Uncle John’s Bathroom Reader Presents Flush Fiction Read Online Free PDF

said, planting another kiss on top of the monkey’s shiny head.
    That night after a veritable peanut-butter-and-banana feast, Spring Star, Prince Charming, and a reluctant Rex retired to Spring’s suite. Rex found it daunting to make love to Spring with her radioactive monkey watching them from the foot of the bed. Rex sighed and rolled off of Spring.
    “Rex, what is it?”
    “Look, Spring, I’ve been involved in a few bizarre Hollywood scenes, but I have to tell you, making love by the light of a monkey really tops them all.”
    “Rex, baby! Soon you’ll grow to love Prince Charming as much as I do—“
    “The only thing that’s growing is that monkey. Do you see this? He’s as tall as me!”
    “Don’t be so dramatic, Rex,” said Spring. “It’s not like you’re very tall.”
    “That monkey is freaking me out and I am putting him outside,” Rex yelled as he grabbed Prince Charming around his waist. Prince Charming wouldn’t budge, so Rex tried pushing him.
    “Rex, no! Liborio said not to force him to do anything he doesn’t want to do—“
    “Who the hell is Liborio?”
    These were the last words that Rex Riley ever spoke. The newspaper obituary featured a photo of him in his Elvis-inspired karate suit. Strangely enough, his live-in girlfriend Spring Star wasnot present at his paparazzi-plagued funeral.
    After it happened, the headlines were always some variation of this: “SPRING HAS SPRUNG: WHATEVER BECAME OF ACTRESS SPRING STAR?” One of the tabloids ran a story about Spring Star being spotted on an island off the coast of the Pacific. Miss Star insisted on no photographs. The reporter said that she maintained a healthy glow, although perhaps it was coming from the large monkey that she wore, quite literally, on her back.

Curb Appeal
    Katherine Tomlinson
    T he minute Joanna saw Clea Maxwell drive up in her jaunty little Prius she knew she was perfect for the house.
    Clea was in her late forties, compact and nicely dressed. The suit—probably from Ann Taylor—told Joanna that Clea worked somewhere that looking corporate was important.
    Her hair was colored a rich auburn but starting to thin at the temples, a sure sign Clea was in perimenopause. It had happened to Joanna, too. She’d had to wash her hair every day and blow it out for maximum fluffiness.
    It had eventually gotten thicker again, thanks to hormones and hair vitamins, but Joanna had been quite vain in her younger years and the physical transformations that accompanied “the Change” had unnerved her.
    At least she’d never developed the wide part so many women did when they were past a certain age.
    Clea loved the kitchen, as Joanna had known she would. Joanna thought the kitchen was one of the house’s best features. It was full of light, with a window over the sink and another in the door that led to the back yard. Clea tried to play it cool, but when she first saw the built-in bookcase—perfect for displaying cookbooks and knick-knacks—her face lit up.
    It was a cook’s kitchen, with a gas stove, plenty of storage space, and a built-in pantry. There was a decorative tile backsplash behind the sink, the colors complementing the rich peach paint on the walls.
    One of the women who’d looked at the house had complained about the narrow space the refrigerator occupied. “It’s not wideenough for my Sub-Zero,” she had whined.
    As if anyone who wasn’t running a catering business needed a Sub-Zero fridge, Joanna had thought at the time.
    Clea wasn’t married. She was buying the house on her own to make a nest for herself. Joanna approved of her gumption. So many women wasted their lives waiting for Prince Charming, or put off living until they’d already missed the best parts.
    The house was just the right size for one person. It had two bedrooms upstairs and a small, sun-filled space off the kitchen that looked into a garden run riot with roses. That room would make a wonderful home office if Clea needed it.
    Joanna