“yes, here are the papers, in a nimsy—“ before the man could finish his sentence, he was cut off.

2 seconds later, his hands were tied behind his back and he was screaming (or at least trying) with duct tape sealed tightly over his mouth.

The piano teacher had never confronted anyone—but she couldn’t hide in the dark anymore, pushing her thick circular glasses, and shyly playing the white and black keys—the only reason some people respected her. She had to do it, and now.

She marched up to the door with the huge golden star, that read: 203. Yes, that was it. Room 203. The room of “stardom”, as some people said.

Someone said, “Come in!”

Mrs. Bimsy entered, straightening her thick glasses nervously. Diva O’Lare was there, alright, sitting on the pink and purple striped carpet of her’s in a ball-gown that was pink with white streams and a very sparkly silver jacket. Her blond hair was in a twisty bun, and she had much pink makeup and lipstick. Mrs. Bimsy took it all in.

“Yes?” Diva O’Lare asked, looking into a silver heart pocket mirror applying more blush. Trust me, she didn’t need more. Not a tick.

Ms. Bimsy drew in a sharp breath and gulped. “Look, some of my piano students have been complaining about the perfume smell that wafts down the hallway all the way down to room 601.”

“Oh, is this true?” Diva O’Lare looked Ms. Bimsy in the eye. She sighed. “Well, alrightie then. I’ll take the perfume down a notch. But in return, you must do me a favor…”

Ms. Bimsy threw up her arms. “Anything! Well, almost anything…” Ms. Bimsy was wise, and she knew there are several things Diva O’Lare could ask her to do that she would not agree to.

 “Ok.” Diva O’Lare looked excited somehow. “The favor is this. If I take the perfume down a notch for your piano students, then you allow me to give you a makeover.”

Ms. Bimsy’s hands flew to her mouth. “Well…I’ll have to think about that, Ms. O’Lare…”

Diva O’Lare studied her black painted nails with 5 colorful rings on each hand. She shrugged. “Well then…your students will have perfume wafting right up their nose during the lessons. Or, they can play the piano in peace, and you can look absolutely exquisite. That sounds P-E-R-F-E-C-T-O to me.”

“Well…if you really insist.” Ms. Bimsy sighed. What bad could a makeover really do? She’d let Diva O’Lare glam her up, and then take it right off and go right back to no makeup, thick glasses, black turtlenecks and jeans.

Diva O’Lare clapped her hands so happily and hard I could almost say “violently”. “Yes! Yes! Ok, great! Trust me, Diva O’Lare is gonna glam. You. Up. And you will not be disappointed!”

Ms. Bimsy sighed once more. “When is the makeover scedhuled?”

“How about…a week from today. To get you pumped, and to allow me to get everything ready. Deal?”

Diva O’Lare held out her black-painted nails and jewel-encrusted hand. Ms. Bimsy held out her pale hand with no painted nails or jewelery. They shook on it.

Diva O’Lare’s pajamas were sparkly white-and gold polka dot tights, a black skirt, and a extremely bejewled shirt with a sweater. Her slippers were elegant black high heels. So imagine Diva O’Lare giving a shy piano teacher who wears jeans and black turtlenecks and no jewelry a makeover. Scary! I know, right?

Diva O’Lare had the fanciest, most biggest nicest wardrobe in history. Or at least, that Ms. Bimsy knew of. Her room, the famous room of “stardom”, as Diva herself and lots of her fans called it, had a pink and purple striped carpet lining the floor, a huge long mirror by the wall, pictures in frames of Diva in her different dresses, her HUGE closet of dresses and all that, and a dresser with an earring holder and 2 boxes of rings, bracelets, and necklaces.

 Diva O’Lare did not have a normal style, and she told it the to the world and was proud of it.

The next day was Tuesday. Diva O’Lare straightened her blond hair until it reached down to almost her belly button. She was wearing it down today. Then she got on a floor-length ball-gown that was green and was ruffley and had a sparkly silver lining in the middle. She added a white fur jacket to go with it. Then she got on 3-inch high lavender-colored high heels, and added a huge purple bow on her head. She stopped in the front of the mirror. “Perfect,” she said. And then, “Oh noooooo! I forgot earrings!”

Diva O’Lare rushed over to her dresser and put in big green ball studs to match her dress. Now she stood in the front of the mirror once more. “Now perfect,” she complimented herself. Then she applied gobs of makeup and was all set.

Yes, this was Diva O’Lare’s typical morning of getting dressed. Crazy, I know. But Diva O’Lare was a diva and she spoke it. She was different, and she spoke that too. A few years back, someone had asked why Diva never wore elegant watches with her outfits. She just smiled and said, “I live on Diva Time.”

Now it was just to plan out Ms. Bimsy’s makeover. She had to make her beautiful period.

Ms. Bimsy was running late to the first piano lesson of the day. She grabbed her black leather purse, her spring coat, slipped on some clogs, and she was out the door, into her BMW. She stomped on the gas, and zoomed her way to The Institute of Talent and Music (ITM). Breathing hard, she ran to the front desk and showed her ID, and then ran to room 601, where she taught lessons. Yeah, she was late—but maybe just in time. Zia was already sitting on the black bench by the piano.

“Hi!” Ms. Bimsy said, out of breath. “So sorry I’m late. Ready to play some piano?”

Zia grinned and nodded.

“Ok, here we go…did you figure out the fingering for Allegretto 2? Good, good, very good…let’s write in our finger numbers here…”

“Ready? 5, 6, 7, 8…I’m gonna play it for you…”

Zia smiled, because she loved hearing Ms. Bimsy play. Who didn’t?

Music flowed out of Room 601. A woman sat at the piano, a woman with thick round glasses and flowing dark brown hair. Her fingers moved gracefully across the piano, her pink lips in a half-smile as she concentrated, and finally, she was done. It was heaven for anyone to hear Ms. Bimsy play.

And Diva O’Lare wanted Ms. Bimsy to be heaven to look at, too. Not just her fingers—no sir.

The next day was Wednesday. 5 days to go till the makeover. Today, Diva O’Lare, in room 203, “Stardom”, was dressed in a “cocktail column” dress that was black with white sparkles. She had bright red lipstick and dark makeup. Her blond hair was in a long braid to the side of her head, with a white daisy tucked in her hair as well. She had big silver hoop earrings and as usual, the bejewled fingers. She wore her rings to sleep.

Diva O’Lare stood in front of the mirror and gave herself a thumbs up. Yes, her outfit was complete for Wednesday. She sat down on her skinny little bed next to the pink wall, and sighed. “Aaaaah.” She brainstormed ideas for Ms. Bimsy once more. She was not going to let that shy piano teacher down. She was going to ace this makeover, and that was that.

Before she knew it, Diva O’Lare drifted off into a long sleep on her bed.

When Diva awoke, her clock read: 4:15 PM. “What?!” she gasped out loud. She had slept from 9:00 in the morning to 4:15 in the afternoon? That was ridiculous!

“Divas like me don’t take long naps in the middle of the day! How did I let myself fall asleep?” Diva wondered. “Strange.”

Then she remembered at 4:30, she had to drop off some mail at the post office—to keep her fans updated on her latest dresses to keep them satisfied and shut up. She patted her braid—phew, everything was still in place—and slipped on some black high heels. Then she grabbed her fluffy yellow handbag/purse and walked gracefully out the door. She had much practice doing the “Diva Walk”. She did it whenever she was in public. She arrived at the post office after 2 blocks of walking in 4-inch high heels. People stared at her as she walked by—she knew. But she liked it. She knew it was because she was D-I-V-A.

She diva-walked over to the mail desk, and a man in his mail uniform and a white cap glanced up at her and then accidentally whispered, “Oh!” He was a little taken aback by what she was wearing, and how strikingly beautiful she was. Diva O’Lare give him her best Diva smile, and said, “Mail to all my fans, please” and handed him the envelope. Then she diva-walked off, 2 blocks to go in her 4-inchers.

“I was only trying—“ more threats from the buff guy. With a wrench. So the man kept quiet—but only for a little while longer. This man was a man of words, not a man of silence. How much longer could duct tape stick?

Diva O’Lare arrived to her “Stardom” room 203, baby! She dragged some lawn chairs with towels on them out of the back of her closet and lied down on one of them. She placed cucumbers over her eyes and rubbed lotion on her skin. Then she fell asleep—once more.

Much later, Diva O’Lare might be diagnosed with narclopsey.

The next day was Thursday, and Diva O’Lare woke up sleepily, rubbing her eyes. She took some pain medication, because she thought, “maybe it will help me stay awake…?” Then she got to work on her outfit. She got on a strapless dress and the first part of the dress was white and lacey, and the rest, that was most of it, was orange flowers. It was one of her more springy dresses. After she got it on, she slipped on some long elegant black boots. Then she applied some makeup that went with the dress, some big flower earrings, and did her hair—which today she put in two braids, with little striped hair-ties with bows to hold them. She looked into the mirror, satisfied. Then she yawned.

Apparently pain medication wasn’t right for making yourself less sleepy. Diva O’Lare had been going to bed extra early, so why was she still sleepy? Diva O’Lare pondered this, but then forced herself to not worry about it. Everyone goes through their phases, she told herself.

Then she looked at her calendar—4 days to go until the makeover. She better not fall asleep during it!

Diva wanted to do something fun today—that just might keep her awake. She felt sort of lonely lately. Diva O’Lare was confident, and so fashionable and cool, but she didn’t have many friends. Her mother had passed 2 years before, and her father…had left angrily when she was a baby and left her on the doorstep. Everyone assumed Diva was happy enough, with her snazzy outfits and jewelery, but she really…wasn’t. And her whole “falling asleep” thing was adding more stress. And she hadn’t dated someone since…since when? Since her fiancée left her. She had the shiny diamond engagement ring and everything, but then, no, left her on the day of the wedding. And Diva had yelled at him, ‘I woulda looked fab in my wedding dress, ya know!’ So Diva had truly been through some rough stuff. And now she was left alone.

Toughen up, buttercup, Diva told herself bitterly, and got on her shiny red spring coat and was out the door. Maybe Diva was fancy, very fancy, and had the biggest wardrobe in history, but it didn’t mean she didn’t love nature. She headed over to the main park in her neighborhood—Leaf Hills. She loved it there. There was a lagoon with a fountain in the middle, and grassy hills with dandlieons (they were weeds, but she treated them as flowers) and a great big weeping willow tree. She loved hiding under it…feeling safe and sound. She almost felt as if she could summon her mother’s spirit under there.

She saw a few fans on benches spotting her and snapping pictures, but she didn’t care. She didn’t stop to smile and pose. Today I’m just taking care of me, she thought; and headed straight for the Weeping Willow. She knew it deserved to capalitized.

As she ducked under the soft falling leaves, she saw something a bit…surprising. She saw a man, a very innocent looking man, looking terrified. He had duct tape over his mouth that seemed to be slowly falling off, and there was a buff man guarding over him, looking around nervously. Diva might had been in a sad, pathetic, lonely mood that day, but when it came to people who made her mad—that feeling washed away right into anger. There was nothing Diva did better than standing up for other people.

“What the hell are you doing?!” she yelled at the man. “What have you done to this man?”

The man looked shocked. “Huh?”

“YOU! Yeah, YOU! I’m talkin’ to YOU! Now answer me! And don’t try to play dumb…What. Have. You. Done. With. This. MANNNNN?!”

He smirked, looked around, and then tried to punch Diva. She grabbed his hand easily and pulled it away, smirking back. “Not so fast, punk,” she told him smoothly. (Diva had taken karate in middle school, and her skills stuck.) He looked shocked again. He crossed his arms. “Wow. Better than I thought.”

“Yeah, you BET I’m better than you thought! I bet you underestimate everyone! Now do you want me to call the police, or are you gonna answer me?”

He gasped and made a mad dash, dragging the man behind him. Then he thought better of it, and stuffed the man in a big black sack.

But Diva grabbed him. She looked him straight in the eye, holding him by his collar, and said, with knives in her glare at him, “That’s it.”

She pulled out her iPhone and dialed 911.

Hello, what is the emergency?”

“Hi, this is Diva O’Lare at Leaf Hills, there is a man dragging an innocent man with duct tape over his mouth in a sack. I suspect something bad going on here. Please come over to the Weeping Willow tree at Leaf Hills Park.”

“Immediately, ma’am.”

Diva hung up and sighed a quick breath of relief.

Minutes later, flashing lights and a siren could be seen and heard. Police cars pulled up in front of Leaf Hills. Diva O’Lare dashed towards them, holding the “criminal” with her strong grip. “This is him, this is him!” she yelled franticially.

“Where is the innocent man, or who you claim to be innocent?” a police officer asked Diva O’Lare. But Diva’s heart stopped as she glanced up at him. He was the cutest, hottest police officer she had ever seen. Cuter than her fiancée, even.

“U-um,” she stuttered, “i-in the black s-sack.”

“Thank you, ma’am. We will be inspecting these men back at the good ol’ Police Department. Now scurry along. We have your number if we have any further reports for you on the case.”

Diva smiled, for the police officer had her number! “O-ok. Thanks.”

Just then, Diva collapsed, for she had fallen asleep.

Today was Ms. Bimsy’s day off—Thursday. She decided to go to Leaf Hills and maybe write some poems, sit by the lagoon. She was a poet--secretly. She wore her poet hat—which was red with a big blue bow on the side. It inspired her to write.

But as she walked over in her sandals, she stopped—like someone had just hit her with a hard blow. She saw police cars…and Diva O’Lare--on the ground. Was everything okay? She wondered what was going on. Would Diva be alive to give her the makeover in 4 days? She knew Diva was probably counting down the days.

She saw a really cute police officer—and then, everything went black. For she had regnoized him.

“Look! Across the street--another woman has collapsed!” A police officer named Riz ran over to her, and picked her up, dragging her to the police car. “Seriously, what is going on here?” Then he regnoized the woman he was dragging. His hand flew to his mouth. “Oh…my…god…” Then, before you knew it, Riz was down too.

There was much inspecting going on at the Police Department that day. There was a woman wearing a fancy dress and black boots, known as Diva O’Lare, who collapsed, but was still breathing and seemed to have no injuries. Then there was another woman, with thick glasses and sandals and a black turtleneck on, and then there was the suspicious man who had been accused (a bit buff), and a man who seemed to be suffocating and was taking shuddery breathes as his chest fell up…and down; and then there was the police officer himself! Thankfully, there were a bunch more, but that police officer was a police officer.

Another police officer, who went by the name of Izzy, had a advanced laptop and was ready to collect information.

“Ok…accused dude, go first,” Izzy commanded. “What is your side of the story.”

“Well…uhhh…” the man had a very low voice, Izzy noticed. “I was just walking along in the park, when I found a dude with duct tape over his mouth, and I decided to help him, but then this crazy lady came along and yelled at me and called the police.”

“Hmm,” Izzy observed suspiciously. Then he gestured to Giu, his partner. “Giu—temporary cell, please.”

Giu, who was very muscular and tall like the accused man himself, twisted the buff man’s hands behind his back and locked him in the temporary cell; just until they figured everything out.

Giu stood guard with the key. Izzy was impatient for Diva to wake up, and he didn’t know what to do about the unconscious man and--

Just then, the woman with thick glasses and a black turtleneck as well as sandals woke up.

“Wow…where am I?” she demanded. “What just happened?”

Then everything came flooding back to her. The man…it had been Riz…no wonder he became a police officer…

“You blacked out, ma’am, across the street from Leaf Hills, and we brought you here for inspection. The Police Department. So, ready to answer a few questions?”

Ms. Bimsy sighed. “I was really just looking for a relaxing day of poetry, but…fine.”

“Question #1: What is your name?”

“Fleur Bimsy.”

Izzy did some furious typing on his keyboard.

“Question #2: what were you doing across the street from Leaf Hills?”

“I was going to go there to sit by the lagoon and write poetry…that’s why I’m wearing this hat. It inspires me to write.”

Izzy smiled at her for a brief second. He had wanted to be a writer in high school…but his dad had pushed him to be something that required being buff and harsh. He hated it.

“Ok…Question #3: Why did you black out?”

“I-I…well…I…do I have to answer this?”

Izzy stared at her and gulped. “Y-yes.”

Ms. Bimsy took a deep breath and began talking very fast. “Ok…I, uh, regnoized Riz across the street and fainted. There.”

“Why did you faint?” Izzy demanded. “How do you know Riz?”

Ms. Bimsy blushed and straightened her glasses. “Well…in high school he got me pregnant,” she said quickly.


“Yup. Can I be done now?”

“No. What happened with you and Riz? Did you have your child?”

“Y-yes,” Ms. Bimsy said quickly and nervously.

“How old were you?”

“17,” she answered.

“Wow…” he commented. “Does your child live with you now?”

“Oh no,” Ms. Bimsy shook her head quickly. “Chloe lives with a caring mother who adopted her.”

“Oh,” Izzy said. “I’m…sorry to bring this up again. But these questions are mandatory.”

Just then Diva O’Lare woke up! Izzy’s jaw fell open. “Diva O’Lare! Well, well, well! Time for questions!”

“Wha? Where am I? Who are you? What happened?”

“You collapsed at Leaf Hills, and we brought you here. Now. On with the questions.”

Diva O’Lare rubbed her eyes sleepily. “Ok…”

“What caused you to black out?”

“I fell asleep, actually.”

“Has this been happening often?”

“You know, you should probably go to a doctor and get that checked out.”


“Do you know Riz, or Fleur, or the accused man or the kidnapped man?”

“Well…I know ‘Riz’ from somewhere. And I don’t know Fleur or the rest.”

“What?” Ms. Bimsy piped up. “You know me!”

“Ms. Bimsy?” Diva asked in surprise. “Hi!”

“My first name is Fleur,” she explained.

“Ooooh,” Diva exclaimed. “Well then, yes, I know ‘Fleur’.”

“Are you somehow related to Riz, or do you know him from high school, Diva? Name your relatives.”

“Uhhh…my mother passed away 2 years ago—Yvette O’Lare, and my father left us when I was just a baby.”

“Hmmm…does Riz remind you of your father?”

“Well…I don’t know, Officer. I was only a baby.”

“Does he fit your mother’s description?”

“Why…I didn’t think about that. Um…now that I think about it…yes?”

“By golly!”

Just then Riz woke up!


“Hi, Officer Riz,” Izzy said. “You blacked out. What happened?”


He noticed Diva and nearly jumped out of his pants. “OH! OH MY GOD!”

“What?” Izzy asked, startled. “Is there something wrong?”

“No, I just…” Riz drifted off.

Izzy cut right to the chase. He said gravely, “Officer, is Diva O’Lare your daughter?”

Riz hid his face in his hands, and Diva could see tears coming down. “Y-yes…” They grew into sobs. Diva wanted to comfort him, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. She didn’t know why, but he had abandoned her. As a baby. And her mother. But this was all too shocking to take in. Officer Riz? Who she had thought was cute? Wow, Diva, stick to men your own age, Diva thought. And especially avoid YOUR OWN FATHER!
“How do you regnoize me?” Diva demanded angrily. “You don’t even deserve to regnoize me.”

“I regnoize your beautiful face,” Riz replied.

This softened Diva a wee bit—but only a little.

“Why…” Diva wanted to ask it. “Why did you abandon me and my mother?” she asked softly.

“Because…well…I had so much hurt from the past—”

Then, all of a sudden, Riz jumped again, like he had seen a ghost. And this time, he was staring right at Ms. Bimsy.

“Oh…goodness…is this a renunion party or what?” Riz muttered under his breath. Now Ms. Bimsy was angry too.

“Uh-uh, no it’s not! You got me pregnant, you scum! How many mistakes did you make in your life?”

Diva’s mouth fell open. She’d never seen Ms. Bimsy so angry, so strong. Would Ms. Bimsy stick to her makeover, or take it right off? And also, what? Riz knew Ms. Bimsy? And her father had gotten her pregnant?

“And in my junior year of high school, for Pete sake. How many people’s lives do you try to screw up? Huh?”

Angry Ms. Bimsy was waiting for an answer.

The next day was Friday—3 days to go until the makeover. So many shocking things had been discovered the past day, Diva O’Lare knew. Same as always, she got to work on her outfit. She picked out a light blue dress with a sash belt in the middle with a sparkly white circle; and matching blue high heels. The dress had 2 thick blue straps. She put her thick blond hair in a curly ponytail with a blue clip. With blue stud earrings and gobs of makeup as usual, she was done. And of course the bejewled fingers.

She had to decide what to do about her current life. She needed to go to the doctor and see why she was falling asleep so much at random times, she needed to prepare Ms. Bimsy’s makeover, and she needed to find out more about Riz, her father. Things sure had gotten shaken up ever since yesterday. Her life had taken a sharp turn—of shocking secrets.

Ann Daniels
6/22/2013 03:40:02

I like Mrs. Bimsy (rhymes with "in a nimsy!") Your descriptions of Diva O'Lare and her appearances are very entertaining...perfectly done. I love the name of the school...Institute of Talent and Music (ITM) and the Stardom Room 203. I could almost hear Allegretto 2 as Mrs. Bimsy's fingers glided over the keys...pink lips smiling. Sooo...I wondered if Diva O'Lare is daughter of Mrs. Bimsy and Biz! Yes or no??? It is a wonderfully written story which kept me reading for answers to some mysteries!!!


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