Don't judge Abook

I am itching to share a story written by Lyudmila Snezhanova in my Creative Writing Club, which is a project for people who share my passion for writing. Lyudmila wrote an incredible piece based on a highly challenging prompt:

✦ Choose one of the following idioms and include it in a story that also includes a literal use of one of the figurative words in the idiom. For example, if I were to choose the phrase “at the drop of a hat,” I would also include a hat or someone dropping something.
- at the drop of a hat
- hit the sack
- judge a book by its cover
- beat around the bush
- steal [someone’s] thunder
- the last straw. ✦

Below is her wonderfully-crafted story with all of these idioms in their literal and figurative meaning! Enjoy! 

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Don't judge Abook

“Yes,” said Perry Stalker, gripping his new suspenders, slipping from his stomach, and regretting he had feasted on smoked bream and a six pack of beer last weekend. "With our stainless reputation of the best private bodyguards, you can be perfectly sure of the job well done. There’s nothing to worry about, Professor. We’ll send you a perfect bodyguard this time.” He hung up, then undid the button on his trousers, zipped down a bit, took a deep breath and yelled:
"Gordon!"
"Yes, Mr.Stalker," Gordon's guilty shadow was immediately silhouetted on the glass door, hiding behind a stolen from his boss's desk stapler. "We need a new bodyguard for Professor Miles's old maid! ... Again. ... And who stole my stapler? Again," added Stalker with a sad grin on his well-rested face that needed a shave.
“No idea, chief,” Gordon politely shrug his shoulders. “I'll send the new recruit, Brandon Abook, to attend to the matter. He is a good-looking guy, sly and lithe as a willow,” Gordon went on. "Stay calm, chief, he won't necessarily be harassed."
“Okay, then, send Abook. Will he need any cover?”
“No, chief, he's perfectly fine.

So, here he was, a young private bodyguard, Brandon Abook, standing in front of the tall iron gate of the professor's house in anticipation for his first well-paid outpost. As he pulled the string of the door bell, he remembered Gordon's farewell advice: "Don't judge a book by its cover. The spinster may not be too good-looking or good-tempered, but she is a skillful knitter, embroiderer and straw weaver! You'll admire her creations hanging all around the house and lodge! She's recently weaved a straw hammock!"

The gate opened and Abook slowly walked across the lawn to the impressive grey stone mansion. He paused for a moment by a jasmine bush foaming like an ocean wave around and looking so romantically lonely on the lawn… Abook knew too well that he would be sacked at the drop of a hat if he failed the mission. A clumsy figure of an ugly girl in her late thirties merrily leaped off the porch and ran towards him, jerking on her hairy legs and beaming with her cross-eyed facial expression of joy from under her newly made straw hat. Hardly had she weaved in the last straw when her another victim showed up.

The rookie detective also started to shake, tipsy of the jasmine scent and grandeur of the house. But the spinster, severely pampered by her respectable daddy, took his tipsiness as emerging love and grasped his hand, chatting and leading him to show him around the house that boasted her hand-made credentials.

"I won't beat around the bush, Mr. Abook,” she said, “You are honored to guard the most intricate and sophisticated artsy-craftsy lady in town! And not only me - here's my beloved dear doggy of a very rare breed of a Mexican origin - a chihuahua!” She turned to call the dog. “Thunder! Oh, come here, boy, meet our new bodyguard, mister Brandon Abook!"

This glorious presentation shook Abook's confidence. Still, he summoned up his courage and curled the mansion all over, eloquently complementing the chattering lady on her thread and wool work. An idea to snap the lady's straw hat and hurl it into the tiny dog snuck up on him. This whining creature could be easily eliminated by a drop of the hat. Eventually, Brandon sank in the armchair, carefully pushed in there by the lady, and irresistibly dozed off.

In a few hours he was woken up by a honking scream, “My doggy, where's my doggy?! Somebody’s stolen my Thunder!" Brandon sprang up, ran out of the house and found the cross-eyed old maid on the porch, crying and beautifully blushing with her touchingly pathetic grief. Abook was about to pride himself on his tolerance towards the client, but this nasty news appeared to be the last straw. The quest was unquestionably hopeless - the chihuahua was so tiny that he would have most certainly got lost in the grass. If only he betrayed his whereabouts by his whining! The old maid cried and begged Abook to find the minuscule bastard.

Brandon took a walking stick and decided to sweep the lawn in search of the filthy Mexican. He started by carefully poaching in the grass, then after an hour of the lady's devoted whining and dog's treachery silence he just tiredly dragged the refined walking stick by its avocado-shaped knob. Half an hour later, he went to the fragrant jasmine and savagely beat around the bush - desperate, ready to quit, to be judged and even imprisoned! 

Suddenly a straw caught his eye and he remembered about the most glorious lady's creation Gordon was telling him - the straw hammock! It was peacefully put up between two Canadian pine trees, and Abook dragged his legs there, deciding to hit the sack after the exhausting adventure. Rustle, rustle, shuffle, shuffle... The lady, though cross-eyed, had noticed him and was chasing him. "Hey, young man, have you found Thunder?" she cried."Whiou!" heard Abook, suddenly. He was hurrying in delighted anticipation to the last possible, but lucky venue - the straw hammock, blissfully happy that he wouldn't lose his job, ready to make the menless woman happy. "Bow!" barked the bastard hearing his mistress's voice and stole Brandon's thunder.

… Back to the detective bureau, Brandon was reluctant to tell the suspiciously serious colleagues the details of his first outpost.

"Well done, son!" Perry Stalker pulled his suspenders and banged them on his belly, contended. "You couldn't have done better. It was initially a no-win outpost!"

The next door office roared with laughter. A ghostly shadow of the helpful detective Gordon grew from behind.

"Mr. Stalker,” said he. “Don't judge Abook on the chihuahua - he is a rookie and he had no cover.”

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Prompt credit: https://www.writersdigest.com/prompts/idiomatic-writing-prompt)
Image credit: Photo by Karim Ghantous on Unsplash