What We Can(not) Keep
“Is Emma home alone, then?” Jacob asked.
Shaking his head, Daniel sighed. “No. . . Jazz’s with her. I thought they’d like some girl time or whatever.”
Jacob nodded. “Oh, okay.” Daniel wasn’t telling the truth, but he didn’t press it. As far as he knew, there had been no problems with Daniel and Emma’s marriage, but anyone could put on a show. And recently, his friend had been acting weird, seeming to avoid any mention of his wife.
“How’s work been going?” Daniel asked.
Jacob mentally shook himself, focusing back on his friend. “Oh, good. And you?”
They talked about other meaningless things for the next ten minutes or so. Jacob kept looking for an opporutnity to ask about Emma, but so far, nothing else had been presented.
“Well, I probably should be getting home. I don’t like to leave my poor Ava on her own with the triplets; they can be a handful,” Jacob said.
“I don’t think I could handle kids,” Daniel admitted, running a hand through his already messy hair. “And I don’t think Emma could, either. . .”
The last part didn’t even seem to be directed at Jacob.
“Speaking of Emma. . . how’s she been? I haven’t seen her around lately, and Ava wanted to have you guys over. But if she’s sick or something, maybe we could a make a meal?”
Daniel seemed troubled, turning his gaze to the empty plate resting on the sticky diner’s table. Swallowing, he said, “Oh, she’s her usual self.” His forced smile made Jacob even more uneasy, but once again, he didn’t press it.
“Well, it was nice getting to have some one-on-one time with you, and I hope we can get together again some time in the near future,” he said, standing to his feet.
“I hope so, too.”
They shook hands and Jacob walked out of the diner, casting one last glance over his shoulder at Daniel.
###
Daniel sat in his car for almost fifteen minutes before the trickle of tears slowed. With a ragged sigh, he wiped them away with the back of his hand.
Jazz’s car isn’t here anymore, and I don’t want Emma alone. What if something happened to her?
This thought finally drove him out of the vehicle and towards the small house. Simplistic but cozy in daylight, the shadows from the trees playing across its surface made it appear sinister and foreboding. Daniel didn’t hesitate, though, his thoughts on only one thing--his wife.
The door was locked, a great relief to him. He unlocked it and stepped inside.
“Em?” he called softly, not wanting to wake her up if she had already gone to bed.
“I’m in here,” she replied.
Daniel relaxed a little bit more, following her sweet voice to the living room, where she was laying on the couch. The recess lighting was turned down, bathing everything in its soft glow. Emma looked angelic, golden red hair spread out across the pillows, pale skin smooth and soft.
“Hey, beautiful,” he whispered, sitting down on the couch and caressing her cheek. “I’m sorry you had to be alone. . . I didn’t know Jazz would leave so early.”
“No, it’s okay.” She smiled. “It’s good for you to get out, see some of your friends. How’s Jacob doing?”
“Good as ever. They’ve got a lot going on, and from what I gathered, the triplets are hard to keep up with.”
“Imagine trying to potty train them,” Emma shuddered, causing Daniel to smile.
She sighed, closing her eyes for a moment, the corners of her mouth turning down.
Daniel sobered. “Does it hurt?”
“Just a little, not too much.” She opened her eyes and smiled at him again. “There are many people who have it so much worse than I do. . . I really am blessed.”
He pulled her into his arms, sobbing.
Cancer could not take his Emma.
Karis’ Secret
I can be obsessive but I’m not one to easily become infatuated. Despite that fact, Adrian Loose’s gorgeous hazels leave a searing impression. It’s been over an hour since the thirty-year-old rocker and I first locked eyes yet there he remains in my mind. Forever embedded as waves of mesmerizing gold, green and auburn paradise. The colors weave through my sparking imagination and send a deep buzz through my whole body. Worst timing ever.
All I want is a successful show. To make that reality, focus is the only lover I need. Besides, Adrian is dating a diamond studded movie star, lucky her, lucky him.
I turn to check the digital clock on the back wall. Showtime was in less than ten minutes. I breathe in deeply and take a glimpse back at my fellow Victoria Secret angels. Dark waves, blonde curls, high cheekbones, slender bodies, toned muscles, none a day over thirty. Some sway their hips to an imaginary beat, others pop out their legs, toss their manes and snap streams of endless selfies. Plastic. As much as I want to ignore the fact, that’s exactly what we are. A parade of contrived perfection, the earthly definition of an angel, the closest to flawless mankind can attain. Women envy us, men lust after us. Millions look to us as though we are heaven come to earth, yet our stories are not fairy tales. Perching on a flat, cold, hard pedestal can hurt. Yes, we hurt. We sacrifice and pay dearly and yep, we bleed. I know this for a fact. My right toe is gushing as we speak. I bend down to conceal it and stop the bleeding. Monica Snow, fellow angel and drama queen of the century, gasps a lot louder than necessary.
“Kare, what happened to your toe? Ow!”
“It’s nothing. I probably just bumped it.”
“It needs to be wrapped!” I start to protest, it has been a climb to the top and I don’t want to cause trouble. The only piece of advice my mother, an ex-supermodel, gave me was to never leave a producer with a reason to give me the boot. Much to my mother’s chagrin, my actor father was a lot more open about the ins of showbiz. He told me to be kind, sweet, compliant and do what the director of the show wanted. Always. Well, so far so good. But that perfect image was about to be ruined by a bikini clad string bean. Monica waved her bedazzled arm in the air.
“First aid!”
“Monica, please. I don’t…”
She ignores me, her eyes wide as she strains to get someone’s attention. “First aid! First aid! Good, oh good! Here comes someone.”
I plant my hands on my hips and glare. “My God, Monica, I’m fine. Please!”
Her blue eyes turned icy as she backed into a circle of other girls. “Woah, sorry.” I turn away from the eyes watching me and face the stage. I want to apologize. That came out so wrong, no matter how hard I tried to fit the perfect mold, it never worked. Mom was right, I should have stayed out. Even though I finally looked like I belonged, the industry wasn’t made for me.
A woman with a blinking blue headpiece rushes in to inspect my foot. Her name tag reads “Patricia”. A loud, voice hollers from somewhere backstage, “alright ladies, five minutes before show time! This is it! Five minutes!” Patricia’s sharp eyes dart from my foot to my face.
“What the hell happened?”
“Not sure.” Yeah, that was a lie. I knew. The super high heels they forced me to wear at the five-hour rehearsal had rubbed my flesh chicken skin raw. When they handed me today’s pair of crème-du-la-torture I didn’t dare protest. I slipped them on and “boom” the scab popped off. The woman’s tinted lips pull back, her eyebrows lift but not too far. Botox. Plastic.
She pats down her silky pockets. “I’ll try to find a see-through bandage.”
The voice hollers again. “Ladies who need help with wardrobe, just let Patricia know, she’s back!”
“Dammit Clark.” Patricia shoved a chunk of choppy blond hair behind her ear and took off in a whirlwind of expensive fabric. The smell of exotic flowers and dark notes of vanilla tangle with the scent of hairspray and heated hair. I glanced at the line of Victoria Secret models standing a couple paces behind me.
Most keep their eyes closed. Their wings flutter as they draw their breaths in slowly, calming themselves. Was it true that the immortal could be nerve-wracked? Did goddesses work hard to earn respect and work to keep it? Apparently. We had sacrificed freedom, bared our bodies, strut for men three times our age and here we all are. Chosen by the prestigious, lauded individuals who deemed us worthy enough to walk the God ordained show of fashion. It was our time to shine, to show the world how beautiful, perfect and valuable we are. To make normal women feel like they don’t measure up like they aren’t worth a man’s attention. Ironically, I feel the furthest thing from an unshakeable goddess. I despise the person I have become, beautiful on the outside but inwardly so unsatisfied. Apparently, plastic wings can’t hoist me above and away from the hideous imperfection dwelling within. My mouth is dry. My stomach is twisting into thick knots. Nausea sweeps over me in waves. I can’t help but wonder what the point of all of this really is. The voice screams again. So shrill.
“Two minutes!”
Patricia books it towards me, almost knocking over two crew members in the process. “Take the shoe off!” She hollers from a distance. I hesitate. Rude. She stands in front of me and looks up at me, her face beat red.
“I’m sorry. But please hurry. Hurry!” I step out of my stringy shoe and wait as she administers the bandage. The lights above us dim slowly. Waves of anticipating screams rise from the audience. Millions would be watching at home, their eyes glued to computer and television screens. Nausea. I can hear my heart in my ears. A loud thumping sound washes over the stadium, all falls silent. I hold my breath. Thump. Thump. Thump.
“Ladies and gentlemen, Adrian Loose!”
Adrian’s smooth voice trills as it booms through the speakers. “Just shoot for my heart if it feels right… one life baby it’s yours better do it right.” A suited man stands beside me, black earpiece tightly wrapped around the outer lobe. His beefy hands press into the ear piece. My foot aches as Patricia finishes stretching the bandage over the wounded area. The suited man speaks.
“Karis Burdett, you’re on. In three, two, one.” I launch myself away from Patricia and towards the runway. Nope. My ankle dips to the right. I quickly snap it back. The cameras probably caught that. I beam despite the pain and give the audience one less thing to criticize later. Opening the show was a huge deal that many would kill for. I needed to pull my performance together with the cards I have left.
The main stage tonight far outshines how it had looked at rehearsal. Awash with blue, purple and green, the colors of the sea and decorated with large, glass pillars. Utopian, Atlantis. A place with no wars or fighting, no disease or disputed presidencies. Only the best of the best rule here, the stuff of legend, the immortal. At least that’s what the tabloids, star news, and fashion lines scream. Too bad the average person couldn’t plunge beyond the aquamarine mascaraed and into the ocean filled with plastic, plastic, plastic. This deep-sea world is so different from what I imagined. Yet the ambiance is still just as enthralling as the day I started. So confusing.
The handsome pop-star stands at the back of the stage, his gaze washes over me as I strut forward. He locks eyes with me again. I can’t help but be taken aback. The heated buzz I felt an hour ago, returns. It amplifies as he walks towards me and reaches for my hand. I take it. The crowd roars. Rumors will be buzzing tomorrow but who cares? This is show business. This is what the media wants. Publicity is how we make the money.
Adrian’s voice dips dangerously low then soars to new heights. “Girl, I found you. Finally, you’re here… shooting to those stars, why don’t we disappear into the night, together.” As we walk together, I notice his hands are warm and soft. Security. Something I hadn’t had since dad left. But Adrian has a girlfriend! How dare I hold his hand! He releases me as I near the end of the runway. I pause at the end, toss my glittery dress, twist my hips right then left, seek approval from the crowd. Am I good enough? Am I good enough? Cameras snap continuously. My eyes wander over the packed seats, gauging expressions. My attention settles on a young girl with a long ponytail. Her eyes wide.
She reminds me so much of me at that age. Innocent, young, unsuspecting and unaware of the dangers of the stage. I flash a smile in her direction, wave like a queen then strut back down the walk. The crowd erupts with applause. I feel the warmth of million of eyes as they scan me up and down. Adrian winks. I flash a bright grin. The buzzing continues. I disappear behind the curtain, enshrouded by the lie of perfection. If only I could disappear from myself.
Untruths of our times
To be false is easy
to manufacture numbers,
feign reality with sheer certainty.
To erase eternal verities and values...
what type of mankind are we engineering?
half a century from now,
unforgiving books of life will not forget
our inability to judge for better.
indifference governs our conscience
we look unseeingly on those orbiting around us.
well accustomed to fold into our little bubbles.
so quick do we kowtow to a fine fib.
we think that's clever. yes, more fine than gold.
we savor lies like a fresh platter of a sweet course!
is it for avarice? is there a motive?
perhaps, it's lack of knowledge
that we must manufacture
testimonies sweet to our own ears.
Blue Steel
Warning: This includes erotica, horror, murder and psychological aberrations.
She danced her finger along the sharp blue steel of the glistening knife blade. She was overwhelmed by intoxication as the claret drops of blood trickled down her bare breasts culminating at the secret place where it all ended. She lifted one of her heavy breasts to her lips, licking the blood with her elongated tongue in a passion of frenzy. Wafting her thoughts through the inner realms of her subconscious, she grasped that the portal to her psychopathic needs could never be locked again. The first half of her life was merely a practice run for her future. The world was opening up to her like a ripe pomegranate ready to burst as swift veins of excitement coursed through her body. She realized that she could never look back.
Peaking around the corner, the man was mesmerized by her crimson beauty, drawn into her sensual vortex. Heated pink steam seemed to arise from her torso. Unable to resist her magnetic appeal, he meandered toward her alluring seductiveness, sucking the beads of lusty hunger from her wet lips. He became aroused as he ran searching fingers down her slippery body, searching for her center.
Her left hand wandered down his torso as he closed his eyes and moaned. Teasing, she lightly touched him and then withdrew, driving him to desperation. When she had driven him completely crazy, she began to frantically stroke his manhood as he lost himself in the epitome of his ecstasy. Drawing out her right hand surreptitiously from behind her back, she plunged the knife, warm from being pressed against her body, into his heart as she climaxed at the same time, rubbing his blood in erotic circles all over her aroused body. He never uttered another word as she tossed her head and laughed in crazed delirium.
Tracing her lips with her pink tongue, she wiped the bloody knife off with the black tresses of her hair as she glanced down at him, lying lifeless on the floor. With a burst of realization, it dawned on her that this was the reason she had been put on this earth. She would be unable to wait more than a few days for the next encounter as she felt the juices stirring through her loins. This fever must be quenched before it ravaged her body and she lost complete control. With mounting anticipation, she looked forward to the next challenge. There would be many more.
