The Mystery Of Big Boy!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

                                         Girls, who needs to read mysteries, when there are real ones all around you?  The latest concerns the mysteriousness of our upstairs neighbor, John, the guy with the Seventies mullet, whom I have dubbed "Big Boy."

                                          Remember the movie "Gaslight," where Ingrid Bergman thinks she hears someone walking above, in the unoccupied room?????  Monsieur claims I am doing the reverse with Big Boy, who lives above us, by my frequent repetition of that Philip Roth line from "Portnoy's Complaint--

                                               "Oh, do it to me, Big Boy!  Oh, shove it in me, Big Boy!
                                                Big Boy!  BIG BOOOOOOOOOOOOYYYYYY!!!!!!"

                                          Which I put a spin of my own on, by doing it in my best Mae West cadence.

                                           The result is we have not seen Big Boy in weeks, nor know even if he is at home, or when.  Has he moved?  We are not sure, because sometimes one does hear movement from above.  Monsieur thinks I have driven him to insanity, where he is so terrified by me, he refuses to leave the apartment.

                                           But, why would anyone be terrified of me, darlings????????????

                                          It all started before his vacation in August, when I saw him, smoking, of course,
going to withdraw money from Citibank, with this big, burly, dark haired guy.  Maybe he is having a tumultuous homosexual relationship!  Well, one can hope!  Or maybe--because, with the reddened capillaries on his cheeks, I know this guy is a full blown alcoholic; one of the reasons he is the most quiet of neighbors is, because, I am sure, when he comes home, he drinks, then passes out on his mattress!  He can function by day, but drinks by night.  Now, maybe, the big, burly guy was a sponsor of some kind--not a bad idea, because maybe he is now Twelve Stepping, or in some kind of rehab program, which is certainly not a bad thing at all!

                                       But I don't know.  And, not having seen him in weeks, I have to wonder--is whom I hear walking around above me actually Big Boy?  If not, then whom?

                                         I just hope his remains are not within the wood chips of our lovely interior courtyard atrium!  I would hate to think that!

                                          How I wish I had Nancy Drew's father--handsome lawyer Carson Drew (sigh!)--to consult on such matters.  Bet he would give good advice!

                                           While Nancy would drive her roadster, and wear white gloves to luncheon!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!