Monday, December 31, 2012

Having Second Thoughts

   Naomi woke up in her Manhattan apartment with her steak knife pressed against her throat.  A hand stifled her scream and pinpricks of light aggravated her adjusting vision.
   "Shh," a husky voice crooned as she wriggled away from the jagged blade.  "Quiet now," he said.  "We're just getting our things.  Then we'll be gone."
   Three other ski-masked figures pried open Naomi's squeaky floorboards with a crowbar and pulled out bag after bag.
   "We thank you for your cooperation, Miss," the one wielding her knife said.  "We hope you enjoy your new place.  Rest assured: you will never be seeing us again."
   In the morning Naomi took the subway to the nearest police station.  At the front steps of the precinct, her way was blocked.
   "That's not a good idea, Miss," the hushed voice from the night before urged.
   Eyes wide, mouth agape, heart racing, Naomi slowly backed away, turned, and ran from the man in blue.

Monday, December 24, 2012

Christmas at the Jacobson's

   "Hellooo!  Come in, come in!" chorused the festive host and hostess of Birmingham's Christmas party of the year.  They ushered the quiet couple to the coat room, "I do hope that you are enjoying your new neighborhood!"
   "Yes, thank you."
   "Well, don't be shy," the hostess said.  "The food's right through the double doors on the left and everyone's congregated in the sitting room just down the hall."
   The host nudged the man's elbow, startling him.  "Ho-ho!  Didn't mean to scare ya, there," he said.  "A few of the boys are in the study if you want to trade in the chit-chat for some whiskey and cigars."  
   The man's wife gripped her husband's arm tighter, sending him a pleading glance.
   The host patted the man on the back and turned a grin to the hostess, "Speaking of--I really should see that the boys are behaving themselves."  He kissed his wife on the forehead and retired his role as host for the evening.
   The hostess piddled and whimpered behind her husband until another couple arrived at the door, "Oh!  Please do excuse me.  Enjoy yourselves!"
   "Humph." The shy wife whispered to her husband, "Fat chance."
   "Chastity, it's an office party," Jackson replied.
   They eased into a kitchen corner with champagne in hand.
   "You know we don't fit in, Jackson."
   He looked around at all of the bright lights, the array of Christmas trees, the gifts, the tiny trays of food everywhere, and the shiny decorations, calculating how much the Jacobson's pay to put on this party every year.  "Just give it a chance."
   His wife looked at him.  Dark brown eyes shared an unspoken message with even darker eyes.
   "Hello!  Jackson, my boy.  How are you?"
   Chastity's eyes ricochetted off the plump man ambling toward their private corner.
   Jackson offered a smile and extended a hand, "Robert--"
   "No! No.  Bob.  Please call me Bob."  Bob squeezed closer, smelling of sherry and squinting his eyes.  "And you must be Mrs. Brown.  So nice to finally meet you.  My wife is around here somewhere."  He turned toward the large group of people across the hall but soon gave up the search.  "Nevermind.  Grand party, this one, isn't it?"
   "Yes--"
   "Gerald!" Bob shouted.  "Gerald!  You and I have a bet to settle."  He leaned in close to Jackson and poked his rib cage, "Don't you two go anywhere.  I'll be right back... Gerald!"
   Chastity Brown straightened her spine, which gave a tense crack.  She fretted over how long she'd had her neck lowered and her back slumped.  "How long do we have to stay?" she whispered to her husband.
   Jackson flipped the end of his tie, then ironed it smooth with his warm, damp palm.  "I think another hour or two would send a good message."
   His wife gaped at him.  She closed her mouth and blinked the spots from her eyes before suggesting, "We could say the kids are sick."
   "Chas," Jackson chided.  "We'll be fine."
   "It'd be easier," she said, "if we weren't surrounded by white people."

Thursday, December 20, 2012

December 21st 2012

   Two German descendants lounged on bright green beach towels in the South Carolina sun waiting for the end of the world.
   "When do you think it'll happen, Gunner?" his brother Clint asked.
   "When the sun burns orange and rests on top of the sea."
   Clint gauged that the horizon-line trigger was still a few hours away, but it didn't stop him from wondering if the past few years had been a mistake.
   Gunner was a very persuasive brother.  "Yep.  Soon the stars will punch holes in the earth and we'll all be drowning in our own misdeeds."  And a very spiritual one.
   The two brothers had traveled the eastern coast, spreading word of the coming tragedy that Gunner had always believed would come in his lifetime.  And when he asked Clint to join him on his path to spreading enlightenment, the blood that ran thick through Gunner's veins echoed inside Clint, awakening his duty as a brother.  Yet, leaving his partner of five years for Gunner was one lump he couldn't quite swallow.
   Gunner honed in on Clint's silence, "Have you made peace?" he asked.  "Life on this planet is ending.  Best be going with a clear conscious."
   "Your perception is marvelous, Gunner," Clint spat, choking on a sob.  "I just--" he sniffed, thinking back on the yells and slammed doors.  "I keep wondering what would've happened if I had talked with Aaron more--"
   Gunner snapped, "I told you that two-timing bastard isn't worth the snow on a penguin's ass!"  Gunner flattened his ruffled mane and reclined further, "Besides, I'm sure he's happy as a clown with that twig I saw leaving your apartment.  You're better off with me.  With family."
   A boiling, blistering star looking down on earth blinked.  Shuddered.  And split.  Its supernova slowly beckoned to the blue planet and its solar system.  Death was only a few hours away.

Monday, December 17, 2012

Bankin' on Hard Times

   "I've had about ah-nuff ah this shit," said Farmer Frank, sitting in his auto-piloted combine.  "Corn's down.  Bean's down.  I cain' make money like 'is."
   Sundown crept like growing shadows, but Frank still had a long night ahead of him.  He needed to trudge on, head to the farm, and hope that drivers would have enough sense in their heads to share the road.
   "An' the wife's be'n harpin' 'bout sumthin'."  Frank scratched the three-day stubble along his cheek and under his chin.  "Don' know how she 'spects me to do ev'rythin' when I spen' all day out in th' fields."
   His radio sputtered out some Hank Williams, and he turned up the volume in his air-conditioned cabin.
   "Wond'r what she cook'd for dinner," he said.  "A man's gotta eat."

Monday, December 10, 2012

Maggie: A Girl from the Streets

   "Well!  What's this?"  Mickey asked.
   A nasally weasel replied, "I think it's a gift, Boss.  I think that broad left it."
   Maggie bull-rushed into Mickey's office, "That broad would like an audience with his Highness."
   "Mickey, ya what I should--"
   Mickey hushed his not-so-subtle business partner. "Get outta here, and take this too," he said throwing a package large enough to conceal a severed head at the untrustworthy scamp.
   Mickey waited for the door to close.  "What can I do for ya darlin'?"
   Maggie's eyes flared, "Don't darling me!  I've had enough, Mickey.  I'm through."
   "Maggie, Maggie."  Mickey rounded the corner of his newly acquired desk, and Maggie gave him her back.
   "Don't think you can sweet talk me, Mickey!  Don't you think I know?!"  When he tried to wrap his arms around her, she reeled on him, "I know you don't need me.  I know you've got girls lined from here to Nantucket.  I can't take it any more!  I'm out--"
   He chuckled at her bravado.  "Woah, cool cheeks."
   It was that grin and that glint in his pale blue eyes.  She turned to goo every time--he knew it too.  Just like he knew she would be blushing, thinking of the first night he called her cool cheeks.  They were in his red Chevy listening to the crickets and naming the stars.  He had kissed her cheek.  She had said her cheeks weren't cold.  It was just his hot lips.  
   She was a young girl back then.  A foolish girl.
   There was a quick rap on the door before Jack the weasel barged back it, "You okay in here, Boss?"
   Mickey broke his loving, gentle character like shattering glass.  "Get outta here!" he bellowed.  
   And in two blinks, he glued all the pieces back together.  "Now, Mags, darlin'.  What's going on with you?"

Wednesday, December 5, 2012

Reputation is Everything

   "Surely you jest."
   Resting by the fireplace in a worn leather armchair, William turned his head toward his long time friend and confidant.  "Charles, your assistance in this matter would be most appreciated."
   Charles circled the dark mahogany desk to search its drawers.  "William, a letter arrived the other day that I think you should read."
   Both men were quiet long after the woman's letter dropped to William's lap.

Tuesday, December 4, 2012

Winter's Quiet Nature

   Snow topped mountains loomed before the tiny adventurers.
   Each had their own unique skill.  One knew how to navigate the terrain.  Another knew on what plants and berries they could survive.  The smallest was quick with a knife.  And the largest was a clever problem solver.
   One obstacle they weren't prepared for awaited them at the mouth of the valley.
   A snow leopard roared, "You're not welcome here.  Leave!"

Monday, December 3, 2012

Tongue-Tied

   "How much wood could a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood?"
   "...Really?..."
   "Why not?"  My long time friend just stared at me.  As he took a deep breath and released a sigh, he looked down at my loafers and rubbed his temples.
   Finally he asked, "Dude, what are you doing?"
   I shrugged, "...You're not being very supportive."
   "Chicks don't swoon over lines like those!"
   "...It's worked before...."

Saturday, December 1, 2012

Déjà vu

   "I'm sorry, Madame.  There have been no calls tonight."  Winston said to the retreating back of his pacing mistress.
   When she turned to face him at the edge of the study's grand Persian rug, her needle-point stilettos nearly swiveled the entire length of fabric around.  "Well!  I guess there's no harm in that.  No harm at all."
   Winston discreetly closed the door connecting the study to the library to allow his master's second--and, as the rumor goes, soon to be divorced--wife some sense of privacy.  "May I bring anything to you, Madame?"
   "What?  Oh, no.  No, thank you, Winston.  I am quite all right."
   He might have believed her if she weren't still pacing and ringing her finely manicured hands through her very long--very real--pearl necklace.  "Madame, if I may--"
   "Oh!  Where is he?" Mrs. Donnelly fretted to no one.
   Clearing his throat, Winston moved closer to the distressed lady so that she may better hear him, "Madame--"
   "Winston!  What are you still doing here?"
   "I--I beg your pardon, Madame?" he stammered, taken aback by a very different creature than he has catered to these past two years.
   "Check again!  There must be a message from Thomas.  He has never missed dinner without at least leaving a message."
   Master Donnelly had in fact left a message, but it was not one that Winston wished to repeat.  "Yes, Madame--I will check again."  Having traveled a similar path with his master and the first Mrs. Donnelly, Winston pitied the young woman's anxiety, believing that she is justified in her concern over her husband's unknown whereabouts.  After all, she keeps a copy of his daily itinerary on her person at all times--a secret which she kept from her husband for the greater part of a year.
   But now that Master Donnelly knows just how much his wife distrusts him, he will get a great deal of enjoyment out of distressing her for however long he wishes before untying the knot.
   "Madame wishes to know if there are any messages for her."
   Jenny the housekeeper tightened her lips into a grim line and repeated, "None for her ears."
   Winston knew--as he did the first time he was sent to find word from his master--that the mistress of the house would soon be unhappy and leaving, either of her own will or against it.  Master Donnelly is not one to be dissuaded.  Winston also knew that it is his duty to keep Mrs. Donnelly calm and to comfort her, as she is still his master's wife.
   Walking back to the study with a tea cart and maid in tow, Winston offered a small smile, "I'm sorry, Madame.  But there are no messages.  I took the liberty of bringing some tea--"
   "Winston?"
   "Yes, Madame?" he answered before dismissing the maid.
   "Is--Will--" she looked about, casting her eyes to the portraits of dead strangers around her.  Arriving at last on Winston, her eyes faded in brilliance and her tensed shoulders dropped an inch, "Yes, thank you."
   "My pleasure, madame.  I will leave you now."
   Before Winston could close the door, Mrs. Donnelly asked, "Will you tell me at once when there is word from Thomas?"
   "Of course, Madame," he said knowing that it was a lie.
   "Thank you, Winston.  You are very kind."
   "I do try, Madame," he said believing that it was the truth.
   They parted silently.  
   When the latch settled, it almost sounded like a lady's sob.