Tagged: food

“I Don’t Have a Son, Tessa.”

  • by jeneating a bite of the brown-and-white lumpy food
  • on such gleaming skin
  • this wasn’t the Paul Gruber he knew
  • clasping her hands together in dismay
  • she periodically scrunches as she talks

Tune in next time part 121                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

“I don’t have a son, Tessa,” I said, pinching my nose to stop the bleeding. “At least not yet. Are you talking about one of the children Fleur is carrying?”

Tessa has these muscles in her pelvis that she periodically scrunches as she talks. I’d never been aware of them before, but our current intimate embrace made them very obvious, even with our clothes separating us. Picture someone clasping her hands together in dismay, only, you know, not her hands. I tried to ignore it and focus on what she was saying.

“I’m not talking about your wife’s babies, dumbass. How would I know if they were boys or girls? I’m talking about your son.”

Before I could get her to explain, we were approached by Harry, the amphibian-faced object of Isolde’s affections. “Paul Gruber!” he shouted. “Where is Isolde?”

Paul Gruber was the name of the bodyguard whose jacket I was wearing as a disguise. Harry stomped up to me and his greasy visage underwent a remarkable transformation when he realized that this wasn’t the Paul Gruber he knew. It was as if no expression could gain traction on such gleaming skin.

I tried to run away before he regained his composure, but Tessa clinging to me like a baby marsupial slowed me considerably. Harry stumbled after me down the street, spluttering.

“You are practically useless,” Tessa grumbled, pelvic muscles clenching. “Why do I even bother with you?” In one fluid motion she detached herself from me and vaulted over my head to land on poor, hapless Harry. By the time I turned around she had him in a headlock and, much against his will, he was eating a bite of the brown-and-white lumpy food she always kept in a zipper baggie in her pocket. It had an oatmeal-like consistency, and I knew from personal experience that it was laced with strong narcotics.

She tucked Harry, now snoring, into the space between two storefronts and, quick as the wind, resumed her place under my jacket.

Her muscles rippled again as she said, “Now, about your son…”

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As Soon As the Airship Docked

  • by KentI spit it out.
  • “When the Stars Weep Blood”
  • out of touch (at best) and disgusting (at worst)
  • until it actually grows too hot to bear it
  • in her uncle’s yam garden

Tune in next time part 99                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

As soon as the airship docked we proceeded among hanging gardens and colonnades to what looked like a temple. At the entrance we were served ceremonial wine, and in keeping with tradition I spit it out. My research into Contrarian customs hadn’t included any of their medical practices, however, so I was interested to see how a pregnancy test would be conducted.

I should not have been surprised that it consisted of trial by combat. My opponent’s rabbit costume was something I felt I could legitimately find surprising. Another surprise was the music, death metal blaring over hidden loudspeakers, a song titled “When the Stars Weep Blood” by a band called Not Particularly who had been exiled from Contraria the previous year.

“Now we will find out if the rabbit dies!” bellowed Fleur’s father.

“Symbolically,” came John’s voice from behind the rabbit mask. “If you win the fight, that’s good enough.”

I grimmaced. Even knowing that the beliefs in Fleur’s homeland were out of touch (at best) and disgusting (at worst) I couldn’t convince myself this was something I’d really have to go through with.

My father-in-law handed me a large axe, and a net and trident were presented to John. The weapons looked real.

“Ready, set, DIG!” declaimed Fleur. I raised my axe in anticipation of a charge from John, unsure I’d heard correctly. But he attacked not me, but the ground. I chopped at the soil around my feet, trying to figure out the objective.

John scooped up a lump of something and ran with it around the edge of the temple courtyard. I kept hacking at the ground as I watched his progress. Before making it halfway around, he began tossing the lump up and catching it again, bouncing it from hand to hand.

“You must race with the yam until it grows too hot to actually bear it,” Fleur coached. “It’s like that game from your country, ‘hot yam.’ Of course you need to find one first!”

The tubers we unearthed reacted to air exposure, quickly bursting into flames if they weren’t quenched in a pot of water. Such pots were positioned around the courtyard, and our score was calculated by how many yams we deposited and how far we ran with them.

Fleur continued my education, telling the story of the young unwed princess who blamed her pregnancy on the hares in her uncle’s yam garden. My hands blistered from the heat of the yams as well as the inefficient digging tool I had to use. I had no idea who was winning, or what would signal the end of the contest.

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The Warlord Turned to His Daughter and Said

  • by jenthat’s kind of for your gynecologist
  • looked vacantly upon the crowd
  • with the slavish tenacity of a lapdog
  • bump around awhile
  • rallied in an instant

Tune in next time part 90                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

The warlord turned to his daughter and said, “Fleur, replace your doily please. My servants will be bringing refreshments in a moment and,” he waved his hand, “that’s kind of for your gynecologist.” He looked at me. “Or your husband.”

Fleur replaced her doily in her lap and only then did her father turn off the sappy music. A small parade of teenagers, male and female, dressed in traditional Contrarian garb entered the tent bearing platters of honeyed fruit and small casks of wine. Fleur looked vacantly upon the crowd of servers while they gazed at her with the slavish tenacity of a lapdog.

The warlord clapped his hands and the teens all filed out of the tent. Before following them, Fleur’s father said, “You two have a little snack, and then bump around awhile. The next Question and Answer session will be conducted by Isolde.”

Isolde! At the thought of my nubile sister-in-law, my flagging genitals rallied in an instant.

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I Tucked the Bundle of Wire Into My Pocket

  • by jenyour secret is safe with us
  • He did both.
  • her husband materialized
  • no explanations for the fresh cuts
  • took an Imperial Pint of vinegar

Tune in next time part 74                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

I tucked the bundle of wire into my pocket and thought about Svetlana. The surprise I felt came not from the fact of her escape from her bindings but from the knowledge that she could have escaped at any time. Why had she chosen to remain my bound captive for so long? Was she proving her cooperation, or attempting to lull me?

Beside the campfire sat a woman. On a spit in the flames was the roasting carcass of some medium-sized animal, maybe a goat. I watched as the woman took an Imperial Pint of vinegar from the ground beside her and basted the meat. Even so my mouth watered.

While the woman was occupied with recorking the vinegar bottle, Svetlana sprang from the darkness and cut two long strips of meat from the roasting animal and disappeared back into the shadows. Where had she gotten the knife?

The woman put the vinegar down and looked at her meal, confused. I could tell her dim imagination offered no explanations for the fresh cuts that now marred the cooking meat.

Just then her husband materialized from inside the weird blue van. I assume it was her husband, anyway. They acted married. I didn’t know whether to expect him to yell or laugh about the state of their dinner. He did both.

While the couple bickered, Svetlana appeared at my elbow and handed me a strip of hot, greasy meat. It burned my tongue and tasted strongly of vinegar, but I was too hungry to care. I ate it all in seconds and thought about daring Svetlana to get us more.

“I’ve had just about enough of your chauvinism, Harold!” the vinegar-woman cried as she shoved the man into the fire. I told you they acted married.

Harold screamed and stumbled around, his clothing and hair in flames. His wife watched, chuckling as he ran blindly off into the desert night.

“Serves you right you sonnovabitch!” she yelled after him.

Svetlana chose that moment to approach.

“We need transportation,” she said. “If you give us the keys to your van, your secret is safe with us. If you feel the need to argue, we’ll tell the authorities what we saw you do to poor Harold.”

 

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Reintroducing, For The First Time…

r-avatarAs Son of Science Novel’s plotting continues, one of the things we like to do is pick one character and look at the story through his or her eyes. Especially for the new characters, this is a great way to get acquainted with them and figure out their reasons for choosing certain paths and forming certain allegiances.

For returning characters, we don’t expect the process to show us so much about them. We still do it, for other reasons. This week it turned out that one of our returning characters was sorta-kinda new, too.

This person has a minor part in the Science Novel. It’s not that we didn’t know him, but in this book he’ll be promoted to the POV cast. For that, we need to get to know him better. Looking at the story from his vantage helped us spot many small but important unanswered questions, which now mostly have answers. The issue also applied to the backstory, and for that we used our time-honored technique of going out to dinner as members of our cast. (Kent cheated a little bit this time by not doing the accent.) Mostly when we do that, the characters at the table are romantically involved. For this outing, they were parent and adult child. It was highly illuminating.

Having a writing partner means there’s someone to help out with every phase of the complex process of writing a novel. And, sometimes it means you have someone to take out for dinner.

Tessa Lowered Her Hood As Directed

  • by jenShe trembled and twitched
  • throb of blood-vessels in my ears
  • worms were in a frenzy
  • the nude celebrity site
  • Others were silent.

Tune In Next Time Part 38                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

Tessa lowered her hood as directed, and stood. Something about her seemed wrong, her movements were not the fluid, graceful motions of the girl I knew so long ago. She trembled and twitched, her skin seeming to crawl across her frame. The throb of blood-vessels in my ears sounded as if my head were packed full of worms and the worms were in a frenzy. I hadn’t been this disturbed since the time I saw my father’s scandalous pictures on the nude celebrity site.

“Never mind about those ninjas and pirates,” I said, forgetting to employ Jason’s trademark lisp. “That’s not Tessa! That’s an impostor!”

Not-Tessa twisted her head to look at me, emitting a faint keening sound. Some of the secret service agents began muttering into their radios. Others were silent.

“Then I suppose we are all impostors!” The voice came from the direction of the birthday cake on the table, which suddenly erupted, pelting us all with chocolate crumbs and minty blue frosting. On the platter, Lyudmila, contortionist and John’s sister, finished unfolding herself and stood, brandishing a Glock.

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Mom Dozes – Holiday Prompt

  • k-avatarshe didn’t see me creep
  • blink a bright red and green
  • I’ll be back again some day
  • we can hardly stand the wait
  • a bowl full of jelly

Mom dozes in her recliner, the television screen flooding her and the rest of the room with a greenish glow and whitish noise from the football game. She always falls asleep during halftime, which is why I waited until the third quarter to make my move, so she didn’t see me creep down the stairs and out the back door. In my backpack are all the supplies I think I will need, and on my way through the kitchen I grab the only food in the house, a bowl full of jelly beans. Although I’m desperate to start my new life far away from this place and that woman, I know with depressing certainty that I’ll be back again some day. Leaving the televised crowd noise behind, I hear tree frogs and night bugs. I see no one, but the chilly air amplifies the shivers I’ve been experiencing since I decided it was time to strike off on my own, and in my imagination eyes watch me from every shadow, feral slit-pupil eyes that blink a bright red and green. To distract myself, I slide the postcard out of my pocket and reread it in the hard beam of my flashlight: “We can hardly stand the wait!” The words of welcome dispel some of the shivers, and remind me that I’m doing the right thing, leaving the only home I have ever known. I flip the postcard over to see the university’s motto flying over an aerial shot of the campus. Yes, sophomore year was a good time to run away.

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Freya’s Mistake

  • k-avatarlooked the beautiful girl right in the eye
  • actually sounds kind of great
  • nevertheless distinctly visible
  • smart, hilarious, ambitious, and very attractive
  • I need new clothes

Tune In Next Time Part 35                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

Freya’s mistake made sense because, officially, I was in prison. My sister therefore assumed I had to be Jason. But Tessa knew I was out. What would happen when she saw me here? Freya studied me closely while I plotted my game under the pretense of searching for the right words.

“I need new clothes,” I told her. “Mr President,” I added when Freya arched one eyebrow and darted furtive glances at the secret service guys. “Like I wear at my gigs,” I prompted. Jason’s signature getup included a broad-brimmed hat and a kerchief over his face, as well as a flowing velvet cape, all in tones of vermillion. It might be enough to keep Tessa from recognizing me.

Freya and the secret service agents left me alone in the room, but they didn’t leave the birthday cake. An hour later, freshly attired, I was escorted to a meeting room where Freya — still impersonating her twin, Thor — sat at the head of the table. Tessa sat to her left. The candles were no longer lit, but the cake was nevertheless distinctly visible in the center of the table.

“Jason will rap for us now,” Freya announced.

“That actually sounds kind of great,” Tessa said before I could beg off. She smiled at me. I looked the beautiful girl right in the eye and saw no hint of a double agenda. Excuses occurred to me, ways that I could get out of performing, but that eager, happy smile on her lovely face was too wonderful.

Another secret service guy had a deck with two turntables, from which a heavy beat commenced. I imitated Jason’s trademark dance step, mincing like a rooster that had to pee really bad. Everyone else started clapping to the beat. I waited for it to come around and dove in.

“My favorite spy, her code name should be nitroglycerin. Cause she’s gonna blow it up, make counteragents disappearin’. She must be handled with care, cause she’s unstable and reactive. But I can’t stay gone, cause she’s also smart, hilarious, ambitious, and very attractive.”

Swept up in the flow of my mad rhymes, I didn’t notice when another dignitary took a seat at the table.

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I Remained in the Brig for Days

  • by jenringing of church bells
  • until the helicopter came
  • a very pretty demonstration
  • for it is poisoned
  • decorated with curtains of a saffron hue

Tune In Next Time Part 30                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

I remained in the brig for days. During that time I saw no one, not a single pirate, ninja, or mime. I ate so much cotton candy I began to hallucinate that my prison was a small cottage decorated with curtains of a saffron hue, and filled with the sound of the ringing of church bells.

As my stupor ebbed away, I said out loud, “Don’t be fooled. This is a very pretty demonstration of the effects of iocaine poisoning, for it is poisoned cotton candy, of course. Poisoned by the duplicitous Jorgensen.”

I repeated the phrase over and over until the helicopter came and I failed to hear any footsteps on the deck above my head. That could mean only one thing: the ninja envoys had arrived. Would Tessa be with them? Would John? Would Heinrich?

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Listening in Vain for Ninjas

  • by jenexplosives placed inside
  • exposing a great deal more of her breast than she had intended
  • may have picked up a knife
  • “You should hire one.”
  • suck it in

Tune In Next Time Part 26                              Click Here for Earlier Installments

Listening in vain for ninjas, I thought about the explosives placed inside some of the rolls of cash Tessa had run off with. The thought of her blowing up was troubling, but not as troubling as the thought of her discovering what was hidden in the remaining rolls of cash.

I was there the day John’s sister Lyudmila made all of those tight, fancy cash bundles. She’d been a sushi chef before John dragged her into his life of danger. She had a real flair for creating dramatic presentations of both raw fish and cold hard cash. Lyudmila made a show of tucking one of the wads of currency, done up like an ebi nigiri, into her bra. Her smile turned into a blush as she realized she was exposing a great deal more of her breast than she had intended.

Looking back I don’t think it was an accident. That was the night Lyudmila and I became lovers, the night Tessa and I had our first fight. I think John put Lyudmila up to it. He’d always had his eye on Tessa.

Thoughts of irate sushi chefs and their unhinged brothers made me think that Tessa may have picked up a knife before she left the movie set. The craft services table was littered with cutlery. If she had armed herself I could fear less for her safety and more for my own.

Alert for John’s return, or attacking ninjas, or Tessa waiting in ambush, I scuffled my way across the sand, following Tessa’s footprints.

“Hey,” called a female voice. “Are you the personal trainer?”

I turned and saw a gorgeous woman in a bikini coming out of one of the dressing trailers. She took one look at me and said, “I guess not.” She wrinkled her nose. “You should hire one.” Her blue eyes danced over my body in my soaking wet clothes. “In the meantime, suck it in.”

Ouch.

 

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