You May Not Touch the Beaver

By Roger Feldstein

After the Beaver causes a ruckus at his Manhattan job, his employer Murque sends their corporate surveillance team to follow him over a weekend of debauchery. The next morning, Beaver wakes up to discovery that his apartment has magically been transported from a Park Slope (Brooklyn) co-op to a lot underneath the New Jersey Turnpike. Further angered by his discovery that his ex-girlfriend's breasts are featured in a pornographic magazine, Beaver realizes that he must confront his ex-girlfriend and then march up the damn New Jersey Turnpike, back into New York City. Along the way, Beaver rediscovers both his American Dream, and the spark that makes him a fighter. Upon returning to Park Slope, Beaver learns that the community's lawyers, housewives, financial advisors, and children had all decided to ban him. Beaver, however, is determined to fight.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Roger Feldstein
• Release date: Aug 17, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311858740

Roger Feldstein

Roger Feldstein is the author’s often-used pseudonym. The author resides in Park Slope, Brooklyn, New York with his family and handsome cat. He can be reached at [e-mail]. He is currently working on an anthology of short stories.

Book preview

You May Not Touch the Beaver

by Roger Feldstein

Copyright 2014 Roger Feldstein

Smashwords Edition

Thank you for downloading this book. You are welcome to share it with your friends. This book may be reproduced, copied, and distributed for non-commercial purposes, provided the book remains in its complete, original form and the author is given full, and sole, credit for authorship. The author of this work retains the copyright. If you enjoyed this book, please return to your favorite ebook retailer to discovery other works by this author.

Chapter 1

Mickey Beaver McMiles could not believe his G-ddamn eyes. How could she do this to him? How could she fucking do this to him? Him, for cryin’ out loud. He’s the Beave! Nobody fucking double-crosses the Beave!

He stood up, let out a rung from his size 48 belt, and then looked back at his computer screen. There was no doubt about it. Dahlia Svartzstein, the 20-year old intern with the ass made of golden apples, had double-crossed him. He imagined a conversation with her: There is no double-spacing after sentences in pharmaceutical advertising. There is no double-spacing after sentences in pharmaceutical advertising. Did you not get the memo, asshole? Did you not read the manual your employer handed to you when you accepted this position, you ungrateful shit you . . . Oh, fuck it! Beaver’s index finger poked the numbers for Svarzstein’s intercom. Dahlia? It’s the Beave. Conference room, now!

Beaver hit print on Svartzstein’s handiwork, wiped the coffee and sweat from his eyebrows, and walked to the hallway printer. Office assistant Cyndi – It’s Cyndi, with a ‘y’ not an ‘i,’ but notwhereyouthink I’m talking about – reached for Svartzstein’s manuscript, but Beaver beat her to it.

Sorry, Cyndi, but I believe that’s mine!

No, Mickey, I just printed some very personal stuff to this printer and . . .

Nope, this is a very, very important document of the utmost company interest. There are frauds amongst us, Cyndi, frauds. And today, one of those frauds shall be exposed right before your very . . .

Yeah, Mickey, that’s great and all, but I need that email back. It’s a private note from my doctor than I need for the insurance company and . . .

. . . eyes! This morning, all will be exposed! Beaver lifted Svartzstein’s opus up into the sky like it was the damn Magna Carta. "Attention, office