So this is a rare Thursday post. Actually, it's part of a series of posts, a round-robin of storytelling that would make the most hard-core pantser proud. I'm one of a group of bloggers telling the story of, well, I'm not entirely sure what. You can check out the first installment on Laird Sapir's blog. She'll also be collating the installments as they come in, so eventually it will be possible to read the whole thing in one play. But where's the fun in that? Follow along as we go....wherever it is we're going.
The Octopus Knows #2
He reached into the closet and fingered the heavy zippered garment bag. The white suit. The one with the sparkly lapels. Perfect.
Though upon his arrival, he saw that the outfit wasn't perfect at all. Marguerite was dressed to fade away, wrapped in a worn trench coat with her brilliant ginger hair obscured by a heavy taupe scarf. She sat shrunken in the corner booth, a half-empty glass of water the only indication the waitstaff at La Boulangerie had paid any attention to her.
And the damned white leather pants were so tight Simon could barely breath. A year spent living off of Pringles and cognac was having its revenge.
"Well isn't that just a cat pageant." Her eyes shredded his suit, though her voice barely made it past the edge of the table.
"Darling Marguerite, it's so good to see.."
She cut him off before he could finish. "Sit your prissy butt down. I feel like hell and your jacket looks like it was attacked by fireflies."
He slumped into the other side of the booth, discretely flipping open the top button of his pants. As soon as he could, he took a deep breath. "Alright then, we'll play it your way."
A waiter appeared, the high ruffled collar of his shirt holding his chin like a cup. His eyes were narrow and black and his beard was trimmed in a sharply pointed goatee.
"Hi. I'm Braden, and I'll be your server today." The waiter set a wine glass in front of Simon.
"I'd like a Coke."
Marguerite groaned. "I thought you'd given that up."
"Mr. Jones wants the octopus back." The waiter picked up the wineglass and turned to go. Simon stared at Marguerite, unsure he had heard the words correctly despite the man's pristine diction. She had covered her mouth with one hand, as if to hold in words she shouldn't say. Simon didn't breath until the waiter was out of sight.
"So that's what this is about." Simon popped open the second button. He wasn't sure he'd be able to get them done up again before standing. Maybe Marguerite would lend him her coat. Losing his pants in a restaurant was sure to draw unwanted attention.
I hope this has intrigued you. Look up Laird's post, and then in a few days installment #3 will be available on the blog of the wonderful Jennifer Oliver. Thanks for playing along!