Read Online Broken Serenade by Dorina Stanciu - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Dorina Stanciu
Ads: Link
to…”
The kids came to a halt in front of the open door. None of them crossed the threshold. Vivien invited them inside once more.
“I won’t bite,” she said playfully.
“Dirty shoes,” a little girl explained right away, her cute, perky nose red from the cold. “We better stay out here,” she decided, staring at her muddy boots.
Vivien did not insist, but rather went quickly into the kitchen. She rummaged inside one of the cabinets and found the small hand-painted orange glass baskets that imitated jack-o’-lanterns. She had bought them a week before in a fancy boutique in San Francisco. She quickly arranged them on a big tray and filled them up with bonbons. Then she hurried toward the open door through which the freezing air was wildly rushing inside.
She called out to the children. She couldn’t see them anywhere now.
“Bonbons are served!”
No one answered. The little ones had gathered in a cluster over a ringing cell phone put on speaker.
Vivien wanted to call them again, but the words suddenly froze on her bluish lips. Her gaze remained stuck with obstinacy on the partially naked painting hugged awkwardly by the fattish adolescent.
“I’m so sorry,” he stuttered. “I think I damaged the wrapping. I can feel it with my hand. I hope it wasn’t a gift for someone, or something…”
“No! Of course not. Not a problem,” Vivien burst out.
She abandoned the tray on the small table by the entrance and immediately took the painting from the boy’s arms. She put it face down on the wooden floor in the hallway, wondering terrified if anyone from the children’s group had sneaked a peek at it by chance. She breathed relieved when she discovered them all behind her car, very engaged in a phone conversation. The instant they laid eyes on the fancy treats Vivien offered, they ended the call and gathered around her like Pavlov’s dogs responding to a ringing bell that signaled the occurrence of food .
“There’s only one small box left in the car. I can bring that one inside too,” the teenager said benevolently, after he had received his bonbons basket.
“No, no, thank you! You’ve done a lot! Now I can manage all by myself,” Vivien assured him, very anxious to see all of them leave.
She grabbed the purse from the front seat of her car and took a $10 bill out of it. She stuffed it gently into the breast pocket of the boy’s thick jacket.
“For all your effort. Thank you,” she said.
Her gesture had an immediate effect on him. The adolescent put on a huge smile.
“Anytime you need help with something, I live in the house with lions at the gate, across the street from you, on the left. I’m Brad,” he introduced himself and held out a hand.
Vivien returned the handshake reticently.
“I’m Vivien. It’s nice to meet you.”
Brad gathered his noisy troupe, and together they took their farewell leave.
The young woman retired into her house with the heavy feeling that she was stepping inside a torture chamber. She locked the door, armed the alarm, and closed the drapes to all windows. Then, she set down on her knees besides the painting with the damaged wrapping.
She slowly tore down the brown paper until the strident colors of the painting genially filled the space inside that black frame and presented with self-assurance a lesbian kiss. The women featured were both blonde-haired. Their young bodies, covered summarily by yellow silk scarves only, exposed well-defined muscles, tensed from the erotic passion ignited by the kiss. The hand of one of the women concealed with tenderness the place where the other one missed a breast. The woman without a breast had her face profile almost entirely hidden by her short, curly hair. The same wild gust of wind, that ruffled her hair and pushed it over her face
The kids came to a halt in front of the open door. None of them crossed the threshold. Vivien invited them inside once more.
“I won’t bite,” she said playfully.
“Dirty shoes,” a little girl explained right away, her cute, perky nose red from the cold. “We better stay out here,” she decided, staring at her muddy boots.
Vivien did not insist, but rather went quickly into the kitchen. She rummaged inside one of the cabinets and found the small hand-painted orange glass baskets that imitated jack-o’-lanterns. She had bought them a week before in a fancy boutique in San Francisco. She quickly arranged them on a big tray and filled them up with bonbons. Then she hurried toward the open door through which the freezing air was wildly rushing inside.
She called out to the children. She couldn’t see them anywhere now.
“Bonbons are served!”
No one answered. The little ones had gathered in a cluster over a ringing cell phone put on speaker.
Vivien wanted to call them again, but the words suddenly froze on her bluish lips. Her gaze remained stuck with obstinacy on the partially naked painting hugged awkwardly by the fattish adolescent.
“I’m so sorry,” he stuttered. “I think I damaged the wrapping. I can feel it with my hand. I hope it wasn’t a gift for someone, or something…”
“No! Of course not. Not a problem,” Vivien burst out.
She abandoned the tray on the small table by the entrance and immediately took the painting from the boy’s arms. She put it face down on the wooden floor in the hallway, wondering terrified if anyone from the children’s group had sneaked a peek at it by chance. She breathed relieved when she discovered them all behind her car, very engaged in a phone conversation. The instant they laid eyes on the fancy treats Vivien offered, they ended the call and gathered around her like Pavlov’s dogs responding to a ringing bell that signaled the occurrence of food .
“There’s only one small box left in the car. I can bring that one inside too,” the teenager said benevolently, after he had received his bonbons basket.
“No, no, thank you! You’ve done a lot! Now I can manage all by myself,” Vivien assured him, very anxious to see all of them leave.
She grabbed the purse from the front seat of her car and took a $10 bill out of it. She stuffed it gently into the breast pocket of the boy’s thick jacket.
“For all your effort. Thank you,” she said.
Her gesture had an immediate effect on him. The adolescent put on a huge smile.
“Anytime you need help with something, I live in the house with lions at the gate, across the street from you, on the left. I’m Brad,” he introduced himself and held out a hand.
Vivien returned the handshake reticently.
“I’m Vivien. It’s nice to meet you.”
Brad gathered his noisy troupe, and together they took their farewell leave.
The young woman retired into her house with the heavy feeling that she was stepping inside a torture chamber. She locked the door, armed the alarm, and closed the drapes to all windows. Then, she set down on her knees besides the painting with the damaged wrapping.
She slowly tore down the brown paper until the strident colors of the painting genially filled the space inside that black frame and presented with self-assurance a lesbian kiss. The women featured were both blonde-haired. Their young bodies, covered summarily by yellow silk scarves only, exposed well-defined muscles, tensed from the erotic passion ignited by the kiss. The hand of one of the women concealed with tenderness the place where the other one missed a breast. The woman without a breast had her face profile almost entirely hidden by her short, curly hair. The same wild gust of wind, that ruffled her hair and pushed it over her face
Similar Books
