TUESDAY TALES - WORD PROMPT "PITCH"

 

Hello! 

Welcome to Tuesday Tales! This week we have another episode of "Two of Hearts." It's Terry's turn for the spotlight this week. Here's a glimpse of his life. Once you're finished, hop on over and read the great stories by the talented Tuesday Tales writers. Find their work  HERE. 

Thanks for stopping by. 

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When he arrived late to work, questioning looks and raised eyebrows greeted Terry.

“I had to walk the dog,” he said. Understanding nods let him put his tardiness to rest. Since he was one of the highest earners in this little partnership, he shouldn’t have to answer bullshit questions about being on time.  Was he grumbling because of the dog walking or because he spent his first night alone in bed?

He closed his door and opened his calendar. His appointments, workouts, everything on his schedule resided on his phone in a new app called “My Life.” Clare had often teased him about being a planner. 

"You plan like a girl. If I didn't know what a horndog you are, I'd think you were gay," she'd said. 

The joke had rankled him. A masculine, straight guy couldn’t be organized? Maybe if she'd been more organized, she’d do better, get better assignments, not always be running to finish at the last minute, and make more money. His organized life was one reason he pulled in seven figures. Clients loved an organized money manager who took control, made money for them, and delivered on time. 

Monday, Terry laid out his plans and tasks for the week, allowing time for taking advantage of unforeseen opportunities or fixing unexpected disasters. Every Monday night, Terry and Clare met with a small bridge group. He and his wife were killers at the game, his one intellectual challenge outside of work. 

It was game night. He’d go without Clare and see what new partner the members had dug up. They knew she was leaving and had offered to find someone to fill in. Skeptical, Terry had gone along. Better some numbskull than no bridge.

He got so involved in work, five o’clock rolled around before he realized it.

"Time to wrap up," he said to himself. By six he'd wrapped up the day and put the finishing touches on a new business pitch.

In the past, at five o’clock, he’d turn his thoughts to his wife –wonder what she was making for dinner and if she’d be up for sex after. At six, he’d looked forward to going home, listening to her challenges and victories, gazing at her beautiful face, and feasting like a king. He’d had a wonderful life. Now that it was gone, at least for six months, he realized how much he’d taken for granted.

That's it. Thanks for stopping by. 

TUESDAY TALES - "CONFIDENT" IS THE WORD PROMPT

 

Howdy! Welcome to Tuesday Tales. The word prompt this week is confident. We have another episode of the new, unpublished story, "Two of Hearts". When you've finished reading, hop on over to the other authors and read their fabulous stories. Find them HERE.  Thanks for stopping by. 

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Since she got the news of his accident, she’d been running on adrenaline, stopping to rest only for an hour or two, curled up in a chair by Stan’s hospital bed. He’d been unconscious, but she’d held his hand. Her conversation with the doctor echoed in her head.  

“I’m sorry Mrs. Hogan. I can’t tell you anything. Until he wakes up we won’t have any idea of the extent of the brain damage.”

“But he wore a helmet.”

The doctor shook his head. “If he hadn’t, he’d be dead. A helmet doesn’t completely prevent injury. I’m sorry. I wish I had better news. We have to wait and see.”

There hadn’t been time to stop and take a breath –and let things sink in –until now.   Leaning against the shower wall for support, Jen slid down, sobbing. Huge gasps escaped, shaking her. She hugged her knees hard as the water washed away the chill. Stan was her life. He had to wake up.

After a few minutes, she took two deep breaths, pushed to her feet, and turned off the water. She reached for a towel. Gripping the rack to steady herself, she retrieved the fluffy pink terry robe from the hook on the back of the door and wrapped herself in its clean softness.

Padding to the kitchen, she poured a cup of coffee. Her stomach emitted hungry noises, but food didn’t appeal. She couldn’t remember when she had last eaten. Picking up the cover of a pan on the stove, she revealed the smelly remnants of the special meal she’d been making when the call came. Her conversation with Stan before the accident buzzed through her brain.

“Just one spin,” he’d said.

“I’m making a new dish. A New York Times recipe. You’re not gonna wanna miss it.”

“I never wanna miss your cooking, baby. But the ‘cycle. Hell, it’s calling me.”

“The rain stopped, but it’s still wet.”

“I’ll be careful. Promise.”

“You’d better be,” she said, shaking a fist in his face in mock anger.

He’d pulled her into his embrace and kissed her with passion.

“One spin?”

“Just one?”

“West Side Highway to the Bridge and back. That’s all. Honest,” he said, releasing her and showing her his palms.

His confidence had won her over. “Okay. Just one.”

She grimaced. The one time she could have said “no”, and made it stick, but hadn’t. He’d wiped out on a slick spot on the road. And it was her fault.  Wasn’t it?

TUESDAY TALES - WORD PROMPT "LAMP" - "TWO OF HEARTS"

 

Howdy! Welcome to another episode from "Two of Hearts".  The word prompt is "lamp". There is some bad language in this excerpt. If that's a concern, please stroll on by and go to the other stories by the excellent Tuesday Tales authors. Find them HERE.  Thanks for stopping by. 

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“I’m sorry. I hope it’s nothing serious,” he said, touching her arm.

She shot him a frosty look. He shrank back, moving away as much as the limited space allowed.

“The dogs seem to like each other,” he continued.

Obviously, this obnoxious idiot didn’t know when to shut up. “Willie likes all dogs, especially other pugs.”

The man turned his gaze away. “Fucking rain,” he mumbled.

“Don’t you know any other words?” Jen cocked an eyebrow.

“Sorry. I’m not usually out this early. And the rain,” he shook his head. “My wife does the early morning walks. Guess I’m not awake yet.”

“Oh, did she sleep in?” Jen cocked an eyebrow.

“She’s in L.A.”

Jen nodded as if she gave a flying fuck. His wife could be in Outer Mongolia as far as she was concerned.

As fast as the sky had opened up, the rain tapered off. The two dogs shook off again, causing Jen to flatten herself against the front door. The pugs sniffed each other, barked and played. Her heart and head hurt. She needed to get home.

 “As much as I’d like to let Willie play with, Queenie, was it?”

He nodded.

“I’ve gotta go.” Holding her shirt away from her body, she tugged gently on the leash and Willie drew his attention away from the other dog and followed Jen.  “Sorry, boy. I know that’s your girlfriend, but I’ve got to get home.”

Trembling from the chill of the clinging wet clothing, Jen skirted the small puddles on the sidewalk as she led Willie back to their front steps. Once inside their townhouse, she turned on a lamp against the darkness from the clouds, fed the dog, put on a pot of coffee, then headed for the shower. She peeled off her soaked clothing, dumping everything in the hamper, and stepped under the spray. As the warm water hit her pebbled flesh, tears started.

TUESDAY TALES - WORD PROMPT "WOOD" - "TWO OF HEARTS"

Good day! It's time for another another snipped from "Two of Hearts" today.  This is a woman's fiction story. There is bad language, so if that's a big turn-off, simply go on to the next author. Find more Tuesday Tales HERE. Thanks for stopping by. 

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Grinding his teeth, Terry directed Queenie down seventy-seventh street. An hour in nicely-wooded Central Park would do him good. At least that’s what he told himself. Clare had insisted that Queenie not be short-changed on her park exercise.

“Just because I’m not going to be here doesn’t mean she should miss out. Right?”

In theory, he’d agreed, but the reality of spending an hour at the crack of dawn trudging around the Great Lawn every God damn morning pissed him off. Bad enough he didn’t have his wife but picking up after the pooch and pretending to like it set his teeth on edge.

He and Queenie tromped toward the park, when a low rumble met his ears. Oh, shit. Rain. He raised the collar of his jacket and hunched up his shoulders. After a loud crack, the sky opened up. Queenie howled as the rain came down in sheets, drenching them. Terry ducked into an alcove, the front entrance of a townhouse. Queenie shook off on him.

“Shit! Fuck! Queenie!” He yelled, closing his eyes.

“Nice language,” muttered a woman, squeezing in next to him, her dog stepping on his foot.

He looked down. “Willie?”

 

**** 

 

Jen pushed her wet hair off her face and pulled her soaked T-shirt away from her skin. She didn’t need to show strangers her boobs. Sure, April showers and all that crap, but this was ridiculous. Yesterday had been the first dry day in a week. Stan had always done the morning and late-night walks with Willie. She took him in the afternoon. The poor pug was soaked. He shook off and panted, his long tongue lolling.

“Come on, boy,” she said, pushing farther into the entryway of the townhouse. The man next to her took up most of the space. Screw him. She elbowed her way deeper under the narrow overhang, pulling Willie up close. Life was terrible. Everything was shit and she’d be damned if some greedy asshole was going to make her day worse.

“Willie?” The man asked, narrowing his eyes and staring first at her dog, then at her.

Instinctively she pushed at her hair, but it was too wet and matted to fix.

“Yeah. This is Willie. Who are you?”

“This is Queenie.”

Jen looked down. There stood an adorable pug, much smaller than hers. At the mention of her name, the wet dog ginned. Jen smiled back.

“Queenie?” She raised her eyebrows.

“Your father usually walks Willie, doesn’t he?”

She bristled, frowning. “You mean my husband? Stan usually takes the morning and late- night walks.”

The man blushed. “Oops. Sorry.”

“You should be.” She wasn’t putting up with annoying behavior from anyone today.

“We don’t usually talk. Just say ‘hello’ and let the dogs play. His name’s Stan?”

“That’s right.”

“Did he sleep in?”

“He’s in the hospital.”

That's it for today. Thanks for stopping by. 

TUESDAY TALES - WORD PROMPT "COLD" - TWO OF HEARTS

 

Howdy! Today we start a new story, "Two of Hearts." It's a woman's fiction story and different from anything else I've ever written. Sorry that the opening excerpt is so long. It was necessary to include all this to establish who Terry is. Caution: there is bad language and sexual references in this story. If that b bothers you, then stroll on by. 

The word prompt is "cold." Don't forget to hop on over and read all the other fabulous stories. You'll find them HERE. 

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At six a.m., the creature breathing on Terry’s ear should have been his wife, Clare, not their pug, Queenie, placing her cold nose against his temple.  His wife, an early riser, always took the dog on the early morning walk. But he’d put Clare on a plane to Los Angeles the day before. Terry grumbled as he pulled on sweats, slipped on a wind breaker, and harnessed the pooch.

“What the fuck, Queenie? Why do you have to go out so God damn early, anyway?”

He shuffled down the hall to the elevator, dog prancing alongside. His wife occupied his thoughts. An acquaintance got her into some dumbass west coast script-writing internship program. Exactly what would she’d be doing there? He had no clue. Riding down to the lobby, Terry recalled his conversation over dinner with Clare.

“Aren’t you a little old for an internship?” He’d asked, refilling their wine glasses.

“It’s not for neophytes. Only for experienced writers.”

“Oh.” He nodded.

“This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for me to break into the movies.”

“Isn’t that a bit cliched?”

“Very funny.”

“Sorry.”

They’d polished off the bottle, then Clare had led him to the bedroom and seduced him. He chuckled to himself --not like it was difficult.  After great sex, Terry couldn’t deny her anything. She used lovemaking to get her way, but he didn’t care. He loved Clare with all his heart.

“How long is this deal?” He’d asked, lying next to her.

“Six months. That’s all. It’ll pass quickly.”

“And your freelancing?”

“Sarah said I could take a leave of absence.”

“And your job’ll be there when you get back?”

“That’s what she said. We live on what you make anyway. My dippy shit little salary won’t be missed.”

“It’s not the money. I’ll miss you.”

“You can come on weekends. Please, Terry? I may never get another chance.”

With the pleasure from release still floating through his veins, he hadn’t been thinking clearly. Sure, he’d fly out there at least once a month, catch up on their lives and screw their brains out. If he made love to her eight times over three days, that would average out, over a month, to twice a week –more than some guys got. It was only for six months, right? Easy peasy, he’d thought. Obviously he’d gone brain dead.  

“You’ll have Queenie,” Clare had said.

Hearing her name, the animal had jumped up on the bed. After breathing in his face, she circled, nudging her way between them, and plopped down, resting her chin on Clare’s leg. He admitted Queenie had wrapped her little self around his heart, but she was no substitute for his wife.

“Okay. Six months. Only six months. Then you come home, right?”

“Right. Thank you. I love you madly, truly, dearly,” she’d said and slid down his body, arousing him once more.  

Once his mind worked again, he’d spent the next month looking for ways to back out of the deal. But he’d never seen Clare happier. She sang in the morning, initiated lovemaking every night, and created mouth-watering dinners. How could he destroy her hopes?

Did he believe she’d have a dazzling career as a scriptwriter? He doubted one course would turn her into Steven Spielberg, but kept his misgivings to himself. 

The first time the alarm went off at six instead of seven, he regretted his decision. Six months of getting up early, six months of walking the damn dog before he’d had his second cup of coffee, and six months of no sex –what the fuck had he been thinking?

That's it. Thanks for stopping by.