WHAT PAGE Are We On? 1. THE BARBIE MURDERS

By Oscar Rogers

THE SCENE.
It was to be a spectacular party on the Fort Lauderdale waterways for a bevy of elite gay men hosted by greeting card magnate Marc Monarch – famously known for delivering the most audaciously themed events and never without The Big Finish!

As guests fill his mansion in anticipation of today’s extraordinary entertainment, the true surprise comes when Stephan Denino arrives in hysterics, hijacking everyone’s attention with the announcement that his huge, prized collection of fashion dolls had been stolen.

Stephan displays a photo left by the criminal of a naked doll bound by yarn and a gun to its head with a warning not to tell anyone. But he does.

Is it a kidnapping? Random dolly assassination? Payback?

The mystery is afoot for our protagonist Winston Clarke as he navigates his way through the party and discovers the disturbed captor is anonymously there … and hasn’t finished tormenting Mr. Denino for all to watch and gasp in horror.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Grateful Media
• Release date: Nov 7, 2023
• ISBN: 9798988957928

Oscar Rogers

Oscar Rogers is a comedic writer and humorist who has drawn on his life experiences from highly driven successful adults that privately sported raging tantrums as they pushed envelopes of entitlement fits and self-victimization to stratospheric levels. Since he was a toddler, Oscar was quick to discover mom and dad were not the only spoiled grownups in his Midwest hometown. Or his state. Or the US. His training for this insatiable observation all began with them - two highly educated and prosperous individuals, who were the most generous, kind, sweet, witty, self-absorbed narcissists with the best lawn in the neighborhood. They would tell Oscar to never care what people thought, all the while taught him how to maintain appearances. Out of college and working for an entertainment lawyer in Los Angeles, Oscar's favorite experiences were in close proximity of famous television or movie stars who exploded into galactic meltdowns worthy of fantastic awards for Best Black Hole Implosions. No matter what would set an icon off, Oscar thrived on watching these finer moments first-hand. Temperamental executives from Corporate America followed as Oscar branched into the world of advertising and public relations after his time in Hollywood. For him, it was a different type of wealth that could behave badly ... a more politely controlled rage that would simmer to a boil until the top would blow and MR. VP of VIP would go completely unhinged ballistic. Retired from his adventures in advertising, Oscar now enjoys firing up the best from his journals and channeling them into wicked fun with his new career as author.His first book in the series 'What Page Are We On?' delivers a hilarious peek into how Oscar has channeled his world of good people acting badly with brilliant creativity. Book One: 1. The Barbie Murders - lays the groundwork where protagonist Winston Clark finds himself in situations that only Oscar could write.Returning home to his family in Book Two: 2. Death in Hicksville - and Book Three: 3. A Kill for the Will - Oscar takes our protagonist to greater levels of collective madness that only his family can deliver. These two in the series are due for publication in 2024 and 2025.

Book preview

What Page Are We On? 1. The Barbie Murders is Laugh Out Loud funny. You don’t have to be rich, gay or live in Florida to appreciate the genuine humor in the situation Oscar Rogers creates for his readers in his delightfully twisted first novel. I’m so glad this is only the first in the series, because I cannot wait to read more of the adventures of Winston Clarke and his zany dysfunctional family.

—Lisa Bonnice, program host at The Shift Network and award-winning author of books including the metaphysical comedy The Poppet Master

WHAT PAGE Are We On? 1. THE BARBIE MURDERS

©2023 by Oscar Rogers

Grateful Media supports the right to free expression and the value of copyright and trademark protections. If you would like permission to use material from the book (other than title mention or brief passages in reviews), please send your request to [e-mail], otherwise scanning, uploading, and distribution of this publication is a theft of the author’s intellectual property.

This is a work of fiction. Any similarities to persons living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

First Edition: November 2023

ISBN: 9798988957928

Cover colors include Magenta CMYK (0, 100, 0, 0).

Acknowledgment is made to the following copyrights and trademarks: 9 to 5© performed and written by Dolly Parton. ABC® and associated trademarks and copyrights are owned by American Broadcasting Companies, Inc. Addicted to Love© performed and written by Robert Palmer. And Then There’s Maude© performed by Donny Hathaway, written by Alan Bergman, Marilyn Bergman & Dave Grusin. Apple Watch®, iPad®, iPhone® and associated trademarks and copyrights are owned by Apple, Inc. Barbie®, Big Jim®, Ken®, and associated trademarks, trade dress, and copyrights are owned by Mattel, Inc. Bacardi®, and associated trademarks, trade dress, and copyrights owned by Bacardi & Company Limited. Baskin-Robbins®, and associated trademarks, trade dress, and copyrights are owned by BR IP Holder, LLC. Batman®, Robin®, Superman®, Wonder Woman® and associated trademarks, trade dress, and copyrights are owned by DC Comics. 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No dolls were harmed during the writing of this book.

For Mom and Dad

Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Preview: 2. DEATH IN HICKSVILLE Prologue

Preview: 2. DEATH IN HICKSVILLE Chapter One

Meet Oscar Rogers

Prologue

Stephan Denino stood in the elevator donning sunglasses that squealed like a Brett Somers/Charles Nelson Reilly glamfest on Match Game ’75 … breathing heavily, trying not to cry. You drive. I’m a wreck. Maybe we shouldn’t go.

You can’t not go to Marc’s party, Edward replied.

I don’t want this to be all about me today, so not a word until the party is over, Stephan insisted.

First floor. Lobby. The elevator spoke as it stopped, and the doors opened.

The two quietly walked through the hotel and out to the valet pick up where Stephan’s nautical blue Rolls-Royce Dawn was waiting. Stephan opened his murse and pulled out a $50 to hand the attendant, who recognized him. Dressed in black uniform shorts and a white polo with a Hilton Beach Resort logo stitched on the left breast, the valet hustled over to open the passenger door. Stephan thanked him, slipped him the bill, and slid comfortably onto the white leather seat. Another matching valet dashed over to the driver’s door and opened it for Edward to enter.

Let’s put the top down, Stephan instructed. I could use the fresh air.

His assistant pressed a button, and the luxury coupe became a luxurious convertible. They drove away – that is, until Edward spotted a white square tip of something tucked beneath the wiper blade.

"What is that?" Edward declared as he pulled to the side of Breakers Avenue and parked. He stepped out of the car, retrieved a Polaroid from the windshield, looked at it, then paused for a spell deciding if he should or shouldn’t get back into the car. He returned behind the wheel and closed the door.

What is it? Stephan asked with trepidation.

Edward took a breath, realizing this was going to be a rather large hit. It’s another picture. They weren’t kidding.

What? Stephan whimpered.

Edward passed him the photo and Stephan screamed, They blew her head off! before collapsing against the car door sobbing.

Waiting for a good minute to pass, Edward gently asked, Should we go to the police or the party?

Stephan took in a long breath and exhaled deeply and turned his wet face to stare at him.

Chapter One

WELCOME TO THE SHITSHOW! screamed from a cocktail napkin the host of today’s party Marc Monarch placed before me as he mixed one of his deadly vodka lemonades from behind the bar in his home. Tickled, I picked up the napkin for a closer look.

I can think of a thousand and two occasions this would have come in handy, I giggled.

Marc’s emerald green eyes sparkled as he chuckled with a twisted glee, Fabulous, isn’t it?

Is it today’s theme or a general warning to us all? I quipped.

Take it as you will, love, he taunted, sounding like a saucy Olivia de Havilland.

Marc’s pretense could flare as though he were an emperor of aristocratic highbrow snobbery. If one didn’t know he was a polite, generous, and overall kind and caring person, a stranger could easily misinterpret him as one cold upper crust queen. But beware: never cross him in any way. I have seen this man become the Wicked Witch of the West.

I grinned as he passed me a crystal highball glass literally filled to the brim.

Thank you, I said, knowing my sobriety just checked its hat at the door.

Marc raised his cocktail and extended it my way over the bar – dribbling the top of his drink. Cheers! he smiled.

Cheers! I echoed, joining in the dribbly mess of tapping glasses before taking a short sip and another long look around the vastness of the first floor in his Fort Lauderdale mansion.

It was like the lobby of a grand hotel – one enormous room with bright white walls towering thirty feet from white marble flooring to the white coffered ceiling. Running across the back of the house was a hundred feet of open multi-slide glass doors marrying the outdoors to the inside. A long professional chef’s kitchen anchored the epicenter with a fifteen-foot island covered in brilliant nautical blue granite countertops providing two sets of prep sinks. Commercial grade stainless-steel appliances beautifully lined the wall behind the island ready for action. This cooking arena commanded a gaze across the house – through floor-to-ceiling windows showcasing the deep outdoor patio running along the Intercoastal – to catch the occasional yacht passing by. It was a panoramic head turner from left to right – no matter where one stood – especially when using the kitchen sink!

A vast conversation and entertainment area with eight nautical blue club chairs and oversized half-moon shaped sofa that could easily seat another dozen people surrounded an incredibly colossal coffee table that was a perfectly sliced chunk of trunk from a banyan tree – all resting upon a 30’x20’ red shag rug. In the corner wall of windows, a shiny black grand piano sat dwarfed by an enormous 325-inch wall-sized flatscreen LED TV across the north wall.

The floating oval indoor bar where Marc and I stood sipping our libations was on the opposite side of the room, topped with the same nautical blue granite counter as the kitchen. A dozen tall empty white leather stools circled the saloon awaiting thirsty guests.

Anchoring the real estate next to the bar and adjacent to the entry foyer was a monolithic Pietro Costantini Mid-Century Italian Saks dark dining room table surrounded by eighteen curved Musa chairs covered in soft silver fabric. Soaring above the table were three enormous Luxxu Waterfall Sputnik chandeliers with beautifully handmade ribbed tubes of crystal glass.

And perfectly dotted throughout this incredible home were oversized works of beautiful, colorful art Marc had collected from around the globe. He designed the space to accommodate a hundred guests inside and another hundred on the pool deck. Every little detail he personally selected delivered style and comfort, while giving his guests no reason to want to leave. Ever.

Taking two and a half years to custom-build, his place was a monstrous work of modern beauty. Yes, one could look in any direction with pause to absorb a pictorial worthy of Better Mansions Digest.

I’m happy you came early, Marc gleamed as he walked from behind the bar around to me. Let’s catch up before the barbarians break through the gates.

I chuckled as he led us over to a couple of the club chairs by the football field sofa. Barefoot as always, Marc was nicely styled in oversized Tommy Bahama island wear. He’s a short portly man in his late 40s with a buzzed salt and pepper haircut, and physically reminds me of the character actor Charles Durning in The Sting – consistently donning a facial expression looking as if he is about to tell one fantastic dirty joke or blow his top in a fit of rage. And though I personally don’t see it anymore, down the right side of his neck, arm, and leg, was one long horrific scar from a private jet crash he survived in 2002.

A clink of pans drew my attention as we passed the kitchen where three sous chefs wearing black chef coats were preparing an array of fares for the party. The island was lined with stacks of white plates, flatware caddy’s, stacks of folded white napkins, and a dozen food trays and towers filled with all types of meats, cheeses, seafood, vegetables, fruits, and desserts.

We sat looking onto the Hugh Taylor Birch State Park of trees across the Intercoastal, and Marc lifted his glass again to mine. Cheers!

This would be the second of a hundred Cheers! we would toast today – with one for every