Mrs. Paddytapper
Author: Oro
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Mrs. Paddytapper mine. Casey and Danny Sorkin's.
Notes: This is just plain silly!
There's an envelope in his mailbox that has another person's name written on it. The envelope is white and shaped as a perfect rectangle as most envelopes are, and it wouldn't have been suspicious if it hadn't been for that one detail. So he doesn't open it, expecting someone would realize that he was not, in fact, Mrs. Paddytapper.
Though after a day of no one else claiming the envelope, he was starting to suspect he may have been just that. No one comes the next day, the one after, or the one after that; a week goes by without the envelope being touched by anyone other then himself, as he reaches for the other mail and his hand brushes against the white paper, now turning somewhat yellow.
Could it be that he is, in fact, Mrs. Paddytapper? For the last time he checked, he still had been the Casey McCall he's gotten used to being. You know, that guy on that sports show. The guy with the kid, and the ex-wife, and the many people romantically linked to him. Whose senses are more than seen to the naked eye, whose intelligence and talent for languages could not be denied, for they are part of the human mind.
That guy. Perhaps, though, Mrs. Paddytapper had stolen his identity and used it as her porn star name, or pimp name, or any other reason due to which she would like to escape the police. And Casey fantasizes about Mrs. Paddytapper, whose first name he did not know, and of the adventures she might be about in her fast, crazy life.
In his mind, Mrs. Paddytapper is a portentous murderer whose silly name is just a cover-up for being dangerous, like a bunny with its fangs exposed, or something else that had fangs, maybe. Maybe Mrs. Paddytapper rides along the road, across the badlands or the Appalachians or a fjord; anywhere that had an open road was where she belonged. For she was Mrs. Paddytapper, and Mrs. Paddytapper is part of nature: she is the endless ocean and the wind blowing through the trees, light and fierce on a black motorcycle.
Mrs. Paddytapper is just plain hardcore, in black leather, her lips red with lipstick and blood, or something in the lines of that.
Casey tells Danny about Mrs. Paddytapper, and Danny just stares into space with amusement as his lover details the incredible adventures of a woman he knows nothing about, other than the fact she never got a letter that was addressed to her; and Danny chuckles at Casey's vivid imagination and kisses him softly on the lips, his eyes shining in childish joy.
It's been two weeks, and Casey is exhausted; of working the full week, of hasty sex with Dan between the writing of scripts, of waiting for the mysterious Mrs. Paddytapper to show up at his doorstep demanding her letter and possibly whisking him off with her to explore the world and surrender to his inner beast, his primal urges, succumb to earthly delights with Mrs. Paddytapper on his side.
And Danny. Because it wouldn't be any fun if he wasn't there. And it us fun, until come Friday the fifteenth he says to hell with it all and opens the envelope: glitters suddenly cover him and a small notes seems to be floating with them in mid-air, until Casey reaches and grabs it.
Friday the 15th: Hah. You are so predictable.
Love,
Danny.
So he just stares at the letter, for he is Mrs. Paddytapper; he had no idea he could be this interesting.
FIN