corrupted the soul of his country and produced a society of abominations. Just like the creature he now watched.
Bo’s new man was working by the light of a high intensity lamp. The good doctor and Lucille stood watching, as if he were performing brain surgery. Marvin studied the repairman’s slick head. It was exactly that kind of hair style that left dark, greasy stains on the backs of theatre chairs and bus seats. Disgusting. And his lips! They were painted or stained, or tattooed! That lush red hinted at aberrations that Marvin could not even bear to contemplate. He consoled himself that Driskell LaMont’s appearance would make taking care of him a pleasure. No one would miss the skinny weirdo when he vanished. Marvin’s grin revealed long, yellowed teeth. Strong teeth, without a single cavity.
The good doctor Beaudreaux, national celebrity that he was, posed a different problem. But nothing–no one would stand in his way where Lucille Hare was concerned. Months of observation had left Marvin with that one irrefutable conclusion–she was the crooked key that would unlock the past.
Chapter Six
Mona sat at the black-jack table and watched from beneath the visor of her leather captain’s hat as Coco grasped a delicate pastry shell in her left hand and injected it full of thick, white cream filling. Coco’s lips trembled with desire, and her blue gaze never left the puff, which grew larger and larger until the delicate pastry was about to explode.
“Ah,” Coco whispered softly as she placed the pastry on a doily. Her fingers brushed lovingly across the delicate crust.
“If that bitch gets her book published by Sonny Zanzara, I’ll sit on her and force-feed hazelnut cream filling down her throat,” Mona vowed to no one in particular. The four men who also sat at the blackjack table concentrated on their cards and their cigarettes. The dealer kept shooting glances at Mona, but his job did not include taking on a woman like her.
Bored with the wait, Mona began a pointed observation of the room. She was above the passions and woes of the other humans. While they lived their lives of disorder and messy relationships, their needs and weaknesses, she took those very elements and created fiction. She was a writer, and this was astro glide for her dry surfaces.
The entire room was filled with sound, light and movement. From all sides and above her came frenzied moaning, swearing, whooping and laughing. The things that didn’t make a noise blinked or glowed or spiraled. Somewhere buried beneath all the hubbub was Muzak playing “Raindrops Keep Falling on my Head.”
Mona’s gaze sighted on the long table covered in rich burgundy where Coco towered above copper-bottomed pots. A crowd of about fifty had gathered to watch her, the women smiling and nodding, the men simply staring at Coco. They would eat her desserts, but they would prefer her. Mona pulled out a notebook and wrote down that thought. When she looked up, Sonny Zanzara was approaching Coco.
He was obviously taken with the starched voile magenta apron she wore over hot pink short-shorts and an aqua blouse that clung to every ridgy little rib. Translucent hot pink high heels, complete with hot pink pompons, and a pearl choker made up the rest of Coco’s outfit. Coco lifted the puff pastry, crowned with two inches of chocolate, and held it as Sonny took a large aggressive bite.
As his teeth sank into the pastry, Mona felt a little chill of anticipation. She liked a man with an appetite. A man who knew how to use his teeth. An involuntary shudder made the ice in her scotch glass rattle. She put it down and stood up. Now wasn’t the time for fantasies. She and Coco were set to meet a writer who claimed she had a meeting space available. A large space with no interruptions. No annoying little insects of humanity who didn’t understand the sensitivity of writers. Mona could only hope that this Lucille Hare was compatible enough to be included in
Bo’s new man was working by the light of a high intensity lamp. The good doctor and Lucille stood watching, as if he were performing brain surgery. Marvin studied the repairman’s slick head. It was exactly that kind of hair style that left dark, greasy stains on the backs of theatre chairs and bus seats. Disgusting. And his lips! They were painted or stained, or tattooed! That lush red hinted at aberrations that Marvin could not even bear to contemplate. He consoled himself that Driskell LaMont’s appearance would make taking care of him a pleasure. No one would miss the skinny weirdo when he vanished. Marvin’s grin revealed long, yellowed teeth. Strong teeth, without a single cavity.
The good doctor Beaudreaux, national celebrity that he was, posed a different problem. But nothing–no one would stand in his way where Lucille Hare was concerned. Months of observation had left Marvin with that one irrefutable conclusion–she was the crooked key that would unlock the past.
Chapter Six
Mona sat at the black-jack table and watched from beneath the visor of her leather captain’s hat as Coco grasped a delicate pastry shell in her left hand and injected it full of thick, white cream filling. Coco’s lips trembled with desire, and her blue gaze never left the puff, which grew larger and larger until the delicate pastry was about to explode.
“Ah,” Coco whispered softly as she placed the pastry on a doily. Her fingers brushed lovingly across the delicate crust.
“If that bitch gets her book published by Sonny Zanzara, I’ll sit on her and force-feed hazelnut cream filling down her throat,” Mona vowed to no one in particular. The four men who also sat at the blackjack table concentrated on their cards and their cigarettes. The dealer kept shooting glances at Mona, but his job did not include taking on a woman like her.
Bored with the wait, Mona began a pointed observation of the room. She was above the passions and woes of the other humans. While they lived their lives of disorder and messy relationships, their needs and weaknesses, she took those very elements and created fiction. She was a writer, and this was astro glide for her dry surfaces.
The entire room was filled with sound, light and movement. From all sides and above her came frenzied moaning, swearing, whooping and laughing. The things that didn’t make a noise blinked or glowed or spiraled. Somewhere buried beneath all the hubbub was Muzak playing “Raindrops Keep Falling on my Head.”
Mona’s gaze sighted on the long table covered in rich burgundy where Coco towered above copper-bottomed pots. A crowd of about fifty had gathered to watch her, the women smiling and nodding, the men simply staring at Coco. They would eat her desserts, but they would prefer her. Mona pulled out a notebook and wrote down that thought. When she looked up, Sonny Zanzara was approaching Coco.
He was obviously taken with the starched voile magenta apron she wore over hot pink short-shorts and an aqua blouse that clung to every ridgy little rib. Translucent hot pink high heels, complete with hot pink pompons, and a pearl choker made up the rest of Coco’s outfit. Coco lifted the puff pastry, crowned with two inches of chocolate, and held it as Sonny took a large aggressive bite.
As his teeth sank into the pastry, Mona felt a little chill of anticipation. She liked a man with an appetite. A man who knew how to use his teeth. An involuntary shudder made the ice in her scotch glass rattle. She put it down and stood up. Now wasn’t the time for fantasies. She and Coco were set to meet a writer who claimed she had a meeting space available. A large space with no interruptions. No annoying little insects of humanity who didn’t understand the sensitivity of writers. Mona could only hope that this Lucille Hare was compatible enough to be included in
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