Tuesday, 8 September 2015

Must Be The Place

 Must Be The Place

This place seemed like magic. Andrew was writing and at the same time his morning Eggs Benedict exploded flavors on his tongue. He was a slim man, British, his blonde hair uncombed. The customers around him were well educated and civil as they chatted about various constructive topics. The young professionals at the table behind were talking about a TV pilot they were inspired to make. It interested Andrew further when one of the females with blonde hair and an in fashion fringe rambled on about the BBC like she knew all its important contacts. That was one of the things he liked about this place, the arty types it attracted. With his Macbook Air next to his breakfast ready to continue his new project, he fitted in.

The staff were mostly Italian. The main guy (whom probably was in charge of the place) stood tall above six five, dark haired and handsome. He always worked behind the counter, taking orders and mostly greeted customers with "alright mate" indicating the South London speech pattern had started to overtake his dialect, which is where the cafe was - Camberwell to be exact. The plucky women (probably his wife) was in charge of the till. She was short, big and bright sparkling brown eyes, a glistening smile. Being small and bubbly, she was the type to make up for her height with her personality. 

The waiters were professional. Their shirts clean and aprons tied around their waists properly. They were young, no more than twenty five, probably the family siblings or Italian in ports. Their was one black guy, lanky and very well spoken. He didn't talk much, he just got on with his work, spoke when needed too, taking plates, resetting tables and taking out the rubbish. Andrew watched him with interest, the quiet types tended to interest him. He felt for the guy a little though because he saw the owners treated him like their fresh meat on minimum wage. Their black slave which was a cruel was to see it, but probably true.

It was 8.30am. The place was starting to get busy. One of the waiters, the young good looking Italian girl with glasses, picked up the empty plate off Andrew's table. He said "thank you" and commenced his work. He was writing a novel and was on the last chapters. He felt confident with its progress. However the thought of failure niggled at his brain because his agent told him this novel was his last shot. People had started to say he was leading into the category of has beens and Faber (his agent) were either going to pump him or dump after this novel. Andrew finished his black Americano and signalled for another.

During this busy period in the morning, a lot of the clientèle were regular faces, Andrew liked noticing this. He looked up from his Mac to the queue which went outside the door and saw the same office man with brown hair, headphones always in his ears, looking stressed and probably hating his life. The serious cyclist guy dressed in his bike gear. The two pretty office women nattering about their husbands. The nurses from the hospital a little further up the road near Denmark Hill station. And finally! The attractive red headed woman (definitely died to make it even redder) arrived at exactly 8.55am. Some would call it stalking Andrew thought, but he was a man of routine and noticing the woman arriving at exactly the same time everyday showed she was a routine person too. He liked that, and, he liked her.

Andrew finished a paragraph, smiling because the hero of the story heard the sound of love calling his name - it turned out to be the best spaghetti bolonese the hero ever had. Andrew looked up because half his mind was always on the red headed woman whenever she was in the cafe. She had her usual: skinny frappacino and croissant, on a trey, standing in a confident posture looking for a place to sit. Andrew's heart beated faster. He noticed all the tables were occupied, the woman realized this too and Andrew thought it could just be his lucky day. When she finally gave him eye contact and started walking to his table, bingo! It was his lucky day.

"Do you mind if I sit?" the woman said.
"No. Please" Andrew replied and gesture for her to sit.

She spoke with a raspy voice and polite. She had a grey suit on and heels. Whenever Andrew saw her she sometimes had a suit on, sometimes not. When she sat down she removed a document, Andrew kept his eyes on his laptop, however he sneaked a peak at the document and saw the logo "ITV" on it. "Ah" he thought, she was in the industry, she had the creative streak like him, and it pleased him to know his instinct was correct when he first saw her; a fisherman always spots another fisherman from a far.

The first thing you noticed about this woman was her hair, bright red and done in a beehive like Amy Winehouse. She had a mark free face, very white skin perhaps helped by make up, but close up she wore very little, a sexy mole on the top of her cheek. She got a call and removed her mobile; a Blackberry. Andrew liked that; when it came to phones she was with the times but not fully. She spoke well, pronouncing her Ts. It seemed she was speaking to a recruitment agent, and when the call was over and she looked at the document again seeming nervous, it made sense to Andrew she was preparing for a job interview.

"You will do fine" Andrew said. 

He felt he had to say something because the opportunity of the woman sitting next to him may never come again. He knew he ran the risk of her thinking he was listening to her conversation without permission. But he agreed it was worth the risk. Plus, at thirty eight and having made fifteen million pounds 'personal wealth' off his book sales (royalties from his first three books, the rest were flops) he knew nothing worthwhile came to one without risks acted upon.

"Thanks" the woman replied.

The welcome tone to her voice didn't confirm any of Andrews doubts, in fact as the conversation continued, it seemed someone to talk too was just what the woman needed.

"I am really nervous. This is my second interview" she continued.
"With ITV" Andrew replied. "Woops" he thought. Maybe mentioning the company showed he was spying on her.
"Yes. I really want to get into the studio department. I am willing to start anywhere" she carried on unseemly and Andrew felt relieved.

Conversation was easy going, but Andrew didn't want to talk too much, in danger of revealing all his cards.

"I really need an opportunity. I have been looking for a job for six months" the woman said. 

So Andrew thought it was OK to kind of reveal most his cards now because it she was. Eventually her coffee was almost finished and she packed away her document.

"Why do you think you haven't had any success?" Andrew said.
"It is a competitive industry. But I have a good degree. I just need that opening" she replied.
"I know how you feel. I am a writer and I haven't had much luck for a while either"
"Hm. Well it has been nice meeting you. Have a good day"
"You too. Have a good day"

And then the woman got up and left. Andrew felt good, like when the endorphins which makes a person fell alive after a run over took his brain. But he also kicked himself (as all men do) after failing to ask for the woman's number when they should have done. He didn't panic though because he thought it was likely he'd see her in the cafe again.

It was 4.30pm. The day at the cafe was coming to a close, there weren't many customers sat at the tables. Andrew was still working, also coming to a close with one of his chapters. He had another Americano next to him, the third for the day. He took a mini break from his screen and had a look around the cafe; the black waiter picked up his plate politely with a smile and walked away. The plate was cleared clean. Andrew ordered the Lasagna and it was a tasty delight.

He saved his document and closed the Macbook. The Italian owners were behind counter smiling and talking in Italian and then the man said "see you later mate" to the guests that were leaving. Andrew was up and down at this moment, the worry of failing his next book bothered him. The red headed lady had a hard time leaving his mind as well. He was being pulled this way and that and he felt the best thing for him to do was to go out that evening and not think about anything.

A few months later Andrew was invited to his agents office, two weeks after his latest book was released, which was never a good sign! When he sat in the office, he saw his agents black straight hair and camp hairstyle cover half of his face, this also wasn't a good sign because Andrew knew it meant he was in a bad mood. For a senior agent, Andrew felt he was relatively young, around the same as him - thirty eight. He was all British and spoke too fake, like he had an image too maintain. Anyway, Andrew sat on the chair, gripping its sides with his hands, his legs slightly shacking underneath.

"It is bad news Andrew. You know this was your last chance saloon. You know that don't you?" the agent said. Andrew hated how the prick spoke to him like he didn't know anything, even more so when he used chastising phrases like 'last chance saloon.'
"How bad?" Andrew replied. He already knew the answer to that question and didn't know why he asked.
"The sales aren't cutting it. I am afraid Faber has to let you go"

And that was it, after ten years, Andrew's career had come to an end. He shook the agents hand and the agent wished him well. He gave Andrew a double handed hand shake and there was an energy in his shake which showed there was some feeling of sincerity at least.

The following week Andrew was back at the cafe again. He was by the window; a place he liked but was occupied a lot. He was reading farewell emails from the staff and co authors at Faber wishing him well. It was 8.30am, the heat of the morning rush. The regular faces were different by this time. Andrew didn't know if that was because time had obviously passed or he was still dizzy from being unemployed. The arty types didn't change, there were a few bohemian youngsters in front of him having breakfast, confident and looked as though they lived near Champion Grove, went to the Camberwell College of Arts by day and worked at Dog Star in Brixton by night. The older ladies to his left were posh, clearly wealthy, the husbands out shooting and them catching up with their coffees, living somewhere close by.

Andrew's full English breakfast arrived, served by a new waiter, a plucky Italian lad with a spring in his step and his hair well gelled. Just the smell of the dish made Andrew's taste buds sing and when he took a bite into the hash brown, followed by the sausage, he said to himself that this place really was magic. To Andrew and being British, an English breakfast did what it said on the tin, but with this place, everything was that bit better. Love Walk was a worthy name for the place.

However when the breakfast was finished, Andrew felt lonely. He hated the feeling of being unemployed because he had nothing to do now, no plan for his day. He looked out of the window at the noises red double decker buses trying to avoid a group of wild black school children on the road. So Andrew decided to enjoy the money he made, take time off and give writing another go in the future. It was just before 9.00am and subconsciously his eyes were looking around... for the red headed woman. But he hadn't seen her since he spoke to her many months ago. He thought he lost his chance.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, at exactly 9.00am she appeared and walked into the cafe and he couldn't believe it. She was dressed down casual, in a parka jacket, skinny jeans and boots from Topman. She didn't look like she was going to work, it seemed she had no goal, or purpose even, like a soul floating through life waiting to end up a destination which said 'yes' to her. She got her coffee and a muffin this time. Andrew prayed inside for her to notice him and most of all sit at his table. To his surprise she waved to him. Andrew's soul opened its wings and flew into the sky. Then she sat at his table and said "hello" like they knew each other for years.

Friday, 14 August 2015



He loved the way her hair smelt, how her bones rested on his, the breaths that went in and out of her body, her personality. At that moment he loved how vulnerable and adorable she looked when she was asleep as she laid on his big torso. Her thin brunette hair sprayed across the bed, her Spanish soul resting, her sharp eyes tucked underneath her eyelids, far away in the deep land of sleep.

It was 5am; he woke early again! He sat up and his mind ran away with thoughts. It became a habit he surrendered too, as if it was a sacrifice for begin a word smith, like when a person sugar coats their problems to avoid dealing with them. Originally he wanted to be a poet, painting developed later.

They rode along a country street which was a little south of Granada. The old rustic buildings were on either side of them, the sound of the small angry dog yapped as usual when it heard people passing its garden.  This road led to the local grocers where they bought their shopping. Erika road in front of him. She was very skinny, most of the time barefoot or sandals. Her red skirt blew in the warm thirty plus degree air exposing her tanned, white skinny legs. A couple of dark haired men, unwashed and a beer in hand made flirtatious remarks as Erika passed them. However it didn't bother him, he was the type to see such things as a compliment.

He (name Alejandro) held the basket like a gentleman as Erika picked items off the shelves.  Both of them were Spanish. Erika was from Oviedo, Alejandro was from Madrid. They met at the Salamanca University and then moved to Granada to start a proper life together-she wanted to teach, he wanted to write and paint.

Erika walked confidently, her hips moved from side to side with effortless sassiness. When the two of them reached the end of the isle, a lurking mysterious man with darting eyes was hovering close by. His attention was inappropriate as it watched Erika’s bum, and then he pinched it.


The outburst made people at the other end of the store jump; a woman carrying a box of eggs dropped them and they exploded over her feet. The perverted man leaped out of his skin. Everyone seemed to flinch except Alejandro because he had seen that side to Erika many times, he knew it well; Erkia had a ferocious temper-destructive and dangerous.

“Sorry” the strange man said.

Alejandro paced to the man and punched him in the face, the guy crashed to the floor. Standing proud, Alejandro had a good punch, it was a macho thing he took seriously in life.

“DON’T YOU EVER PUT YOUR HANDS ON ME MOTHER FUCKER” Erika continued to yell as Alejandro pulled her away.  

Later that day in the evening, paella fizzed in the pans which Erika occupied in total charge. She added a heap of chorizo along with chilli peppers. Alejandro was occupying a separate bowl, he was massaging the sauce with a big wooden spoon. He felt Erika liked spice and peppers too much, it was something she got from her family. When he stopped to look at his partner he saw her slight back facing him, her thin arms possessing the strength of five times its own. That was another thing he loved about Erika; her fire. He kissed her gently on the neck which sent warm waves down her back. Her sharp lips stretched, the little but bossy “purr” she made expressed she enjoyed it. But Alejandro felt another feeling immediately after that-change-and that was because Erika was different to him with affection.

At bed time, Alejandro touched Erika’s thighs and stroked the tips of his fingers down to her feet. The slightest contact like the sharp end of two pins touched each other. He kissed her legs gently, holding his lips longer on her breasts. His mind was engaged at this point as he knew Erika liked this spot (all woman did.) Erika’s eyes rolled back into her head, her grip on Alejandro’s hair held tighter. The excitement in her soul wanted to unleash her wild side (her favourite side) but out of courtesy she didn’t. She was used to getting her own way and selfish in sex. 

Alejandro licked her neck and slid his tongue to her ear. By now he was hot and aroused, but half his mind and body was in Erika’s body; he didn’t want her to get bored. He opened one of his eyes and saw Erika’s were closed, when her head wasn’t facing his it meant she was bored. Alejandro was disappointed, he knew this was how they differed in sex and is what put the dent in their relationship-she liked it rough and he liked it passionate.

It was 5am again. Alejandro was in the room next to the bedroom. Only the lamp which had the height of a man was on. Alejandro was painting; he brushed a pale blue stroke against a mustard and orange background to create the night sky tone. His mind was in colour mode, not word mode that morning. The last thing he expected was Erika to be behind him at that hour, she was a late sleeper, she always had been all the time he knew her. However she appeared by the door dressed in a long tee shirt, knickers, her hair down most of it covering her face. She stood by the door for a while, her boney arms never unfolded. Alejandro felt her behind him, so he looked around to her.

"Why are you up love?" Alejandro said.

Erika didn't reply. Her sharp facial features didn't move, her mouthed remained down. She walked to Alejandro slowly, knelt to him and put both her arms around his head. Even when Erika was at her most affectionate, she had a kick in her movements, a natural force to handle things roughly. Her tiger owl brown eyes had a very serious back drop in them, something needed to be released.

"We need to break" Erika said.

Alejandro's heart fell to his feet.Then he felt it swim onto the floor like it was going to leave him for good and if it did return to his body it would be come back with permanent battle wounds and scars.

"We have tried, but we are too different in love, we don't understand each other" Erika said.
"Don't leave. We can make it work, it can get better" Alejandro replied.
"I know you don't enjoy making love to me" - Alejandro knew a very small part of that was true!
"We need to separate. See how it goes, then we will know if we are definitely for each other over time. Maybe, who knows." Erika said.

Alejandro's head dropped. Erika caressed it with both of her hands, her beautiful natural nails tried its best not to scratch him. She kissed him on the head. Alejandro didn't want her to leave.

A few months later, Alejandro was taking part in his art class. He sat to the left, his painting on the stand rested at a comfortable height for his seating position on the stall. His painting was lake where a crocodile and a lion played as friends. Far from finished, he was completing the strokes on the lion's golden back. The crocodile had rough scratches of blue which was smoothed over with a friendly light green on its body. It's large jaws was open like it was singing. Alejandro liked to tell stories of the unlikely becoming likely with a happy ending. However Erika still hadn't comeback into his life and he thought it was about time he let her go.

To the far right of the class sat Natalie, a well educated British woman whom had moved to Spain to learn the language and find spiritual time to paint. Her bright golden blonde hair resembled the lion in Alejandro's painting. She was about the same height as Erika, a bit more of a fuller figure, but still slim. She had clear skin and a perfectly unmarked face. Light green tee shirt with shoulder high sleeves, chinos and Adiddas trainers on her feet. Her posture was erect and confident, hair done in a pony tail. She had a crush on Alejandro. In between her painting she sometimes looked over to him. But disappointment would swim inside her as she suspected he was always taken. However that day Alejandro's strong dark eyes held its gaze on her and Natalie had no choice but to smile.

They walked and talked after art class. It was a vibrant day in a small town in Granada: the restaurants were busy, a busker played the guitar in the happiest of ways with a smile on his face. Natalie walked softly, her steps were delicate-appreciative of her movements like when someone enjoys the food they eat. She was pushing her bicycle; it was an old ladies type with a basket at the front, green, the kind of bike from the twenties now back in fashion. Alejandro didn't have his bike that day, he had found the recent need to walk everywhere.

"How long do you think you will stay in Spain?" Alejandro asked.
"I haven't decided. Maybe for good. It depends how my painting goes" Natalie replied.

She spoke softly, her voice came out of her mouth from a place of deep calmness. When Alejandro looked at Natalie, he fell for her bright green eyes, her light face so fresh she was perfect.

"What is next for you?" Natalie asked with her well brought up educated British accent.
"Have another good run at a gallery with my paintings" Alejandro replied.
"Are you going to be apart of any coming up?"
"Yes, in August. You should come, maybe it could help your career"
"That would be great"
"And how about a drink... Saturday?"

Alejandro felt it was the right time and he held his strong eyes on Natalie. A smirk lifted on her face, her pupils diluted with excitement. Her mind said "yes" perhaps a year before, it was the moment he actually asked which gave her butterflies.

"That would also be great" Natalie said.

The date was comfortable, the dimly lit surroundings made the atmosphere feel homely; the clinks of the wine glasses on the guests tables, the soothing jangles the guitarist played in the corner of the restaurant. Alejandro poured Natalie a glass of wine. She looked especially amazing: her hair was tied at the back with a small strand purposely falling over the right side of her face, she wore a green dress, shoulderless straps, but covered her chest area. She had class, which was the same as her table manners; using the appropriate cutlery for each course and never resting her elbows on the table during conversation. Everything about her body, spoken tongue and aura breathed calmness which Alejandro liked it.

He looked equally smart and cool: striped shirt with the sleeves rolled up showing his tan and strong arms. His slightly short brunette hair combed, but not too much. One of the things he liked about himself was he didn't try too hard. As conversation flowed which seemed effortless, Natalie sipped her wine carefully. When they were on their main course (Natalie eating a wild bore in red wine) her heart became warmer when Alejandro spoke about the roots of his painting and poetry. She chewed her food slowly, appreciating every word Alejandro had to say. By now Alejandro was half way through his Halibut stew and felt so at ease with Natalie he wanted to talk until midnight. She seemed an incredible listener, it was like she had a conversation without saying a word.

After dinner, they walked along a path which was about three hundred metres from a row of shops. The evening flies flew in the air, the crickets buzzed in the foreground.

"Why did you choose Granada?" Alejandro said.
"It seemed rural. I like to explore history and this town has a lot of it" Natalie replied.
"Not really. Try Madrid, there is a lot of history there"
"I like quiet"
"Me too"
"I am happy I am here"
"Me too"

Alejandro held Natalie's hand. Her skin was as soft as cotton. She responded straight away and a current transferred between the bodies. They stopped and looked at each other. Natalie fell far, far into Alejandro's brown Spanish eyes and magnetism brought their heads together. The kiss was gently and passionate, Alejandro felt like he was swimming in pure silk. When they parted, Natalie seemed dizzy, her eyes were glazed, she wanted to kiss him again.

No more than two weeks later, they were kissing each other on Alejandro's bed. Neither of them felt like things were going to fast or slow for that matter, it was the feeling of 'right' which brought them closer every time they were together. Alejandro undressed Natalie slowly, he brushed her body with the faintest of touches. Natalie felt like she was escaping her body and touched Alejandro's back the same way.

When they were both undressed, Alejandro placed Natalie's body on her back with both of his hands. Her breasts were larger than Erika's, rounder with slightly bigger nipples. Natalie was extremely aroused and felt safe; everything Alejandro did he did with care and as she looked at his face above her, she didn't want to be anywhere else other than that moment. As Alejandro began to thrust her gently, he knew they liked making love the same way. They understood each other in love. They filled the piece which was missing between he and Erika.

Six months later, Natalie had moved in. They were painting in the studio room, both focused and working hard. Natalie felt she had landed on her feet: her Spanish was improving, she could hold conversations and finish them. Her career was moving along as Alejandro introduced her to key contacts in the art world at the exhibition he was apart of that August. And she had a hot Spanish guy who was charming, handsome and the most amazing lover. She felt lucky and her life was finding its purpose. She wore her hair down these days and baggier clothes, accepting she was becoming a professional bohemian!

Facing the other wall in the room was Alejandro. He was going through a period of good form regarding his paintings. Writing was put aside for the time being. The piece in front of him was almost ceiling high and he was brushing orange strokes for a sunset. He seemed complete, but the part which made him in-perfect was Erika, he missed her. It was her dangerous and explosive personality which differed to Natalie's nice and perfect. Erika's fire excited him, but at the same time he knew it wasn't really good for him-the undeniable catch between love and lust.Then the door bell went.

"I'll get it" Alejandro said.
"OK" Natalie replied. And she carried on painting.

Alejandro opened the front door and Erika stood in front of him. She was just as he remembered her the day she left: skinny, so angular features they could cut paper, the resemblances of a tiger only in a slimmer frame, a sex appeal so aggressive it tested your bad side every single time. Her hair was down, the dark brunette colour so appealing it reminded all brunettes why they were meant to wear the crown over blondes. She was wearing a summery white skirt and dark shades. She seemed travelled, the smile on her face shone and her well set teeth showing.

"I am back. Missed me" Erika said. Then without asking she kissed Alejandro and walked in with her one bag.
"Erkia, wait" Alejandro said.

When Erika arrived in the studio room, she froze and her bag fell out of her hand. Her sights were fixed on Natalie, the heat of rage overtook her body as fast as quicksand.

"Hello" Natalie said politely.
"WHO THE FUCK IS SHE?" Erika yelled.
"Erika just calm down" Alejandro said and he held Erika's whole body in case of the worst happening.
"Natalie, my partner. You didn't expect me to wait for as and when you pleased to return? You broke up with me"
"You can't turn up here and expect things to go back to the way they were. What happened to you?"
"She looks British too. They are all lying pigs"
"That's enough"

Erika went into hysterics but Alejandro knew her too well; she acted that way to get her own way.

"Natalie can you give us a moment?" Alejandro said.
"Sure" Natalie replied.

Natalie left the room. She didn't feel out of place, even though she was a guest to the country and Alejandro's past relationships. She knew it was Erika the moment she walked in.

"We can't go on. Not any more love" Alejandro said. Erika calmed down knowing she had Alejandro alone.

"We can make it work. I know I left you abruptly. But I have done some thinking and I have grown up. Even though we differ in love, I am willing to be patient with you" Erika said.
"No, it is too late, it can't happen" Alejandro replied.
"Come on. You love me. I am the Spanish woman you always dreamed of being with. You will forget that British traveller. They are cold and liars and their hearts never wake"
"You are not always right. We will always love each other, but we can't be together because we will end up hating each other. So please leave"

Deep down Erika knew Alejandro was always right and that she was he bad influence in the relationship. She got up and instead of going to the front door, she went to the kitchen. Alejandro heard a glass touch the table top and a bottle open and pour-Vodka!

He was left in the room on his own, in a difficult situation. He looked to the kitchen door and then the other door. He loved Natalie and he knew his heart lied there, but a piece of him was being pulled to Erika in the kitchen and he didn't know which room to go too.

Saturday, 13 June 2015

Booky Types

Booky Types

Waiting was the irritation to all the things she enjoyed in her life. Thankfully that week was the bookshops new arrivals. Her name was Angelique, people called her Angelic because that was what her name meant, but she preferred Angie because it sounded more common, a trashy thing she had a soft spot for. She was small, blonde hair, large green eyes like a couple of traffic lights, fragile little frame with a sexy mole above her right cheek. She was French and had never left Paris. Her whole family was from Paris. A homely woman now at twenty nine years of age.

Angelique signed for the delivery. The delivery man was handsome and was always happy. She then walked into the shop with the large box that was almost as big as her. The shop was called 'Booky Types' (in French) Angelique liked her job, she had been there for seven years, it was one of the oldest bookshops in Paris. Each category separate from the other, the old rustic décor made them look jumbled.

Angelique put the box down. She was a reader by nature. Perhaps a somewhat fearful being, the type made to wait for things in life/didn't get things until late/a slow burner, like a song which took ten listens for it to grow on you. The manager of the shop was an old man called Jules who was going over paperwork at the till area. He was very tall gangly, very French with his accent, beliefs and notorious love for his country. He had been at the bookshop for sixty years! He had a full set of completely white hair and was also in good health. When he took over the bookshop it became his second home, like it became to Angelique. He was going to make her his successor when he eventually retired.

Angelique started unloading the new arrivals. There was only one book she was looking for 'The Way She Waited For Me' by 'Jean-Luc Angus' her favourite author. It was his latest book and a lot of hype was built up around it. It was a love story about a man falling for his role model. Angelique held the book, her large eyes lighting up. Jean-Luc and Angelique were a good match: she was a sucker for the romantics and he was heavily criticised for being a sentimentalist. The book came in the first release hardback edition, the only version Angelique believed in. A modest size of 375 pages. The cover art was aggressively pretentious with a pair of painted breasts next to a plate of half eaten crepes.

Chapter one. Page one. The man finds the genius within to maximise his full potential. Needing let go to guidance and a role model emerged. She was it.

Angelique loved the way Jean-Luc started his novels: straight to the point and made you question. There was a hint of the disgusting style of prose in his writing, the type found in a Houellebecq novel. This always made Angelique smile because of her empathy towards the trashy side to life. She sat at one of the far tables of the bar. The place was a three minute walk from her work. Ironically books were scattered on the shelves, which no-one ever read. The enormous windows covered the front end and entrance. The reliable drunks sat mounting the counter dependant on their vice whilst clinging onto the hope of getting lucky with the young female staff.

Angelique was a person of routine. She had her cigarette in hand, glass of red wine on the table, she hadn't eaten lunch (a slight eating disorder she was proud of) and had her book. The staff knew who she was. The non regulars noticed her as the 'booky type.' Angelique's brain scanned the text like a software program, she had a gift for reading fast whilst still enjoying the content. By page 25 in under forty minutes, the character in the novel had released his portfolio of work to his role model in hope of a response - and a date. And then bang! Something made the world of sense to Angelique. She was living the characters life for real.

Chapter seven. Page 144. The man still waited. But as the blankness lingered he occupied himself in new work to draw a fulfilling end. 

It made sense to Angelique that Jean-Luc was her role model, she just didn't know it until now. She wished she could be a writer, like Jean-Luc the way the character in the book wanted to be like his role model. Each page turned as fast as the previous, now on page 178. The injection of new inspiration was ploughing fields in her mind and soul, she saw the content on the page with new eyes. She had her hair down, the usual way around the house, shorts, tee shirt and barefoot. Laying on her stomach on the bed, cigarette in the other hand.

Her one bedroom flat and job was situated in the Porte de Pantin area of Paris. The flat was orderly with old lamps and furniture. The other tenants around the building were mostly young professionals whom weren't loud. Angelique liked that, she was quiet with amazing hearing ability. She could hear the spider in the far corner of the room making itself comfortable during the night. She called it Henry and he kind of became the house pet because of his stubbornness to stay in the room. Plus Angelique didn't believe in cruelty to animals.

The neighbours in the flat above were a French couple, the same age as Angelique whom were barristers. Sometimes Angelique was awakened by their sex during the night, and it made her realize she didn't get enough sex of her own. She flicked over a few more pages, the character in the book was going through a persistence test. This resonated with Angelique and reminded her she didn't need people to be fulfilled because her reading made her march to a different drum in life.

It was 11.30pm, about the time Angelique would have her last cigarette, brush her teeth and go to bed, but this found inspiration gave her a new burst of energy. She sat at her desk, the lamp bright and she brainstormed. Ideas she didn't know she was capable of came out of nowhere. With each A4 sheet which became full of ideas, she turned the page with a flow of new ones. And when the time was 1.30am she had the product, she knew what the book was going to be about.

Chapter eleven. Page 235. In the shifting of his state, people and circumstances, the happenings attracted too like the butterfly effect.

There was a drive to Angelique's typing on her Macbook, it was filled with excitement like the discovering of something new. She was a writer now. The character in the book had explored new avenues to meet the woman of his dreams/his role model. And in doing so recognized connecting with more people was better than seeing the world through one set of eyes all the time.

It was a sunny day. Angelique was on the train, she had been writing for three hours straight with no break. She was visiting her best friend in the south of France. There was a cute frown on her face, concentrated and focused. The readers emotions poured into every paragraph, sparks constantly set loose allowing content to flow. She had always been a steady soul passing through time, her life consisted of going to the book shop and reading. On the occasion visiting her family and her best friend. It was Jean-Luc though, her idol which gave her hope and now the writing gave her a new lease on life.

By hour four, Angelique called time on her session. She closed her Macbook, lit a cigarette (the third of the journey) and finished her glass of red wine, the stain around the edges left due to the content being forgotten about for hours. Angelique's chiselled facial features and straw blonde hair shone off the sun. Her eyes were full of life. The train was thirty minutes from it's destination, the rows of fields and rabbits were in sight outside.

Angelique made an effort when visiting her best friend. She was wearing her favourite pair of green dungarees, flannel shirt and coal worker type hat, Converse on her feet. Her brain was changing as well. Her eyes scanned her surroundings. Her ears heard the pages turn of the people reading around her. She had a good eye for seeing similarities, other readers, booky types like her. However they seemed to be everywhere on the train, four people to her right and five to her left. Readers were always in her space, only now they became more apparent than before.

Chapter fifteen. Page 325. A masters response requires the ability to hear and speak at the same time. When you become a master of your craft, you become a master of your life. And watch an audience marvel at your bright stripes. 

The character in the book had met a breakthrough, his role model responded to his email and wanted to meet him after finishing his pitch. Angelique liked it when the underdog got their comeuppance. She hadn't stopped smiling all day. She was in the bookshop piling a stock of books to be sent back to its publishers due to failed sales. One of the authors was Spanish, his sixth novel entitled "The Killer Blow." Angelique held one of the copies with a curious look like she should and shouldn't be interested. The critics slammed the author for that book, declaring his career was on the way out.

Angelique looked especially bright that day with her hair done in pig tails. She felt sexy in a short striped skirt, dark tights with boots on her feet. She had never seen Jules 'off duty' meaning he wouldn't do anything other than work while he was in the shop. But today he was typing at his laptop passionately. The curious part of Angelique's brain knew that sight, it was the image of another writer.

It turned out Jules had always been a writer, but for some reason Angelique only noticed that day. She read a couple of paragraph's and found Jules' prose well defined, the text leaped into her mind like the writer was at the peak of their powers. It was weird, Jules the writer was sitting under her nose the whole time. She realized things were more revealing by the day lately and sensed something around the corner was going to happen. But first thing was first, she had to finish the book in the park at lunch time.

Final chapter. Page 360. The sunset rose, his work grew into one shade. Her love became accessible in every way, sailing together into the sunset.

Angelique loved happy endings. She closed the book a changed woman. She looked at her surroundings and saw people happy, walking, talking, kissing. The character in the book got what he wanted through continuous effort. Funnily enough his role model turned out to be looking for a person like him her whole life. Immediately Angelique thought about her novel. They had been looking for each other too, that made her smile.

Even though Angelique was in a happy place at the time, the feeling of something happening but not knowing what didn't leave her. She was finishing the last of her prawn and avocado sandwich before going back to work. Then to her right a tall man, French, no older than mid thirties sat on the grass. He was wearing a pair of shades, all of his black hair combed to the left. Something about him made him come across as a reader. Then he removed a book and Angelique smiled. She looked closer and the book 'The Way She Waited For Me.'

"What a funny coincidence" Angelique thought. Not only were readers jumping into her daily life every hour God sent lately, so was the book she was reading. She believed in synchronistic events, not God, coincidences sometimes, but felt something was trying to tell her something. She put her copy of the book in her bag, then to her surprise the man in shades had his eyes on her. For better or worse (she didn't know yet) the man got up and walked to her. "Fuck" Angelique thought, she felt like running because that trait was a part of her which annoyed her and wanted to let go. At the same time a part of her made her stay because the occasion seemed thrilling.

Dialogue is spoken in French.

"I saw you reading Jean-Luc Angus latest novel" the man said.
"Yes" Angelique replied"
"What do you think so far?"
"I have finished it and I loved it. He is a genius, my favourite author." Angelique liked this event, she thought the reader man was brave. But didn't expect...
"Want a signed copy?"

The man took off his glasses, it was Jean-Luc! His strong but sweet face hit Angelique's barriers down in an instant. She couldn't believe it was him. His cat, ardent eyes gave it's picture full attention. "My God he is handsome." Angelique gave Jean-Luc the book and he signed it. The stroke to his autograph was delicate with no sign of overpower. Another point in Angelique's female brain. "For a famous guy he was so down to earth." Jean-Luc handed the book back.

"You are my idol and because of you has given me the confidence to start writing myself. Thank you Jean-Luc" Angelique said.
"You are welcome. And remember all the best writers are readers. You are halfway there" Jean-Luc replied.

Angelique took that free advice from a star like a blessing. Now there was no stopping her.

Friday, 8 May 2015

Spoilt Children

Spoilt Children 

He opened the kitchen draw to see stacks of silver spoons. The draw was for silver spoons only as the house was so big, one grain of rice may have had it's own private place. His name was Stanley, twelve years old. A smug face with fiery red hair which flopped to the side. His piercing blue eyes were mysterious and focused. He wore a basic trousers and shirt from 'Next.' He didn't wait for dinner which was half an hour away, he was hungry and opened the ceiling high fridge to retrieve his favourite ice cream - Fish Food Ben & Jerry's. He ate each bite with hardly any feeling, each scoop man handled finished with a self centred sounding "Mmmm" when the melted ice cream hit his stomach. There wasn't really any enjoyment to his food, just self satisfaction.

In the garden, his twin sister Kenley was floating on a lilo in the pool which stretched almost from one side of the garden to the other. She looked like a little old madam: laying in an erect posture, black Gucci sunglasses which almost covered her face, Luis Vitton swimming outfit (even though she didn't need the top half because she had no breasts yet) and a French style Prada hat which made her look like an overgrown lampshade. The nails on her hands and feet were painted red. Kenley was also proud of her red headed family.

The dog, Minx, was a little cute grey Yorkshire Terrier. He was yapping at a swarm of ladybirds mating on a plant which was out of his reach. Kenley had her headphones on and was listening to French music. She paid no attention to her parents about getting ready for supper, she had been on the lilo for a further twenty minutes. Deep seeded disrespect was a part of her character, probably taken from her mother. She was also selfish just like her brother, taken from being spoilt by her father. Her mother called from one of the twenty top windows of the house to Kenley to get ready for dinner again, but Kenley turned her headphones up louder as the sun continued to tan her pasty white skin.

In many ways they were a normal family, supper time was always at the dinner table for instance. For a skinny boy, Stanley had an appetite even after his beloved Ben and Jerry's. Kenley was now dressed into a pink polo t shirt and running bottoms, bare foot. The four servants, all men and from Italy worked around the table, plating the family's food. One of the waiters Vito, the maitre d of the house laid the food on the mothers plate precisely. He had been the maitre d at the house for nine years. He liked his job as he moved briskly onto the fathers plate, laying an ever so finely cut of juicy medium cooked stake. His brigade handled the garnish and sauce. They were younger Italian's, newer to the house who took the job for experience when they first moved to England. 

The mansion was enormous, the ceilings high and the décor English Victorian classic. The father, Anthony, was a tall slender red headed English man. Handsome, but had a gypsy twang to his accent he tried to cover up his whole life. Originally from blue collar roots, which was a fact he hated, with no qualifications at twenty years of age he got lucky by becoming a cog in the city wheel as a banker, before finally hitting the big time with an oil investment deal which made him a multi multi millionaire. Everything about how the house was organised especially supper time was from his instruction. Friends of his thought his attitude towards things was aggressive, but he didn't care.

The mother, Gretta, was from a white collar upbringing. She had red hair, spoke classic English posh, had a gangly frame with a bit of 'edge' to her dress sense with the holes in the jeans and shirts thing. Her entire family tree was from posh stock, Gretta didn't know any different and because of that fact made her fortunate place in life go to her head a bit. When they got married, Anthony being from a different class concerned her family, they thought he was from the 'dirty' end on society, but Gretta liked that 'unpolished' side to Anthony. However, if he wasn't a millionaire she definitely wouldn't have married him.

"Mother, Fairydust needs a new saddle" Kenley said as she took a small mouthful of Halibut, remembering to keep her mouth closed as she was talking and eating.

Stanley and Kenley were spoilt rotten plain and simple, encouraged totally from their father because Anthony once again didn't care. The children could have whatever they wanted whenever they wanted. At this point he was enjoying a succulent chunk of steak. Gretta didn't pay attention to the children's spoilt-ism, half in her own thoughts of her perfect Friday night that week as she was chomping on a runner bean - looking after her figure. She had the none caring attitude just like Anthony only in different ways. Kenley didn't even ask her question, it was an expectancy, the way she and her brother had developed. Fairydust was her favourite horse out of the four in her 'collection.'

"Remember to treat your others horses with the same care and attention dear" Gretta said.
"The others don't ride as fast mother" Kenley replied.
"Then I will trade them in for new ones" Anthony said.
"There you go, problem solved. What do you say to your father?"
"Thank you papa"
"You're welcome darling"

Most evenings the children were together, usually watching movies in the home cinema. That night it was Stanley’s choice; Percy Jackson. The home cinema had three rows of seats, four seats to each row. Stanley was sitting in his place, row two, one in from the end to the right. Kenley spent most of her time busy on her Iphone on a group chat in a fashion forum she had discovered. She was being chatted up by a user named Kinder Bar, she was leading him on as she got a kick out of the chasing game. The naughty smile crept on her face because the forum was about fashion interests and like clockwork whenever she logged on miraculously Kinder Bar was waiting every time.

Stanley had no idea what his twin sister was fiddling about with, to him she had become an Iphone hound, but loved her company - it was a twin thing. Kenley snuggled into Stanley’s chest the way she usually did when she was getting tired, eventually the Iphone put to rest and she was watching the movie on the large screen. Stanley and Kenley touched hands, a connection. However it seemed too much wealth surrounded their young beings. Soon they had to go to bed like they were supposed too, but instead were going to fall asleep in the cinema like they were used too.

Fishing in Cumbria for the week was the vacation. Anthony was packing the last two tents on top of the black Range Rover, his Range Rover he called Mickey. Stanley and Kenley were excitable, jumping up and down in the back seats, asking too many questions they way children do when they can't sit still. Gretta was sitting in the front passenger seat with her feet on the dashboard, on her Iphone's Skype in group chat with her friends. She just wanted to get away for the week, she had no interest in fishing. This trip was all about Anthony as he sat in the drivers seat animatedly and turned to his children in the back seat. Stanley was doing his best to be spirited by wearing a fishing hat Anthony bought him, Kenley was dressed in designer clothes from head to toe looking like she always did, going to a catwalk show.

"Ready kids?" Anthony said as if he was a child himself.
"Yeah!!" Stanley and Kenley replied.
"I don't think they have the fishing bug they way you do" Gretta said.
"That's rich, neither do you" Kenley said.
"Ah the lot of you will be converted once we catch a whopper. Right Stanley?"

Stanley just smiled, still un-enthused and ungrateful. It was quite rude considering how much effort Anthony was putting in. He started up the and began driving, shouting a few "Woo hoo's" and singing:

"We're all going on a, summer holiday."
"But we're not going on holiday dad, we are only going fishing" Kenley replied.

It was twelve years later. The destination was the fifteenth floor in Canary Wharf, the company 'MultiMax Incorporation.' Stanley was heading a meeting, standing at the front of a thirty seated meeting table discussing the latest stock options for the hedge fund company he worked at. He had become a tall young man, slim and towering like his dad. His hair cut more styled and gelled, his face had become longer, his piercing eyes blue softened. He was dapper in a slick navy suit and spoke with a low mature voice. When the meeting drew it's end all the employees responded to Stanley with importance.

Stanley had his own office. It was bigger than it really needed to be for one person because there wasn't much in it a part from a desk, chair and him, the rest was just open space. He was playing Call of Duty on his XBox he kept underneath his desk. He didn't his job because it was too stressful and his XBox got him through his days. Some would wonder how got away with this and in Stanley's mind he could do whatever he wanted - because he could! Tracy knocked on the door. Stanley paused the game and put the controller out of sight. Yes he did as he pleased but he didn't take liberties against the people he worked with.

"Come in" Stanley said.

Tracy walked in. She was Stanley's personal assistant, petite, but seemed taller than she looked. She wore a tight short skirt and a professional blue business shirt. Her see through tights and black high heels were sexy, given underneath she was a geek. She was highly educated from a good University and now worked as a PA at one of the largest companies in the world. 

"Your files for the Bulgaria venture sir" Tracy said as she handed a folder to Stanley.
"Thank you Tracy" Stanley replied tiredly. Tracy saw this with concern.
"Is everything OK sir?" 
"Fine Tracy. You are doing a very good job"

Stanley liked Tracy. He thought she was gorgeous with her geekiness dressed up in business sexiness, and how her blonde hair was always done in two specific styles, that day it was wavy. Tracy left the room and sat at her desk. She immediately starting writing a report, her sharp mind on duty like a machine, that was one of her best qualities. She looked back at Stanley's door and knew her boss was in some kind of trouble or depressed. She had seen it on his face ever since he came to the company.

At home, Stanley was walking to the foot of the garden. He was in fact the owner of the company and the building he worked at was the flagship oil hedge fund to the MultiMax Incorporation - his dads business and he was now the owner. But he couldn't handle the responsibility. The pressure was killing him and it was wearing out his body as he looked at his parents grave. 

"I don't know if I can handle it. I'm sorry mum, dad" Stanley said to his parents.

Anthony and Gretta had died in a freak car accident when Stanley and Kenley were eighteen. It had hit the twins hard and they were never the same since. They still lived in the same house they grew up in and their parents were buried at the very foot of the garden.

"I should be able to carry the family business for you easily dad, but I don't know why I can't. I am a disgrace."

Later that evening Stanley was sat at the dinner table on his own, nothing in the house style wise had changed, except the servants. There was one now, a young Spanish quiet man named Rafe, he was big boned but gentle. He was serving Stanley his dinner, it was Rafe's own lasanga with a twist with more colours and spices. He liked his job, but was mainly there because Stanley paid well.

"Thank you Rafe" Stanley said.
"You're welcome sir" Rafe replied and then left with his serving plate and knife.

The house was quiet, the stillness and hollowness reflected Stanley’s feelings. He ate his lasanga in silence and each mouthful seemed the effort of a weight lift. His fire red hair seemed lighter these days and his blue eyes were becoming a washed out grey. He took a moment to look at the next chunk of lasanga on his fork before eating it and something hit home to him – the fact he had never cooked his own meal before bothered him.

In Kenley's room, all of the curtains were drawn, it was the same room she had as a child. She was also twenty five years old now like her twin brother, her body and limbs had stretched long and gangly, just like the features of her mother. Her red hair was messy and uncared for though, her face was tired and baggy. However underneath the mess there was undeniable beauty, resembling the type eternal beauty like Rachel Wiesz. But Kenley had lost her way since her parents passed away, she fell off the train and never got back on.

“Ken, can I come in?” Stanley said as he knocked on the door from outside.
“Yes” Kenley replied.

Stanley walked in. The room was dark the way he was used to seeing it. The smell of sleep was starting to permanently fragrance off the walls. It hurt him to see his sister like this. He eventually sat by Kenley’s side and touched her shoulder. Kenley turned to him and her eyes were lost, they were in too many places at once. The healthy pale clear skin had an unhealthy green texture injected into it now, making it paler too. The strange marks on her arms Stanley suspected were from heroin injections. But Kenley told him before heroin was no such thing.

“We had it too easy didn't we Stan? That is why we can’t deal with this better” Kenley said.
“I know” Stanley replied.

They shared a hug and the feeling between them made them feel safe at least, because at least they had each other, they always did.

“Promise me you will see this through” Stanley said.
“I promise” Kenley replied.

At that moment Rafe knocked on the door to say he was leaving. Stanley and Kenley said “bye.” Rafe walked down the twirling flight of painted white stairs with a small doggy bag of lasanga in his hand. He was going to take it home to his young Spanish wife. He thought a bit about his employers, a part of him felt for what they were going through, but after eight years since their parents passed away, the other part of him thought they needed to become adults now.

Saturday, 25 April 2015

No Direction

No Direction

The waiting irritated him which now resorted to him opening another can of 7up. This was a huge film and they served him 7up! Another thing which pissed his off about this film. He looked at the picture of his daughter on the table in front of him, the frame was made out of paper kisses she made. The brimming cheek to cheek smile on her face, the short black hair her mother brainwashed her into having, standing in a go kart racers jacket. That was her favourite day, when she won the go-karting. The twinkle in his blue middle aged, but still full of youth eyes was one of the things which made it clear his daughter got him through film sets.

His long six foot four frame sat in the make up chair, fed up. His mind was thinking about what shorts to buy for the holiday he was planning as soon as the movie was over. The make up artist was combing his unbleached light blonde hair in the style of a woman's: straight and reaching the shoulders, as he was playing a 1970's art teacher whom was confused with his sexuality. The make up artist frowned too much, her name was Fire, that was actually her name. She was too angry, moving heavy handedly and had piercings in almost ever part of her face. This annoyed him. He sipped his 7up and the fucking lemon taste was so familiar he thought about crushing the can in one hand.

His name was Xavier and he stood up. Fire was already onto her Iphone flicking through her latest match suggestions on a dating site, and as usual, no offers. Xavier swore he saw Fire rip one of the piercings from her face out of anger... he looked again and he was right! She did! His costume: slim straw trousers, simple shirt which fitted him too well and brown loafers without any socks. Xavier was meditating almost, his eyes were closed, he was performing his ritual of getting into character. His South American rugged face stood tall above his well balanced shoulders. The young production assistant ran up the stairs too eagerly and fell over on the last step and then all the way to the bottom. Eventually he made it back up the steps, rubbing his anorexic like frame and telling Xavier he was needed for set. Xavier liked this boy, to him being forty seven and a professional actor for over thirty years, the boy was like any good ambitious runner starting out: eager, Duracell battery energy, tell them to be a slave for the day and they would probably take it as a compliment.

The set was a library and the film crew were everywhere. The lighting crew finished setting up the lights, turned them on and the set shone bright. Rocco, another actor, was standing around preparing himself for the scene and going over the lines in his head. He was like Xavier: South American and tall, but with the more traditional features such as his brown hair and eyes. Xavier was rare: a South American with European blue eyes and blonde hair. When Xavier arrived on set, they caught each others eye and for the briefest of moments each of them spat blood at the other. They didn't talk to each other at all. Xavier sat in the chair he was going to act in and kept the image of his daughter in his mind "I will see you soon baby, I will see you soon baby" he repeated in his head. Not only was the film business nothing more than a pay cheque to him these days, he had to put up with pretentious  jumped up actors like Rocco.

Cat arrived flamboyantly onto set. She was as skinny as a garden rake, middle aged like Xavier and Rocco with electric blue hair which was a part of her character. She was American, the accent annoyingly too American and proud and her attitude was as a disaster.The runner boy leaped to her with a cup of tea, it was obvious he fancied her and Xavier watched him do this. Xavier thought he looked like one of those too excited puppies jumping to the occasion, and thought if he wanted to climb the film profession ladder he should stop becoming star struck like a member of public. Cat was forty five minutes late and she went to her position on set like she arrived early. Fire touched up Cat's face heavy handedly. By this time she had covered up the bleeding on her own face from the piercing she pulled earlier. It made Xavier laugh at the thought of Fire having no more piercings left by lunch time. Xavier huffed as Cat was jabbering away at his brain about being underpaid for the film and Xavier felt like telling her to shut up.

As difficult as it was for Xavier and Rocco to be in a ten mile radius from each other, when all three actors were sat ready to begin work, they put their differences aside. All of them were playing teachers: Cat a drifting slut who couldn't grow up, Rocco the married man whom became bored and Xavier the recently bi-curious. The scene was a discussion about students work. Xavier's character had a suspicion the other two were fucking and it made him envious because he couldn't choose which one he wanted, he became bitter and jealous. It was deep bitterness too, like how he generally felt about this film. However he thought about his daughter to stay happy and the way she cursed at people who told her she couldn't accomplish certain things. That thought made him smile.

The director was once Hollywood's dearest, but now a somewhat has been and this film was his last chance at a comeback. Another middle aged person, named Matti from Finland but brought up in LA. He was like any other established film director with a signature look: his was a plain shirt with the sleeves rolled up. He liked to dress smart, but with a bit of edge. He had a large and long full set of hair blonde hair (a bit like Xavier's) his features that of a teenage boy. It was like his development as a person refused to age. He was talking to his camera crew with assertiveness, but with a hint of uncertainness like this film being his last chance saloon worried his mind constantly. The fact he knew Xavier and Rocco didn't get on because Xavier was jealous of Rocco for having the lead role (that was the truth) and Cat was notorious for being a diva, didn't make his mind rest any better.

Matti shouted "action" and the actors began work. It was Cat who was the centre of the action talking about which students had promise of getting into Harvard, Princeton etc. The supporting role of a librarian who wore glasses that were too big for his face and got a power trip off being recently promoted as the supervisor, every now and again said "sssssh" for comedy. Rocco's character agreed with everything Cat said. By this time in the film they had had a steamy encounter, but hadn't kissed yet, he was preparing his move. Meanwhile Xavier's character was fantasising about Cat, and at the same time fantasising about getting love letters from Rocco.

Xavier and Rocco continued to remain professional as the scene progressed. The way they were able to completely shut off a part of their brains which hated the other whist they were in character showed their experience. Until... Rocco touched Cat's leg, which was a part of the script. And then started kissing her, which wasn't apart of the script!! Matti shouted "CUT." Cat jumped up like the world had ended, shouting theatrically like she was performing for an Oscar, but forgot enthusiasm wasn't just about shouting loudly. She stormed off set, probably to have a quick sex break with a producer. Xavier and Rocco were at each others throats, close to throwing punches. Xavier had a decent argument against Rocco this time, but Rocco repeatedly said the kiss would be more realistic, more beautiful. Not only was that such a European thing to say, Rocco was one of the most stubborn people Xavier had ever met.

Matti was close to tears, he was like a baby in some ways. Instead of getting a grip on his movie, he felt sorry for himself. Momentarily he let his first assistant director sort the problems out by barking at everybody like a dog you wanted to tame but couldn't, whilst Matti had a few minutes to tug on a cigarette in the corner of the library. His energy was heading him towards failure, he felt the desperation eating away at every bone in his body, his comeback movie seemed on it's way down. His head hung to the floor, the cigarette smoking into the butt.

In the make up room the yelling carried on between Xavier and Rocco. Cat appeared somewhat mysteriously from a room no-one really used and tried to blend in. Another head popped out of the room a few seconds later like a jack in the box checking if the coast was clear. Eventually Matti arrived with the aid of his colleagues and producers of course, and as a team, brought the actors together. Fire watched on with intrigue, it was the best bit of action she saw all day as she finally found people on set angrier than she was. She still hadn't had any match offers on her dating site yet and it was almost lunch time.

Xavier grabbed himself another fucking 7up because he had no other choice. He drank it in one go and then picked up the picture of his daughter which gave him a feeling of hope. His phone rang and it was her! She called to ask how his day was and that she told her teacher to kiss her cute little white ass for saying she would only manage a 'C' on her geography assignment and she ended up getting an 'A'. This completely made Xavier's day and thought "that's my girl."

When everything calmed down Matti let his colleagues do the talking. The actors saw this as severely cowardly and their respect for him sunk. Matti did manage to say a few things though; they were all agreeing words like "OK" after his first assistant director spoke. If a parrot were a human, blonde and from Finland it would be Matti thought Xavier. However by that point Xavier's mind was made up and he had just about enough of the whole film circus.

Xavier's daughter waited with her suitcase and bag, sitting in her go-karting jacket. Her all black hair had been even more cropped. Her Brazilian mother waited next to her with exactly the same hair cut, they were like mini and mini me, identical except in years. Her mother was very protective over that hair cut, she combed her daughters hair like it was a work of art. Xavier pulled up in his yellow Ferrari. Melaka (daughters name) jumped up and ran to the car... passing Xavier and sat at the wheel pretending to drive. Xavier didn't know why she loved cars so much, but thought it was cute.

The ex partners had a moment to talk about things, which kicked off with small talk and then progressed to Xavier looking after Melaka on the holiday he was taking her too. The mother looked great for pushing fifty: the Brazilian sass to her sex appeal as hot as it were at her sweet sixteenth, the smile so bright and eternal it didn't show a sign of a crack, the fit body it was still made for a man's sins. She told Xavier to look after their baby and to have a good time in Miami. Xavier gave her a kiss on the cheek. She always despised the Hollywood world and at that moment Xavier felt the same. He didn't miss not turning up for work that day, he'd rather spend it with Melaka in Miami for three weeks.

On set Matti was actually crying and to the film crews horror they thought it was, inappropriate. The producers were jabbering frantically into their phones trying to find out where the hell the three actors were. Other producers were on the phone in a state of life or death trying to find replacements, fearing the worst and being proactive at the same time. It was a disaster, there was a whole film crew but the actors! It seemed they had had enough of each other and not turned up. The runner boy was sitting saddened and dejected at the thought of possibly leaving it too late to give Cat his mobile number, as that was the day he was going to ask her out.

As it was approaching the two hour mark when shooting should have started, one producer asked Matti what they should do and Matti said he needed a few minutes to clear his head. So he went outside. And never came back.

Thursday, 9 April 2015

Class Uneducated

Class Uneducated

A classroom full of students was his creation: all he wanted to do, ever, was teach. He wrote mathematical equations on the chalk board (it being the fifties there was no such things as whiteboards yet.) Most of the equations he didn't really understand himself because he had cheated a lot to get ahead in his life. For instance he always had a book of answers in his pocket. However he explained the equations to the students like he was an expert, his pupils didn't suspect a thing, they listened and made notes.

Being on the shorter side at five foot nine, his cunning ways is what made him stand as tall as the tallest man. He wasn't even particularly well dressed: his trousers ankle swung at the bottom, partly because his dungarees pulled them above his stomach. His hair was rarely combed properly, uncared for split ends at the edges specifying his feminine side. He always wore shirts with a pocket, and were too small for him. Back to the black board, he worked out a mathematical equation for a few seconds and when he became stuck he looked at the top of his hand for the answers - a basic trick from his school days. When the equation was solved the students looked at him like he was a genius. He faced them head on with a smile, and learn't that over the years when one believes their own bullshit long enough it becomes real.

Something was hot about Mr Tall (that was his name, despite it was a slight contradiction to him physically) that is how Udine felt. She was considered strange among peers, but she didn't care, she knew she was strange and liked it. Her feeling towards Mr Tall was obviously a crush. She looked at him when she should have been working. By now he was sat at his desk, and like magic he looked back at her. Obviously Udine looked away, but she knew he had an idea about her crush because he caught her looking at him a few times before. In Mr Tall's eyes, Udine was a weird student but he liked that about her because he was weird too. He would sit at his desk after feeding his bullshit of wisdom to the class and when the time was right  he would admire his 'favorite' student. 

Outside of the classroom his name was Liam. He always felt he had the name of a douche bag: kids mocked him at school by imitating a version of his name in dumb ways. In the present day this feeling ingrained in him like a permanent stain whenever he arrived at home. He walked through the front door to be greeted with his angry wife who was the type to have a chip on their shoulder about everyone and everything. Luckily tonight she was making chicken - an animal which could be blessed. The kitchen was well occupied with pots and pans in use and the heat making the windows steam. Her name was Paula, a teacher also. She had on a cocking apron tied tight, this was something she took seriously when she was cooking in the kitchen.

Liam watched Paula from outside the room. He really loved his wife. She was the same age as him and they met in a supermarket. She was shopping for chicken and handily enough Liam worked there part time between University. Liam kissed Paula on the neck, surprising her. 

"Good evening love" Liam said.

It took a few seconds for Paula to respond, but eventually she did. "Thank God she is in a good mood this evening" Liam thought. The old smell of settee's is how Paula started smell to Liam theses days, her posture got more hunched by the day. The cooking apron wasn't sexy any more. The once 'it was cool to be a geek wearing glasses cliché' weren't hot, she became the dumpy frump throw you away grade type. 

She continued to cook, handling the pots with no care, moving mechanically the way a stressed person does and doesn't know why they are always raging. Liam left the room, slightly upset and becoming tired, but he swore never to give up on Paula.

At dinner, Paula was talking about her day at work. Liam listened and he thought it was good to see Paula trying to enjoy her life by talking about it optimistically. The place was dimly lit, this was Paula's preference, the furniture and décor in the house was dark colored and old fashioned. Then like it was a cue to stop talking, Paula was quiet. It seemed she had run out of things to say, and then the heavy weight of stress mounted over her like the world had landed on her shoulders. She hunched as she ate the broccoli off her plate, the thoughts of her unsatisfied life stinging her like a stamped of aggressive bees.

Paula was unhappy she was too old to have her first child without it being dangerous, the fact she settled for a man who wouldn't get rid of her because he needed her, the fact she wanted to be an architect but wasn't brave enough to take a risk so she stayed in the education system and became a teacher. She wanted to give up and the negative energy evaporated off her like a mine field. This picture of Paula was all too familiar to Liam these days, he wanted to help her. He had been with her for long enough to know her thought process, he knew exactly what she was thinking, even now. And she was right, he was a man under a woman's thumb and perhaps he deserved it because he was a cheat in his professional life - now he was paying for it in his romantic life. Having said that though, it was funny he could still surprise himself these days, a new feeling set alight and burned in his soul, it felt great. The feeling came from Udine.

A test was in progress, the students had their heads down and were concentrated. Mr Tall liked test time because he could play his devious games - they weren't that funny, but he found them funny. His favorite was to walk around the room going as unnoticed as possible, trying to catch a student cheating. He called this game "guess where I am." Michael, a soon to be Cambridge student whom sat at the front of the class, was pacing through his work. "Not one to play my game" Mr Tall thought "Michael will forever play by the rules." Then he arrived at Christopher, a bright but clumsy student, the forever to be a reliable B student. He was concentrated, a hard worker, but would always live in the likes of Michael's shadow.

Luckily the floor had a single surface finish so there were no cracks and it never creaked. Mr Tall arrived at Hannah whom he referred to as "Hannah and Her Sisters" from the Woody Allen movie because she had the same name and her group of friends lived their lives like it were in a film. If anyone were to cheat Mr Tall thought, it would be these girls, but they wouldn't play his game either. Instead they were obedient to the test and at the forefront of their minds they wanted to finish school as quickly as possible so they could move to the city and begin a career on stage.

And then it was Udine. Mr Tall arrived behind her and to his joy he caught her cheating: the answers were on a piece of paper on her lap, underneath the desk, "Yes!" Mr Tall shouted inside, he had something in common with the student he fancied. Udine didn't have the faintest idea she was being watched, instead being mischievous by getting questions right and choosing others to deliberately get wrong to avoid raising suspicion. Her ambitions was to never be an A student, she was satisfied with being a B, no less than that though. Mr Tall walked past her and sat at his desk. The soft part of his heart didn't want Udine to know he saw her cheating... because he was weak. But he looked at her anyway, smiling to himself, getting that obsessive thought of them sailing off into the sunset before they even dated. 

The following week the students were slightly nervous waiting for their results. Mr Tall began handing out the test papers, walking to each desk one by one, keeping it old fashioned. Udine unsurprisingly wasn't nervous, she knew what score she was expecting, all Mr Tall had to do was match it. He got closer. The somewhat ratty face he had seemed fresher like when a person becomes highly sexed, thought Udine. When he arrived at her, he stopped and paused before he gave her the test paper. From the look in his eye Udine knew he suspected something. 

"Can you wait behind after class please? I need to talk to you" Mr Tall said.

That could have meant many things, thought Udine. But really she wanted him to fuck her, that would have been a fantasy definitely worth exploring. Obviously he was suspicious about her cheating on the test, but she was so careful she thought. She looked at her test paper and saw "130/150" a spot on match.

When all the students had left the room, Udine remained in her seat, waiting and expecting the unexpected. It seemed like waiting for a first date, that is how she felt and she hoped it was true. When Mr Tall felt safe the room would be undisturbed he walked to Udine and sat next to her.

"Take out your folder" Mr Tall asked.

Udine was mistaken for a second because she thought he asked her to take out her pussy! That is what she wanted him to say. So like a good girl she took out her folder like she was told.

"Take out the paper in the last pouch" Mr Tall asked again.

"Shit" thought Udine, he knew. She was in trouble now, but she didn't feel in danger because by this time she was convinced there was a romantic connection between them, the fantasy had manifested, either she was right or very fucking childish. Once she removed the papers, Mr Tall took them from her and removed the cheating paper with the answers on it. He showed it to her. Udine had gleams in her eyes, impressed how much of a detective he was.

"I know you have been cheating" Mr Tall said.
"I am sorry sir" Udine replied.
"That is fine by me. Take this"

Mr Tall handed Udine a small folder containing important looking text and equations.

"It is the test paper you will be sitting at the end of the year. All the answers are on it" Mr Tall said.

Udine liked what was happening. She really wanted to kiss him. Her musty blonde hair covered a lot of her face, her uncared for school uniform resembled a dedicated punk rock chick for a hobby in her twenties. As a school student she was a looked over ugly duckling among her peers, however she was the type to get more beautiful with age and Mr Tall was to be one of her sexual encounters to free that beauty.

"I really like you" Mr Tall said.

"Yes" shouted Udine inside "He was brave, he really was!"

"I really like you too" Udine replied.

Mr Tall touched her leg, moved in and kissed her. Udine thought she was in a film or something, it didn't seem real. Mr Tall loved the feeling of a passionate kiss again. He hadn't had one with Paula in years, and Udine's young lips opened up his youth like it where a black hole extracting light. 

On one occasion, it lasted at least an hour and a half. One of the huts where the subject Religious Studies was taught became their 'meeting' room. Mr Tall was always there first. Udine arrived to see him waiting like he was waiting for a date: keeping busy with his phone, in this case marking students work to make it seem like his date wasn't the only thing on his mind. Udine thought it was sweet. The sex usually took place on the teachers desk, Mr Tall perched Udine on it, pulled off her knickers and ate her pussy. Udine felt nothing like it, her previous boyfriends before Mr Tall (she hoped she was his boyfriend now) had pleased her in sex, but Mr Tall had an assertiveness she realized was only found in men, not boys.

The action moved onto the floor, Udine was on top. She had become a lot more confident in sex since being with Mr Tall, by now the relationship had been going for three months. All of her clothes were off, she was facing Mr Tall in a squatting position, bouncing up and down doing her best to keep her yelling under control. Her skinny arms held onto Mr Tall's unsporty but not so bad body, her legs balanced well considering they were sort of twigs. The rush of Mr Tall's average sized dick penetrated endorphin's all through her. To Udine, the whole thing with Mr Tall was really just about the sex and excitement. Mr Tall on the other hand had discovered an experience he feared he'd never see again. Not only was Udine an old man's mission impossible fantasy, yes she was young and young pussy was only young once, hence it had to be experienced to the full. If Mr Tall wasn't to careful he would fall in love.

Udine's parents, elder brother and younger sister sat in the kitchen eating breakfast like a civil family. It was a Wednesday morning, the adults were dressed for work, the kids were hardly out of their bed ware because it was the summer holidays. Udine was the rebel of the family which explained why she didn't participate in the family meals much. Letters were posted through the letter box, and then Udine sprinted down the steps, dressed in shorts and a tee shirt resembling a tomboy, because she was one at heart. Her rough morning look was sexy. She never wore make up anyway, but she came across as one of those females who weirdly looked hotter the rougher they were.

She picked up the post and searched for her exams results. The speed at which she did this suggested she had been waiting by the letter box for weeks. The rest of her family continued being a family in the kitchen and didn't even know Udine was present. Meanwhile Udine had found her exam letter "It has finally arrived" she thought and her eyes lit up. She knew what she was expecting and opened the letter to make sure it was the case. The score showed "B" another spot on match. She was happy, but there was an unfulfilled emotion pinching her soul and it came from the fact she was a cheater. She didn't let it overtake her though and fought back with hardness, then went to the kitchen to spread the good news to her family.

Which Universities to apply for was on Udine's mind whilst she lay on her bed, looking at the ceiling and twirling the exam results in her hand. Her room had become a somewhat quarantine if you will: there weren't any posters any more. The room was so bare it made Udine come across as a person who didn't know who they were supposed to be. That was actually correct, Udine didn't really have an identity. She liked music, but not a specific type. She hadn't spoken to Mr Tall in a while because she chose not too. A stack of his letters were tucked neatly in her draw. He wrote to her often, it was the only way because there was no such thing as portable telephones yet. Udine had his most recent letter in her hands and was reading it. The letter explained how he wished her luck with the exam results. Udine thought that was pointless considering the fact he knew she would pass because he gave her the answers to cheat in the first place. 

Time moved on during the summer holidays. Udine was making cakes in the kitchen with her mum. They were having a grand time, the sun was shining and background music was playing jazz. Baking was an activity only they shared together, the mother and eldest girl of the litter. It was also one of the only things Udine did to be 'apart' of the family. When they put the cakes in the oven, Udine left the kitchen to go to the toilet, but was held for a moment when she saw a letter on the floor by the front door. She had an unsettling feeling inside, as if the letter was actually speaking to her from the floor. It could have been addressed to anyone in the house, but ripples came from it in the air and traveled only  to Udine.

She picked it up, it was addressed to her and judging from the writing she knew it from Mr Tall. She hid the letter out of sight and went to her room. Mr Tall poured his heart out this time, the letter brought all the harshness of his feelings to the fore, the crippling worry of losing Udine was expressed in near enough every word. "Thank God he had a bit of a backbone" thought Udine when in some paragraphs Mr Tall would defend himself and accuse her of not replying to his letters. Then that made Udine think as to why she didn't reply? When she found the answer (she knew it all along really) it was because she didn't want him any more. She was moving to University and didn't want him to come with the next chapter of her life. She was young and he was old. To her, Mr Tall was a passing thing, something to experience and leave behind. Cold but shit happens. So she put the letter in the draw next to the rest and considered burning them, but dismissed that idea and was going to keep them as evidence in case Mr Tall ever decided to get 'tricky.'

There were students everywhere, the park was typical for gathering them during this time. It was getting closer to the end of the summer holidays. Udine and her friends were sitting on the grass, drinking and having a picnic. Spirits were high as they conversed how happy they were about the Universities they had been accepted into too. Udine, normally a thinker in the group, was even less heard on this occasion, instead she wore a smile which spoke of one putting on an act. She was a professional liar so she wore it well, but she felt uncomfortable. Libby, the outspoken one with braids, was rambling on about her acceptance into the University of Kent. She was always too big for her boots. She talked over Danny (the best friend type and in danger of turning gay) when he tried to share his up and coming Manchester University experience. As usual he responded by saying nothing.

Udine felt like something was watching her, like someone else's shadow was constantly by her back. By this time she had totally disengaged with the conversation her friends were having, which progressed to Danny trying to impress Megan (the girl he liked but hadn't learnt to cut to the chase) by drinking a can of beer in one go. Megan looked at him with the sense of laughing at not with someone. But she still thought he was a bit cute. Meanwhile worry had overcast Udine's mind. Truth is she was fearful of University because she didn't know if she could handle it. She had cheated on the tests because of Mr Tall, now she cut him off and wondered if that was the right decision. Did she make the wrong one? She contemplated going back to him because she needed him to get through Uni.

"At least it was the summer time" was the self chatter Mr Tall repeated to himself as he sat on his settee and prepared himself for the evening in front of the TV. His glum face was almost giving Paula's a competition. What was he turning into? He was fed up with the fact the little vixen immature witch Udine cut him off. He found that hard to deal with. 

Paula walked into the room and sat next to him. She made the effort to be cheerful by asking how his Saturday was, as she was out being sociable at tennis with other woman who pretended to be rich and posh. She then rested her feet on his lap. This was affection Mr Tall hadn't had from Paula in a long time and he looked at her in a new way. The reflection he saw surprised him: it was a youthful brightness behind Paula's ageing, but ageing well exterior. 

He saw the young girl he met at the supermarket, the curious, hidden in the crowds clever girl at University where her sex appeal was something that had to be developed the more you got to know the person. Perhaps Paula wasn't stressed any more, perhaps she finally learnt to just go with the flow of life. Her energy had changed and she watched the TV totally at peace. At that specific point Mr Tall wished he had been more patient with her, the moment painted his weakness, filling a canvass. Udine was his falter and now he had to live with the guilt.