Before I get down to business this week, I want to mention one of the books I've read lately : SHATTER ME, by Tahereh Mafi. I've read books written in first person, present tense before, but this was less a first person narrative and more a first person stream of consciousness - and in a good way. I'm pretty sure she broke all of the grammar rules, using fragments, repetition, and even lines that have been crossed out ... all to AMAZING effect. What the reader gets is a raw, emotional journey, living right in her mind. You know those thoughts you ought not to have ... but you think them anyway, because you're human? They're there. You know that panicky feeling when your mind shuts down except for one thing? It's in there. I'll definitely be picking up the rest of her books.
Ok, and because I need something to get my mind off that (or I'll end up with another copy-cat post, like last week, when I was drunk on Jennifer Nielsen's THE SHADOW THRONE), let's do another picture prompt this week. Here it is:
That's right. It's a guitar pool. Have fun!
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My response:
I hitched up my cargo pants and straightened the tag hanging from the lanyard around my neck. It was a far cry from the dark outfits I usually wear, but on an estate like this one, black wouldn't protect me. Pretending I was supposed to be there would.
The front doors were wide open, the caterer and his crew moving in and out as they brought in the food for the party tonight. The early morning sunlight left me as exposed as if I were naked, considering how I usually operated, but the payout should be worth it, this time. One of the guys in the catering crew leered at me, looking me up and down. I shot him my best drop-dead look and tucked my bucket of cleaning supplies under my arm.
Ray-Ban's wife stood in the wide, marble-columned entry. I recognized her platinum blond hair and surgeon sculpted face from TMZ. She glanced at my tag and frowned. "You girls forgot to scrub the soaking tub in the master. If you screw up again, I'll find a new service!" she snapped with a flourish of her bikini coverup.
I nodded humbly and moved quickly upstairs. Finding out which cleaning company they employed had been easy - they always park their vans in full view of the road. A kindergartener could download their logo and copy/paste it to a card. Child's play.
It should have been harder for me to figure out when I could come and go at will, but with Twitter these days, it was as easy as being a fan. The only hard part of my job was sifting through hours of audio/video footage, looking for something useful. Like how Ray-Ban took 24 million out of the bank yesterday so he could present his wife with divorce papers today and keep his money away from her. Apparently he hadn't been smart enough to get a pre-nup, and California's a community property state.
I peered around the door to the master bedroom. Ray-Ban stood in front of the dresser, piling chain upon enormous chain around his neck. How this wannabe ever made a dime with his faux rap and poser style, I never would understand, but it worked in my favor. He looked up. I let my badge hang down through the gap in the door.
"Oh, you prob-ly wan in 'ere." He snapped up a pristine Cardinal's ball cap from the bed post and pulled it on as he walked past me.
It was almost too easy. I closed the door behind me, locking it quietly. I crossed the room to the custom made cabinet - the one that looked like a dresser, but only had three working drawers. The middle three hid a safe. I pulled the false top off my bucket of cleaning supplies, pulled out my tools, and got to work.
I was almost done when I heard shouting outside. I couldn't resist peeking out the window. The first thing I saw was the pool. Ray-Ban actually had a guitar-shaped pool. I rolled my eyes. Just putting a guitar in your back yard didn't mean you could play one. The screaming continued. I dropped my gaze down. Ray-Ban stood next to a man in a lawyer suit, and his wife was turning red. Apparently he felt the need to clear out his wife before the party tonight, so he'd be free to find a new one.
I closed the safe and secured the dummy top back over my supplies. Well, Ray Ban's wife wasn't the only one who'd end up with less than they expected. I even swiped a cupcake from the caterers on my way out.
“Um, Sally?”
ReplyDelete“Yea?”
“That’s a violin, not a guitar.”
“Huh?”
“The pool. The one you said was sooo cool because it was shaped like a guitar? That isn’t a guitar, it’s a violin.”
“Whatever. The point is that you are in his house. Can you believe it? This is his house. We might even get to meet him!”
Sally kept up her constant stream of chatter while I stopped listening. She was always so one-track-minded. Last month it had been watercolors. She was convinced she was going to be the next Van Gohe. With watercolors. Watercolors. Last year she had been convinced that she was the world’s best volleyball player. Too bad she was scared of the ball. Before that, she was a dog whisperer…at least she was until she discovered she was allergic to canines. Now, she was focused on him. At least the watercolors were productive.
I glanced up from the pool, feeling guilty that I had stopped listening. Sally was still talking, but the girl next to her…what’s her name? Karen? Kari? Something with a “K” anyway, was listening now, soaking it all up. “I’m going to find somewhere with fewer people,” I told her, and started to walk away without waiting for a response. She probably didn’t even notice I was gone. She would come find me when it was time to go home. We may be opposites, but she was my sister, and she knew me better than anyone.
Everywhere there were people. This house is massive…I had been through 3 living rooms already and each one seemed more packed than the last. Wait, is the music getting louder? I think it is. I am heading in the wrong direction if I want solitude. Well, let’s turn around then. Wait, is that a door to outside? I make as direct a path as I can straight toward the safety of the outside. Away from the press of people, the noise that passes for music to far too many. Most of these people wouldn’t know the difference between a guitar and a violin any better than Sally did…how pathetic. The going is slow, but I must have one of my “mean faces” on, because most people aren’t saying anything to me as I brush past them. Some of them are even moving out of the way. Sally always says that I would look better if I smiled more, and that my “mean face” is why I don’t have many friends. Maybe. Maybe. There aren’t many people here that I would want to be friends with anyway. This is Sally’s element, not mine. People are too erratic, unstable…conniving. Plants and rocks don’t scheme. They just are.
At last I am out into the cool night. I didn’t realize how hot it was in there. I shiver as the sweat I didn’t know I had is suddenly very apparent. Out of the fire and into the frying pan. Get a room people! I chuckle as I realize that the reason all the people are making out outside is because there isn’t any room. It looks like this is going to be a long, long night.