-So it has come to this, Elaine said. To think we only began dating four months ago.
-All good things have to end, Turner said.
But this stopped being a good thing weeks ago. She was filing her nails and looked up from under hooded eyes.
-Do you want your key back now or can you wait until next week? In any case, you'll have to wait. I left it in my desk drawer at the office.
-Why's that? He looked at her hand. Short choppy nails. He couldn't see the evidence of all her attentions. She smelled nice though. He thought it was lilacs. Real lilacs; not a chemical mix.
-When I was coming over, I would come straight from the gym after work. I just never brought the key home after that last time I went straight to work from your place.
-Why do you think we soured on each other, Turner asked, I mean in that way? Do you think we can still be friends?
-Sure, we can be friends. Hand me that little bottle will you?
How he hated the color she was applying to her nails. It made them look as if she had clawed him with them and the cuticles had filled with blood. He could feel heat and welts along his arms. He rubbed his right arm with his left hand.
A smile played on her lips. -Cold, she asked. -You can turn off the air conditioning. I just turn it on when it feels stuffy in here. Her apartment was crowded with furniture. Much more than a single woman needed. On the radio, Roger Miller sang, -Trailers for sale or rent. Rooms to let, fifty cents. No phone, no food , no pets...
-Do you mind if I smoke, Turner asked.
-I'd rather you didn't, if you're going to turn off the air conditioning, Elaine said.
-I'll leave it on, he said, -I'm not cold anyway. He lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply then turned his head to one side so as not to exhale the smoke all over her. After that he turned to her to smile and to see if she had appreciated his gesture, but she was preoccupied with painting her pinkie nail.
-So it's come to this, she said, and held out one finished hand.
He thought she was admiring how the light bounced off her red, red nails. They were very shiny.
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
Friday, March 12, 2010
Published at CJT's wordvamp
My story Intimations: Black Velvet versus Ebony was published as a guest writer at CJT's wordvamp.
CJT (Nicole Hirschi) is a fine writer herself, and a good friend. We are currently (for months now) partnering on a novelette in six-sentence episodes, tentatively titled Caitlin and Mathias. She has recently begun featuring work by other writers on her blog, including Jeffrey S. Callico, Salvatore Buttaci, Edward Dean, Michael J. Solender, Richard Godwin, and Lee Hughes, and I am pleased to be among their company.
CJT (Nicole Hirschi) is a fine writer herself, and a good friend. We are currently (for months now) partnering on a novelette in six-sentence episodes, tentatively titled Caitlin and Mathias. She has recently begun featuring work by other writers on her blog, including Jeffrey S. Callico, Salvatore Buttaci, Edward Dean, Michael J. Solender, Richard Godwin, and Lee Hughes, and I am pleased to be among their company.
Friday, March 5, 2010
A Union Contract
Who stole the money and from whom was it taken?
After Mr. Canaan was dead his widow and her lawyer opened his safety deposit boxes and inside discovered over two million dollars and a few Tai Chi videotapes.
The lawyer claimed Mr. Canaan was a gambler and had won the money at Atlantic City over a period of years and had stowed it away. He said one of the bundles was bound by a tape with the insignia from one of the casinos. Mrs. Canaan said she was unaware that her husband had been such a heavy gambler, but it must have been so because on finding the money she saw several casino binders. She mentioned the names of several.
Sherri Palatnik, a chronic junior executive, said she was not surprised. She had always thought something was amiss but she wouldn't elaborate. Later under oath in front of a grand jury, she denied having any knowledge whatsoever. In fact she denied having implied that rumors had reached her ears.
None of the partners of the law firm would give the goods on any other. Even those who had retired and were granted immunity refused to implicate any former coworkers. Each who came to testify fidgeted and appeared uncomfortable when the employee expense accounts were read out once again.
The Union had changed leaders a couple of times since Mr. Canaan's tenure. So none of the officers who came to speak could say much with any conviction.
The only thing that was a certainty, was that after the election in which Mr. Canaan lost his position, the law firm handling the Union's legal requirements was dropped in favor of another, not entirely different, firm. Many of the lawyers moved to the new firm. They were familiar with the Union members' needs.
In the end, the district attorney's assistant failed to make his case so it was a moot point as to how the money arrived in the safety deposit boxes. Mrs. Canaan was two million dollars richer, minus her attorney's fees of course.
And the old law firm which was paying a pension to the retired partner who had been a long-time friend of the deceased? They walked away quietly licking their wounds and hoped to rebuild their good name. They really did not need the bad publicity a trial would have brought on them.
These are rough times. Everyone says the stock market is due for a correction, in which case even privately held companies will suffer. Buying Union contracts could prove prohibitive under the new economy.
After Mr. Canaan was dead his widow and her lawyer opened his safety deposit boxes and inside discovered over two million dollars and a few Tai Chi videotapes.
The lawyer claimed Mr. Canaan was a gambler and had won the money at Atlantic City over a period of years and had stowed it away. He said one of the bundles was bound by a tape with the insignia from one of the casinos. Mrs. Canaan said she was unaware that her husband had been such a heavy gambler, but it must have been so because on finding the money she saw several casino binders. She mentioned the names of several.
Sherri Palatnik, a chronic junior executive, said she was not surprised. She had always thought something was amiss but she wouldn't elaborate. Later under oath in front of a grand jury, she denied having any knowledge whatsoever. In fact she denied having implied that rumors had reached her ears.
None of the partners of the law firm would give the goods on any other. Even those who had retired and were granted immunity refused to implicate any former coworkers. Each who came to testify fidgeted and appeared uncomfortable when the employee expense accounts were read out once again.
The Union had changed leaders a couple of times since Mr. Canaan's tenure. So none of the officers who came to speak could say much with any conviction.
The only thing that was a certainty, was that after the election in which Mr. Canaan lost his position, the law firm handling the Union's legal requirements was dropped in favor of another, not entirely different, firm. Many of the lawyers moved to the new firm. They were familiar with the Union members' needs.
In the end, the district attorney's assistant failed to make his case so it was a moot point as to how the money arrived in the safety deposit boxes. Mrs. Canaan was two million dollars richer, minus her attorney's fees of course.
And the old law firm which was paying a pension to the retired partner who had been a long-time friend of the deceased? They walked away quietly licking their wounds and hoped to rebuild their good name. They really did not need the bad publicity a trial would have brought on them.
These are rough times. Everyone says the stock market is due for a correction, in which case even privately held companies will suffer. Buying Union contracts could prove prohibitive under the new economy.
Thursday, February 25, 2010
When I Was Young
Once, when I was young and immortal, I was cruel and immoral. I walked an endless highway. I was infatuated with what I was capable of doing. It did not bother me to see someone with tears. Well, it didn't bother me much.
When I was green, I laughed more of the time and saw humor in misfortune because I did not know enough to realize one day misfortune would visit me.
When I erred I denied it. When I succeeded, I gloated. I became bloated with my own complacency. I carried the laurel wreath long after it had dried and withered and revisited my past glory as if it were something fresh and new. I fully expected those around me awaited something from me which was fresh and new and I tried to pass off the stale remnants as such. No one ever accused me of begging for compliments, though if they had, it might have awakened me.
Once, when I was sleeping safely in the past, my tomorrows lacked the urgency I feel in them today.
When tomorrows were countless, I thought I would always have my friends and that I would have acquaintances for almost as long. Now the future feels like a finite possibility and probability lessens. There are days I walk alone.
When the days began to grow shorter, my attention was drawn to jesting matters. I played a waiting game, for there was no necessity to rush to checkmate. There were options aplenty and if none appealed there was the option to create more, a sort of self-fulfilling prophecy, if you will, but self-fulfillment is a well bound to run dry. The days grew shorter and now I feel the loss of hours, not merely moments. The scales measuring the past against the future have been tipped in favor of the former.
Once, when I did not state these inevitabilities, I believed they could be staved. Now, no longer young, I walk the road I paved.
When I was green, I laughed more of the time and saw humor in misfortune because I did not know enough to realize one day misfortune would visit me.
When I erred I denied it. When I succeeded, I gloated. I became bloated with my own complacency. I carried the laurel wreath long after it had dried and withered and revisited my past glory as if it were something fresh and new. I fully expected those around me awaited something from me which was fresh and new and I tried to pass off the stale remnants as such. No one ever accused me of begging for compliments, though if they had, it might have awakened me.
Once, when I was sleeping safely in the past, my tomorrows lacked the urgency I feel in them today.
When tomorrows were countless, I thought I would always have my friends and that I would have acquaintances for almost as long. Now the future feels like a finite possibility and probability lessens. There are days I walk alone.
When the days began to grow shorter, my attention was drawn to jesting matters. I played a waiting game, for there was no necessity to rush to checkmate. There were options aplenty and if none appealed there was the option to create more, a sort of self-fulfilling prophecy, if you will, but self-fulfillment is a well bound to run dry. The days grew shorter and now I feel the loss of hours, not merely moments. The scales measuring the past against the future have been tipped in favor of the former.
Once, when I did not state these inevitabilities, I believed they could be staved. Now, no longer young, I walk the road I paved.
Friday, January 15, 2010
Published at disenthralled
My story The Bust appears in Walter Conley's literary journal disenthralled, Issue #4. His e-zine has a noirish feel, and he did a great job in giving this issue an international flavor. I'm especially thrilled to be appearing there along with Nora Ibsen, AJ Dresser, and Michael J Solender, and some other writers who are new to me.
Saturday, January 9, 2010
Before I Was Born
Before I was born, the world was a vastly different place. This is not to say my being born changed it, but I was born right around the mid-point of the twentieth century and the second half of that century was more technologically advanced than any era in history up until then.
I was born into the atomic age. The era of cold war and computers, television and space exploration, teenagers as a phenomenon and rock and roll, gadgetry and equal rights and terrorism and everyone capable of having their fifteen minutes of fame; all of these exploded on the scene during that period and before I was born many of these were considered in the realm of science fiction and imagination. The if-onlies of the first half of the century became yesterday's news by the end of the second millennium.
Before I was born, people worked hard just to break even and people worked at careers and not too long before I was born an American president assured everyone that if they worked for most of their lives, when they got to their golden years they could enjoy a leisure that would make the time truly feel golden, so that the world I was born into held a promise and possibility most of my ancestors could not count on. By the end of the century that assurance was dwindling, but now people are being urged to provide the promise for themselves and being given leverage to do so.
That old world, which did not feel like an old world to the people around when I was born, is now historical in tone. Before I was born, for the most part, the recording of the times was done on film of black and white. Two great wars that involved most of the world were fought in the first half of the twentieth century. All the memories of the first are in black and white and much of the second is also.
We landed on the moon in 1969 and sent machinery much further into space later on, but it must be remembered man only learned how to fly heavier than air machinery in the beginning of the century. Automobiles which are a ubiquitous sight only came about in the 1900s. The Twentieth Century probably witnessed about a third of the inventions and achievements we take for granted in our daily lives. I was born at the mid-point and the acceleration of progress since that point is almost incredible. Things that became part of the human landscape in the first half of the century were phenomenal and many past great minds foresaw their coming, but if seers were able to describe in exact detail what has come about since my birth, they might have been burned as witches. Who could have predicted something like a pocket computer to wirelessly transmit messages, in a past century, or could even offer a reason for the need to invent such an object?
Before I was born, a millionaire was a rare bird and by dint of his achievement became a historical personage. Today they are "a dime a dozen."
When I sit and daydream, I think I would have liked to be living in the world that existed before I was born. Since that time we have come closer to the possibility of actually going back there. We have cloned animals and may soon clone humans, now if we can conquer the time travel problem that would be the neatest trick of all.
I was born into the atomic age. The era of cold war and computers, television and space exploration, teenagers as a phenomenon and rock and roll, gadgetry and equal rights and terrorism and everyone capable of having their fifteen minutes of fame; all of these exploded on the scene during that period and before I was born many of these were considered in the realm of science fiction and imagination. The if-onlies of the first half of the century became yesterday's news by the end of the second millennium.
Before I was born, people worked hard just to break even and people worked at careers and not too long before I was born an American president assured everyone that if they worked for most of their lives, when they got to their golden years they could enjoy a leisure that would make the time truly feel golden, so that the world I was born into held a promise and possibility most of my ancestors could not count on. By the end of the century that assurance was dwindling, but now people are being urged to provide the promise for themselves and being given leverage to do so.
That old world, which did not feel like an old world to the people around when I was born, is now historical in tone. Before I was born, for the most part, the recording of the times was done on film of black and white. Two great wars that involved most of the world were fought in the first half of the twentieth century. All the memories of the first are in black and white and much of the second is also.
We landed on the moon in 1969 and sent machinery much further into space later on, but it must be remembered man only learned how to fly heavier than air machinery in the beginning of the century. Automobiles which are a ubiquitous sight only came about in the 1900s. The Twentieth Century probably witnessed about a third of the inventions and achievements we take for granted in our daily lives. I was born at the mid-point and the acceleration of progress since that point is almost incredible. Things that became part of the human landscape in the first half of the century were phenomenal and many past great minds foresaw their coming, but if seers were able to describe in exact detail what has come about since my birth, they might have been burned as witches. Who could have predicted something like a pocket computer to wirelessly transmit messages, in a past century, or could even offer a reason for the need to invent such an object?
Before I was born, a millionaire was a rare bird and by dint of his achievement became a historical personage. Today they are "a dime a dozen."
When I sit and daydream, I think I would have liked to be living in the world that existed before I was born. Since that time we have come closer to the possibility of actually going back there. We have cloned animals and may soon clone humans, now if we can conquer the time travel problem that would be the neatest trick of all.
Thursday, January 7, 2010
MDJB's Picos
mdjb's picos
In his native tongue he could toss off bon mots con los mejores, yet he sounded windy and dull in anything outside of English. Por eso.
by mdjb on 8:08am, 7 Jan 2010
Beau couldn't make a move without Dolly until the day he pulled the plug and she went brr-rapping around the room like a balloon losing air
by mdjb on 9:54am, 16 Dec 2009
And Who died and left you in charge? Jesus asked Peter on one of those latter days. He was attempting irony, but The Rock missed the call.
by mdjb on 9:33am, 29 Nov 2009
He was always taking others to task for doing things He would never do not realizing they could not do everything His way without being Him.
by mdjb on 9:31am, 29 Nov 2009
Although he angrily demanded she return only the expensive engagement ring, she sent him the cheapest postcard from Niagara Falls instead.
by mdjb on 1:41pm, 5 Nov 2009
All the stories in the world are here in my pen. I only hope I don't run out of ink too soon after I start writing them.
by mdjb on 9:38am, 3 Nov 2009
When I felt a spurt of writer's block coming on, I recalled my own approaching senility, and couldn't figure out how I was supposed to...
by mdjb on 1:59pm, 13 Oct 2009
Marred by past relationships, he took her on. She left him when he pointed out her only fault, but not before telling him his.
by mdjb on 7:06pm, 11 Oct 2009
In his native tongue he could toss off bon mots con los mejores, yet he sounded windy and dull in anything outside of English. Por eso.
by mdjb on 8:08am, 7 Jan 2010
Beau couldn't make a move without Dolly until the day he pulled the plug and she went brr-rapping around the room like a balloon losing air
by mdjb on 9:54am, 16 Dec 2009
And Who died and left you in charge? Jesus asked Peter on one of those latter days. He was attempting irony, but The Rock missed the call.
by mdjb on 9:33am, 29 Nov 2009
He was always taking others to task for doing things He would never do not realizing they could not do everything His way without being Him.
by mdjb on 9:31am, 29 Nov 2009
Although he angrily demanded she return only the expensive engagement ring, she sent him the cheapest postcard from Niagara Falls instead.
by mdjb on 1:41pm, 5 Nov 2009
All the stories in the world are here in my pen. I only hope I don't run out of ink too soon after I start writing them.
by mdjb on 9:38am, 3 Nov 2009
When I felt a spurt of writer's block coming on, I recalled my own approaching senility, and couldn't figure out how I was supposed to...
by mdjb on 1:59pm, 13 Oct 2009
Marred by past relationships, he took her on. She left him when he pointed out her only fault, but not before telling him his.
by mdjb on 7:06pm, 11 Oct 2009
Monday, January 4, 2010
Published in Gloom Cupboard
Gloom Cupboard, Prose # 113
Miss Morningside; Learning Linen; Impossible Things Before Breakfast; Each Day I Die; Lydia
My Comment:
Rizzy Rodham: Brief, but packed with warm feeling. I finished feeling this was a person I’d like to know, and the ghost seems like the nicest one I’ve ever read about. The way she quickly says, No, but then proves the reverse is just perfect. I want to read more of Rizzy’s work.
Leigha Butler: As I have personally felt the presence, or the lack of same, but a deep need for it to be otherwise, of missing loved ones, this tale touched me deeply. There is that period where we just seem to give up taking care of ourselves. It’s almost sadder when we accept the reality of the situation than suffering through our longing, and this story captures those moments well.
As to my own piece: I quote Alice (from Through the Looking Glass) “There’s no use trying,” she said, “one can’t believe impossible things.”
“I daresay you haven’t had much practice,” said the Queen. “When I was your age, I always did it for half-an-hour a day. Why sometimes I believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast!”
Lonnie James: Enjoyed the way the author made it clear something was out of the ordinary right near the beginning of the tale, and then took some time to develop the patient’s “personality” so that we could see, yes, he had one, programmed in or otherwise. Original take on a familiar theme in modern science that gave it freshness, and made it thought-provoking.
Jeanette Cheezum: This tale neatly expresses the dichotomy between the right and wrong ways to relieve stress. And who deserves punishment for choosing the “wrong” ways. Jeanette, as always, surprises with her awareness and observatory powers.
I am proud to be in the company of this fine group of writers. Gloom Cupboard is tops!
Miss Morningside; Learning Linen; Impossible Things Before Breakfast; Each Day I Die; Lydia
My Comment:
Rizzy Rodham: Brief, but packed with warm feeling. I finished feeling this was a person I’d like to know, and the ghost seems like the nicest one I’ve ever read about. The way she quickly says, No, but then proves the reverse is just perfect. I want to read more of Rizzy’s work.
Leigha Butler: As I have personally felt the presence, or the lack of same, but a deep need for it to be otherwise, of missing loved ones, this tale touched me deeply. There is that period where we just seem to give up taking care of ourselves. It’s almost sadder when we accept the reality of the situation than suffering through our longing, and this story captures those moments well.
As to my own piece: I quote Alice (from Through the Looking Glass) “There’s no use trying,” she said, “one can’t believe impossible things.”
“I daresay you haven’t had much practice,” said the Queen. “When I was your age, I always did it for half-an-hour a day. Why sometimes I believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast!”
Lonnie James: Enjoyed the way the author made it clear something was out of the ordinary right near the beginning of the tale, and then took some time to develop the patient’s “personality” so that we could see, yes, he had one, programmed in or otherwise. Original take on a familiar theme in modern science that gave it freshness, and made it thought-provoking.
Jeanette Cheezum: This tale neatly expresses the dichotomy between the right and wrong ways to relieve stress. And who deserves punishment for choosing the “wrong” ways. Jeanette, as always, surprises with her awareness and observatory powers.
I am proud to be in the company of this fine group of writers. Gloom Cupboard is tops!
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
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