| General Fiction posted February 3, 2020 |
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Four lonely ladies; one lucky guy
Playing Favorites
by Elizabeth Emerald
Teresa:
It's 10:25. I tell time by the hands of my human clock, aptly named "Big Ben."
Ben--six-two and two-sixty--is my dance partner. We share him: Pam, Jane, and me. Ben swaps us suavely, each in her turn. Equal time to all.
Until 10:25. When she makes her entrance.
We call her Cindy-rella. Belle of the ball. So to speak. "Olde-Tymer Tavern" is no ballroom and Cindy-just-turned-sixty is no belle. Just relative to the rest of us seventy-plenties. Double-seven Ben included.
Ben rules the four-by-four so-called floor. And The King wants Cindy-rella for his Queen.
When Ben spies Cindy he tenses, then abruptly releases my hand. Never so rude as to abandon me mid-dance, Ben--keeping one arm on my back--reaches his freed hand to clutch Cindy's. As the song fades, Ben segues smoothly to Cindy's arms.
She's his for the duration. Pam, Jane, and I chuckle lightly about being cast aside for The Favorite. All in good fun--no reason to be jealous. Ben's unavailable, having a sickly wife at home.
We love Cindy. She's a sweetheart; I say that in all sincerity. An esthetician, she showers us with samples. All sorts of fancy creams. You name it, Cindy's got it.
And gives it. Generously, so, so generously, week after week. You can see why we adore her. Absolutely adore her.
The witch.
Cindy:
They say I'm the favorite. Theresa, Jane, and Pam. When I arrive, they joke about getting dumped now that Cindy's on the scene.
Ben does tend to dance mostly with me--but I arrive two hours after the others, so I figure they've all had their share.
When they give Ben and me a bit of a ribbing, I try to laugh it off. The ladies don't seem offended, really, just kind of kidding around. If right before me Ben had been dancing with, say, Theresa, and a fast song starts, I'll beckon to Theresa to stay with us. She'll just smile and go back to her table, unless her friends pop up to join her.
Sometimes the transition seems to me a tad awkward. A couple of times Theresa was kind of abruptly shunted aside when I came in. Like last week. The song was barely over, and here she was--reasonably--anticipating the next, when Ben announced that he wanted to dance with me.
Theresa pretended (?) to pout, then smiled and walked off the floor. I urged her to rejoin us knowing that she wouldn't.
What I should have done was bow out gracefully myself. Make a beeline for the bathroom, leaving Theresa to dance with Ben.
But I didn't. Forgive me, Theresa--Jane, and Pam--please forgive me my selfishness. I'm lonely too. Single, alone, nobody to dance with if not for Ben. And so, I atone by way of offerings of faux youth and beauty, which have long since passed all of us by.
Flash Fiction Writing Contest contest entry
Teresa:
It's 10:25. I tell time by the hands of my human clock, aptly named "Big Ben."
Ben--six-two and two-sixty--is my dance partner. We share him: Pam, Jane, and me. Ben swaps us suavely, each in her turn. Equal time to all.
Until 10:25. When she makes her entrance.
We call her Cindy-rella. Belle of the ball. So to speak. "Olde-Tymer Tavern" is no ballroom and Cindy-just-turned-sixty is no belle. Just relative to the rest of us seventy-plenties. Double-seven Ben included.
Ben rules the four-by-four so-called floor. And The King wants Cindy-rella for his Queen.
When Ben spies Cindy he tenses, then abruptly releases my hand. Never so rude as to abandon me mid-dance, Ben--keeping one arm on my back--reaches his freed hand to clutch Cindy's. As the song fades, Ben segues smoothly to Cindy's arms.
She's his for the duration. Pam, Jane, and I chuckle lightly about being cast aside for The Favorite. All in good fun--no reason to be jealous. Ben's unavailable, having a sickly wife at home.
We love Cindy. She's a sweetheart; I say that in all sincerity. An esthetician, she showers us with samples. All sorts of fancy creams. You name it, Cindy's got it.
And gives it. Generously, so, so generously, week after week. You can see why we adore her. Absolutely adore her.
The witch.
Cindy:
They say I'm the favorite. Theresa, Jane, and Pam. When I arrive, they joke about getting dumped now that Cindy's on the scene.
Ben does tend to dance mostly with me--but I arrive two hours after the others, so I figure they've all had their share.
When they give Ben and me a bit of a ribbing, I try to laugh it off. The ladies don't seem offended, really, just kind of kidding around. If right before me Ben had been dancing with, say, Theresa, and a fast song starts, I'll beckon to Theresa to stay with us. She'll just smile and go back to her table, unless her friends pop up to join her.
Sometimes the transition seems to me a tad awkward. A couple of times Theresa was kind of abruptly shunted aside when I came in. Like last week. The song was barely over, and here she was--reasonably--anticipating the next, when Ben announced that he wanted to dance with me.
Theresa pretended (?) to pout, then smiled and walked off the floor. I urged her to rejoin us knowing that she wouldn't.
What I should have done was bow out gracefully myself. Make a beeline for the bathroom, leaving Theresa to dance with Ben.
But I didn't. Forgive me, Theresa--Jane, and Pam--please forgive me my selfishness. I'm lonely too. Single, alone, nobody to dance with if not for Ben. And so, I atone by way of offerings of faux youth and beauty, which have long since passed all of us by.
It's 10:25. I tell time by the hands of my human clock, aptly named "Big Ben."
Ben--six-two and two-sixty--is my dance partner. We share him: Pam, Jane, and me. Ben swaps us suavely, each in her turn. Equal time to all.
Until 10:25. When she makes her entrance.
We call her Cindy-rella. Belle of the ball. So to speak. "Olde-Tymer Tavern" is no ballroom and Cindy-just-turned-sixty is no belle. Just relative to the rest of us seventy-plenties. Double-seven Ben included.
Ben rules the four-by-four so-called floor. And The King wants Cindy-rella for his Queen.
When Ben spies Cindy he tenses, then abruptly releases my hand. Never so rude as to abandon me mid-dance, Ben--keeping one arm on my back--reaches his freed hand to clutch Cindy's. As the song fades, Ben segues smoothly to Cindy's arms.
She's his for the duration. Pam, Jane, and I chuckle lightly about being cast aside for The Favorite. All in good fun--no reason to be jealous. Ben's unavailable, having a sickly wife at home.
We love Cindy. She's a sweetheart; I say that in all sincerity. An esthetician, she showers us with samples. All sorts of fancy creams. You name it, Cindy's got it.
And gives it. Generously, so, so generously, week after week. You can see why we adore her. Absolutely adore her.
The witch.
Cindy:
They say I'm the favorite. Theresa, Jane, and Pam. When I arrive, they joke about getting dumped now that Cindy's on the scene.
Ben does tend to dance mostly with me--but I arrive two hours after the others, so I figure they've all had their share.
When they give Ben and me a bit of a ribbing, I try to laugh it off. The ladies don't seem offended, really, just kind of kidding around. If right before me Ben had been dancing with, say, Theresa, and a fast song starts, I'll beckon to Theresa to stay with us. She'll just smile and go back to her table, unless her friends pop up to join her.
Sometimes the transition seems to me a tad awkward. A couple of times Theresa was kind of abruptly shunted aside when I came in. Like last week. The song was barely over, and here she was--reasonably--anticipating the next, when Ben announced that he wanted to dance with me.
Theresa pretended (?) to pout, then smiled and walked off the floor. I urged her to rejoin us knowing that she wouldn't.
What I should have done was bow out gracefully myself. Make a beeline for the bathroom, leaving Theresa to dance with Ben.
But I didn't. Forgive me, Theresa--Jane, and Pam--please forgive me my selfishness. I'm lonely too. Single, alone, nobody to dance with if not for Ben. And so, I atone by way of offerings of faux youth and beauty, which have long since passed all of us by.
 Recognized |
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Artwork: Queen Of Hearts by seshadri_sreenivasan THANK YOU!
This story was inspired by "True Tales from the Tavern," the recurring drama that airs Wednesdays, 10:25 p.m., at my regular pub. Cheers.
Pays
one point
and 2 member cents. This story was inspired by "True Tales from the Tavern," the recurring drama that airs Wednesdays, 10:25 p.m., at my regular pub. Cheers.
Artwork by seshadri_sreenivasan at FanArtReview.com
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