Saturday, August 10, 2013

Dear Jon - Chapter # 2

Hello all! My name is V.L. Locey.  I am a self-published and traditionally published author that lives in the mountains of Pennsylvania with my husband of over twenty-two years, my daughter who is seventeen, a herd of dairy goats, chickens, geese, ducks, turkeys, two dogs, two cats, and a partridge in a pear tree. For more info and links about me and my work, check out the Bio tab up above.

 Enough about me now, let`s dive into some romance shall we?









Dear Jon

Chapter Two


By


V.L. Locey

*~*~*



It took me roughly five minutes to run to my studio, a crumpled Western Union message in my hand. Once inside the missive fluttered to a small table beside the front door. I tugged the ‘I`m at the Wastrel’ note I had taped to the door off. The lights flickered on and I moved through the gallery, the oils that were just now starting to command some serious dough ignored blatantly. I paid no mind to the sculptures done by a friend. I saw nothing of the newest piece that held the largest spot on the dark green walls. The smell of booze, perfume, dreams, turpentine, and Pall Mall`s filled the tiny flat. I loved it. I loved this place and I loved the attention that my work was getting. I loved being called the next big thing to come out of the Village.

I have a nephew . . .

Hand on the door to my personal space I paused. I ran back through the modern cityscapes that defined who I was as an artist. I reread the note. My heart felt like it was beating too slowly.

I have a nephew . . .

Why had Betty never told me? I was her fucking brother. Oh yes, that`s right. She never told me because I had informed her she was dead to me.

“Sweet shit.” My hands splayed on the table. Business cards fluttered to the floor when the studio door opened. I didn`t have to look up, I could smell her perfume. Without a word or a glance I shakily held the telegram out to the left. Charlotte closed the door, lit a cigarette, took the news with a gloved hand and sashayed into the studio. She positioned herself artfully beside an oil of the city done at dawn. The pink pin-striping and the ebony material of her dress and hat matched the colors of the painting perfectly, as she knew it would.

Turning around I found her eyes on me. “I knew it was bad news,” she said and flicked an ash to the hardwood floor.

“I have a nephew,” I informed her as I walked over to stand beside her, both of us looking not at each other but at the people hustling by on the sidewalk.

“So I read,” Charlotte replied, her voice smoky and deep. She broke from my side. I really did love to watch her walk. Pity we could never make it work. One date- and one less that spectacular roll in the hay - had shown us the errors of our ways. We never made that mistake again but we had become thick as thieves.  Charlotte was one hell of a woman. “Are you heading off to Ass Crack, Pennsylvania?”

“Hannity Hills. Yeah, it`s where I was born. I do not want to go back but . . .”

She read the dangling sentence for what it was. “They`re going to spit on you now just like they did before,” she said, her sharp grey eyes narrowed.

“I know,” I countered. “But Betty`s boy . . .”

Again it was left swinging in the smoky air. Charlotte raised one shoulder, the padding riding atop her arm making the gesture seem bigger.

“What about the show?” she asked.

I have a nephew . . .

“I`ll rush things back home,” I said, staring at her openly. The knot her finely penciled brows were in hadn`t untied. “It`s not for three weeks. I should be able to find someone more fitting to take the boy.”

At that she laughed. It was a sound that made the muffler on a ratty old `32 Chevy coupe sound smooth.

“Someone who doesn`t paint and suck dick, you mean?”

I winced at her frankness. “You have no idea what the word subtle means, do you?”

“Jon, there`s no reason to be subtle. We are what we are. Call me when you arrive,” she said, tapped another ash to the floor then left. I stood there with my hands swinging at my sides watching my best friend stop and wiggle her fingers at me outside my studio before latching onto some poor slob`s arm. With a wink, a giggle, and a pat on her well-rounded ass, Charlotte blended into the crowds with this week`s sugar daddy.

Well at least Charlotte knew how her night was going to go. Me? I had no damned clue but I highly doubted I would be wined and dined and bedded like Madame Duvall. What I had coming over the next few hours was a rushed packing job, a five hour drive, and an eventual glum return to the town that had spit me out like an old flavorless wad of Bazooka bubblegum.

Oh, and I had a funeral to plan and a nephew to meet. I picked up the phone and asked the operator for Hannity Hills.

I have a nephew . . .

~~~~




2 comments:

  1. Wow so poignant... LOL I have a nephew will be embedded in my mind forever LOL

    ReplyDelete
  2. Thank you kindly, Cat. I imagine it will be embedded in Jon`s mind forever as well.

    ReplyDelete