Tuesday Tales - Mouth

 

Howdy do! Welcome to Tuesday Tales. This week we have the beginning of the story from last week. I shared a snippet of context. This week, I share a snippet of the beginning. The story is tentatively titled, "The Painting." I hope you enjoy it. When you're done, bop on over to read the wonderful pieces by the other Tuesday Tales authors. You'll find them HERE. 

       ************************************************************

 “Hi! It’s me! I’ve come back for the painting. The one titled “The Front Porch”. Remember?”

The man with his back to her turned to face her. He had a pleasant face. One could almost call him handsome. His brow was furrowed. He frowned. “Who are you?”

Ignoring his remark, Sandy stopped in front of the woman. “Do you remember? I paid for it yesterday.”

The woman’s face colored. “Oh my gosh, yes. I do remember. There’s a little problem, though. It seems my husband also sold the painting.”

“What?” Sandy didn’t understand.

“It’s my fault, really. I didn’t mark it sold before I went to the ladies’ room. I mean, who knew someone else would come along that quick and want it.“

“He sold it to me. I paid cash. So the painting is mine,” the tall man said.

“Who the hell are you?” Sandy asked the man with he big mouth.

“Reid Carpenter Clark.” He nodded, but did not extend his hand.

“Sandy Katz.” She frowned. “The painting is mine.”

“Actually, she did pay for it first,” the artist said.

“But I paid cash. Credit card?” he asked, looking at Sandy.

“Yes. So?”

“It won’t clear until Monday. Therefore the legitimate payment is my cash. And the painting is mine.”

“That’s a whole lot of double-talk, Mr. Clark. I’m not buying it.”

“Where do you both live?” Burt asked.

“Manhattan,” they said in unison.

Burt raised his eyebrows. “Good. Makes this easy.” He walked behind the tent for a moment, returning with two bills in his hand. He handed it to Sandy. “Here you go. A hundred bucks.” Then he turned and slipped the other in Reid’s hand. “There. Now you’ve each paid a hundred for the painting and you both own it. Now you two can fight it out or whatever. We’ve got to finish setting up Sweetheart, give them the painting,” Burt said.

She handed it to Sandy. Reid put his hand on it, too.

“Let go. It’s mine. I bought it first,” Sandy said.  

“No.”

“Would you two please take that over there? We don’t want to chase customers away.”

“You’re the ones who got us into this mess,” Reid said.

“Look, I don’t want to call security. You look like a rich man. Offer her a grand for her share and take the painting home.”

“What makes you think I’d sell my share for any amount of money?”

That's it. Thanks for stopping by. 

TUESDAY TALES - APRIL 16 - BUTTON

 

Welcome! Today I'm trying something different. I'm taking a small break from "Two of Hearts" to throw out something I've been working on for a new book. I'm anxious to get your feedback. What do you think? Does this character intrigue you? Is he real? Interesting? Would you want to read his story? 

The setting is her art studio where she's using him as a model for a book cover. He's 45 years old, just the right age to portray the hero of the book. This is what's going through his mind as he's posing for her. 

He's an old money Christian and she's a second-generation American Jewish woman. They are not dating and have had a contentious friendship tenuously drawn together over the love of a particular painting they saw at an art show. 

The snippet is a little longer than usual and I apologize for that. Please let me know what you think. And be honest! 

PS. I know it's a lot of telling and not much showing. I will editing in the showing after I nail down the scene. 

When you're done, hop on over to the other authors. Find them HERE. 

                    ********************************************************

 He watched her gaze travel across his shoulders and down the open front of his shirt. She adjusted the opening to be just so, not exposing too much of his chest, but just enough for the picture. When she drew her lower lip between her teeth his eyes were drawn to her mouth. Then he noticed a slight pink creep into her cheeks as her gaze rested on his chest.

He didn’t want to notice those things about her. He’d been perfectly content for 45 years not noticing much of anything that didn’t pertain directly to his life. He’d ignored most of the world, especially the little nuances of women. He'd kept his focus on his life and the things he needed to button up to get through his day. And that’s all.

But not now. Now he noticed. He noticed her, everything about her. How she styled her hair and what clothes she wore. He noticed how tight her blouse was, emphasizing her tempting but forbidden breasts. He noticed that her eyes shone in a different way. Was that desire? Was it lust? He had no clue because he’d never noticed it in a woman before.

Oh he wasn’t a virgin. Quite the contrary. But sex had always been kind of a bargain, a reward for treating an attractive woman to an expensive meal or a night at the theater. Kind of bought and paid for in a subtle way totally acceptable to society. But not with her. He’d never ask her to dinner or the theater, and even if he broke every rule of his and his family’s, she wouldn’t go with him anyway.

No. Sex had never been about a willing look on a woman’s face. It had always been about him making a subtle pass and either getting the green light or getting turned down. That was it. Quite cut and dried. But not with her. With her nothing was cut and dried. She threatened his sense of the world. With her it was about emotion, raw emotion. He saw it in her art. The way she sometimes followed the rules and other times took liberties. He burned with jealousy that she could be comfortable taking liberties while he never dared to step out of the box that had become his life. Why should he? He’d been content with his situation. He lived an extremely comfortable life, one that everyone else on the planet would envy. But not her.

She laughed at his rigidity, his conservative values and ideas. Laughed, like he was some kind of clown or something. And she’d questioned him, relentlessly until he felt unsure, unsure of his own ideas and of what was right and proper. She was never proper and she didn’t care. And it made him mad.

He raised his gaze to hers and saw something flit through – was that desire? No, he was delusional. He was the enemy, the Nazi waiting to throw her in a prison camp. No, she’d never desire him. At that moment, though, he could swear she did. Then he felt heat come to his own cheeks because he desired her. Wanted her in a way he’d never wanted a woman before. All hot and sweaty, earthy, and primal. The feeling shook him so that he suddenly felt unsteady.

“Are you all right? It’s hot in here. I'll open the window,” she’d said.

Hell, what was wrong with him wouldn’t be fixed by opening a window. Nope. He’d done it. Crossed over the line. He wanted her with every fiber of his being. The forbidden fruit. What the hell was he going to do now?

TUESDAY TALES - GENTLE

 

Howdy! Welcome to Tuesday Tales, where authors write to a word prompt. We have more from "Two of Hearts" this week. When you're finished, hop on over to the other authors' works you'll find HERE. 

                          **********************************************************

“Why don’t I send you a text every night. Would that do?”

He exhaled. A text, a cold, impersonal, don’t-bother-to-reply text. His shoulders sagged.

“Sure. Sure. Whatever works for you.” He refused to appear clingy.

“Could you sleep then?”

“Yeah. About coming for a visit.” He shut his eyes tight, praying for the right answer.

“You mean this weekend? That won’t work. A bunch of us are driving up the coast. Kind of an adventure. Then we’re going to write about the trip. Someone suggested a road trip film. But we’d experience it first.”

“And I can’t come?” His heart twisted.

“I suppose you could. But the rest of the team might feel kinda funny. You not being a writer and all. Like how would you contribute?”

“Pay for your hotel.”

Silence.

Words tumbled from her in a rush. “I know I’m running up a lot of extra expenses, but when I sell my first screenplay, I’ll pay you back.” 

“Sorry. That came out wrong. It’s not about the money. Fuck the money. I want you to have this experience. It’s not that at all. If I wouldn’t fit in, okay, then.”

“Maybe we could plan a weekend for just us? Say next month?”

“We could do that.” A month? Christ, I have to wait a month to get her for a weekend? Fuck.

“Why don’t you get on that? Text me a choice of two dates.”

“Clare, texting doesn’t work for me.”

“You know how to do it, right?”

“Of course, I know how. That’s not what I meant, and you know it.” Patience wore thin.

“Hey, no need to get belligerent.”

“No need to get belligerent? You’re relegating me to a text buddy? And you don’t think I should object to that? I’m your husband, not some acquaintance.”

“We knew this wasn’t going to be easy, Terry. Please don’t make it any harder than it is.”

“Didn’t you have fun when we Skype’d?”

Silence. Then her voice, lower, more gentle than before. “Sure, I did. It was amazing. I could almost feel you touch me.”

“Me, too. So, let’s do it again.”

“I don’t know. My roommate is here all the time. She’s a giant pain in the ass.”

“Then go to a hotel. I’ll pay for it.”

“It’s just not a good time.”

“Why? Why isn’t it? It’s a great time for me. I love you, Clare. I miss you.”

“I know. One month down and five to go.”

“It seems like forever.”

“It’ll pass before you know it. Look, I’ve gotta run. Get the stuff about our weekend together and text it to me, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Love you, Terry. Love you to bits.”

“Love you, too.”

And then she was gone. 

Terry headed for the kitchen. There was an empty take-out food container on the counter. He heaved it against the wall. The noise woke Queenie who came running in, barking.

Thanks for stopping by. 

TUESDAY TALES - QUICK

 

Welcome! It's time for more FREE READS on Tuesday Tales. We're back with the continuing story of "Two of Hearts" and it's Terry's turn. When you finish hop on over to the other free reads by the great authors of Tuesday Tales. Find their works HERE. 

                        **********************************************************

After the walk, Terry pushed open the front door. He hadn’t overeaten like that in years. Closing his eyes, he could still taste the rigatoni. Covered in that sauce, that excellent sauce, it had created memories on his tongue. Clare cooked like that, too. As he unharnessed the pug, he remembered winter weekends when they didn’t get dressed, but spent the day cooking, eating, watching tv and making love. It had become a ritual. He’d pick one football game and she’d pick one movie.

Clare would make stew or soup or even a small turkey with stuffing, and bake cookies. And they’d pigged out. Snuggling up together on the sofa, Terry usually started things. A self-confessed breast fanatic, he’d start there. It wasn’t long before the tv was either on pause or totally ignored as they feasted on each other.

After toeing off his shoes, he sighed and padded into the living room. Might as well get some news in quick before he called Clare. While some perfectly made up and coiffed women and men fed details of the latest shooting or scam, Terry’s mind wandered. What would he say to Clare? How could he tell her he needed to talk to her, to connect with her, every day? He didn’t want to come off as needy, a tyrant, or, worse, a chauvinist. But he had rights, as her husband, and someone who adored her, didn’t he?

At ten of, his cell rang. It was Clare. Her being early was a good sign, wasn’t it? He smiled as he picked up the phone.

“Hi, baby,” he said.

“Hi.” Her tone was decidedly cool.

“We’ve been missing each other…”

“Yeah, I’m sorry about that. But, well, my schedule has changed,” she said.

“Right. What is your schedule? I don’t want to call when you’re in class.” He kept his tone even.

“Texting is really better.”

“I have to be honest. I can’t sleep if I don’t know that you’re safe, wherever you are.”

“You need to touch base every night?”

“Yeah. I do. You’re my wife, I want to know you’re okay.” There! He’d gotten it out on the table.

Silence. He paced in the living room.

That's all. Thanks for stopping by.