Month: February 2009 (Page 3 of 4)

Jennie pulled the curtain aside and removed her crop top and bra, then lay down on her front on the angled couch. It was only a few moments before she heard the curtain close behind her;

“Hello Jennie. It’s been a long time.”

Jennie craned her head around to look Franklin in the eye. More specifically she wanted to be as sure as she could be that the voice she was hearing was indeed coming from the person that she was expecting.

“Hello Franklin. It’s good to see you old friend. Are we alone?”

“Yes, Stacy, who was in the next cubicle has left.”

“I didn’t hear the bell.”

“She didn’t use the door, but then you were about to work that out, huh?”

Jennie laughed and nodded her head.

“So, Jennie, you want the usual or do you need something else?”

“Just the usual. I presume the price is the same?”

“Yeah, no problem. Pay me once we’re done.”

She lay back down and closed her eyes. She heard Franklin settle down onto his wheeled stool, heard him break open the blister pack containing the fresh needle and the whirr of the machine.

The icy blue cast of the light in the waiting room struck Jennie at once as she stepped through the door. As she closed the door behind her a rather surprisingly twee bell announced her arrival.

“Be with you in a few moments!”

The voice had emanated from behind a brown curtain that at first glance looked as though it might be leather, but on a second look was plastic made to resemble leather. After the voice, Jennie could hear the low hum of a tattooing machine, and occasional quiet gasps, presumably from the recipient of the work being done behind the curtain.

The waiting room was not like the waiting room of other tattoo parlours, there were no stock designs on the walls, no piles of tattoo magazines, and no other punters. Certainly it was dark outside, but it was only four o’clock, and though Jennie was not surprised to see the waiting room empty, it would be an odd detail to anyone else, she thought.

The curtain was thrown back, and Franklin stepped out, looked at Jennie, and nodded at the unoccupied cubicle.

“Whisky!”

Cole thumped the bar with his fist as he spat forth his demand, making no attempt to cloak the contempt in his voice. The whole saloon had fallen silent when he had walked in, and now people were still holding their peace, but also now shuffling in their seats. A handful of the clientelle near to the door hurriedly rose and left, and the Faro dealer was closing up as the barkeep slowly wandered over to Cole, bottle in hand.

He poured Cole a shot;

“That’ll be a dime, Cole. You know the rules. You don’t raise that shot up ‘til I see your coin.”

Cole slammed three dollar pieces onto the bar;

“Leave the damn bottle, an’ shove your rules!”

The barkeep did as he was told, sliding the three coins off the bar and turning away in contempt.

“Mind you bring me my change, boy! This bottle ain’t full and I’ve give you fifty cents over the value for a full one.”

A shadow fell across the doorway and a voice came in from the street;

“Cole, if you want to drink in my place, you need to be kinder to the folks as work for me.”

Dinner was going well. Paul was starting to hope that he was reading her body language right, the smiles, the inclination of her head towards him, little touches on his hand as they talked about this and that; it felt like they were on the road to at least a first kiss. It occured to him that despite the coaching from Lawrence he had no idea what it was that was swinging this his way, whether it was the fact that he chose decent wine, or that he’d agreed with Lawrence and booked a table at a decent restaurant for a change or if she really liked him. Still, it seemed as though she was listening to what he had to say, that she liked that he was actively listening to her, that she was really looking into his eyes. He let himself believe, and then relaxed and tried to stop thinking about it too hard.

The waiter appeared, or at least there was someone by the table. It took a moment for Paul to realise that it was not a waiter, and that there was a gun pointing at her.

BANG BANG

She was limp and the shooter was gone.

“Granpa, why are you fishin’?”

Theodore smiled at his grandson’s question, enjoying the simple naiveté therein.

“Well, Carl, that’s not a question I’ve been asked before. Folks often ask me what kind of fish I hope to catch, or why I fish in this spot or that spot, but no one has ever asked me why I indulge in this hobby of mine.”

Carl was already transfixed, as he often he was when his much adored grandfather explained things to him, and so sensing that there was more than a simple answer still to come he settled down on the dock in the way that children do when they are entertained.

“I suppose I like to come down here onto the dock and cast a line into the water for a whole bunch’o reasons, Carl. I like to be out of the house, and coming out to spend some time fishin’ gets me time under the sky come rain or shine. But it’s not just about being out of doors. The time I spend out here lets me do some thinkin’ as well.”

“But don’t you want to catch fish, Granpa?”

“Well it’s not as important as trying to catch them.”

It was the smell of bacon that woke me up. The sun was streaming in through the window and there was a soft breeze blowing across the room, but it was the smell coming from the kitchen that actually roused me. I pulled the blanket around my waist like a sarong and padded down the hall into the kitchen, following the smells that were now not just bacon, but also fresh coffee and toast.

Laura was standing by the cooker, apparently wearing nothing but my shirt from the night before, tending to the frying pan. I leant against the doorframe and let my eyes linger on the back of her neck, enjoying the line of it curving into her shoulder, remembering running my fingers along it.

“Don’t just stand in the doorway, sit at the table. I bought a paper, if you like, and there’s juice and fruit out. This will be ready in a couple of minutes.”

I did as I was told; I’ll be honest it felt good that she wanted to cook for me, to look after me. I know some men would be freaked out, after only two weeks, but it felt right to me.

“I’ve never understood that about the way you people write about us. I mean where did the whole, crazy, allergic to sunlight thing come from anyway? I mean I always thought that Stoker did a good job of making our kind frightening without inventing stuff that simply isn’t true. Why did the writers that came after decide to make us victims of the sun’s rays? Is it just a powerful metaphor? The cleansing, pure light of day banishes evil? Or do mortals need some kind of mollifying belief so that vampires are not so scary, so that we are no threat in the bright light of day? Don’t get me wrong I like that you are scared of us, or that most of you are. It makes staying hidden easier if we are the boogieman, not believed in, but absolutely to be avoided.”

William took another drag of his cigarette, tapped it on the edge of the ashtray and shot me a winning, almost rakish smile before continuing;

“So why aren’t you afraid of me, of us? Please don’t tell me it’s hacks like Rice and Meyer who’ve got you so emboldened?”

So I am pretty much housebound. I’ve mentioned my screwed up, positively buggered right knee due to a stupid mistake that I made while I was skiing, but what I have not told you about yet is that my left knee finally gave up the ghost on Tuesday. Having been expected to do all the work of moving my admittedly too heavy form around the world, my left knee finally threw its hands in the air and said “Screw It! I’ve had enough!”. By the time Cathy had left after dinner, the pain in my left knee was so bad I could barely get out of my chair at the computer and I could barely concentrate. I went to bed, hoping that things would get better with some rest, but when I awoke in the morning and levered myself out of bed the pain of standing up was almost the most pain I can ever remember feeling. By the time I’d availed myself of the facilities – yeah taken a dump – and got myself into a chair I was in so much pain that I thought I was going to throw up and it was getting worse. It occurred to me that I was no pretty sure that I was no longer able to get out of the chair, and I was starting to wonder when it was going to stop hurting. In the end I did what every child of doctors does first; I called my parents. Please bear in mind, they are in Cyprus. There was no way that they could actually help me. They gave me some good advice, though, and on the basis of it I called my doctor and begged for a home visit. After some confusion the doctor came, agreed that it was almost certainly a bad sprain as a result of doing all the work and wrote me up a scrip for painkillers and anti-inflammatories. I managed to get a friend to collect my drugs and by the end of the day I was no longer in agonising pain. Today has been better, but I am really glad that I did not try and go to Preston, as there is still a fair old twinge every time I move out of the chair or do some shuffling around the flat when I move about a bit to keep the joint moving.

The thing is, I am FINALLY angry about all of this, I am desperate to be able to run instead of hobble – I want to be fit, and the infuriation of being stuck with this injury, and stuck in this flat is definitely starting to get to me. If you can read this and want to help out, please come and visit me… 😉

In other news the continued search for work rolls on – I want to stick to the plan and carry on contracting, but the market does appear to be worse off than it looks if you do a search on the core job boards. As far as I can tell there is a lot of briefing jobs that don’t really exist and a lot of leaving jobs on boards even when they are filled going on, but I have had a couple of genuinely positive conversations too, so hopefully I will have more work before the end of February.

Enough for now – I need to write a Ficlet and get some sleep; be well out there…

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EOT

Drip, drip, drip…

I try to open my eyes, but the dripping water gets in there and blurs my sight. My hands are cuffed above my head, I can feel the cuffs biting into my wrists, but not as much as they would be if they were supporting my weight. Focusing on sense I can feel the cold stone or concrete floor under my ass and my legs, the cold bricks of the wall all down one side of my body. Clearly someone has propped me up against a wall and cuffed my wrists above my head over a pipe of some kind, hence the dripping. I force my eyes open and try to speak;

“Mmmmugh. Mmugh”

I am gagged. My eyes start to adjust to the dim room and the dripping water; I can see someone sitting a few feet away looking right at me. It is an older man, no longer young, but not brought low by age either. He is wearing grimy slacks and a badly soiled white vest. He is unshaven and his hair is unkempt and greasy and pushed back. He is smoking, and that makes me want a cigarette myself.

“So you’re awake. Good, I have questions.”

I see a knife.

Nero27: So, what’s it like up there in Montana at the moment, is it cold?

GoodTimeGal39: Well there’s like 5 feet of snow in my garden, and like everywhere else so yeah, it’s pretty cold. Are you getting snow down there?

Nero27: Well, not really. You know I don’t think it’s ever snowed in Florida, at least not in the Keys. Have you ever been to Florida?

GoodTimeGal39: I did go to Disney World when I was in 9th Grade but that seems so long ago, and anyway I was creeped out by the whole thing. It was like everyone there was happy all the time and there was no space for just being normal. I guess I was a teenager and I was just looking for somethign to not like.

Nero27: Hey, I don’t know. That place always creeped me out, there is something wrong about a place, even a fantasy place, where everyone is happy all of the time.

GoodTimeGal39: My parents were so into the place, and the whole vacation I was just moody and miserable. Thinking back that must have really disappointed them.

Nero27: So will you show me your tits?