Chance be a fine thing, as Simone and I had fatefully thrown our coins in

much earlier times: for the winner chose to live, but the loser chose to win. Yes,

in my future sleeps Penelo - Carol

- she is the one

Marhia will read my words, to realise, that

yes; in Chance Be A Fine Thing I had used Brian's name again, not yet then her

'new' husband. And, as she will discover soon enough, that at least, as yet, I had

not used Simone's name. And Brian will be surprised, and annoyed, when Penelope

asks if he was planning to kill her. By the throw of a coin. For his cheating upon her

with Simone.

Yes, August already. Apparently.

 CHANCE BE A FINE THING

After the flash of light from the reflection of the spinning coin caught her

eye Penelope smiled at him. She'd watched him earlier twisting this coin between

his fingers, in a very curious manner as he stood at the bar, waiting to order, and

somehow in time with the background jazz trio music - flick flick flick flick flick

flick (with a final) Flick, for the coin to fall quite heavily with a distinct clunk

upon the deeply brown stained polished wood of the bar, as the gentle waltz finished

with its perfect cadence. She hadn't realised then it was gold. Naturally she didn't

mind when Brian walked across to rejoin them, having placed his order with Russell -

after all, he was good looking, slightly rugged actually (the way she liked them)

almost as if he looked a bit like Hemingway (although how she would know what

he looked like she had no idea) - and curiously Brian had appeared to know her

escort for that night, Chomiac. Drinking buddies apparently. Chomiac soon excused

himself, after the barman calling out, 'Is there a Chumiac in the house?' and he then

checking his pager. For yet another news story.

'Where now, Rollo?' Brian had asked.

'This kid found wandering by the river - walked all the way from Malvern ..'

'Call me later, if anything interesting?' suggested Penelope. 'And thanks for '

'Sure. Anytime.' agreed Chomiac, as if they now had a(nother?) prior arrange-

ment, Brian noticed.

They watched him walk away. Brian offered, 'Can I buy you a drink?'
 She liked his voice too, softly spoken but somehow authoritative, and Penelope

nodded, and Brian pulled out a chair for her and relieved she sat down (it had been

a long night). She could look at him more closely now, and admire his locks of thick

hair, the well cut features, the tan. It was almost as if he were a character from a

romantic novel. Too good to be true.

'We weren't introduced earlier. My name is Brain.'

'Brain? Unusual ..'

'Sorry, Brian of course. Slip of the tongue.' He began again, now smoothly

enough. 'What's yours?'

'Penelope.'

'What would you like to drink, Penny?

'A vodka and lime please, Brian.'

'Funnily enough, that's what I ordered.'

He caught the attention of a waiter with a (slightly affected) nonchalantly

thrown wave of his arm and Russell walked across with Brian's order. She stared

at him, this apparition from recent college days.

'Russell ..?' and he smiled back, having recognised her.

'Friend of the owner, Carol,

- she is the one penelope is not real made up

you are not real either simone

- am real

no just a voice in my head that s what they tell me and i believe them now
you must say goodbye soon simone

and doing him a favour. For free studio time

in the garage outside. Didn't realise your dad was so good on the bass. Or that he's

been playing with M. Small world, eh? Playing again later, if you're still around ..'

Penelope gestured to Brian as if to explain, 'We were .. well, are, at college

together before I ..' to his evident, puzzled disinterest - thought she'd called herself

Penelope, as he carefully (re)placed the gold coin he'd been twirling unto the

table. Well he could play games too.

'Same again then, please, Russell.' he asked.

'May I?' She asked, to his smiling nodding response. Penelope picked up the

coin and examined it, it was a sovereign. 'I saw you flicking it into the air. Is it

valuable?'

'Very. One of the first eighteen seventy one-ers.'

'Yes?' she answered, more of a query than comprehension. She examined the

Reverse. 'George and the Dragon?'

Brian nodded. 'Pistrucci's design. I collect coins.'

'Ahh. .. and women too I imagine. Were you flicking to decide whether to

come and talk to me?'

'How did you guess? Spinning a coin hides my nervousness.'

Somehow nervousness wasn't a trait she would have ascribed to this Brian.

Russell quickly returned with two more glasses. Brian handed him a note,

smiling again, - a familiarity there she thought (so he had been that guy earlier

playing piano in the corner) - then flicked his fingers again, as if to indicate, keep
the change. He took the coin from Penelope's fingers and dexterously wove it over

and under his fingers, seven times she thought she counted, although he was very

fast, weaving fluid golden threads.

Brian tossed the coin into his other palm, and repeated the sleight of hand.

But there was no point in attempting to impress her, 'Very good. You've

practised long?'

'Too long. Do you come here often?' he asked.

She smiled at the clich. 'No. This is my first time - I heard about this place

from Chomiac, that I might find new clients.'

Brian dropped the coin on to the table, and it fell to the Obverse. He asked, as

if suddenly pensive, now wary of rejection, 'Do you mind me coming up to talk to

you?'

'No, of course not. It was a shame Chomiac had to go. Always dashing off

somewhere. In fact, I was rather afraid that someone wouldn't come up and talk to

me - just as well you arrived before Chomiac left, yet again.'

Brian picked up the coin again. 'Do you like my conversation piece?'

'Yes.'

Brian dropped it again. 'And am I the man for you tonight?' he asked, now

seeming calm.

'Perhaps.' Penelope smiled. 'Since Chomiac has left me in your safe hands.

Try your .. luck.'

'What do you do, Penelope?'

 'I'm studying ... no, you first!'

'I'm a lady killer.' Brian answered solemnly.

'I see ... So you do come here often?'

'No!' he laughed. 'This is my first time too!'

'Yes?' Penelope asked, doubtfully, for there had been a recognition between

Chomiac and Brian only minutes earlier. 'You seemed sincere ... just now.'

Brian held the sovereign between his forefinger and thumb. 'This coin guides

my life, I need a decision, I throw my sovereign.'

'Interesting, but - '

' - But true. Shall I be sad? Obverse will decide. If Reverse should fall, I

shall be unhappy.'

Penelope sipped her drink, puzzled now by Obverse (which was a word

she had never heard of before) but curiously involved with t/his crazy idea, though

as a chat up line it was all a bit bizarre. 'Still interesting. But how far can you

abdicate your responsibility? before the results become .. amoral? Or even illegal?'

'Responsibility? What is that? Moral obligations imposed by others? But with

the throw of a coin, you decide.'

'I think you're losing me.'

'Shall I give you an example?' Brian carefully, painstakingly (it took him

some moments), balanced the coin upon its edge, before rolling slightly but

surprisingly remaining vertical. 'I've met this beautiful woman at a wine bar. I want

to suggest she comes back to my flat for another drink. But am I nervous? No - an

earlier toss of the coin decided that I'd be bold, be brave, despite the fact she was
with another man, even though I view Rollo as a friend. Just as, say, an earlier toss

of the coin decided me to come here in the first place. Do you understand?' With

a fillip he spun the coin; for a moment it became a spinning golden sphere,

translucent at its centre, sharply opaque at its perimeter. Penelope watched it career

madly across the tablecloth and collide with her wine glass with a loud ping: The

Dragon fell. Again.

'Penelope, may I suggest a nightcap? my house's not too far. A nice place by

the river. Perhaps we could listen to some music? I could even muster up supper.'

Why not, she asked herself, why not? He was entertaining and Penelope

fancied him - why not? After all she'd come for an evening out ... and heads had

fallen. If Obverse was Heads. Or so he said. Of course all the talk about tossing

the coin to decide what to do was a very clever (or was it too simple?) preamble,

an introductory gambit, and unusual but ...

'I have to leave early in the morning; I have to be in Tottenham for a college

lecture by eleven. I'm learning Chinese.'

'A student, eh? But tomorrow the sun may never arise.' he said.

Penelope laughed. 'The coin decided that, right!? You've got a nice turn of

phrase!' She picked up the coin and flicked it back unto the table. 'Heads you win,

tails I lose? Is your nice place far? Shall we take a taxi?'

'No, we can walk it. It's quite near.'

Penelope finished her drink and stood up.

Brian took her coat and draped it around her shoulders. He picked up his
sovereign and dropped it carelessly into his jacket pocket. He smiled, 'I suppose I

don't need to spin a coin any more?'

'No, I don't think you do.'

But he spun his precious sovereign anyway, only to murmur, upon the Fall,

'A pity.'

'A pity?' She queried, before following him as he quickly walked past the wine

tables out into the street. The casino green beige of the twilight evening had now

cleared to the blackness of stars glittering as diamonds impressed upon black silk,

and she felt a sharp chill in the air. 'How long have you lived near here?' she asked.

'Not long. I tend to move around a bit.'

'Yes? I never found out what you do for a living.'

'No?'

'Besides being a lady killer.'

'I'm an agent.' he replied.

'A secret one?' But Brian had started to walk away faster, probably not hearing

her and Penelope had to skip a few steps to catch up with him, and began singing

softly, # Daddy, don't you walk so fast! #

Having seen the burning lights, they had left the comfort of the mantle of

twinkling, sparkling stars, and begun to walk through narrow alleyways. He evidently

knew his way around. She had only a vague idea of the geography of the place,

having gleaned faint impressions of the area, checking an A-Z as Chomiac had

mentioned the address before they had earlier set off.

'Are we walking towards the river?' she wondered.

 'Yes. Towards the bridge.'

'Kew?' she asked, but to no response. And, after a few more silent minutes,

they had arrived there.

'Shall we walk under the bridge?' he asked.

'I didn't know you could - I thought the tide was far too high.'

'Well, I don't know. Shall we see?' He asked as he took Penelope's elbow

firmly and began to lead her down stone steps.

'There's no need to go to all this trouble for a kiss.' she laughed.

'A kiss?' he murmured. 'Yes, of course, a kiss. Hold on.' He again took his

sovereign from his pocket.

'What!?!' Penelope laughed, ' You're going to spin a coin for a kiss? Thought

you'd said you didn't need to use it any more? Be careful you don't lose it!'

'Yes. Tails for a kiss?' Brian flicked the coin high into the night air. It fell

heavily unto the concrete with an audible plunk, then bounced, before beginning

to roll away. He brought his foot firmly down upon it, then knelt to peer at its face.

'Sorry,' he sighed, 'I was hoping against hope - you're out of luck - it's not Obverse

or Reverse, just perverse.'

'Perverse? A pity. I was so looking forward to being kissed by the river, under

the silvr'y moonlight, as it were. But instead it's a .. perverse?'

'Yes, it's a capital shame.'

Brian stood up and slowly walked towards her, gently squeezed her arms.

It seemed he had changed his mind, that he was going to kiss her after all.
 'Chance be a fine thing,' Penelope murmured, 'but I'm glad you can make your

own decisions.'

*******

Sometimes Brain tossed for the clothes me was going to wear, sometimes not,

trying now to let the flooding random thoughts dictate the way me lived: the colours

of the shirts (or skirts - for me liked Simone's

- no my dress is dead

sense of apparel) me put on,

whether me should remain silent or to speak, whether to eat a hot or a cold meal,

or even if to eat at all. Me knew this annoyed the women me had lived with, in

my time. Brain does not claim this to be an original idea, as it came from a book,

presented to me in an earlier time with an offer to publish, an original tome that

was to become, me thought, my book; In Time, All Chances Are Even. There

seemed no reason to me, since other people based their thinking, ideas and some-

times their whole lives upon the printed word, be it the Bible, or the Koran, or

the Bhagavad Gita, or perhaps A History of Western Philosophy - there seemed no

reason to me not to pursue the ideas represented by In Time: All Chances Are Even.

to their own obvious, and logical conclusions.

To live by chance? It had seemed amazing, fantastic, absurd ...

As so me thought, before me applied the theories presented by that book,

with its, perhaps, light hearted, rather facetious, superficial manner, to the more

serious business of actually livings one's life. On me green baize kitchen table
Brain scribbled notes, drew diagrams, modified and cut away superfluous material.

Alone conducting small scale experiments, utilising that coin flipping technique

me had habitually, unconsciously developed over many years, decades ago now,

since those far off childhood days with Simone

- am not far off

from an arbitrary stationary

position chancing as to whether to stand or sit, to walk or crawl, mere minor preludes

to the large scale works me envisaged. Me knew me had to proceed carefully, as

often Chance would suggest a too reckless endeavour; to marry, or to kill, Katherine

the First?, - but there, fortunately (?), the fool of the coin fell from view, - or

Katherine the Second?, - and there that Chance would have been a difficult to adhere

to as me so adored Catherine, with perhaps too early catastrophic consequences

should the coins be thrown. It had quickly become apparent to me that the idea of

living by a six sided cube, as suggested by other earlier, beginner practitioners (but

all religions have to start somewhere), was too ... cu(m)bersome? It was not merely

a philosophical problem - it had very real consequences; Brain soon found it

necessary to restrict the number of options available to myself. Whereas in The

Dice Man Rhienhart discarded any parameters of being - to me, every possible

permutation should be explored, if the throw of the dice so decided - me quickly

discovered that the six options offered was by far too many - six? at any one time?

It was too much. When time was of the essence? It was impossible to decide six

possible courses of action at any one moment, let alone act upon them ...
 And that previous time was to exclude the moment of tossing that must

act as a prelude to deciding the final options No, it was too time consuming

and clumsy. And although one must make allowances for artistic licence; if one

behaved as the 'hero' behaves in that story, one runs the great risk of being carted

off, deported to, the local institution of, The Asylum Of Indecision. No, Brain

thought, a more reasoned approach was needed, and, with a flash of insight me

could only describe as divine inspiration, a lightning stroke of genius, me

discarded the bulky wooden cube, inconvenient and easily lost, for the infinitely

more practical throw of a coin. For with a coin the two main objectives to living

by dice were removed, swept away: yes, or no, either/or - me had no other choice.

Time wasting vanished, only the snap decision remained. Brain liked to think ...

that Rhienhart's theories had become modified or incorporated into me own,

new, superseding theory; a doubtless more pragmatic approach (in me opinion),

and therefore more relevant to the world in which me live. Me'd like to suggest

an analogy with, say, Marx's theories becoming modified by Lenin, as he sought to

make abstract ideas work in the real (but only the fabrication of his imagined

utopian) world, or perhaps another example would be Einstein's theory of relativity,

embracing, containing within it, as it does, Newton's Laws of Motion - without

rendering these same laws obsolete. Not that you must think for one moment Brain

thought of comparing meself with such shapers of the world - no, me could not; for

me knew that all Brains were the same, merely claiming different names, in different

times, chanting newly found religions, later to sing more popular songs. But ... me
digress with irrelevant detail, too much theory, for Brain did tend to think too much.

Suffice to say me purchased a (this time) genuine sovereign (which founded what

was to be subsequently, in me's adult life, an interest in numismatics) from a dealer,

who called himself, - obviously his parents had curiously named him Bene Detto (?),

but no reason was given for his parent's choice, excepting he did explain his great (?)

grandfather had moved to England in 1815. Met his Waterloo? me enquired, to

received incomprehension, - off the Strand, and then, as if in celebration of my new

life about to begin, to curious onlookers Tossed To Decide whether to take the bus

home or the tube. How can words describe the elation me felt? as over the following

few weeks me discovered the potential of the full range of possibilities? The total

annihilation of self: the abolition of ego - an experience me was told, not without

parallel in the teachings of the Buddhist philosophy. Naturally Brain was concerned

about the way chance decided whether the women me met were to live or to die,

for those questions of morality had been studied in earlier college times, but then ..

it was far harder for me to question me sexual inclination and that the coin might

decide that me was to frequent an inn of another persuasion, but ... it was the only

way at least me could not be accused of any causal (casual?) favouritism. Me had

began to start tossing for that choice these last few days - and so far the wo/men

had been (and how inappropriate a phrase Brain now realised this to be) 'lucky',

but of course, as me begun to be aware, in the long run everything balances out,

and the book title finally came to make sense: In Time, A C A E. Yes! Yes!! Yes!!!:

in time, the chances are always even. All is fractal noise. Sometimes me admitted

(if reluctantly pressed, for me had not Thrown to answer that question) there was
an enjoyability to kiss men as well as women, to then quickly toss again to decide

whether to kill them or let them live. Sometimes Brain was aware of a fun to

throw for ways of killing; a knife, the hands, rope, wire, the river, bricks - me

insisted to choose all ways, and the permutations are endless. Of course Brain

was to discover The Way was not without its moments of sadness: the other day

me had met an attractive young lady, recklessly abandoned by her companion,

who had hazarded a guess as to what Chance was all about - it was almost as if she

seemed to realise me was Throwing To Decide. For a moment me had dreamt of a

disciple, a harmonious union, convert/ed/ing offspring leading the world to salvation:

beyond yes and no, black or white, yin or yang, high or low ... But Brain had been

mistaken - it had after all only been a light-hearted comment on her part - it seemed

she was mocking me. A pity, me quite liked her.

Yes, perhaps that was how they met, that tails had fallen, instead of heads

rolling. And perhaps I had trodden my own coin underfoot and followed Katherine

back inside, from the safety of her mother's porch, and not walked quickly away,

running in fright almost, not looking down, determined to make my own choices,

based upon my true feelings, rather than the imagined, absolute indifference, of

chance. And perhaps that coin will now remain buried there forever. Or perhaps

I should dig deeper, next time.

Perhaps not.

The pages lie before me, as if the diary spaces are still determined to be

filled, with lives reluctantly lived, no choice there then, not to be contained within
parallel lines, even with future sections torn out, and the words written read, visible

in the twilight now; A pity, I quite liked her.

Yes, I quite liked her. Katherine. The First.