The air up here

Lenore drove into the city with Stan riding shotgun beside her, his window rolled down to get some air circulating through the car. Vivian and Pauley sandwiched Danela between them in the back seat. The girl, in the throes of an anxiety attack, sat hunched over, her head almost lying in Vivian’s lap.

After driving in silence for several minutes, save for Danela’s intermittent whimpers, Stan pulled down the mirror behind his sun visor. Without turning around, he watched the trio, intrigued by the mother/child/sibling sort of dynamic linking them.

“Where do you want me to leave you and Pauley,” Lenore said, maneuvering through the late morning traffic.

Stan smiled at how she dropped her reliance on Portuguese when talking with him or Pauley. “You three should arrive at the store without us. Drop us off a couple of blocks from there.”

Vivian, not sure what to do with her arms, kept making tsking noises at Danela. Her way of comforting the distraught girl.

“There, there,” she said, awkwardly patting her on the head.

Looking over Danela’s head, Pauley shrugged at Vivian’s mouthed cry for help, then finally came to the rescue.

Picking Danela up from Vivian’s lap, she grabbed both of her shoulders.

“You have to pull yourself together,” Pauley spoke slowly and softly. “Nós ajudá-lo-emos. Nós mantê-lo-emos seguro. Confie-me.”

She put one arm around the girl, to reassure her. Vivian tried to smooth out her silk blouse, rolling her eyes at the overly emotional Danela.

Once inside the city, Lenore pulled to the curb for Stan and Pauley to exit the car. Crossing the street, they walked hand-in-hand, window gazing, trying to look the part of an American couple on holiday.

“There is a bistro down here that Lenore said was a Sampas hangout,” Pauley hoped she wasn’t blushing. “Across the street is a building that is several stories taller. I wanted to check out the vantage point from the roof.”

The two walked into the restaurant, and used their obvious tourist personas to look around at the other patrons. Stan and Pauley kept mental notes of each of the high-ranking Sampas they saw enter the restaurant. Satisfied this would be a good venue to target, after finishing their coffees, they wended their way out of the bistro, and back to the street.

Turning the corner, Pauley saw Tomas walking toward them with several more of his crew. She suddenly grabbed Stan, pulling him into a dark doorway and kissing him hard. She spun him around so he was facing Tomas, her back turned, hoping Tomas didn’t recognize her.

Pauley continued her kiss, watching as Tomas passed them and entered the restaurant. Finally pulling away, she took Stan’s hand and quickly crossed the street, dragging him down a narrow alley to the fire escape stairs leading to the roof of the tallest building on the block.

Taking the lead, she scrambled up the stairs, hoping Stan was keeping pace behind her. Once they reached the roof, Stan stopped their head-long rush.

“Slow down, he didn’t see you,” Stan, panting hard from their climb. “Or are you running away from something else?”

“I don’t have time for this,” Pauley said, yanking her arm out of his grip. “I kissed you to keep Tomas from seeing my face, and maybe recognizing me from Vivian’s shop.”

“Let’s stop tip-toeing around what’s going on here,” Stan took Pauley’s hand again. “You don’t think I understand keeping personal and professional separate? I know how I feel about you, and unless I’m totally off-base, I know how you feel about me. That kiss back there was more than camouflage.”

“I don’t want this to distract me,” Pauley looked at her feet.

“I won’t let it,” Stan lifted her chin, so they were eye to eye. “But, I’m not letting you play games now that I’m here. We are going to do this job together, and we’re going to be together, or I’m headed back to New York.”

A slight nod, and brief smile from Pauley, and Stan knew she agreed to his conditions. “Now, show me where we’re firing from.”

Catch up with the adventures of Pauley and Vivian, beginning with “Dead Money.” The second chapter in this week’s installment, “Open the Door” is written by my partner in crime, Lance.

*Photo venue: downtown Chicago, IL

Every time

Why do you constantly do that? Every time I say anything, you always take it in the worst possible way.

What? I never do that. You’re totally overreacting, as usual.

You are impossible!

The Trifextra, weekend challenge is to include some hyperbole in our 33 words.

*Photo venue: The Landing, city park in Fort Walton Beach, FL

Sweet tea and cookies

My grandmother called him a “tall glass of water.” She seemed to think that towering height corresponded to suitability. She paid no heed to his idle nature, how he preferred to spend his days lazing on her wrap-around porch drinking sweet tea and eating snickerdoodles by the dozen. I don’t think he kept any job for more than two days, usually getting fired within an hour of walking in the front door.

That he was a nice looking young man, and that we would “make beautiful gran’babies,” apparently her top priority. As she so often pointed out, I could hardly do better.

He saw me as his invitation into genteel society. Gram, quite taken with his charms, introduced him to the creme of her cronies, intimating our betrothal.

My pending inheritance was well-known. Any man selected as my bridegroom also became a beneficiary to a vast fortune. Once I reached my majority, I became an extremely wealthy woman on my own, a salaried profession unnecessary for either me or my husband. He counted on that, playing on Gram’s desire to have a stable of little scions to dote on and spoil.

Neither expected my mutiny. My rejection of Gram vetting all of suitors, and rejection of him specifically. Once banking accounts were settled and all control directed solely to me, I left town, choosing instead to live life by my rules.

What I didn’t expect, was Gram’s reluctance to waste such a good catch, and of course her cougar nature.

The Trifecta challenge this week is: Idle [adj. \ˈī-dəl\] 3a : shiftless, lazy

This week’s Studio30 Plus theme is “of paper thoughts,” and/or “tall glass”

Lived in

Between my OCD-collector son, and “I-might-need-that” packrat husband, we’re one cardboard box from a Hoarders episode. The only time my home will be spectacularly clean is at my wake.

The Trifextra challenge for this weekend is to write a non-fiction submission of 33 words, which must include one of these two-word phrases: “cheap flights,” “sandwiched in” or “spectacularly clean.”

The eyes have it

After months of procrastination, I finally made doctor appointments for the Mister and me to have our eyes checked. It worked out that I scheduled them one after the other.

Let me tell ya, you ain’t had fun ‘til you’ve gone to the doctor with your significant other. I’m not talking about the hand-holding, squishy face pre-natal appointments when you ooh and aah over the jelly bean growing in baby mama’s belly. I’m talking a throw-down, fierce optometrist appointment.

The Mister, if anything, is hyper-competitive. It was never more evident than as he sat in the exam room with me as I tried, and failed epically, to read the top line on the eye chart. As lame as it sounds, I can truly ask, “what chart?”

The taunts and guffaws over my miserable efforts to decipher the near invisible letters were constant. I did give as good as I got though. The doctor and his staff were left pondering if we were serious or hilarious.

In the end, they realized we were only joking and joined in, telling him that I won by a margin of 3:1.

Near-sighted doesn’t begin to describe my vision. It’s more like fuzzy-blobs-and-colors-sighted. I don’t claim to understand prescription data, but here’s the basics of what Dr. WebMD says.

There are two main measurements – OD (right eye) and OS (left eye). A negative number indicates nearsightedness. The higher the number, the more correction you need.

The Mister’s vision is OD -3.5 and OS -4.5. By comparison, mine are OD -10.25 and OS -10.50. Then add to that a +2 astigmatism. Booyah! I am this ][ close to qualifying for a service animal. (As a matter of full-disclosure, with corrective lenses, my eyesight can be brought back to 20/20.)

I don’t know if this is still true, but a doctor once told me that I had 20/2200 vision. Meaning, what a person with normal vision sees at 2,200 feet, I could only see at 20 feet. Tell you the truth, I think this is misleading, ‘cuz I know without my glass, I’m not seeing squat at 20 feet.

Even with correction, I sometimes have issues with my sight. My photography is a good example. Often, when I think an image is in focus, after looking at it up close on preview, I can tell it’s too fuzzy.

I used to wear contacts, and still needed 3.75 strength reader glasses. To give you an idea of how bad my vision is, here is a photo in focus, and another to compare to what I see without my glasses:

I’m looking forward to getting new, stronger glasses. I know I’ll be disoriented for a few days – my depth perception is off until I get adjusted to the new prescription, and I’ll have headaches – but hopefully, my vision will also be clearer. Who knows, my photography might improve too.

Dead Money: Big blind

Today, we pick back up with the next chapters in “Dead Money,” a summer series written with author extraordinaire, Lance, bouncer at My Blog Can Beat Up Your Blog. Before reading this installment, first check out Criminal.

Learning her lesson, Pauley read Millicent’s text the first time her phone hummed. Keeping Niles in her periphery so he couldn’t leave the table without her, she quickly scanned the bar until she picked out Kip. The jumpy bartender was easy to spot.

She wasn’t surprised when she felt Niles at her side.

“If you’re going to be my good luck charm tonight, I should at least know your name,”  he oozed charm and pheromones.

Easing past him, Pauley felt the heat radiating from his body. He was making this too easy, she almost felt sorry for him.

“You can call me Paulette,” she said making eye contact, then just as Millicent suggested, dropped her gaze.

With his hand guiding her toward the bar, Niles was like a dancer taking lead. Holding the back of Pauley’s bar stool, he slid the adjacent stool over so his knee was touching her thigh. With a snap of his fingers, he called Kip over to get their drink order.

Looking across the back side of the bar, Kip saw Millicent smile and his legs turned to water. Watching her high-strung accomplice as he poured the first vial into Niles’ usual gin and tonic, Millicent admired her other handy work. She enjoyed the way Pauley kept Niles’ attention.

“You look familiar, have you been to the Oracle before?” Niles shifted his weight to admire Pauley’s ass and the way the dark, blue lace hugged her hips.

“No, I’m only in town tonight,” Pauley said. “This is my first time at the Oracle.”

“Of all the casinos in Atlantic City, why’d you pick a dive like this?” Niles ran his hand along Pauley’s leg.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Pauley turned her head slightly so she was looking up at him. “The place looked like it had character.”

She brushed her finger tips along the back of his arm. She had a strange thrill when she saw the reaction her touch caused. Niles laid his hand on hers, holding her palm against his arm. She was surprised at how hot his skin felt.

“Never been to the city before, huh? Do you have family here? Maybe a brother?”

Pauley paused for a second, remembering Butch had always told her to tell the truth when asked, even when a lie would do. It was easier to remember.

“No, both of my parents are deceased, and I’m an only child,” she said, lowering her voice. “I’m all alone.”

“Sorry, it’s just that you look so familiar,” flashing his charming smile. “Maybe I’ve just seen you in my dreams.”

Pauley let out a soft, throaty laugh, grinding the heel of her stiletto into the instep of her other foot, trying to not snort at his cliché pick-up line.

Throwing back his drink, Niles flipped Kip a poker chip. Leaving her wine glass on the bar, Pauley took Niles’ offered arm as they walked back to the poker table. Leaning in close, she whispered in his ear, “maybe we’ll both get lucky tonight.”

Niles took his place at the table, running through several hands, winning more than he lost. Pauley stood back, watching as Millicent’s poison began to work. A thin sheen of sweat rose on his forehead. Loosening his shirt collar, Niles called over a waitress to order another drink.

With his big win earlier and a good chance he’d get a beautiful woman in his bed, he refused to get sick. He wasn’t going to let some random headache spoil his night.

Do not jump

“Let us rise up and be thankful, for if we didn’t learn a lot today, at least we learned a little, and if we didn’t learn a little, at least we didn’t get sick, and if we got sick, at least we didn’t die; so, let us all be thankful.”

~ Buddha