>Weathered: Red Hot Breakfast

>Weathered: Red Hot Breakfast

May 15, 2011 Writing 2

>This post happens shortly after this piece.

The old woman turned and smiled. Blair and Anthony made a handsome pair as they came through the door into the diner. They had decided to get breakfast on the run after a rummage through her fridge came up dry.

“Sit wherever you’d like,” the old woman told them, producing menus from the air.

They looked around the well-lit room, smelling the hot grease, an overpowering of cracked eggs, and hearing the pop of the sizzling bacon in disharmony with the slurp of the coffeemaker. The diner was in dire need of  remodeling. The 1950s style benches had ugly gashes in their backs, cushion topped stools placed strategically around the counter were not . Red was everywhere, contrasted by the laminated black and white checkered floor. The tables themselves were standard, their white speckled tops free of graffiti, the occasional initials carved here and there. Blair could imagine the poodle skirts and roller skates buzzing around the room.

The best part of the diner was the absence of customers. They had avoided the normal breakfast crowd, only a couple of vagrants occupied the stools at the counter, paper clutched in one hand, the hot mug in the other. Blair’s head was still pounding though the shower and coffee had dulled it some. She had no desire to be in a crowd today. If it were not for the empty pit in her stomach, she would have stayed in bed and slept the day away.

As it was, Anthony was refusing to leave her alone, not giving her any time to wallow or think. Never one to sleep with a stranger no matter how drunk she got, she needed to mull over how he had ended up in her bed. His kind and tender nature terrified her; her heart felt like it had been betrayed. She pined for Louis in the same moments her body clove to Anthony’s. Her trysts with Bill were nothing compared to the night she had spent with Anthony, though he was just as thoughtful the next morning.

“I’ve been trying to get ahold of you. You haven’t been answering your phone. Did you change your number and not give us the new one?” His voice was liquid velvet to her ears and broke up her thought stream.

“No. I haven’t been home much. I’ve been out at the house taking care of my father.”

“Oh. Yes, I have heard rumors circulating the bank. All the old members seem to be in a bad way since Arthur passed a few days ago. It was just fate that I ran into you last night.”

Blair chuckled as she swallowed her anger. She waited for the old woman to set their plates down before speaking.

“Oh, so that was just ‘fate’, then?” The fire dancing behind her eyes did not go unnoticed by Anthony.

“Erhm, that’s not what I meant. You are taking that out of context. I simply meant that it was fortunate that I saw you, since you obviously needed help, and I needed to see you anyway. The rest was just…it just happened.”

She sighed, her anger simmering and fizzing out. “Well, you’ve found me now, so what is it that you’ve been trying to tell me?”

“You must know that Arthur has left an antique desk to you. I don’t know why, I don’t understand the urgency with which I have been told to give it to you with. I don’t have any answers, I only know that he was adamant that you have this desk. It’s incredibly dusty. It’s been stored in the attic for the greater part of two decades, and its missing its key. I’m supposed to deliver it to you before his funeral, which is tomorrow. I was running out of time.”

“Why do you have to do this? You aren’t his probate attorney. You’re his loan officer, just like you are mine, my daddy’s, and all the other old fuddy-duddys with money. Why did he leave this in your care?”

“Blair, it’s really strange what’s been happening lately. First, he bounces a check written to his next door neighbor for a mere $30, then he is on his deathbed, calling me up, and begging me to make sure you and you alone get this desk. And me? I really don’t even want to be involved in this whole mess. It’s just too much drama for me. I feel like a mafia hit man or something. I’ve put in my resignation at the bank.”

“What?!? Preposterous. Anthony, you cannot resign.”

“I am. I’ve already accepted a position as bank manager in Poquott, a small town near the coast. I’m leaving at the end of the week.”

Blair stopped chewing. Her fork sailed through the air so close to his ear, he felt the steely wind from it. The clatter when it skittered across the table behind him was dimmed by her shriek.

“How dare you!” She hissed as her butter knife hurled like a bomb aimed between his eyes. “How dare you take advantage of me like that! And here I sat, wondering if perhaps you were different! How DARE you! What kind of woman do you take me for? In my darkest hour. In my very pain. In my weakest moment, you dare to seduce me with your charm and take advantage of me?”

Her cheeks burst red balloons as her anger rose. Unable to contain it, she rose from her seat, slammed her napkin to the floor, and picked up her plate. Her muscles flinched, heaving her breakfast in his face, her hot coffee right behind it. The smack of the mug between his legs abated her fury. Tears threatened to overflow and she fled from the diner.

Concrit is always appreciated.


2 Responses

  1. >How fun you were able to add our character into your story 🙂 The saga continues. Thanks for joining us!

  2. A.L. Mabry says:

    Oh man. I almost feel sorry for Blair!

It's YOUR write side, too! Let's hear it!

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