Sunday, March 29, 2009


Jack sat on the fiercely guarded deck and looked out at the misty mountain range, mulli

ng over for the thousandth time the irony in the Russians being his savior whereas the Cubans were his downfall.

However indiscreet his affairs, this subterfuge was a hundred times more scandalous – if anyone ever found him.

The two countries’ partnership, long ago abandoned, was just a ruse meant to end here, with him in captivity at their beck and call.

Jack calculated the strength of the guard closest to him and realized he was too old to attempt another escape with a simple elbow to the guy’s nose.

Instead, he closed his eyes and called up the memory of kissing Marilyn, who was also secretly there with him until she died –truly died - three years ago of an aneurysm.

Reaching into his pocket, he fingered the presidential pin, the last reminder he had of who he used to be: the much loved, revered, elegant, powerful JFK.

Thursday, March 26, 2009


Chuck closed his eyes, threw his head back and inhaled the heavenly scent that reminded him of home, back in Kentucky.

His nose and lungs filled with air laced with the earthy, mind boggling aroma that made his spine tingle and his brain synapses dance.

Scenes filled his head: horses racing on a muddy track in spring, old men with big glasses cheering on their bet, pretty Myrtle in her yellow sundress playing coy as he tried to kiss her behind the bleachers.

Smells could do that – bring you back to a time when life was good, before you knew better.

The squeaky back door opened and Chuck’s wife Linda glared at him, her eyes moving to his hand and what he was holding.

Sometimes I just slip, he told her unapologetically as he stubbed out the incriminating cigarette in her pot of marigolds, pausing only briefly before following her back inside.

Sunday, March 22, 2009


roses are red, violets are blue.

i hate "the man" and i know you do, too.

what's the real meaning of life?

It's just a series of seven year itch.

But it always comes full circle

Warning: Payback's a bitch

Tuesday, March 17, 2009


Every holiday was special, with small gifts to represent the tradition’s heritage even if it wasn’t theirs, but this year her mother gave her a claddagh ring.

It looked expensive and old.

Sarah smiled curiously as she slipped it on and looked into her mother’s brimming eyes.

Thanks but this seems like too much, she said, we’re not even Irish.

Her mother sighed heavily, unable to meet her daughter's eyes and said, we’re not but you are.

It’s time I told you, she admitted to a stunned Sarah, that you real father is Irish, so happy St. Patrick’s Day and don’t tell your dad.

Monday, March 16, 2009


Jackie slipped into the silky white material that cost her two month’s salary and pressed a peony to her nose that was part of her bridal bouquet.

He’s late, they told her, but she wasn’t worried since he always ran late and hadn’t stood her up yet.

He’s probably picking up my wedding present, a wonderful set of pearls or maybe a diamond bracelet, something better than he got his first wife, she thought.

She smiled and peeked out at the small crowd waiting for their procession, mostly her family and friends since his had sided with his wife in the divorce.

It’s him, someone said as a phone was pressed to her ear and his silky voice came through.

She stared, stone cold, then looked at them and announced, he’s not coming because he never got divorced.


Geread was tired of faking it any longer.

For ten long years he’d pretended to be a gay ice dancer because, after all, it was just easier to be gay in that profession.

Unfortunately, his local community were having a hard time believing him ever since the looks he gave Seala, his partner, and the heat that passed between them had become so obvious to everyone that he was ready to "come out" and profess his love for her.

He kicked off his skates and changed out of his sequined competition outfit into something manly and rugged then headed for the glass elevator that would bring him to the celebration party.

Geread leaned against the glass and looked out.

In the room below, Seala leaned into Rob, laying her lips lightly on his and Geread realized he’d have to fake it a little longer.

Tuesday, March 10, 2009


Joe watched his brother hitting on his best girl, the one he was in love with but wouldn’t date because he just couldn’t let one woman be all things to him.

That would make him dependent and if there was anything he prized, it was his freedom and independence.

She was “just a friend” but the guys all knew what that meant and stayed away from her.

What’s wrong with him, she asked, he keeps glaring at us.

Baby brother likes his bottles full and his women empty unlike me, he said, and led her out of the bar to a waiting cab.

Joe eyed up the perky blonde bartender as he downed his whiskey, thinking one night with her might be the perfect antidote to a broken heart.

Monday, March 9, 2009


Shadows of lonely pews dance like fanged monsters across the cathedral walls in the distorted light of a dying candle. A gray haired priest stoops at the church altar, his face wet with tears and sweat after hours of repeating his agonizing mantra.

“Father, help me . . . Father, forgive me . . .” Staring at the ghostly statue of a crucified Christ, he rubs his Rosary beads endlessly as blood stains his fingertips.

He knows what he did and he knows there is no redemption for it. No matter how long he prays or how much he begs, he knows he is going to hell.


She wasn’t the prettiest girl at the party – not by a long shot – but he was drawn to her just the same. Her free flowing white dress danced in the breeze, wafting its fragrance in his direction. She smelled of sunshine, lilacs, and heavily bleached linen. She reminded him of the summers he spent at the beach as a kid. He approached and stood close behind her, inhaled her scent, and watched the trickle of sweat run down her neck and pool in her bosom. He closed his eyes and knew he'd found home.

Friday, March 6, 2009


Elsa sat in the expensively decorated waiting area, flipping through a catalog of noses, vainly searching for youth. Her nose had widened and thickened through the years, as it does with everyone, the bulbous tip becoming more pronounced. Her husband said that thinning it would make her look Jewish. Elsa assumed he meant Austrian, since she didn't look the least bit German, Polish, or Israeli. Austrians have the straightest noses. As she sat later in the Hollywood eatery unable to get service, she pulled out a compact and pinched the tip of her nose, imagining what it would look like and wondering if she would get waited on faster.