Note: This is my second round story for the NYC Midnight contest. We had three days to write a 2,000 word story based on provided prompt. I am in Heat 1: Romantic Comedy, A Garden, A Pregnant Woman. The top three in each heat advance to the final round.
Brief Synopsis: A
husband and wife have discovered that the secret to sparking their stale
marriage is by going on first dates.
He
picked the name Marcus, thinking a Marcus would like art and be able to talk
about it in a sophisticated way. Marcus was a socialite, who had inherited his
sense of the abstract and a healthy stock portfolio from his mother, a
noteworthy patron of the creative arts in the Midwest and the heiress of a mildly
successful regional fast food chain. Marcus was a catch.
The
hands of his watch pointed to noon as a gray Subaru swerved to the edge of Grand
Avenue, rubbing its tires against the curb, stopping sharp, and, for the most
part, occupying two parking stalls. In a
blur of motion most reminiscent of a tornado, the engine was killed, and a
middle-aged woman shoved the driver’s door open with her large purse flailing
about as she exited the vehicle with the grace of a schnauzer on roller skates.
She waved to him before stopping at the meter to drop a few coins in the slot.
Enough for an hour, he supposed.
She
wore a purple skirt and a loose black top that accentuated her ample bosoms,
and he noticed her black high heels – totally not sensible for walking around a
sculpture garden and clearly not a usual choice of footwear for her. She
stumbled slightly as she crossed over from the sidewalk to the grass before
collecting herself and adjusting her purse strap.
“Hi,
I’m Valerie, but call me Val.” She held out her hand that had fingers that were
accentuated by long fake nails painted purple. He noted that the nail on her
middle finger was gone.
“Marcus,”
he said. “My pleasure.”
“Okay,
Mark,” she said, “before we go any farther, let’s give first impressions. If we
can’t be honest now, we’ll never be honest later.”
“Well,”
he considered how Marcus would answer. Her short brownish hair was imbedded in
patches of gray, but Marcus would never mention that. She was a head shorter
then him and could insensitively be described as stout. Way too crude for
Marcus to say though. He went with a shallow compliment with a hint disdain in
his voice. “You seem to have a wealth of
energy.”
“Hah,”
she said and snorted. “You charmer. Boy, you are balder than your profile
picture shows. You ought to have worn a cap or something. Your noggin is going
to burn like toast out here.”
He
ran his hand through his thinning hair.
“I
didn’t want it to be a secret or something,” he said, not hiding Marcus’s
sensitivity to his condition.
“Oh,
no matter to me. It’s not like I’m a prize these days. I do like that jacket
you’re wearin’. You look hip.”
He’d
went with a blue blazer over a checkered shirt and jeans, an outfit approved by
his daughter. He chased the thought of his family away. Marcus was a lifelong
bachelor. Offering his arm, he shifted his focus toward the sculpture of a
barren white oak tree. A tall brick building with broken windows loomed behind.
She ignored his arm, bullying forward for a closer look.
“So,
what ya make of that?” she asked.
“First
blush, it’s bleak and the building behind lends to that feeling of doom, but
the more I look at it, I find hope and power, as if to affirm that life and
love can penetrate even the most brutal conditions.”
“Holy
crap, you’re a smarty,” she winked. “I thought it looked like that tree from
that movie with that midget Frodo running around in his bare feet. My boy
watched that thing a thousand times.”
“I
don’t think midget is the right term,” he said.
“Oh,
and these guys are like those ugly creatures,” she moved toward a pair of
sculptures that crudely put resembled two thumbs with faces. One had a fiendish
grin with two rows of sharp teeth, and the second looked afraid. “Orcs! I can’t
believe I remembered that.” She snorted in satisfaction.
They
returned to the sidewalk that snaked around the large rectangular garden.
Sculptures passed on their left and right, and he paused at the signs that gave
details about the art. He mentioned one artist, saying his mother had funded
the work. Valerie fidgeted, impatient to keep moving. If he had to guess, her
feet were killing her. About half way through the park, she started to rummage
through her purse before pulling out a pack of Virginia Slims and a lighter.
“You
smoke?”
“I’m
sorry. I’m trying to quit, but I am just nervous as hell.”
She
inhaled, and then she blew the smoke out of the side of her mouth, turning her
head to disguise a cough. Despite the smoke, he admired the day – blue skies,
beating sun, slight breeze.
“I
drive by here all the time, but I never stop,” he admitted. “It’s quite
wonderful.”
“You
know, I like it, too,” she said. “When you suggested here, I figured it’d be
lame, but some of these contraptions are a hoot, and you’re kinda cute.”
He
smiled. She had an honesty that even a guy of Marcus’s pedigree would
appreciate. Maybe she smoked, and maybe her nerves had her tripping over her
manners and spouting everything that came to her mind, but he wasn’t going to
allow that to stop his good time. Sure, Marcus and Valerie probably weren’t a
match, but it was an experience and the thrill was in the discovery of both her
and subsequently, the things he learned about himself.
They
approached a ring made of tall panes of what he thought could be made of
plastic. Each pane was a different shade of the color wheel, forming a majestic
circular rainbow. There was opening on one side that they entered.
Inside,
a young, frail woman wearing Capri pants and flip flops was playing the violin.
Her clearly pregnant belly protruded out from below her tank top. Her skin was
tan and her hair dirty, and at her feet a few crinkled bills and dirty coins
were scattered inside her open violin case.
“What’s that she’s playing?” Valerie asked.
“Bach,
I think,” he answered. The violinist raised her eyebrow. He didn’t really know
music, but he knew Marcus would have known.
“Know
any Zeppelin?” Valerie joked. “Maybe ‘Free Bird!’”
The
violinist’s tune slowed, and before he knew it, they were slow dancing. The sun
beat down on his balding crown, and he could feel his skin burning, but he was
lost in the moment. They spun slowly, the colors of the sculpture blending and
penetrating his senses in concert with the song and the smell of her perfume. For the first time in forever, he felt filled
with emotions. Hope. Joy. Passion. Excitement. All the feelings so recently
absent returned and overwhelmed him. She briefly lowered her ear to his chest,
hiding the tears welling in her eyes.
When the song ended, he dropped a hundred dollar bill in the violinist’s case, causing an eyebrow raise from Valerie. She didn’t comment though, and she took his arm again as they left the ring. When they were a few feet outside of the ring, the violinist started a new song, and Valerie giggled.
