent stuff, Barbel 🍸
Thank you, CHB. I think I'd like to do something silly today, all I need to do is figure out what it's going to be...
A little later than normal...
2005. The Owen household. Clive is pacing back and forth, never getting too far away from the telephone. His concerned wife looks on, worriedly.
Mrs Owen: Oh sit down, Clive, why don’t you?
Clive: Sit down? I can’t sit down!
Mrs Owen: Just try to relax.
Clive: How can I relax?
Mrs Owen: Let me make you a nice cup of tea and –
Clive: A nice cup of tea? How can I think of a nice cup of tea at a time like this?
Mrs Owen: What do you mean, “a time like this”? Nothing is happening!
Clive: Exactly! Nothing is happening! That phone should be ringing!
Mrs Owen: Oh, right. (Flatly.) James Bond again.
Clive: That’s it, James Bond again. My audition was just last week and they haven’t got back to me yet.
Mrs Owen: Look, darling, don’t you think that, now take a deep breath before you answer, they might have picked someone else?
Clive: That’s not possible. I know I was on a short list of three, and that Hugh Jackman was wanting a lot more money than they were prepared to pay.
Mrs Owen: Would you do it for what they wanted to pay?
Clive: Are you kidding? I’d pay them to let me do it!
Mrs Owen: Oh come on, now, that’s going a bit too far.
Clive: All right, all right, I was exaggerating – but I wouldn’t let money be the stumbling block if they wanted –
(The phone starts ringing. The couple stare at each other, then Mrs Owen lifts the phone before Clive can reach it.)
Mrs Owen: Hello? …. Oh, John, hello there … (She mouths “It’s your agent” to Clive, who mouths back “I know who John is”.) …. Yes, he’s here, hold on … (She passes the phone to Clive.)
Clive: John, hello … Yes? …. What? … Who??? … HIM? … You’re kidding … No, you’re serious, it was just a reflex … You’ve got what? Okay, sounds interesting … All right, I’ll come and see you tomorrow. Bye. (Hangs up.)
Mrs Owen: Well?
Clive: They’ve given it to Daniel Craig.
Mrs Owen: HIM????
Clive: Yes, that’s what I said. Still, John says he has a consolation prize for me. I’ve to go round tomorrow and he’ll tell me all about it…
That’s a fair second prize 😮🤣
😂😂😂
Thanks, guys.
1971.
The cold water hit her like an electric shock, paralysing her for a moment that seemed like an hour. Spluttering, Plenty managed to get her head above the surface and breathe before swimming to the side of the pool. She clung there, breathing heavily, while trying to get her bearings and reconstruct what had just happened.
She had been in a hotel room high above with a man who had been making serious money at the gambling tables. As was her way, she had latched on to him and the two had gone for dinner before heading to his room. There, what seemed like eight gangsters all dressed in black had grabbed her and thrown her out of the window to land in the pool where she now was, instead of lying in bed with … Peter! Peter Franks, that was his name. They had kissed passionately and Peter had unzipped her dress. Remembering, she suddenly realised that she was almost naked, much to the amusement of the passersby always to be found in Las Vegas at any hour.
Plenty swam over to a pool chair with a towel laid out on it and grabbed it as she pulled herself out, wrapping it round her soaking body. She headed straight back to the hotel, intending to give someone a very large piece of her mind while her temper was still high. Straight to the elevators, marching across the lobby as though it were perfectly normal for her to be dressed this way, pressing the button then emerging at the right floor. This wasn’t Plenty’s first rodeo and she had taken a mental note of both the floor and the room number. Room 001, 002 … She stopped outside the seventh door and carefully turned the handle.
All was in darkness. She quietly walked toward the bedroom then stopped. The unmistakable sounds of lovemaking were drifting towards her. She recognised Peter’s deep tones but who was the woman? There hadn’t been any other female visible when the ten or twelve gangsters had forcibly ejected her. Her eye caught a purse lying on a small table, and she softly opened the clasp. The papers inside said it belonged to a “Tiffany Case”. What kind of name was that? Plenty O’Toole wondered. She noted the address then left the room as quietly as she had come in.
The cab was like a sauna with the heat of the sun the next morning and Plenty pressed down the switch of the power-operated window. A furnace-blast of air made her close it again.
The driver half turned in his seat. “Don’t want to do that, lady,” he said in a friendly voice. “Cab’s conditioned. May not seem so, but it’s better’n outside”.
“Thanks,” said Plenty, and then: “How much further do we have to go?”
“Round the next bend. You sure you got the right address? I mean –“
“Just take me there.”
“Okay, lady”.
Plenty alighted at an ostentatiously expensive, elaborately designed villa high in the hills. It looked like it should belong to a movie star, she thought, walking up the drive and banging on the door. When no-one answered she began looking under the pot plants arranged around the doorway, finding the key under the fourth one. Some folks never learned.
Inside she began looking through the rooms, finding a lot of clothes but no man-stealing bitch. As she stood looking out the large window she heard a voice behind her.
“Hello.”
Plenty turned, startled. Two men faced her, guns drawn. One pretty boy, one fattish man with glasses.
“Hey, what’s the idea? Who the hell are you?”
“Just walk this way, pretty lady”, said the pretty boy.
The other had slid open the glass door leading to the swimming pool. Plenty began to walk, wondering what the concrete weight beside the pool was for.
“Come this way”, said the first, indicating with his gun.
“Just you wait one moment –“
But the second man had unceremoniously hit her with his gun hard, sending Plenty to the floor. When she began to come round shortly afterwards, she tried to stand but found her feet were tied to the concrete weight. The shock of realisation struck her momentarily dumb as the two seized her and tossed her and the weight into the pool. The cool waters closed over her head as Plenty realised that this was one pool she would not be getting out of.
“An easy case, Mr Kidd,” said a voice she couldn’t hear as her struggles became weaker.
“Some things are worth the weight, Mr Wint,” said the other as they turned and, hand in hand, walked away.
That is a fine piece of pulp writing, Barbel 😁👏👏👏
I would love to see you do a separate thread - “Diamonds Are Forever, The Pulp Movie Tie-In” and write the entire movie as in the style of the post above!
That's very flattering, thanks!
I can only echo CHB…that’s a great piece of writing…I wonder if Purvis & Wade need a hand….🤔
And thanks to you, too, Sir M.
Nobody seems to have noticed the little excerpt I pinched from Fleming, which suits me just fine!
Written by Number24 and Barbel.
2025 (We should be so lucky.) Eon HQ, near the top of the Eiffel Tower. MGW and BB are interviewing potential directors for Bond26.
BB: Have you heard of this guy, Michael?
MGW: Yes, I’ve even seen some of his movies- “Hot Fuzz”, “Shaun Of The Dead”. They’re very funny.
BB: I’ve never been tempted to watch them.
MGW: Of course not, Barbara, one would need a sense of humour to enjoy those kind of films.
BB: Let’s get him in. (Presses a button.) Send the next director in, please.
Secretary: (On intercom.) Yes, Ms. Broccoli.
(The door opens and Edgar Wright comes in.)
MGW: Have a seat, please.
Edgar: Thanks. Would you like some chocolate?
(He holds out a box to them.)
BB: Light chocolate, I see. No, thanks.
Edgar: Oh, well.
MGW: Now, we’ve had a look at your suggested outline for the next Bond film.
Edgar: Yes?
BB: And we have a few comments to make. Firstly, this plot of yours – the villain steals a spacecraft, Bond investigates and ends up in outer space – it seems a bit, well I have to say, familiar.
Edgar: You surely aren’t implying that Bond movies haven’t repeated plots before?
MGW: No, we couldn’t say that. It’s just that the tone you’re suggesting isn’t in line with what we like these days.
Edgar: Can you give me an example?
BB: Yes, I think so. The staff back at Bond’s HQ- you know, M, Miss Moneypenny, Q, Bill Tanner –
Edgar: Bill who?
MGW: Never mind. The MI6 staff –
Edgar: Ah, the Scooby gang.
BB: We don’t approve of that term. However, in your story none of them either dies or is forced to face a dark secret from their past!
Edgar: That’s right. That never happened in any of the older Bond movies- “Goldfinger”, “Thunderball”, etc.
MGW: And also Bond does not fall in love with the one woman he sleeps with in the entire story!
Edgar: Of course not- just like in, say “Moonraker” or “GoldenEye” or –
BB: But he has to fall in love with her so that when she dies Bond is thrown into inner turmoil and depression!
Edgar: Oh, like Daniel Craig did.
BB: (Wistfully.) Daniel….
(She looks happily up at the ceiling.)
Edgar: Did I say something wrong?
MGW: No, she always does that. (He snaps his fingers loudly.) Barbara!
BB: What…? Oh, sorry. Anyway, we think you have included too many one-liners and witty jokes.
Edgar: But –
MGW: And also you can’t have Simon Pegg play Bond.
Edgar: Aw.
BB: Is there anything else you’d like to add?
Edgar: Only one thing- you should change that sign outside so it reads “Eeyore Productions”.
Ahhh…Edgar Wright of the famed ‘Cornetto Trilogy’…I could see Nick Frost as Q 🙂
Oh, yes, definitely 😁 great call, Sir Miles 😂
1979
The climate in the North of France can be very agreeable most times of the year. In the summer la Tramontane, the cold dry wind from the North, is at its mildest while the warm Mediterranean winds make the temperate weather more than pleasant. Mme Dufour was enjoying working in her garden, only occasionally stopping to wipe her brow, when a black car pulled up outside her door.
It was an area where strangers stood out, and the two men emerging from the car would have stood out anywhere. Both were dressed identically in black suits, white shirts, black ties, with wraparound sunglasses concealing their eyes. One was young and black, the other old and white. She watched curiously as they walked up her path.
It was the older one who spoke first. “Mme Dufour?”
“Oui, c’est moi”, she replied, holding her rake at the ready.
“Do you perhaps speak English, Mme Dufour?” said the younger one. “My French isn’t very good.”
Puzzled, she answered, “Yes, I can speak English.”
In English, the older one asked “May we come inside and have a word with you? Our business is private.”
“I don’t think so”, said the wary femme, “right here will do just fine.”
“If you insist, of course. It’s just that we’d like to speak about your daughter.”
“Corrine? What’s the matter? Has something happened?”
Both men sighed. This time it was the younger one who spoke. “I’m afraid she has died, Madame.”
Mme Dufour inhaled sharply. “Died? No, you must have made a mistake, monsieur, my daughter cannot be dead. She is in California, working for a Mr Drax.”
The older one said, “It was Mr Drax who sent us to tell you the news. He asks that we give you his deepest –“
“Mais non, c’est ne vrai pas! It isn’t true!” said Mme Dufour, the tears beginning to run down her cheeks.
“We’re sorry to tell you –“
“What happened? It was a helicopter crash, wasn’t it? I warned her, don’t you do that training, it will be the death of you!”
The two men exchanged glances. The older one said, “No, I have to tell you that it wasn’t. Mr Drax would like you to know that he has had the two Dobermanns put down as soon as he found out, and –“
“Dobermanns? Dogs?” Mme Dufour’s wails reached a crescendo. The two men looked at each other and nodded. The younger one took a gadget which looked like an overlarge pen from his jacket and aimed it at the poor woman. A light flashed, and suddenly she stopped crying. A blank look came on her face. The men sighed and returned to their car. As they left, they could see her resume her gardening.
“I always hate that”, said the older man.
“Still, the next one’s in China. We get to do a bit of travel.”
“China? Do we have a cause of death?”
“Something to do with a piano. We can read up about it en route.”
Those two are going to be very busy 👀🤣
I’m not sure how to phrase it, but I love these “what happens off-screen” scenarios 😁😂👏
Then here's another, CHB.
1995
Smoking isn’t worth it, he thought. You get so desperate for each nicotine-filled breath that you put up with rain, sleet, or like it was now snow and wind together. Still, it wouldn’t be for long before he could get under some cover, he thought, watching the lights of the aircraft making their way towards him.
The helicopter landed and two figures stepped out. Boris walked forward.
“General! A pleasure to see you! And your beautiful companion, of course.”
General Arkady Ouromov looked on Boris with contempt. A traitor, he thought. A useful one, in this case, but a traitor none the less.
“We don’t have time for this, Grishenko, get in the copter.”
“As you say, General. And –“
But the tall striking woman passed him without a second glance, a situation which Boris had become inured to with many women over the years. Still, he knew who he would be thinking of when alone in his bed later. Wondering about how Natalya looked naked had been getting boring, anyway.
Once the others went up to the door of the building, Boris strode through the snow to the helicopter. He slid the door open and with an effort climbed inside, still puffing his now damp cigarette.
“Shut that door, you fool!” The pilot turned in his seat to spit the words out.
Boris objected, “Hey I’m smoking here and –“
“Throw that damned cigarette out and shut the door!”
Their eyes met and it was instantly clear that although Boris was far from smart in many ways, even he was not stupid enough to argue with the pilot of an aircraft he would be entrusting his life to. The remains of the cigarette went spinning out and the door was slid shut.
The General and the woman came running back, and Boris let them in without delay.
“Take off! Get us out of here!” barked Ouromov, and the helicopter leapt smoothly into the winds above.
“Did everything go all right?” asked Boris, addressing the woman who merely turned and looked out the window.
“Just be quiet, Grishenko”, said General Ouromov. “We’ll talk to you if we want to.”
Boris angrily looked away. The fools. He would show them. He would show them all! He was invincible!
Are you auditioning for the Bond writing gig? 👀 This is excellent 👏🏻
Thanks, Sir M, I'm just trying to come up with scenes that we don't get to see.
More terrific writing, Barbel 👏 More, more, more!
Thank you very much. Today's has turned up due to a little banter at @Revelator's unmissable Interviews with Ian Fleming thread Interviews with Ian Fleming - Page 7 — ajb007
2024
AJB: Thank you very much for consenting to be interviewed by us, Mr Fleming - oh, we should say Sir Ian now, shouldn't we?
Fleming: Yes, it was nice of the King to hand me a title. I suppose his mother had disapproved of my books.
AJB: All 74 of them.
Fleming: Is that right? I stopped counting some time ago. The film people keep insisting that I write more.
AJB: Or at least give them titles.
Fleming: But of course. Some of the ones they have suggested would make your hair curl – “Licence To Kill”, how plain is that? And they wanted “Tomorrow Never Dies” as a title, now what does that even mean? Or even “Never Say Never Again”??!!!
AJB: Do they try to influence your plots?
Fleming: Yes, but I just ignore them. Once they wanted to make Blofeld James Bond’s brother or something. Now that is plain ridiculous, and never something I would approve of. Next thing they’d be wanting to kill Bond off, just for a gimmick.
AJB: But didn’t you want to kill Bond off yourself once?
Fleming: Well, yes, but I had the sense to leave some wiggle room so I could bring him back, which is in fact what I did. It’s not as if I had him blown to bits!
AJB: One subject very popular among fan sites such as ours is comparing the various actors who have played Bond over the years. Do you have any thoughts on that?
Fleming: Of course, dear boy, but you surely wouldn't expect me to air them publicly, now would you? Some were very good, that's all I can say.
AJB: It’s remarkable that you're still with us at age 116, considering you're still drinking a half bottle of spirits daily, not to mention smoking 70 cigarettes and making love, with rather cold passion, to one of three similarly disposed married women.
Fleming: Oh, I'm still fit. I was tap dancing with Dick Van Dyke just the other day.
AJB: Any last comments you’d like to make to our members?
Fleming: Only one –
At least I outlived that bastard McClory!
This is the alternate timeline we need! Thank you for calling it into being, Barbel.