A Second Woman in Chef’s Whites
“Look, Esmerelda!” she whispered.- my angry heart
- the fire is slowly dying
- vital, sunburnt, carefree
- where social graces are never needed
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A second woman in chef’s whites approached the craft services table. The first woman elbowed her and pointed at the vital, sunburnt, carefree Tyler as he cavorted around the beach naked. “Look, Esmerelda!” she whispered. A movie set seems to be a place where social graces are never needed.
While the two of them ogled the actor, I cast my eyes back out to the zodiac bobbing in the waves near the pier. Tessa had double crossed me so many times in the past 24 hours I wasn’t sure I could ever trust her again. The woman was maddening, and for years I carried an inferno of passion for her in my angry heart.
“She’s cast her lot with John now,” I said to myself, “and in my heart the fire is slowly dying.”
I shook the metal box, hoping to divine its contents, but the sloshing rattle gave me nothing to go on. I stared at the lock, remembering that Tessa alone knew the combination.
Out on the sea, the ominous fins were circling ever closer to the zodiac and its lone passenger.