Infatuation

skull
Photo by Sue Vincent

“With all the money this latest book is raking in, we’ll be able to go on an extended holiday in the South of France,” Roz Taylor remarked to Valentijn Liske after he signed the last copy.  He was book signing and having his picture taken with fans at Waterstones Piccadilly.  It had been a busy but very pleasant afternoon.

Valentijn didn’t reply.  He stood up, stretched and donned his jacket.  He was ready to escape to his home in Yorkshire.  After thanking and having a few words with the organizers of the event, he left the bookshop.

“I think this is your best novel, so far,” Roz said when they were in the car.  She glanced down at a copy that was on her lap.   “I can see it being made into a film like the others.  Can you imagine how much money will roll in?  We can use some of it to buy and develop the land which is featured here on the cover.  You’ve always entertained the idea of owning a home in Queensland.”

Valentijn turned to her, “You keep saying ‘we’,” he muttered.

Her head shot up and snapped to the left, her eyes wide as they met his.   “What do you mean?” she asked.  “This book was a collaboration.”

I wrote it,” he informed her coldly.

“Yes, but the idea for the cover was mine.  You wanted to have a dead body with a smoking gun next to it but I suggested that you have a skull lying in a field to add mystery to it.”

“And for that suggestion you think you’re entitled to everything?  You’re beginning to sound like my greedy ex-wife.”

She swallowed hard.  “I thought we were in this together.  I thought I was more than your agent.  I thought we had something…”

“Well, you thought wrong,” he snapped.  “From now it will be strictly business between us.”

“But, why?”

“I’ve grown bored with you, Roz, it’s that simple.”

Color flooded her pale cheeks and her eyes flashed at him.  “It’s that little tart I’ve  seen hanging around you lately, isn’t it?”

“I presume you’re referring to Alina?”

“Yes!  I notice the way she’s been throwing herself at you and you encourage her.”

“She’s full of spirit which I rather like.”

“Have you and she…?”

“Slept together?  No, not as yet.  But I promise you it wouldn’t be long before we do–” He was interrupted by a hard slap across the face.  He rubbed his smarting skin, his gaze narrowing.

“You disgust me,” Roz cried as hot, angry tears spilled down her cheeks.  They were stopped at a traffic light.  “Find yourself another agent.  I’m through with you!”  She tossed the book at him, grabbed her bag and pushed open the door, slamming it hard behind her.

Valentijn watched her go, shrugged and then, tapping the glass partition, he said to the driver, “Turn right at the next intersection.  I’d like to stop by the florist.”

“Very well, Sir.”

Valentijn settled back in his seat, smiling slightly as he looked out of the window.  He could just picture Alina’s face when she saw the lavender gladioli.  Lavender was her favorite color and the gladioli symbolized his infatuation for her, a girl almost half his age.  And the girl who had cost him the best agent he ever had.  He hoped she was worth the trouble.

Infatuation is the most fragile kind of love – C.S. Lewis

This was written for the #writephoto Prompt – Bone at Sue Vincent’s Daily Echo.

Tired

“Do two walk together, unless they have agreed to meet? – Amos 3:3

“Wendy, you can’t leave now!” Sarah cried. They were standing outside in the church’s parking lot.  The service had just ended and Wendy was heading home.  She was tired and just wanted to be by herself.

“I am leaving,” she said firmly.

Sarah looked confounded.  “But what about the potluck?  Everyone is heading downstairs to the room we set up.”

That’s when Wendy almost lost it.  “We?” she snapped.  “We didn’t set the room up. I set the room up with some help from the deacons.  You were no where around.  I don’t know where you were.  And when you finally showed up, the tables were already set up and the food put out and ready for serving.”

Sarah gaze faltered as Wendy glared at her.  “Well, I was making sure that the singles we invited to our special program today were going to stay for the potluck.”

Wendy shook her head.  “The invitation is there in the bulletin and I reminded them again during Sabbath school.  You should have been downstairs helping me, Sarah.  Not because I am the leader, it means that I am supposed to do everything.  There should be collaboration between you and me.  I’m tired of doing all of the planning, the preparations and the arrangements.  When I signed up to be Singles’ Ministry leader, I was really excited.  I asked you to be my assistant because you shared the same vision I had for reaching the single adults in our church.  I don’t know what has changed but I’m left doing most of the work and I am tired.  I’m going home.  You take care of the visitors and the potluck.  Now you will see how it feels to be left holding the bag.”

She started to walk away and Sarah frantically grabbed her arm.  “Wendy, I’m sorry,” she said.  “You’re right, I haven’t been pulling my weight lately.  It’s just that I have been so busy.  Mom was sick and I’ve had problems at the office.” Wendy stopped, the anger fading away.  “I’m sorry to hear that, Sarah,” she Said.  “How is your Mom?”

“She is better, thanks to God and the prayers of family and friends.”

“I’m happy to hear that.  What about your problems at work?”

“If you give me a lift home after the potluck, I can talk to you about my problems.”

Wendy smiled.  “All right,” she said.  “Let’s go and join the others.”  She reached out and gently squeezed Sarah’s hand as they walked back inside the church.

 

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