Here's something fun: originally, Stillwater and Parker were scheduled to begin a journey, a trip, sometime during the telling of the story. But, I thought Stillwater was being inextricably tied to Ellery's shop and, by extension, the cool cat place. I'd decided (and I was probably taking the easy way out) the journey would have to be metaphorical and that the two of them would meet up with Freddie Mercury and Tim Woodman within the confines of the shop or the living space. But, voìla, or, as someone I used to know would say, viola--Ellery pushes Stillwater out of his comfort zone and now I, the writer, have no choice but to send Stillwater and Parker into another world and onto their journey. I love how the brain works sometimes.
This frag was posted before rewrites, so please expect rewrites. I'm even rewriting this section about the rewrites. Deleting certain rants because, as I have discovered while blog surfing, witnessing someone losing his mind on the Internet is neither fun nor entertaining. The delete key is our friend, people. The caps lock key is not.
Tomorrow was her subdued request. We were both tired and that word was the most reasonable she’d said all day. We managed to sneak Ferocious B into the cool cat place, and I made a bed for him out of blankets on the floor of my room. We were free of all awkward and unsure moments as I slipped into my own bed and slept next to her, holding on, for the first time.
“So where is she?” playfully demands Ellery as he meets me at the shop the next morning. “Out shopping for curtains?”
“Where’s who, old man?” I laughed.
“Boy, you think you’re the only one around here who knows all the gossip? You left last night with her. A customer. Big no-no that I guess I forgot to cover, but under the circumstances with her having nowhere else to go, I understand. Before you ask how I know that about her, I even know how much you tipped at the bar for your margaritas, so...”
Embarrassed, I interrupted Ellery that I got it, he knew everything. Ferocious B was in Mom’s kitchen earlier this morning eating what appeared to be a chopped steak breakfast. Asleep, Parker and I never heard his scratching at the door to be let out, but Mom sure did. When I left for work, the dog was drooling behind the front desk, keeping cool cat gramps company. Parker, to answer Ellery’s question, was in the kitchen, cleaning and talking Mom toward the brink.
“What are you doing here, anyway?” It’s been a long time since we were in the store together, and I’m suspicious. Indentured slaves can’t be fired, can they?
“I was just about to ask you the same thing,” was Ellery’s answer. “You’re here when I’m paying you and you’re here when I’m not. Not quite sure why you hang out with old men like me, but, for a while, you can get along without me. Take a week or two off. It’s called a vacation. Use it to figure out what you’re gonna do with that girl.”
Why do I need a week for that? Why two weeks? I left, though, before Ellery could ban me from the shop for three. But not before I told him I loved him like he was my own father. “Don’t replace me while I’m gone,” I prayed to him and to whomever else could be listening.
He promised that I was irreplaceable and I had no choice but to believe him.
2 comments:
Its great to see the thought process of a fellow etcher of the ink.
keep it up.
Thank you, solo, my second faithful reader.
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