TUESDAY TALES - LEG

 

Welcome to Tuesday Tales. This week we're writing to the word prompt "leg". I have another episode of the brand new, not-yet-finished book, "The Painting." Caution: This is a raw story with some crude language. When you're finished with my story hop on over to the other stories by such talented authors. You'll find them HERE. 

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The night before his meeting with Sandy, Reid had dinner with his parents.

“I see that hideous painting in your study has been taken down. Thank goodness,” his mother, Eleanor Carstairs Clark said, digging into her shrimp cocktail.

“It’s coming back, Mother,” Reid said, taking a sip of his Manhattan.

“Whatever for?”

“Because I like it. I’m having it reproduced.”

“Really? Why?” his father, Carson Dillard Clark asked.

“It’s a long story.” Reid stuck a fork into his salad.

“What do you like about it?” Eleanor asked.

“You wouldn’t understand,” Reid sliced off a piece of steak. 

“Don’t condescend to your mother. She asked a valid question.”

“It’s personal. I don’t wish to discuss it.”

“You’re taking it to that Jew-girl to paint a replica, aren’t you?” Eleanor asked, shooting him a shrewd look.

“What do you need a Jew for?” Carson asked, squeezing lemon on his shrimp.

“Does it really matter if she’s Jewish? She’s an artist.”

“Can’t you find a artist in our church?” Carson asked. “I don’t like you mixing with those people.”

Reid gave a tired sigh. “I’m not mixing with her, I’m hiring her to paint a reproduction. That’s all. It’s a business proposition.”

“Those women. You should be careful. Does Felicia know?”

“Know what?”

“That you’re going to be seeing this woman, this Jewish woman?” Eleanor asked.

“I’m not seeing her. I’m dropping off the painting. That’s all. And I don’t tell Felicia every stupid detail of my life. I’m not ten years old. Don't try to tell me who to mix with."

“They have a way, those women. They can get under your skin. They’re after your money,” Carson said, taking a slug of his vodka tonic. 

“How the hell do you know?” Reid raised his voice. He looked at his father, then at his mother and then again as his father who had turned slightly pink.

“Oh my God! Did you have an affair with a Jew?” Reid asked his father.

“Enough! No more discussion on this topic,” Eleanor said, smacking her palm on the table and averting her eyes from her husband. 

“You did, didn’t you?” Reid persisted, raising his eyebrows.

“They’re only after your money. And as soon as they bleed you dry, they’ll leave you. Stay with your own,” Carson said, his voice ragged. He pushed to his feet and toddled on unsteady legs like a small child to the sidebar to mix another drink.

That's it. Thanks for stopping by!