crossposted to great_write_way

Photo #3

He could feel Stacie's heat as she hung on the arm of his chair, but he had no illusions, despite the charade she and Kath seemed determined to maintain. Kath had smiled and raised those kempt brows at him as she tucked herself small on the floor beside his chair, appearing to sit at his feet. But all the heat in those green eyes beamed right past him, directly at the fragrant Stacie, her voice low and husky from cigarettes, whisky and lust. When Edie called to them to "smile!" Charles was the only one to look up. The two women were too lost in each other to hear or acknowledge anyone else. The wink of the flashbulb intruded, though; each of them blinked and looked away, out among the mingled, though neither moved, and he could still feel the tension stretched between them like a live thing.

crossposted to great_write_way

Photo #3

He could feel Stacie's heat as she hung on the arm of his chair, but he had no illusions, despite the charade she and Kath seemed determined to maintain. Kath had smiled and raised those kempt brows at him as she tucked herself small on the floor beside his chair, appearing to sit at his feet. But all the heat in those green eyes beamed right past him, directly at the fragrant Stacie, her voice low and husky from cigarettes, whisky and lust. When Edie called to them to "smile!" Charles was the only one to look up. The two women were too lost in each other to hear or acknowledge anyone else. The wink of the flashbulb intruded, though; each of them blinked and looked away, out among the mingled, though neither moved, and he could still feel the tension stretched between them like a live thing.

crossposted to great_write_way

Photo #8

It was a holiday weekend in the city, and the five of us were giddy at the freedom from uniforms, schedules and nuns. Judith's parents were hosting us, but we never saw them from Friday afternoon till Monday morn. It was the correct and polite-to-invisibility butler, Charles, who made our arrangements, sent the car, picked up the packages from our shopping trips, booked tickets for the show, arranged our meals, and saw us and our luggage off early Monday morning. That weekend is a blur of laughter and silliness. It's Charles who stands out, stationary in a whirlwind, black and white in a carousel of colors.



Photo #5

It was dark, as were all the others on the block, door agape and windows staring, glassless. Charles stayed close as they wandered through the first floor, knowing this was dreadfully difficult, but determined to make the visit possible for her. Her foot slipped, leaving a streak in the soot.and a spark of color. She bent and picked it up: a photo as they had been then, before the plague. Human, her mother, her father, her brother, warm and living.

Even fire hadn't completely washed away the old scent of blood and fear, but she was finished here. These ghosts wouldn't haunt her any more.



Photo #7

He looked wonderfully well, and Roger wanted nothing more than to hold him close. But he contented himself with sitting next to him as they talked, and was overjoyed that Charles didn’t move away from his touch—in fact he seemed to draw a little strength and courage from it. There was none of the pallor there had been before, obviously they were seeing that he got outside occasionally. They talked of inconsequentialities, Charles making less of an obvious effort as the afternoon wore on. Roger's heart turned over in his chest. If only the attendant would look away, he might risk stealing a kiss.

crossposted to great_write_way

Photo #8

It was a holiday weekend in the city, and the five of us were giddy at the freedom from uniforms, schedules and nuns. Judith's parents were hosting us, but we never saw them from Friday afternoon till Monday morn. It was the correct and polite-to-invisibility butler, Charles, who made our arrangements, sent the car, picked up the packages from our shopping trips, booked tickets for the show, arranged our meals, and saw us and our luggage off early Monday morning. That weekend is a blur of laughter and silliness. It's Charles who stands out, stationary in a whirlwind, black and white in a carousel of colors.



Photo #5

It was dark, as were all the others on the block, door agape and windows staring, glassless. Charles stayed close as they wandered through the first floor, knowing this was dreadfully difficult, but determined to make the visit possible for her. Her foot slipped, leaving a streak in the soot.and a spark of color. She bent and picked it up: a photo as they had been then, before the plague. Human, her mother, her father, her brother, warm and living.

Even fire hadn't completely washed away the old scent of blood and fear, but she was finished here. These ghosts wouldn't haunt her any more.



Photo #7

He looked wonderfully well, and Roger wanted nothing more than to hold him close. But he contented himself with sitting next to him as they talked, and was overjoyed that Charles didn’t move away from his touch—in fact he seemed to draw a little strength and courage from it. There was none of the pallor there had been before, obviously they were seeing that he got outside occasionally. They talked of inconsequentialities, Charles making less of an obvious effort as the afternoon wore on. Roger's heart turned over in his chest. If only the attendant would look away, he might risk stealing a kiss.