ONE
Some men only love one woman at a time, some men have never loved, some men love only another man and then there are a significant number of men like Frederick Vaughhagen who've being blinded by their love of one woman.
Frederick and Zelda were eighteen when they first met when her family came to settle on the island. An exchanged glance sparked something between them that sparked a little bit more each time they met.
Nineteen months later the two virgins married and it was almost six months after that, when finally consumed by a passion that neither could resist, they consummated their marriage. From then on it was all on leading to joint infatuation.
They appeared made for one another and at times they plowed so deeply and ground against each other so passionately that, to any observer chancing to see them having sex, the couple would have appeared to be have become one person.
Some people say sex doesn't last but Frederick and Zelda thought they had a marriage made in heaven (another saying). It ended when Zelda, swimming one morning in the bay, was taken by a fish, probably a shark or possibly a school of barracuda.
The village's three fishermen brought the various parts of Zelda to Frederick – her head was still recognizable. Shattered in grief he swore he'd never love again – but we all know about men and their promises.
After a period of mourning of 300 days, Frederick turned his back on the Isle of Dankamorgun and went to sea as a galley hand, quickly rising to become ship's cook because he really could cook to the delight of all hands.
When the crew went ashore to drink and wench Frederick stayed behind thinking of his Zelda. Once during a moment of consoling the bereaved First Mate whose girlfriend was now sleeping with the Captain, Fred related the tale of his sad loss.
"Cripes man," said the First Mate, an Englishman, brushing aside his tears with grubby fingers. "My loss is infinitesimal compared with yours. We thought the reason why you didn't come ashore to help us plow through the local, ahem, maidens, was your dick must be too small. But oh dear, I see what the reason is now: you're a prisoner of Zelda."
Those surprisingly majestic last three words sunk through to Fred and he thrust his arms forward in grief and if to clasp the invisible spirit of Zelda. But all that happened was the galley hand threw an oven cloth over one out-stretched arm and said: "The scones are ready to be taken out, Chief."
When that vessel, London Fog, arrived in New York to discharge a mixed cargo of dates, baseball bats, barreled sardines and reprints of original French postcards, Fred jumped ship and was processed by officials as a distressed alien and given immediate American citizenship, full documentation and $5000 in cash; this was a little before Home Security tightened procedures.
TWO
Frederick quickly found work, because the average stay of a chef in a take-out restaurant was those days was from start day to first pay day. But Frederick stayed a little longer than average and began accruing capital, not boozing or wenching or gambling.
Attempting to be patriotic he learned the words of 'The Star-Spangled Banner' and slowly moved westwards to find his place under the sun, which he did five years later when his westward journey was halted by the Pacific Coast at Los Angeles.
One night just before dawn, playing poker with Louis, Al and Franco, the unsmiling Freddie (his name by then having being Americanized) cleaned them out and they invited him into partnership in their beachfront restaurant, which was a real dump.
Because the three of them needed money to fund future poker losses and buy their young wives new dresses, Freddie agreed, and within two years Louis, Al and Franco were history – with Freddie owning the restaurant outright.
One of the advantages of not playing around with women, and particularly not marrying one, is you can save lots of money. Freddie had heaps. So he knocked down the restaurant building illegally and erected a stylish replacement without seeking permits and consents. But local officials were so impressed by the improvements that they turned a blind eye, assisted by Freddie's backhanders when they approached him.
Oh, smart Freddie. He ended the squeeze for backhanders by paying to get permits and consents issued retrospectively.
The restaurant and bar named by patrons as Freddie's became the 'in' place on the coast for single men and men taking a temporary break from their wives; and naturally, being Los Angeles, those sitting ducks attracted prostitutes.
Freddie stoutly refused to accept backhanders from those women who wanted to use the two bedrooms upstairs but he installed a steel box bolted into the concrete wall marked 'Donations' and that worked very well.
Single male non-gay policemen became regulars at Freddie's and that gave him the lawful protection he needed – the gangs turning elsewhere to fleece businessmen.
At this stage Freddie was thirty-three and had been celibate since Zelda had perished at sea. The big bar was named Zelda's Bar as a memorial and patrons like the exotic touch when learning about Zelda. Soon half the custom came of the darling's of the city's social community, which included Hollywood.
Being in restaurant-bar and rubing shoulders with stubble-faced men with broad-shoulders and narrow hips who were not gay, and prostitutes who really looked like prostitutes of thirty years ago instead of starlets, appealed immensely to the social elite. Freddie was not anti-gay – they were just not welcome if flaunting it because he wanted that edge of difference for a bar in LA.
One night around 2 am in walks this babe dressed in a tight white dress and probably nothing else. The crowd parted and she stood before the main bar.
She said in a husky voice, "I'm told this dump has a bar called Zelda's Bar – well I'm not allowing that; I'm Zelda."
Unconcerned that the great female film director Zelda Barrymore was sounding off about the name of his bar, Freddie asked: "Are you a prostitute?"
"No darling, but how much do you charge? I might consider taking you on as a guy in need of sustenance."
The bar erupted in laughter.
But it died when Freddie asked was Zelda a Los Angeles socialite – an elite band she despised. Zelda wanted a drink, badly, but her standards prevented her from lying, possibly a rarity in anyone in her industry.
"No."
"Then you not welcome here. Clear off."
"Okay, I'll confess – I lied. I'm secretly a member of the Los Angeles socialite elite."
There was a gasp from the crowd and silence as the assembly watched to see how Freddie would react to this hard-ass dame. He went behind the bar, rare for him these days: "Your first drink is on the house, Zelda."
"A shot glass, no ice, one third ouzo, two thirds orange juice."
Freddie mixed the drink, his face impassive, his heart pounding. He knew of no other person who drank ouzo to that exact specification – it had been his Zelda's only alcoholic drink apart from wine.
Thie new Zelda sat on a bar stool and Freddie poured his customary iced water with a dash of fresh lime and leaned over to talk to her.
"You haven't a clue who I am, have you?" Zelda said, eyes narrowing, ready to give Freddie a roasting should he lie.
"Nah, just as you haven't a clue who I am lady. The only thing I find attractive about you is your name."
Steam was about to blow from Zelda McDowell's nostrils; and her knuckles whitened – she threw quite a punch as many a guy could testify. But she cooled it, thinking this was the most genuine guy she'd met in the last ten of her thirty years (a lie, she'd thirty-eight and was born Zelda Franks in New Jersey).
Within the hours people in the bar-restaurant watched in shock as Zelda McDowell – the hardest-nosed bitch in Hollywood with four failed marriages under her belt, was crying and kissing and hugging Freddie who ordinarily never allowed a woman to touch him.
Later Freddie watched Zelda walk out, ass swaying, and wondering why his dick had decided to firm after so many years.
The story of Freddie that he'd related to Zelda broke in the media the morning after the awards. Zelda received a goldie for best director and was director of best film; the best actor named her as the most influential woman in his life apart from his mom and the seventeen-year-old who Zelda had watched teaching a small class of Maori first-graders when she was holidaying in New Zealand and, three months later called to Hollywood, was named best supporting actress.
Smart sleuthing had uncovered the identity of Zelda's mystery man. Of course Hollywood being Hollywood everyone claimed they knew Freddie as soon as the 'Los Angles Sun' broke the story.
That night Zelda and Freddie were interviewed on TV news on three channels half an hour apart, with Freddie claiming he was just an ordinary guy, a grateful alien whose favorite song was the 'Star-Spangled Banner'.
But it was on 'Midnight with Jenna' when Jenna broke the real story about the two Zeldas. The show enjoyed a huge syndication so a huge number of people were crying, including Zelda and Jenna (next day throughout America sales of fish were down 88%. Ads were rushed on to TV showing three former Presidents eating fish and that restored sales, averting a national calamity to America's economy).
"There is nothing between us," Zelda sobbed and Jenna came across and comforted her, something she'd never been known to do.
"A bond is developing between you two – I can sense it," lied Jenna. She invited Freddie to close the show singing 'The Star-Spangled Banner' and had to quickly cancel her instruction for a quick fade out of Freddie when discovering he had a fine voice.
Putting her hand to her ear-plug, Jenna said: "My producer tells me if it's anything like the people in the studio and at her parent's home, half of America stood while Freddie sang. Wasn't he beautiful?"
The show faded with Jenna's arms wrapped around Freddie as she kissed him and Zelda looking like a hunting tigress ready to pounce.
Next day a group of students in Los Angeles launched a petition called "Freddie for State Governor" and within eight hours an estimated 98,000 signatures had been collected and citizens of San Francisco down to the smallest town were screaming for copies of the petition.
All this publicity brought people in search of Freddie's 'Freddie's'. Two extra security guards were employed by Freddie on crowd control, his restaurant and bar now being one of the hottest places to be seen at on the planet.
Zelda, alas, was not enjoying Freddie's rapid rise to fame as it had destroyed the little bit of intimacy that had developed between them, if it could be called that. He'd managed to allow the back of his hand brush against hers, but really it was her pussy crying out to be brushed. She'd love him to brush her pussy, she thought, before remembering she was bald down there.
The gossip columnist and women's mags were agog with excitement and Zelda became quite addicted to the wonderful interviews she was purported to have given the magazines and her tightly written quotations the columnists had plucked from the air and attributed to her – Zelda firmly believing the bitches made up those mini quotes while sitting in the bathroom suffering constipation which they released verbally.
