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    The Story of Babalou Roy
    The Story of Babalou Roy
    The Story of Babalou Roy
    Ebook95 pages1 hour

    The Story of Babalou Roy

    By Amelia Fergusson

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    About this ebook

    These are the stories of sorrow and hope. Of kindness and fear. A troubled alcoholic accidentally ends up in heaven. A young girl falls in love with her molester. A celebrity's girlfriend hides her bruises with diamonds and designer clothes. A woman loses sight of her husband as she hesitantly attempts to cross the Mexican/American border. These are the stories of love and loss. Of dreams and regrets in cities that refuse to shine their light on the forlorn faces of the down-trodden and dispossessed. The Story of Babalou Roy is a brilliantly original, deft and sometimes darkly funny collection of short stories.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherTrafford Publishing
    Release dateDec 9, 2010
    ISBN9781426943980
    The Story of Babalou Roy
    Author

    Amelia Fergusson

    Amelia Fergusson was born in London, England. She then moved to the Caribbean island of St.Vincent and The Grenadines where she studied English, West Indian and American Literature. She is also the founder of an arts and culture website. Visit the author’s website www.ameliafergusson.com for the latest news and updates.

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      Book preview

      The Story of Babalou Roy - Amelia Fergusson

      About the author

      Amelia Fergusson was born in London, England. She then moved to the Caribbean island of St. Vincent and The Grenadines where she studied English, West Indian and American Literature. She is also the founder of an arts and culture website. She currently lives in London.

      Visit the author’s website www.ameliafergusson.com for the latest news and updates.

      stories

      About the author

      the story of babalou roy

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      the story of babalou roy

      Babalou Roy sat behind his desk, impatiently tapping his short, thick brown fingers on the folder that lay in front of him. He was a sturdily built man, and certainly not a man of great charisma. His dark rimmed glasses tended to slide down and position themselves on a bump in the middle of his nose. No, he thought, he was not an attractive man at all. However, he was a conceited man who took his shortcomings out on those who happened to cross his path.

      As he sat, his feet now tapping to the rhythm of his fingers, his eyes darted from the clock on the grey wall and back to the desk. Five more minutes, he consoled himself. He could feel his palms getting sweaty, so he rubbed them together. Tick tock. Tick tock. The clock slowly but surely struck five. He hastily straightened his desk, reached down for his bat- tered briefcase and quickly made his way out the door. He was now in a new world; away from the desks all aligned in precise rows, the florescent lights and the endless tapping on the computer keyboards.

      He looked down at the briefcase in his hand. He could never understand why he carried it to and from work. He was a man of no importance. It contained no documents that he might need for meetings. It didn’t even contain an address book that he could thumb through to call business associates or even worse, friends.

      Still, being the man that Babalou Roy was, he was always able to make himself feel important. Walking towards his car he smiled to himself. Actually, he thought, he was important to his customers. He held the power that enabled him to switch their gas on or off at the click of a button. He delighted in listening to the pleas on the other end of the line. I’ll have the money tomorrow, they’d say. Babalou Roy would sigh and say, I think I’m going to have to suspend your service, sir, a few times just to hear them plead even more. He would wonder what the women customers might do for him if he agreed to extend their billing date. One of the women that called earlier sounded so sexy. Babalou imagined her with big tits, walking around her kitchen in her underwear as she begged him not to cut her gas off. He would be lying if he said that her voice didn’t turn him on.

      Her voice was sultry, smooth, like one of the chat line operators he frequently called. He contemplated asking her what she would do for him in exchange for an extension on her payment plan. He couldn’t, of course; the calls were monitored. Sometimes he thought about turning up at a customer’s house and stabbing them over and over and over because they had been so rude and belittled him so much that he had to take an extra dose of Prozac that day. After he’d calmed down he realized that wasn’t really logical. He’d never get away with it. He wasn’t that smart.

      Babalou Roy was clipping his seatbelt together when he heard a loud bang on his window that caused him to jump. The Prozac clearly wasn’t working; he was still on edge. A familiar face was pressed up against his window, peering in at him. Babalou Roy tried to hide his disdain. Why hadn’t he just driven off as soon as he got in the car? He was always day- dreaming. Daydreaming always got him into mishaps.

      Malcolm worked in technical support and had taken it upon himself to check in on Babalou Roy from time to time. They had both worked at the same company for about fifteen years and if they weren’t so different probably could have been great friends. This, however, was not the case. Malcolm had noticed Babalou Roy’s rapid fall from grace. His wife leaving him after she found out he’d slept with their neighbour’s sixteen-year-old daughter. It was her breasts, he tried to explain to his wife as she loaded the contents of their household into a U- Haul truck. Being the man that he was, Babalou Roy couldn’t understand why his wife found his actions repulsive. If her breasts weren’t so droopy, it wouldn’t have happened. She marched out, never looking back, and now he had to give half of his paycheck to a woman whose breasts could be thrown over her shoulder.

      Malcolm continued to tap on the glass, so Babalou Roy reluctantly wound down his window.

      ‘Malcolm!’ He tried to act surprised in an attempt to hide his annoyance.

      ‘Were you sleeping?’ Malcolm asked.

      ‘No. Just thinking,’ Babalou Roy casually answered.

      ‘About?’

      ‘Stuff.’

      ‘Like?’ Babalou Roy had learnt that Malcolm could be extremely persistent. It was a trait that really pissed him off.

      ‘Like what I might have for dinner,’ he lied.

      ‘Hey, I’ve got an idea!’ Malcolm beamed with excitement. ‘Why don’t you come round to mine for dinner?’

      ‘I don’t think so,’ Babalou Roy began.

      ‘Why?’

      ‘It’s just not a good time for me right now, Malcolm,’ he explained.

      ‘Ahhh, I know what this is,’ said Malcolm, wagging a finger and shaking his head.

      ‘What?’

      ‘You don’t have to be intimidated, Babalou,’ he smiled.

      ‘What the fuck are you on about?’ He looked at Malcolm with a confused expression. Malcolm flinched at the word Fuck. Babalou Roy lit a cigarette.

      ‘People go through divorces all the time. It would probably be a bit uncomfortable for you to be at my home watching Marie and I together,’ he concluded.

      ‘You really are a self-righteous prick, you know that, Malcolm?’ Babalou Roy blew smoke in Malcolm’s face, causing the other man to cough.

      ‘Marie and I are just happy to have God in our lives,’

      he spluttered through the smoke.

      ‘There you go again!’ Babalou Roy exclaimed.

      ‘What?’

      ‘With that God bullshit,’ Babalou Roy replied. ‘It’s getting old, Malcolm.’

      ‘I’m just trying to be a friend and tell you of what’s to come,’ Malcolm warned.

      ‘The only thing that’s going to come is me. Inside a prostitute,’ Babalou replied bluntly. Malcolm turned pale at the thought of such a sin—that he knew would absolutely be committed.

      ‘You’ve got to be ready

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