THROUGH THE SHADOWS OF THE PAST ... THE 194O'S REVISITED ...

HI, EVERYONE!

Thank you all for your prayers and well wishes! I am hanging in ... hating every minute of my down time. Taking down an active dude is just not right. I'm no couch potato ...

Sadly my recovery will take at least six weeks! Not working out that long will surely take away all the hard work I put into keeping fit. I am very thankful that it's not worse, but I am angry that it will change my life to such an extreme. Life can be soooo challenging at times!

I wish I could at least write, BUT typing with one hand is so frustrating and TIME CONSUMING!

Anyway, enough self pity...  I'm a fighter and I will get through this like i've gotten through every other obstacle in my life!

I did manage to write over five hundred words before the accident for my entry for Denise Covey's, WRITE ... EDIT ... PUBLISH ... Another excerpt from my film noir novella ...

The prompt ... a vacation...

A bit of back story...  In 1947, a young woman, dressed as a flapper, was invited by her girlfriend to the elegant Palmer House in Chicago for a Halloween Party. There she meets her friend Doris and a blind date: a detective. He is the friend of Doris' gangster boyfriend, Marty.

The two couples get acquainted and dance the night away.... then, right after Liberace's performance, she gets abducted by Marty....

A light snow falls on this All Hallows day. 

A chilling breeze mixes with a soft haze which lingers over the city. Dim streaks wrestle their way through dense, gray clouds as the once dancing fringe of a flapper’s dress drags the pavement, tattered and fraying.

Scratched legs climb a cracked and crumbling front stoop. Hands shaking, Rosemary reaches into her purse and pulls out the front door key. Flashbacks of the struggle with Marty race through her mind. His rough hands tearing at the fine material of her dress; her feeble attempts to escape as he pulls her into that dark alley; and her screams muffled by his brutal backhand. The bruise still throbs as she places a trembling hand on her cheek. 

The door opens with an eerie creak. She drifts through and the subtle scent of rose water still perfumes the air. The artificial mink slips off her shoulder and puddles on the thread worn carpet.

What if ... 

She chews her lower lip. 

Over and over the scene replays, flickering through her mind like an old silent movie. The blinding light reflecting off the mile-long chrome of that black, glossy Packard, screeching to a halt; the two hoods jumping out, grabbing Marty, and stuffing him into the trunk; and then ...

She stares down at her beaded purse overflowing with hundred dollar bills.

His words still rung in her ears. “This is for you toots,” he said, as he reaches into his pinstriped vest and pulls out a stack of bills  ... “I can tell you ain’t no moll. Marty’s gonna get his, don’t you worry about it.” He smiles. “Take a little trip south for a while. Remember, you ain’t seen nothin.”

“A trip south?” A hushed whisper escapes from her lips. She picks up the purse. There must be over five grand in here. 

 Her heart beats faster, as the trace a smile crosses her snow-white face. “Why not?”

*     *     *

A wool coat drapes over a battered, brown suitcase, sitting next to an open door. Rosemary addresses an envelop and seals it. Tears roll down her face. She sighs. A chill runs down her back. At least Miami will be warm. 

The chair leg catches on the ragged pile of the carpet as she stands. “I certainly won’t miss this dump.” She looks around the room and takes a moment, focusing on each stick of furniture: the speckled brass bed covered with the thinnest of spreads, the scratched pine dresser with the cracked mirror, and the rickety table with only one chair. She shakes her head. No I won’t miss this.

She steps over the the smudged window. A hint of light illuminates the fire escape and dingy alley.

A tap on the door startles her. She spins around, holding her breath.

“Eh, lady. Did you call for a messenger?”

“Ah, yes.” She hands him the letter. “Please deliver it to the address on the envelope.”

“That’ll be half a buck.”

She grabs her pocket book, takes out a bill, and stuffs it into his hand.

“A Undred? A bead of sweat forms on his brow. “I-I ain’t got change for this.”

“Keep it.”

He scratches his head and knocks off his cap. Half-dollar sized eyes meet hers.

“Gee. Tanks, lady.” 

“Now, go!”

He snatches up his cap, looks up, beams, and races into the hall. 

“And get some elocution lessons with that money.”

She smiled. At least I made someone’s day.

I wanted to write more ... the vacation part is coming ... i hope to post the rest later today or tomorrow... Please drop back and let me know what you think.

Have a great weekend everyone!

A preview of what's to come ...