Frederico stood entranced watching the woman as she exited the taxi and darted across the street towards him.
She had a long blond bob, parted at the side. A pair of classic black Ray Ban's that covered her eyes, but accentuated the red lips beneath. She was wearing a leopard print swing coat, black cropped pencil pants and kitten heels.
On the ring finger of her right hand was an impossibly large emerald cut diamond. On any other woman he would have shrugged it off as an automatic fake. But this woman was authentic. She was classic and sexy in a way that spanned the decades. He had known a woman like her once before, years ago.
He knew he had to meet her. "Scusilo" he murmered when he approached her. She turned and arched a perfectly sculpted brow above her sunglasses. He expected her to have a French accent possibly. But when she replied it was a throaty American voice, "Yes..." When she lowered her sunglasses he could see in her eyes that she was the type of woman who was comfortable in any situation, but somehow haunted by her own existance.
Monday, January 10, 2011
Sunday, March 14, 2010
Three Doorbells
Mrs. Perch exited the sedan and and smoothed the front of her navy linen suit. She checked the address on the slip of paper in her hand and then strode down the sidewalk. She stopped in front of a colorfully painted mailbox and checked the number. She had found the right place.
The house was surrounded by a low stone wall with an arbored gate with Wisteria growing over it. In one corner of the yard was a large oak tree. A curvy stone path led up to the house. One could only describe the house itself as looking overstuffed. The sides bowed outward slightly. Mrs. Perch wasn't sure if that was by design, or simply a matter of poor craftsmanship and the long term effects of gravity trying to pull the upper level closer to the first level. On the roof of the house was a winged heart weather vane.
Growing on either side in front of the house was a profusion of flowers bordered by what appeared to be broken china plates sticking up to form a scalloped edging. Beyond that was an inviting front porch with two wicker chairs and a matching table that had a vase of lilacs on it.
Mrs. Perch ran a hand over her impeccably coiffed silver hair and marched up to the front door. There was a hand painted sign adorned with roses that read:
For Business Inquiries Ring Here
Below it was a doorbell. Further down was a similar sign to the first. It read:
For Deliveries Ring Here
A second doorbell was below this sign. Below that was another sign that read:
If You Have Come To Visit Miss Olivia Ring Here
Below that was a third doorbell, and at the very bottom was a final sign that read:
If You Have Come To Visit The Captain You Don't Need To Ring, Just Come In
Mrs. Perch found that rather odd. She had never seen a house with three doorbells before, and she couldn't imagine who the Captain was or why his visitors didn't have to ring. She reached up and rang the uppermost bell.
When the door opened she stood there staring for much longer than was polite, but she couldn't help herself. She wasn't prepared for sight that greeted her.
Standing in front of her was a woman of slightly above average height. She was wearing pink kitty slippers, mismatched striped socks, a skirt that appeared to be made from an old quilt, a brightly patterned peacock colored shawl, a pair of thin black glasses, red lipstick, and her hair was twisted into a knot and held in place by chopsticks. On top of her head in front of the chopsticks was a tiara. Wisps of hair were escaping the knot. It was enough to make Mrs. Perch smooth a hand over her own hair again. This had to be the infamous Miss Olivia she presumed.
The house was surrounded by a low stone wall with an arbored gate with Wisteria growing over it. In one corner of the yard was a large oak tree. A curvy stone path led up to the house. One could only describe the house itself as looking overstuffed. The sides bowed outward slightly. Mrs. Perch wasn't sure if that was by design, or simply a matter of poor craftsmanship and the long term effects of gravity trying to pull the upper level closer to the first level. On the roof of the house was a winged heart weather vane.
Growing on either side in front of the house was a profusion of flowers bordered by what appeared to be broken china plates sticking up to form a scalloped edging. Beyond that was an inviting front porch with two wicker chairs and a matching table that had a vase of lilacs on it.
Mrs. Perch ran a hand over her impeccably coiffed silver hair and marched up to the front door. There was a hand painted sign adorned with roses that read:
For Business Inquiries Ring Here
Below it was a doorbell. Further down was a similar sign to the first. It read:
For Deliveries Ring Here
A second doorbell was below this sign. Below that was another sign that read:
If You Have Come To Visit Miss Olivia Ring Here
Below that was a third doorbell, and at the very bottom was a final sign that read:
If You Have Come To Visit The Captain You Don't Need To Ring, Just Come In
Mrs. Perch found that rather odd. She had never seen a house with three doorbells before, and she couldn't imagine who the Captain was or why his visitors didn't have to ring. She reached up and rang the uppermost bell.
When the door opened she stood there staring for much longer than was polite, but she couldn't help herself. She wasn't prepared for sight that greeted her.
Standing in front of her was a woman of slightly above average height. She was wearing pink kitty slippers, mismatched striped socks, a skirt that appeared to be made from an old quilt, a brightly patterned peacock colored shawl, a pair of thin black glasses, red lipstick, and her hair was twisted into a knot and held in place by chopsticks. On top of her head in front of the chopsticks was a tiara. Wisps of hair were escaping the knot. It was enough to make Mrs. Perch smooth a hand over her own hair again. This had to be the infamous Miss Olivia she presumed.
Thursday, January 28, 2010
The Fall Of Alice
It was nice to know the universe had an ironic sense of humor thought Alice as she brushed the dirt and dead leaves from her dress. She surveyed her surroundings the best she could in the dim light. Her eyes hadn't adjusted from the bright daylight seven feet above, and she couldn't see much.
As the shock of the fall began to wear off she reached out her hand to push herself up. It came in contact with something soft and furry and she snatched it back quickly with a little shriek of fear.
She sat still a moment longer reliving the past hour. She had been in the woods trying to find the plants her botany professor had instructed the class to gather. She knew it was foolish to be out there alone, and on top of it, she had been hurrying since she was running late for dinner with her friends.
She hadn't noticed the hole in the ground since it had been partially covered with fallen tree branches and leaves. One minute she had hurrying along what looked to be some semblance of a path and the next she was falling into a dark hole like her fictional namesake.
She finally stood up and took quick mental stock. She felt somewhat bruised but nothing seemed to be broken. She looked around again wondering how to get out, her eyes able to see more now. She spotted the thing her hand had come in contact with. It wasn't moving. She picked up a branch near her feet and poked at it. Nothing. She pulled it closer with the stick.
Her eyes widened when she bent down to pick up the child's toy. She realized it was a dirty old white stuffed rabbit!
"You've got to be kidding!"
As the shock of the fall began to wear off she reached out her hand to push herself up. It came in contact with something soft and furry and she snatched it back quickly with a little shriek of fear.
She sat still a moment longer reliving the past hour. She had been in the woods trying to find the plants her botany professor had instructed the class to gather. She knew it was foolish to be out there alone, and on top of it, she had been hurrying since she was running late for dinner with her friends.
She hadn't noticed the hole in the ground since it had been partially covered with fallen tree branches and leaves. One minute she had hurrying along what looked to be some semblance of a path and the next she was falling into a dark hole like her fictional namesake.
She finally stood up and took quick mental stock. She felt somewhat bruised but nothing seemed to be broken. She looked around again wondering how to get out, her eyes able to see more now. She spotted the thing her hand had come in contact with. It wasn't moving. She picked up a branch near her feet and poked at it. Nothing. She pulled it closer with the stick.
Her eyes widened when she bent down to pick up the child's toy. She realized it was a dirty old white stuffed rabbit!
"You've got to be kidding!"
Saturday, November 28, 2009
Voices
A cool breeze blew across the bay this morning. Burton sat on the bench staring at the crumpled piece of paper in his hand. The hastily jotted numbers, written in pencil were starting to fade. It would be so easy to let it fly away in the wind.
He knew he should dial the number. He wanted to dial the number. He had tried at least a dozen times before, but had always hung up before completing the sequence. He stared out across the water for a long moment. Finally with a resigned sigh he took his cell phone out of his pocket and dialed.
A friendly female voice on the other end of the line said; "Dr. Rand's office."
A few days later Burton found himself seated in a dark green leather chair in the well appointed office of Dr. Rand. As he waited, he took in his surroundings. A carved mahogany desk was the focal point of the room. A small bust sat on the desk, but Burton couldn't identify who the head belonged to. He looked vaguely familiar though. Along two walls were book shelves crammed with books. A large potted ivy sat on a pedestal by the door. There wasn't any clutter anywhere. Somehow Burton had expected the doctor's desk to be piled with files and paperwork. But then he thought no, of course he wouldn't leave that sort of thing lying around.
The door opened and Dr. Rand entered the room. He smiled congenially and introduced himself. As Burton stood to shake his hand, he surveyed the man he was about to treat. He had dark hair and eyes, was handsome, probably in his mid thirties and well built. He briefly wondered what brought him into his office. But he would know soon enough he supposed. In his 42 years of practice he had heard it all.
Burton sat back down. Dr. Rand noticed the young man fidgeting as he asked him what he could do for him. That was common, most people were uncomfortable coming to a psychiatrist.
Burton leaned forward slightly and said: "Well doc, I think I might have schizophrenia."
"Oh" said Dr. Rand; "What makes you think that?'
"I hear voices in my head." Replied Burton.
"What do they tell you to do?" asked Dr. Rand, suddenly concerned. The last schizophrenic that had come into his office had turned out to be a serial killer. He had claimed the voices told him to do it.
"They don't tell me to do anything." said Burton puzzled, "They aren't talking to me."
Dr. Rand ran his fingers through his silver hair. He had been wrong, apparently he hadn't heard it all.
He knew he should dial the number. He wanted to dial the number. He had tried at least a dozen times before, but had always hung up before completing the sequence. He stared out across the water for a long moment. Finally with a resigned sigh he took his cell phone out of his pocket and dialed.
A friendly female voice on the other end of the line said; "Dr. Rand's office."
A few days later Burton found himself seated in a dark green leather chair in the well appointed office of Dr. Rand. As he waited, he took in his surroundings. A carved mahogany desk was the focal point of the room. A small bust sat on the desk, but Burton couldn't identify who the head belonged to. He looked vaguely familiar though. Along two walls were book shelves crammed with books. A large potted ivy sat on a pedestal by the door. There wasn't any clutter anywhere. Somehow Burton had expected the doctor's desk to be piled with files and paperwork. But then he thought no, of course he wouldn't leave that sort of thing lying around.
The door opened and Dr. Rand entered the room. He smiled congenially and introduced himself. As Burton stood to shake his hand, he surveyed the man he was about to treat. He had dark hair and eyes, was handsome, probably in his mid thirties and well built. He briefly wondered what brought him into his office. But he would know soon enough he supposed. In his 42 years of practice he had heard it all.
Burton sat back down. Dr. Rand noticed the young man fidgeting as he asked him what he could do for him. That was common, most people were uncomfortable coming to a psychiatrist.
Burton leaned forward slightly and said: "Well doc, I think I might have schizophrenia."
"Oh" said Dr. Rand; "What makes you think that?'
"I hear voices in my head." Replied Burton.
"What do they tell you to do?" asked Dr. Rand, suddenly concerned. The last schizophrenic that had come into his office had turned out to be a serial killer. He had claimed the voices told him to do it.
"They don't tell me to do anything." said Burton puzzled, "They aren't talking to me."
Dr. Rand ran his fingers through his silver hair. He had been wrong, apparently he hadn't heard it all.
Friday, November 27, 2009
The Other Side Of The Door
Her feet easily found the stairs in the dark. It was a trip she had made about three thousand times over the past ten years. She felt the ruffled edge of her nightgown brush her thigh with each step she took. Her fingers trailed up the bannister to her right.
When she reached the top, she veered off to the left. She slowed her approach as she strode down the hallway. With her toe pointing out in front of her, she searched for the familiar furry form she knew would be there. When he toe came in contact with the sleeping dog, she deftly stepped over him.
Finally she reached her goal. As her hand stretched out to grasp the cool brass doorknob, her fingers curled back on themselves and she hesitated. Suddenly she was filled with an unusual foreboding, as if something was lurking on the other side of the door...
When she reached the top, she veered off to the left. She slowed her approach as she strode down the hallway. With her toe pointing out in front of her, she searched for the familiar furry form she knew would be there. When he toe came in contact with the sleeping dog, she deftly stepped over him.
Finally she reached her goal. As her hand stretched out to grasp the cool brass doorknob, her fingers curled back on themselves and she hesitated. Suddenly she was filled with an unusual foreboding, as if something was lurking on the other side of the door...
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