Wednesday, October 21, 2015

Final

Rose's jabs at me while we were having our weekly candlelight dinner at the Oasis, that place of Nouvelle Cuisine fine dining and excessive pricing, seemed a bit labored or even makeshift.

"There's something wrong with your jabs tonight, love," I said during a break.

She took her time chewing a morsel of boeuf whatever.

She cleared her throat; this was always a bad sign.

"My jabs, as you so conveniently call my part of our conversation, have come to an end. I'm leaving you."

"Don't tell me it's Julian Dent."

Julian Dent was her posh and good looking dentist. I'd long suspected that something might be going on there.

"No. It's not."

She took a sip from her glass of Merlot and savored it.

"Someone I know?"

"Yes."

"Who?"

"Your brother."

Now that was the final jab. Like one with a knife. And it had come easily from her, sounding neither labored nor makeshift.

She rose quietly and walked out of my life.

– Leonard Blumfeld ((c) 2015)

Written around jab, labored and makeshift from 3WW.

3 comments:

rogershipp said...

Boy, she certainly is a cold hearted girl! But, I know, there are two sides to every story????

Sheilagh Lee said...

oh boy his brother? what a terrible blow.

Leonard Blumfeld said...

Thanks for stopping by and commenting, rogershipp and Sheilagh!

There are always two sides to such stories. Maybe I'll write her side some day...

Since this is all fictitious, I'll have complete freedom in design, including the brother character.