Picking up the dirty laundry...Excerpt One Draft

No...!!!? he whispered - softly and unexpectidedly - out loud - to himself. He forgot to hit save as he went - and this was after all - a computer - with a hard disk. 

"Fuck me Jesus" - he said under his breath. He had maybe 20 minuets max to unscrew the laptop - break the "do not remove" tape and replace the existing hard drive - with the one he had in his suit - chest, bespoke pocket. 

What... was worse - was (the fact) they knew he'd fuck it up. More than one way to skin a cat..."Ugh, - I'm an idiot" he said -- very audible this time - as if he could give a shit less - if he were caught or not.

He reached for his left hand - pant pocket and brought out the tiny screw drivers you use when you need to fix a senior's eyeglasses - they were in a nifty kit - like a sewing one. He toiled at once - but forgot the scotch tape, fucking naturally. 

Brenda was looking through the window past the open drapes - she saw him physically, emphatically, demonstratively roll his eyes up - with the whites showing for more than really what was normal - from 100 or more meters out..."What an idiot" - she said to no one in particular, as the cat just about did - the exact same gesture in acknowledgment of her statement.

All the screws in various sizes - lengths and widths were sprawled across the oversized partner desk. How anyone could stand looking at that woman - he imagined there - with her back to the Chicago skyline - backlit like a torch - he couldn't figure. 

But, there he was - imagining the curve of her lip (he was a filthy pig) - just then with his left thumbnail - he popped open the keyboard bracket and his disgusting mouth was a gasp as he stared at the mechanics. Hard to tackle this - left handed - he thought to himself.

He'd exchange the hard drive - the tape would be left broken and - Hell, he was happy when 1/3 of the screws that he could actually see without his reading glasses - looked normal to the naked eye when Avery would open it tomorrow - even if he did? What did he care at this point - this whole thing was so stupid.

He went out through the master bedroom - to the joint bathroom - then washed his hands. He took a good hard look at himself in the mirror (however distracted by all the shinny knickknacks) and said even louder - "Honey, I'm done being sick - you still out there?"

A voice from the other side said sweetly - "I'm here, can I do anything for you?"

"Nah", he replied. Just give me a sec. 

He opened the door and she half way smiled with just - the one corner of her mouth.

Charlotte grabbed his right arm and through the hall - down the stairs they went dashing back to the cocktail already in progress. It was only 19:30 there or 7:30 p.m. to him - he was American Brenda was not...

The lady in the building across the way exhaled her drag - dramatically very slowly and rang the buzzer - not the bell -for the night maid. And - in the woman came to zip Madame up. Then they were off - the maid delftly down to get the lift and the butler - ever so gingerly - covering those buttery, bare shoulders with that blonde Russian sable - you'd think he'd slept in it himself - the way he was oddly so familiar with it.

Brenda didn't glide when she walked - nor did she prance. She was very heavy footed - heal mostly. Well, it's what one heard before they "smelled" her coming. She mixed Cartier's "So Pretty" with Givenchy's "Amarage" this scent and it's affect - was/is unforgettable.

In a moment Charlotte was laughing and throwing her head back - at a not so funny joke someone - drinking for an hour would tell a beautiful redhead to keep her attention...but - as she did this - one eye was on that girl and Char wasn't going to let her out of her sight.


The Rose by Shawne Fielding

And, in not so much as - a deafening blow of goodbye - it was all over, the harsh reality of wishes - simply never able to be fulfilled - was no longer a stride in his step - she was gone from his grasp. One held - in assumption - tightly by his pride.

Broken ribs again - her histories of non intended therapies - inflicted, simple, really ... "accidents" or serious - and then there was the physical abuse...of her body - her face - years worn to withers - done by insecure men - for whom the sun rose and set on her obedience - to a parade long passed by - as she cared not for brutisism and bow downs and only her independence.

These fractured ribs kept her from laughing or crying. 

As - she was never held as a delicate blooming bud - but - only as the perfect finished, stiffened rose to be hardenly displayed. This - is of which she was never - and, therefore... left un-nurtured was conditioned to accept harsher climates of men's tortured souls.

It was her body - the road map of Frost's path - and somehow - it did make all the difference - but it didn't matter - she was exhausted from the life's journey - at only 46 -- and if the walls could talk they would  illustrate why she was a treasure.