The Saving Grace of Good Friends Yet Again, and Great Ideas From Total Strangers - On the Road #24
/
Hey y'all,
I’ve been hanging out with good friends in Bellingham and as nice as it is, not eventful, exciting, or eccentric enough to write about.
Isn't it odd how that works?
I also my first official event in the lower forty-eight Wednesday night at Village Books in Bellingham, and it was my biggest audience yet.
But I must say, I'm fast losing patience with the brick and mortar bookstores. So far, it's a lot of effort with very little reward. This was a gig set up by one of my best friends while I was careening around the Interior.
Just the kind of thing that keeps me motivated, you know? But being fortified with the support of Susan and Markis, I was going to feel like a rock star even if I fell flat on my face.
Village Books is an awesome venue, the best I've come across for doing my thing because they have a corner space with podium and folding chairs with funky brick columns and whatnot.
It has a very underground vibe to it.
They have readings every night, which brings with it a built in audience. I think that there were plenty of people who just come to the readings because it's free entertainment.
As the storytelling progressed, I had people showing up consistently, which felt gratifying.
Especially since they listened and didn't walk out...but I don't know, maybe I offended many with the concept of God and the Devil playing backgammon in Purgatory every Friday night.
Susan was the only one who laughed at all, and she even laughed in the right spots, but nobody joined in.
Except for her, I felt like I was surrounded by Puritans. Giving me the stare with their mouths clamped shut. Susan said the energy felt tense out there when I went into "Divorce of Vice and Virtue."
You would think Bellingham wouldn't be so uptight, but apparently not.
When I announced that the books were $9.95 and I'd be happy to sign copies, there was a mass exodus.
But two ladies, who had come in separately and on time, stayed behind.
Thank God I've had the experiences I've had - everything from selling spaghetti dinner tickets in my Catholic schoolgirl uniform (when I was a kid, that would be appalling now), to tending bar, to being a hiking guide for the illustrious Gastineau Guiding.
This event was the equivalent of the busload tourists who did NOT like me, and I did a couple of things any guide with a lick of sense would do.
Image by OpenClipart-Vectors from Pixabay
First, I focused only on the friendly faces in the audience. Then plowed ahead and let if roll off me like water off a duck's back.
I mean why torture myself? Besides my reward was quality, not quantity.
The two women who stayed behind and chatted with me and my friends both bought books, and it's always a reward to sell to total strangers because they got it because they liked what I did.
One of them, a introverted, young woman named Laura - one of those types who really takes in the world around them without giving anything away - gave me a great suggestion which I think might save my ass.
Because two books an event really sucks and I have 700 more books to move.
While chatting, I mentioned the complimentary tarot card reading I offered for those who bought books at certain fairs and festivals and she asked me if I really read tarot cards.
I said yeah, I make no pretensions to being a psychic, it was just a gimmick I did to sell the book.
Then she said she read tarot cards too, and traveled around the east coast doing readings at flea markets.
Flea markets? The light bulb went on in my head.
“Are the booths expensive?” I asked her.
“No,” she said. “They're really cheap.”
Doing my research on the Internet, there are flea markets everywhere!
And the rent is cheap....
I'll be at my first one in Seattle manana. Wish me luck!
Peace,
Montgomery
This letter was from a DIY booktour/roadtrip I did in 2005-2006. I had forgotten about this event, and how that went until I re-read this. Wow. Memories!
What are Your True Desires?
/
Image by S. Hermann & F. Richter from Pixabay
Although I couldn’t imagine how the centuries-old Sorcerer would be able to execute a seduction of a young and beautiful girl like the Patron’s Daughter, it never crossed my mind that the Sorcerer wouldn’t look like himself.
The Sorcerer had transformed into a Brute.
He had the physique of a carnival strongman, with course black hair, beady dark eyes, and the crudest features I had ever seen. His thick lips curled in a grotesque smile when he saw the shock on my face.
He was anything but seductive.
The Brute was repugnant and my doom was certain.
I stood there, at a complete loss for words. The only introduction I could make of the Patron’s Daughter was a faltering wave of my hand.
Of course, she was livid.
“What is this!” she shrieked. “Addie, is this your idea of a joke? You nasty little vermin!”
For once, I couldn’t blame her.
There was raw hatred in her eyes when she glared at me, but I also understood that she was frightened. The whiny tone of her voice had soared to an unbearable pitch.
“Not at all,” the Brute replied. “I am exactly who Addie says I am.”
Even his voice was different.
Instead of the Sorcerer’s resonant baritone, the Brute had a scratchy voice.
The Patron’s Daughter’s face was white and her eyes narrowed into slits as she looked the Brute over.
“I beg your pardon. You hardly seem the type of acquaintance a noble family would seek out.”
The Brute laughed.
“Of course I’m not. Where did you get an idea like that?”
“Addie told me you could give me what I want! She said you could see the desires of my soul! She’s a filthy liar!”
“She is not,” the Brute replied. “Because what Addie said is true.”
What an incredible feat of will it was that I managed to remain standing.
The closest I could ever come to describing those moments was an absence of sensation that surpassed numbness.
Yet I still recognized the significance that the Patron’s Daughter remained in the cabin instead of running away.
Suddenly I realized that my active role in the creation of this intrigue had pretty much ended.
I hoped the Sorcerer was as cunning and wily as legend had always described him, for my destiny was now in his hands.
“How will you bring me my true desires?” the Patron’s Daughter screeched. “That should make an outrageous story how you will bring me and the Noble Son together!”
She started to laugh, a humorless noise that grated on my ears. The sound was piercing, keening towards the abyss of hysteria as tears streamed down her cheeks.
The Brute said nothing at first.
I finally recognized the expression of the Sorcerer when the Brute raised his right brow, along with his penetrating and subtly mocking gaze. His step was almost imperceptible as he came closer to the Patron’s Daughter.
“Is that what you expected, fancy girl? To come here and find the Noble Son on a golden platter with a lavish ring as a token of his undying passion for you?”
The Patron’s Daughter said nothing. She scowled and looked away.
“Your disappointment should hardly surprise you then,” the Brute continued, taking another invisible step towards her. “Wouldn’t you agree? The gifts I offer are your true desires.”
“I’m here because I believed you could help me marry him!”
“That may be why you came, but is that what you truly want?”
“Of course it is!”
The Patron’s Daughter glared, her cheeks red.
But the Brute took no notice of her frustration and rage. His dark eyes bored into her.
“Really?” he said softly. “Do you long for him? Does the Noble Son haunt your dreams? Do you ache for him when you lie alone at night?”
I could scarcely breathe.
Although the Brute focused only on the beautiful prey in his sights, he spoke of my experience. That was exactly what I had endured these past weeks since the Noble Son had left.
For the Brute to speak of that with such intimacy and certainty pierced my heart, and the burn of tears begged to fall from my eyes.
I blinked them away and swallowed hard, my hands balled into tight fists. I refused to allow that release. I could not afford any weakness in such a moment.
But the Patron’s Daughter only laughed. I hated her even more than I thought possible when she did that.
She covered her mouth, caught off guard by the abrupt response of involuntary humor.
But it was revolting.
I could hear the malice of ridicule in the giggles pushed past her lips. Her shoulders shook uncontrollably, and several minutes passed before she could stop.
“Why is that funny?” the Brute asked.
“Because he was so boring,” the Patron’s Daughter said, in between sniggers.
“Of course, the Noble Son would be boring. Kind, considerate people are such dullards, aren’t they, fancy girl?”
This excerpt is out of my WIP, “The Shepherd and the Courtesan.” If you’d like to read a previous excerpt, click HERE.
Luring Her In
/
Image by Stefan Keller from Pixabay
Oddly enough, the Patron’s Daughter never admitted to rejection.
She spoke of the Noble Son every day, her tone peevish as she complained of his desertion. That was how she thought of his going home without asking her to marry him.
She mourned the loss of pride and the embarrassment her family endured.
She never expressed any longing for the Noble Son, or heartbreak that he hadn’t returned her affection. She was furious that a man she would have willingly married hadn’t wanted to marry her.
As the Patron’s Daughter complained to me daily, I learned that the lamented loss she suffered was her reputation of perfect unattainability.
As the man who didn’t care to succeed where so many men had failed, the Patron’s Daughter was obsessed with marrying the Noble Son simply to regain her cherished sense of self.
I was disgusted.
And of course, I had moments of malice. I relished that poison coursing through me as I listened to the frets and grievances of the Patron’s Daughter.
Yet, getting to know her had a bizarre effect on me.
Of course, I didn’t like her any better. The Patron’s Daughter was everything I’d always thought her to be.
Being in her confidence, I discovered how vapid she was. She lacked intelligence as well as common sense.
Not only did I understand why the Noble Son “abandoned” her, as she put it, I marveled that she had actually spurned so many suitors before him.
As beautiful as she was to look at, the Patron’s Daughter was an irritating, tedious bore. Once I knew that, it was impossible to envy her.
Listening to her, I also learned about the perils of vanity. The wisdom of that awareness would be invaluable to my future.
In the Life, I never fell into the pitfalls of lavish praise most women are vulnerable to. I enjoyed and received the ridiculous compliments that came my way, but I never took flattery seriously. As the years passed, I would witness the fall of several beautiful and even talented courtesans simply because vanity had been their weakness.
To return to the Patron’s Daughter, she made it easy for me to betray her since she was always rather horrid to me during our walks and talks.
As the Sorcerer had said, I didn’t matter enough for hatred. And I was too unimportant for courtesy as well.
Once the shock of rejection had worn off, her self-pity became anger, and I was the sack of meal she chose to pound on.
She never laid a hand on me physically, but the Patron’s Daughter was snide and insulting, and it galled me to tolerate these personal assaults.
So many times, I drew blood from my tongue restraining the urge to say what I really thought.
Instead, I clucked like a chicken full of sympathetic noises like a groveling handmaiden, and despised myself for it.
Every few days, the Sorcerer would appear out of nowhere.
He never asked questions, and he always suggested ways to increase her trust.
After one particularly vexing walk, I was in no mood for fresh ideas to get closer to the Patron’s Daughter.
Image by Free-Photos from Pixabay
“Just once, I’d love to tell her off! Maybe even smack her face.”
“You will do no such thing, Addie.”
“My tongue is sore and bloody from biting it so much.”
“I don’t care if your tongue becomes thick with callouses. You will continue being all that is agreeable, even grateful to be in her confidence.”
I opened my mouth to protest. But the Sorcerer held up his hand.
“That is what she expects from you. In her mind, you have no right to treat her with contempt. You do that even once, and you will never get another chance.”
“Why do you even want to seduce her so much? If you spent the time with her as I did, I bet you’d think her rather ugly after a while.”
The Sorcerer laughed, his long, yellowed teeth gleaming.
“I’m sure that’s true. But I’m not interested in her personality.”
I shook my head, while the Sorcerer tilted his head to one side.
“Would putting the Patron’s Daughter in her place really be worth the opportunity lost? I suppose that depends on how badly you want this.”
“You want this every bit as much as I do. She’s not even worth it!”
“None of this is about want, Addie, this is about need, especially yours. There will always be plenty of foolish girls, and I don’t have a vital need to seduce the Patron’s Daughter. It’s your fate that depends on this, not mine.”
His baritone voice penetrated me and echoed inside.
But even worse was the gaze that never wavered. I don’t think he ever blinked.
As I said before, I was never afraid of the Sorcerer of the Caverns. But looking into those empty eyes of his made my innards curdle.
“You need this, Addie. If the Patron’s Daughter doesn’t succumb, you get nothing.”
And there was no arguing with the truth.
For all his ideas, the Sorcerer could not advise me on what to do to bring the Patron’s Daughter to him.
All he would say is that some things could not be planned or connived. I would have to recognize her moment of weakness and act on it.
As usual, the Sorcerer was right.
Over the following weeks, I met the Patron’s Daughter after long, hard days working the fields. I held my tongue, nodded as she groused, and ignored her abuses.
Ironically, that perfect moment came from my suppressed annoyance.
I was in a dreadful mood when I met her that day.
The peak of summer was viciously hot, and working the fields had been pure misery. Even the most stoic of workers cursed as we dragged hoes, pulled weeds, and drenched the earth with our sweat. I almost passed out, and several others did.
So there was no holding my tongue when I met with the Patron’s Daughter, who was especially petulant that day.
“Aren’t you getting bored yet?” I snapped. “Do you ever think about what you want, or do you simply like to complain?”
I can still remember the pitch of vexation in my voice. What I said made me both aghast and thrilled. I held my breath, waiting for her to lash out, stalk off, slap me, or anything to show that I had blown it.
Her small blue eyes grew wide for a moment. Then she glared at me.
I had clearly offended her, yet she didn’t storm off in indignation.
“What!”
“If you want to marry the Noble Son that much, I know somebody who might be able to help you.”
“That’s laughable! How could you possibly know anybody who could help me marry the Noble Son?”
“The same way I came to know all your secret sorrows.”
The Patron’s Daughter sneered at me and turned her back.
I almost panicked when she started to walk away, but I knew what to do. What I said next made me squirm with self-loathing for days, but it sealed my change in destiny.
“People confide in me because I don’t matter. Just like you do.”
This excerpt is out of my work-in-progress, The Shepherd and the Courtesan. If you’d like to read a previous piece, click HERE.
An Intimate Tour of Courtesan Casa
/
Image by Michelle Maria from Pixabay
The Butler’s tour of Adrianna’s Casa far surpassed my expectations.
What I agreed to do because I was restless and needed something to do seemed more like an odyssey through a strange and exotic place.
We started in the courtyard before the front door.
The spring snow from a few nights ago had already melted, gone as if it had never happened. On this afternoon, the air was crisp and fresh and the sky blue.
I inhaled. The phantom scent of roses was still in the air, just as it had been this morning when the Wanderer left.
“It always smells like roses here,” the Butler explained, as if he read my mind. “Even on the coldest day of winter.”
“How is that possible?”
The Butler shrugged.
“I don’t know. It’s an eccentric quirk of the Casa, I suppose. But Madame loves it. The roses will start blooming on the south side of the house in about a month. Then the progression of blossoms will open on the east and west around the same time, and finish in the north.”
“Are they planted all around the house? I didn’t see any bushes along the back patio.”
“The ring of roses extends through the garden, rather than edging the house. There’s a lovely maze of paths between the Casa and the dormitories.”
Image by Thanks for your Like • donations welcome from Pixabay
The Butler pointed to the four-tiered fountain that I hadn’t noticed yet.
It had been buried under snow on the day of our arrival, and the carriage must have hidden it when the Wanderer left.
The structure seemed upside down with the largest bowl on top and the smallest on the bottom.
Mischievous satyrs and playful nymphs carved into the marble cavorted along the pillars and bowls, evoking exuberance and lustiness.
“The most celebrated sculptor on the continent carved this fountain from a giant piece of marble. Once we’re certain the warmth will hold, we’ll fill it with water. Probably next month.”
“It’s stunning.”
I ran my hands along the shapes carved into the smooth stone, and wondered at the concentration it must have taken to chisel with such precision.
There was no room for error with a sculpture such as this.
“The fountain was a gift to Madame.”
“That’s a very significant gift. This must have taken him at least two years.”
“Three years. He works on multiple pieces at a time.”
“Was he one of her benefactors?”
“Benefactors?”
The Butler raised his brows and paused.
When I shrugged and nodded, he continued, his impassive expression broken with a knowing smirk.
“The sculptor was one of Madame’s finds. She introduced him at her salons, where he made important connections. Now he’s famous and his work is all over the continent. So who benefitted who here?”
“I see.”
“Good. And you will see much more. All the art here was gifted to Madame. Many people found their lucky star at the Casa.”
Image by Gavin Banns from Pixabay
“Like the musicians on the back patio?”
“They’re a bit different. Madame has sponsored them from the beginning to develop their talents. But she caught their potential immediately, from the first moment the girls picked up a guitar. They struggled to strum, yet still made a melody.”
The Butler smiled.
“That was a good day at the Casa. Madame always gets so excited when something unexpected like that happens.”
I nodded slowly and stared at the fountain again. How serene it would be once water flowed from its tiers.
“Isn’t it peaceful?” the Butler continued. “Some of the maids prefer to pray here rather than in a chapel or the church.”
I stared at the Butler in surprise.
“Several members of the staff are very devout.”
“How do they justify working here?”
The inscrutable dignity of the Butler disappeared when he burst out laughing.
The boisterous sound of mirth set me off balance; and the gleam in the Butler’s pale gray green eyes betrayed mischief and a strong sense of humor; and in an instant, the illusion of the perfect servant dissipated and revealed the man.
“You must be joking! Most of their prayers are to give thanks and show gratitude for their splendid fortune.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You really don’t know where you are, do you? A post with Madame is the most coveted servant position in the Capital City.”
I was taken aback.
But the Butler’s impenetrable demeanor returned and he waved me back inside the house.
As we stepped in, the marble floor cooled my feet, and I was overwhelmed again with the incessant pink, the warm glow of the foyer and the stairs.
For the first time, I noticed that the giant chandelier was held up with six chains.
Two stewards were standing on tall ladders and replacing the candles that had burnt out or were close enough to the end of their wicks.
“This chandelier is maintained twice a day,” the Butler explained. “In the morning and early evening before dark.”
“You run the entire household?”
“I do.”
“How long have you been in service here?”
“I came here twenty-five years ago right before the Mayor’s office changed to our current one.”
“You were in service to the Mayor?”
“I was.”
Image by Werner Weisser from Pixabay
