“He knew I was somebody, but he couldn’t pin it down.”
Wayne and Drew are in the Lilien’s vast fluffy bed. Wayne leans against her shoulder and says, “He kept ogling me when he thought I wasn’t looking and he bought all the drinks.”
Drew fiddles with the remote. She is pale and thin with her hair hanging loose and her eyes smudged with makeup. But even in a man’s undershirt and boxers, she’s glowing with some secret rapture she hasn’t shared with him. He rests his head heavy on her shoulder like a cat nudging for a pet. “You have to admit it does have a ring to it: Truman Faulkner. Moody and brooding, with little epiphanies of wit. And I played it perfectly. I even wore cufflinks. You should have seen me.”
But when you know somebody, you don’t have to look anymore. The shape of familiar faces stays fixed in the mind so the eyes are free to focus on novelties. Without glancing his way she tells him, “It’s going to catch up to you someday soon, you know. You’ll walk into the room and there will be all the men you’ve every lied to.”
But a body gets hungry for eyes, a body yearns to bask in the spotlight of vision. “I don’t lie.” He wants to yell at her, shake her, demand to know what’s going on. He fluffs his pillows and flops back down. “I play. It’s fantasy and it’s fun for everyone.”
A large portion of this chapter has been deleted.
To read more, contact me and we can discuss publication. (!)
Hmmmm. To me, this chapter feels like it’s not living up to its potential. What could it be, I wonder? Did you feel like something was missing?