Short Story: Ophelia Loses her Bus Pass

Demonstrations were quite common in Spain and entirely peaceful, mostly.  Ophelia had even been to several with her family.  This one that she wanted to attend with her boyfriend, however, was different, according to her father.  He said that the pro-life rallies were big crowds, but they were families, who would look out for her and respect the police.  Justice, Now was a bunch of trouble-makers who would not care about her safety and preferred to antagonize the police.

“Where’s my bus pass?” she said to her maid.  Ophelia’s head was still half inside her cubby-hole of junk in the kitchen.  

“In your backpack,” suggested Paula, unhelpfully.  She was wearing an apron and cooking something Guatemalan.  “You know your Dad will be very angry if you go to the demonstration.”

“Oh,” said Ophelia with a guilty start.  “Do you think so?”  She drooped a little, seeming to be genuinely saddened by the idea.  “He didn’t tell me NOT to go.”  She pulled everything out of the cubby and looked behind and under.  She sat back on her hells and then went to see what was cooking.

“He shouldn’t have to!” said the maid, exasperated.  But she she put a sisterly arm around her young charge.  Paula was wrapped around Ophelia’s finger, as was the whole family, and all the more so because Ophelia was completely unaware of it.  In front of them on the counter was a cookbook, Amalia’s Guatemalan Kitchen.  

“This is my mom’s cookbook.  Why do you need a Guatemalan cookbook at all, never mind in English?  You are Guatemalan and cook all the time.” 

“Well,” said Paula, “the recipes are nicer than what I had as a kid, you know, corn and beans if we were lucky, and I am learning English.  Your mom pays for my classes.”  She added with a dramatic flourish, “When I grow up, I am going to be a flight attendant for Iberia Airways.”

“What!  You can’t be a flight attendant.  You’re… You’re so old!”

Paula was 28, and half her years she had spent in Spain, working.  According to her papers, she was 32, because at 14, she would not have been allowed to emigrate.  She was eight years older than Ophelia.

Paula went on, “I will get myself assigned to the Guatemala route and meet a rich politician to marry.”

“That doesn’t sound like a very good retirement plan.”

“Why not?  Being rich is the best retirement plan.”

“But he will fall out of favor and get, you know, knocked off.”

“Good girl!  You paid attention in History and Social Studies.  I’m joking, but it still won’t hurt to learn English and fancy cooking.”  She’d be a good wife to a nice man, if she got the opportunity, and she hoped to have the resources to keep using her ever-active brain.

“And speaking of Social Studies,” said Ophelia, “I need to go to this demonstration.”  From half a meter, looking down into Paula’s apron pockets, she saw a square shape the size of her bus pass.  The other pocket had the lumpy form of the lemon candy that had always been there for her.  It was her bus pass!  She could reach over and grab it, but she didn’t.

“I know you think it’s all push and shove, but Ricardo does look out for people.  He isn’t like some of the other organizers who want a big mess for the publicity.  He told the newcomers to stay in the back till they got an idea of how things worked.  He doesn’t want any hothead doing anything unprofessional and making us all look bad.  If I go with Ricardo, it will be fine.  I really want to go.”

“I know it will and I know you do.”  Paula shut off the burners and cracked open the lids to the pots.  She hung the apron on the back of the door and selected a set of keys from a hanger.  “How about if I go with you.”

Ophelia narrowed her eyes as she watched her maid, realizing that the bus pass was the tip of the iceberg.  Paula had been obstructing her social activities for quite some time.  “I don’t think so.  The last time you offered to go with me, we stopped at the hardware store to get a key copied, and my dad showed up.  You both did a very convincing tap dance about who was supposed to have gotten the key copied.  You called him, didn’t you?”  Paula did not deny it.  “And look at these pots pushed back in a semicircle around the burner.  I was going out and you were cooking, but then suddenly my mom said that we had a family dinner with Tia.  You left everything half-finished, just like now.  And what about that time you encouraged me to go even though it was raining, but then later ran after me with an umbrella and talked me out of it?  You were really careful to seem supportive.  I can’t believe how sneaky you are!  And what about my bus pass?  It’s there in your apron pocket, isn’t it?  You know that I can quite easily buy a ticket.”

“I knew you would figure it out at some point.  But this time I really will go with you.” Paula was smiling as if Ophelia had just won a race, or played a concert, or taken her first baby steps.  Paula opened her phone and started typing.

“Don’t call my dad!”

Paula scowled.  “Who’s the sneaky one?  You have to face him sometime.  But I won’t tell him.  Not right now.  You understand what I’m saying to you?  If you don’t tell him, I will have to eventually.  But no, I’m not calling your father.  I will ask Sebastian to come down and meet us.  The demonstration is at Cibeles?  He works right there.  He’s a banker.  Your father would approve.”

Ophelia was suddenly very curious about Sebastian the banker, who would drop work at a word from Paula.  And, Paula would meet Ricardo and have to tell her father what a gentleman he was.

Author’s note:  I am really struggling with antagonists!  Mine are too bad and insufferable or not bad enough and really on the protagonist’s side after all.   What do you think of this one?

Short Story: Who is lying?

My goal is to create 5 bad guys in 5 days and then see who is the baddest!  Tell me what you think of Gabriel.

 

Gabriel picked up a book next to the lounge chair.  He would rather be working on his laptop, but Dad had stunk up the cabin with varnish, so he was stuck on deck with too much glare.  They were anchored in a bay, and his twin sister Helen had taken a kayak to the next yacht over.  The book was Helen’s, a romance with a hunky guy and a gun.  He opened it, hoping for something spicy and instead found her college report card.

She made all F’s.  She must really be dumb, because even if you only show up for tests, you can still squeak by.  Unless she did not even show up for tests.  

Gabriel saw all around him signs of his sister’s prodigal nature and their parents’ inaction.  The life ring, red with ‘Tarsus’ painted in white, was on the deck, buried under a tangle of line.  It should have been hung up neatly and ready for an emergency.  Was she eight years old that it was still fun to play ‘man overboard’ with her friends?  She left drink bottles on the lounge tables, which of course ended up rolling around on deck.  Worse, he had stepped on an upturned bottle lid, which had cut his bare foot.  Helen preferred life at the SanNorte’s, where they had drinks on trays and servants to serve them.  They were a little more modest over here because his dad was retired Navy officer with no trust fund.  His dad thought he was still in the Navy, and despite the ‘GO NAVY’ towels and eagle emblems on the cushions, strict discipline had failed to keep things ship-shape.  Their dad had tried prepaid credit cards to control the spending, curfews to control the bad company, and rehab to control the drugs and alcohol.  Yet here she was on the yacht without a care in the world, and without a thought to late nights, tears shed and money spent by Mom and Dad.  As for his mom, the diving gear was out and her diving flag was bobbing not far away.  She was off blowing bubbles and escaping reality as usual. 

His parents wanted to make a decision and here with Helen’s failing grades was a way to help them.  He had heard them whispering about last chances and tough love.  His Dad would do it, but his mom was the soft one.

Helen was on her way back, paddling indolently and stretching once in a while.  A school of fish leaped over the surface with a watery hum, flashing in the sunlight.  He hid the book under the cushion and waited.  He wasn’t sunbathing.  He was waiting.  The kayak thumped softly against the side of the yacht as she hooked the carabiners to the gantry.  There was more thumping as she climbed the Jacob´s ladder.  In the past, he might have pulled the ladder up and left her floating till their parents came.  But now she had a waterproof cellphone, so it would end quickly with him in trouble.  The sound of sanding from the cabin stopped.  His dad emerged from the stairs just as Helen flipped the switch to haul up the kayak.  Two pairs of sunglasses flashed at each other until the noisy winch shut itself off.

“Good,” said his dad, pulling down a dust mask so that it was around his neck.  “I need to talk to both of you.  We got a report that there was a collision last Friday.  They are sure it was the Tarsus.  The other boat was tied to the pier.  They have it on the security camera.”

Neither answered.  Helen had a half-smile on her face and a dreamy far-away look.

“So the question is, which of you was out in the Tarsus on Friday?”

Gabriel said, “I was not out in the Tarsus.  I was at my place studying.  You know how important grades are to me.  Helen is the socialite who is out all the time … partying.”

Helen answered, “It wasn’t me.  But Daddy, remember the time we brought that ship into port during the tropical storm, and it hit the pier where we were standing?  That was so exciting—so powerful, so unstoppable.”

Their dad looked puzzled by the irrelevance of her answer.  Gabriel couldn’t believe his luck.  If he played it right, he could convince his dad that now was the time for a decision.  It certainly looked bad for Helen.  She was drunk right now, failing school, and suspected of destroying property and lying about it.  Helen, meanwhile, realized that sentimental manipulation was not going to work and groped in her addled brain for the right answer.

She said, “That accident did leave a big dent in the hull.  Is… Is there a dent in the hull?”  She  looked over the side where the kayak was, even though she had just come up that way.

Again, she acted like an eight-year-old child.  He might have ribbed her before, but today he wanted his parents to be serious.  He put his hand on the book under the cushion where he was still sitting.  In the past, his dad would make him stand up for this kind of thing, but now that he was 19, he did not have to.  He could watch and wait for Helen to sink her own ship.

“Yes, there is a dent, but more important is the damage to the other boat.”  

Helen hung her head and shuffled her feet and certainly looked guilty.  “That’s too bad,” she mumbled.  “And Gabe is right.  I was… at a party.  But inland!  No where near the water.  At least, not very near.  Maybe a couple of blocks from the beach…. I’m not sure.”

While she was getting her story together, Gabriel got up with the book in hand.  Just then a wake hit the Tarsus and he stumbled.  His dad put his hand back on the wall, right next to where the gaffing hook snapped into a special bracket.  Helen had to be reeled into the real world and she would fight all the way.

“Dad,” he said, “there’s something you should see.”

“Why are you giving me this?” asked his dad when he realized that it was Helen’s report card.

Gabriel puffed out his “Grierson’s Bay Sailing Championship” t-shirt and said, “I-I found it on accident and thought you should know now rather than later.”

His dad turned to Helen.  “What do you have to say about this?  What about the accident?  What about the spending and the drinking?  What about all the help you have had?” 

She pleaded.  She blamed.  She made excuses.  She flopped around like the eel that would not die.  Gabriel sat on the edge of his lounge chair, head bowed over clasped hands in a sorrowful pose.  His dad continued, “You have to get a job.  Finish your classes if you want.  They are already paid for.  You have to move out and get a roommate.  For God’s sake, get someone sensible.”  She would even have to pay back the damage from the accident.  The more she protested her innocence, the more implacable her father became.  “Honey, it doesn’t matter if you did it or not.  In this case you have to pay me back.  There were lots of other cases when you didn’t have to.  Don’t tell me you can’t do it.  You can do it.  You show up for work, do a good job, and people pay you.  Simple as that.  Like when you were a lifeguard.  I believe in you.”

His dad fingered two rope cords around his neck.  He was wearing the same t-shirt that Gabriel was, from the same race at Grierson’s Bay.  To one cord was attached a razor sharp knife shaped like a tiny harpoon and from the other hung his Naval Academy class ring.  Surely he would not give her the knife.  She might hurt herself.  Plus, she already had one.  And the ring?  It was his pride and joy.  He took the ring off and stood holding it, considering.

“No, Dad,” Gabriel jumped to his feet.  “You can’t give her that.  She might sell it.”

“Oh right,” said his father, putting the rope back around his neck.  Gabriel started to sit back down as his father pulled keys from his pocket and flipped through them.

“Gabriel,” he said softly, “Stand up.  When someone faces judgement, they stand.”

Gabriel did not understand, because Helen was already standing.  The keys scrolled by for the marina, the Tarsus, the gate, the storage shed, the chunky black key for the minivan, the 1965 Corvette Stingray.  His dad selected a key and started prying it off the ring.  It could have been the storage shed or the Stingray.  They looked the same.  A thrill shivered through him.  His dad was going to give him the car as his just reward for all his years of hard work.

But he didn’t.  He gave the key to the Stingray to his sister.

At that moment Gabriel could have murdered them both.  The gaffing hook was right there and if he took out his father first, his sister would be easy.

“But Dad,” he said.  “That isn’t fair.”

“Son, what isn’t fair is that Helen has lost everything and her brother begrudges her a worthless ring.”

Very Short Story: The Springturn Inheritance

Felicity walked into the office, fabulous and confident like always.  Elaine was expecting her sister, but not the two lawyers who were with her.  Even though this was Elaine´s office, Felicity took over, motioning the lawyers to wait and leading the way into the conference room.  

Felicity got right to business.  ¨Aunt Matilda died.  That means that you are the new Duchess of Springturn.¨  Felicity pushed a black ribbon across the table.  She paused for a moment to run her finger over the gold embroidery of the Springturn crest.  “Aunt Matilda loved Springturn.”

Elaine knew she was supposed to te the ribbon on her arm, or have Felicity do it for her, but she hesitated.  She looked up instead at the map of the world peppered with red dots for every office of her company.  Springturn was a blank spot on the map, with not a single dot.  Elaine worked in the capital of the country, a country in which Springturn was a border state with nothing going on besides agriculture and immigration problems.  All she could imagine of her future there were chaotic meetings with unprofessional people shouting at her about immigrants having rights (or not) and about people cheating on livestock subsidies.  She had seen it on TV.  Aunt Matilda was unruffled.  Elaine held her arm out to Felicity to tie on the ribbon.  “Wow,” she said.  “I don’t know what to say.  What happens now?”

Felicity spelled it out.  “The lawyers are here to do their thing.  The funeral is the day after tomorrow.  We should go now, but, I guess you probably have stuff to do here.  You should make a statement…. What’s the matter?  Do you want me to write it for you?… Then you will need to be in Springville to ‘receive condolences.’  Then you will need to go out and meet people, like a tour…. Don’t look so horrified!  People will love you.  You are so organized.  You are going to be an amazing Duchess.  Did you see Aunt Matilda’s new office?  It is much nicer than here, with a view of the lake and the countryside.  You can even see Mt. Beetle on a clear day.”

Elaine pulled Felicity into a hug, mostly to hide her emotions, which were running along the lines of, ‘over my dead body will Mt. Beetle be visible on a clear day.’  She told Felicity she was feeling overwhelmed and would Felicity please send in the lawyers.  She needed to talk to them alone.

She sat them down opposite her after the handshakes and condolences and said, “Sell it.  Sell the title.  Sell the property.”

A Competent Princess, Part 2 of 2

     A girl almost grown was the last refugee to enter the gate as it closed against the siege.  Lady Grace, Lord Grant and Princess Mainsail held their breath as metal, stone and wood reverberated together. A  last shower of clay dust from the swallow nests sifted down and billowed in the light of the watchtower.  Once the solemn moment had passed, the three regarded the newcomer.

     "Send word to have her brought up," Lord Grant said to an orderly.

     "But she's a refugee," said the princess.  "The poor things are too shell-shocked to be any use."

     "She's not shell-shocked.  She's taking in every detail and arguing with the guard."

     "But she's a commoner from Rocky Point.  The weave of their skirts is so gaudy, not at all the practical clothing we have here.  Comfort is most important, I always say."

     "She's educated and well-born.   Look how the guard won't touch her how he advises her to go to the Horse Gate but she won't go."

     "But that could just mean she's ill-bred and stubborn.  I shall have a word with her."

    

     By that time the girl had been brought up.  Lord Grant tried to interview her while the princess interrupted.

     "Where do you come from?" asked Lord Grant.

     "She comes from Rocky Point," answered the princess.

     "Yes, My Lord," the girl agreed.

     "Where is the enemy army?"

     "They are four days away," supplied the princess.

     "At your gate.  They will be here tomorrow," corrected the girl.  

     "How did you escape?"

     "Her parents sent her, which reminds me that we must prepare to flee the city.  Summon everyone here to the gate."

     "I was not in the city, because I am a scout."

     The conversation proceeded in a similar manner for what seemed to Lord Grant an eternity, but he learned what he needed about the enemy position, numbers, and tactics.

     The girl said finally, "With your permission, My Lady, I will take a horse and go on to Running River."

     "And sleep on the cold ground?  Now, Girl, don't be silly." said the princess, "Go down to the kitchen, sleep by the warm fire and Cook will give you something to do."

     Lord Grant nodded pointedly as Girl opened her mouth to argue, and with a snap of his fingers, sent her off with a guard until the princess forgot about her.

     "Now I must see to my people," sighed the princess.  Even the swallows were still as she stepped from the parapet and made her way grandly down the steps.  She wore a cloak, fancier than her comfortable dress, that spread out behind her.

     "I have not done enough, but I hope you will remember me fondly.  Now you have some time with your families."  She reached the bottom of the stairs and greeted people by name:  "Jane Tanner, God be with you.  Missy Cooper, keep little William close.  Mother Box, I will not forget you."  Then to the astonishment of Lord Grant, all three knealt down to kiss the hem of Princess Mainsail's cloak.  Poxum Crossing was a free city; people did not kneel to the princess.  One after another, the townspeople said their tearful goodbyes.  "You were always in the street, never proud and aloof.  You made me welcome in the castle.  You visited when I was sick.  You gave wool in a harsh winter.  We love you.  I love you."

     The princess stopped at the road leading to the stable, where mounted riders watched the tearful scene and listened to what she had to say.  "The enemy is strong," the princess continued.  "We are not prepared.  But life goes on.  Those who want to leave should prepare to leave.  That's all."

     There was no rush to leave.  After a moment a voice rang from above, from one of the riders.  "That was a TERRIBLE speech.  You haven't even lost yet.  FIGHT!  Fight for your homes!  Fight for your princess!  Sound the horn, summon your huntsmen to Lord Grant."

     Girl dropped from her horse and took the princess by the arm.  "Come, My Lady, I'm sure cook can find some work for you in the kitchen."  

Fiction: A Competent Princess

A Competent Princess

Once upon a time, there was a very silly princess.  Princess Mainsail was slightly overweight and winded from climbing up the parapet with Lord Grant.  Below was the gate, her townspeople, and a small but noteworthy straggle of refugees.  A swallow zipped by her head, or possible a bat, which startled her into looking up.  She shielded her eyes for a moment from the light burning brightly from the watchtower. From the watchtower, Lord Grant told her to look north, as if that would explain why he had dragged her up here.
"The sunset, Lord Grant?" she asked, petulant, but trying to be polite.  There was a pronounced burning glow.
"That is NORTH, My Lady," whispered the lady in waiting, Lady Grace.  "The refugees are coming from Rocky Point."
"Oh yes," answered the Princess, "all those unfortunate people at the Horse Gate.  I have been thinking about how to put them to work.  One told me she is a smith.  How useful!"  The princess noticed for the first time a sword mounted on the wall, along with assorted other weapons.
"A blacksmith, My Lady?" said Lord Grant.  "The smith would have stayed to defend Rocky Point."
"The daughter of the smith, then," the Princess conceded.  "I'm sure our smith can find a use for her, though she is a timid little thing..."
"My Lady," interrupted Lord Grant, "Her city is burning, her family lost, and the enemy is four days' march from here.  The training of future blacksmiths is not our first concern.  We must shut the gate."
"Certainly not!  Not in 30 years has it been shut.  From my father's time we have been a free city, with an open gate."  After a brief silence, she went on, "What exactly is it you do, Lord Grant?  I see that you are a military man, though why we need so many weapons is hard to understand.  Why can't we all get along?..."
Lady Grace apologized to Lord Grant, "I always told her to pay attention in council meetings, but she was always preoccupied with her dog, or her banker, or the new footstool she was having made."
"...This is a very fine horn," Princess Mainsail was still talking.  She twirled the long, curved horn into the 'carry arms' position and straightened her shoulders.  "I will go out to talk to them."
"Rocky Point is burning.  They are not here to talk."
"Then you go out and fight."
"They have more troops and we have the advantage of a fine wall, except for one weakness."
"Which is?"
"The gate."
"Well then, shut the gate!"
"Yes, My Lady.  If you would please, sound the horn...Not yet!  Outside."
At the blast of the horn, Lady Grace saw clearly that the flying darts were swallows, and that their clay nests were built into the crevice between the doors of the gate and the surrounding wall.  "My Lady, the swallow nests will be destroyed!"
Princess Mainsail, now that she had decided to shut the gate, forgot that she had ever opposed it.  "Don't be sentimental.  One of you will fly away homeless:  you or the swallows.  Lord Grant, in my experience, it is better to be prepared.  When I go for a picnic, I check to make sure everything is working.  The groom checks the carriages, the porter checks the baskets.  We can't have the handle breaking after all.  We can't have anyone being bitten by spiders, but that's just me."
"Very wise, thank you, My Lady."

Tomorrow:  Princess Mainsail gives a very bad speech.

Fiction: A Worthy Bride

From Angela:  I feel like I'm launching a child out into the world!  Here's a little short story, of 500 words, more or less, which is what I can write in a day.  Don't feel obligated to read it; there's no pop quiz, but tell me what you think!  I'm hitting send...

The two bridesmaids sat at the reception table as the lights dimmed and the candles danced.  One, whom I will call Sospechosa, was gloomy about the wedding because she didn't much like the bride.  After all, people are intrinsically worthy of marriage or not worthy based on character.  The other, Embrace, was satisfied, because no one is one-hundred percent worthy.  Everyone contributes what they contribute at whatever level.  It turned out that both were right.
"Why did Charming throw the bouquet to me?" mused the one with hair like a medieval princess, Sospechosa.  "I'm not the one with a boyfriend.  She must want something from me, but I can't think what."
"How about friendship," suggested Embrace, whose boyfriend was on the dance floor with one cousin after another.  "What I don't understand is why you agreed to be a bridesmaid."
"I agreed for the same reason you did, because there wasn't anyone else," replied Sospechosa.
"You are wrong about that.  I agreed because the groom is my brother."  The music stopped and the groom, in snazzy black from his cuff links to his collar buttons to his capped-toe boots, called for attention.  "They are going to toast each other.  Isn't that sweet?" whispered Embrace.
Sospechosa didn't think so and rolled her eyes.
"I will never forget the day I met Charming," said The Black Knight.  "We were at The Irish Pub, and a completely stranger grabbed my sister's arm and nearly fainted.  That was Charming.  She was terrified because she had seen her ex.  He came to the restaurant even though she had a restraining order against him.  She was afraid he would kill her if he saw her.  It was love at first sight.  I knew I would do anything to protect her."
Sospechosa kept up a whispered commentary.  ("The bartender said the ex brought her there once, and now she kept coming around.")
"Charming said she was staying at a shelter, " continued The Black Knight.
("She was staying at her parents'," said Sospechosa.)
"And could not give me her number," said The Black Knight.  "That was the longest month of my life, though we did manage to see each other a couple of times."
("She feared for her life and couldn´t go out, but she could go out to the Irish Pub.")
"A toast to Charming!" he cried.  Everyone toasted, "To Charming."
Sospechosa silently protested by not drinking.  Next to the champagne glass was a commemorative coin with a seal for the Department of Commerce.  "Charming gave me this coin.  Her dad is some bigwig in the government. She went on and on about how much he liked me, about how those trade agreements are sooo complicated and he thought I must be sooo smart, and I was sooo sweet to let him go on about it, and he wanted me to have this coin.  The truth is her dad doesn't like me, doesn't remember talking to me, and doesn't know me from Adam."
"She's just being Charming.  Where's the harm in that?"
"She's a liar and she's manipulative.  She's not worthy of your brother!  Doesn't that bother you?"
"You are such a snob," said Embrace, taking the tolerant view.  "Who am I to say who is worthy?  Besides, you always idolized my brother and there isn't a woman out there that you would think was worthy.  Speak of the devil..."
Sospechosa turned to see Black.  "Hi, Sis," he said carelessly, while staring at Sospechosa.  "I came to meet Charming's cousin.  It looks like I married the wrong cousin, because this one is stunning."
"You idiot," said Embrace.  "Charming doesn't have a cousin, that we know of.  This is Sospechosa.  You have know her since we were eight."  She mimed short hair and glasses.
The pantomime helped Sospechosa recover from her absolute shock.  She groped for her champagne glass but knocked it over.  She raised it anyway, "To a long and prosperous marriage."