I am using the last ten days of the #nanowrimoprompt to post linked flash fiction-ish, non-chronologically ordered, pieces here on the blog. Here is 21 & 22, 23, 24 & 25, 26 & 27.
If you would like to read them in order, they number as follows: 25, 27, 28, 26, 29, 23, 22, 24, 30, 1
28. Wedding
The ajar bathroom door cast a slice of light across the end of the bed. Gianna’s dress was somewhere among the mess of sheets. She had gone to shower. Unable to lie down, Franco had gone to sit in an uncomfortable sidechair and sip from a bottle of wine he’d taken from the reception. Not stolen, since he’d paid for it. He could hear Gianna humming happily over the sound of the water and he felt lousy – although he couldn’t pinpoint why. They were about to emigrate to Australia, an adventure she had grasped with both hands. Her connections would be useful; several extended relations were already in Melbourne.
He would change his name. He would build something, create success. They were young and hard-working. Gianna was easy to be around – he needed that. So why did he feel off? He took another sip. It had been a long day, that was all. Now he wanted a shower, the longer the better.
29. Race
“Ten dollars, Rain Lover, on the nose,” Frank said as he handed over the money to the bookie.
The betting area was bustling and loud – he loved it down here, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with other punters making bold, brave decisions. It felt symbolic, in a way. Fifteen years, give or take – that’s how long it had taken him to work his way to this point. To celebrate, he’d even brought Gianna along, who’d bought a new dress and hat for the occasion, and his business partner, Tony. They were off in line for more drinks.
A voice spoke up behind him. “I was told Rain Lover can’t win.”
Frank took the ticket off the bookie and half-turned towards the voice, uncertain if he was even being addressed. A petite young woman was next in line behind in a royal purple, slim fitting dress. Bare-legged, bare-armed, but somehow proper.
“He can win,” he told her. “And I wouldn’t gamble unless I was sure.”
The bookie ushered the woman forward, wanting to keep the line moving.
“I’ll bet on Rain Lover too,” she said. “But not that much, just this.” She handed over a lesser amount of cash.
“Good luck,” he said. Before he realised what he was doing he was fishing a business card out of his pocket. “Here you go, just in case we lose, you can call me on this number and shout abuse at me over the phone.”
“Thanks,” she said, flicking the card between her fingers, her nails flashing like the gates at the off of a race. “And maybe I’ll call if we win.”
30. Fight
After the waiter laid their mains upon the table, Gianna interlaced her fingers and put them down on the table in front of her, almost a gesture of prayer. Or control.
“I know about her,” she said.
Frank’s knife and fork froze mid-air. He had no chance to reply before his wife launched into her speech, reverting back into her native tongue to do so.
“I gave you two sons. I opened my house to your ‘colleagues’, looked away from your dealings. This what I get in return? You are a proud man, but I am a proud woman. You might be smart, but I am smarter. I have a lawyer. I’ve been saving up.”
She stood up and unclipped her good black purse. Pulling out money, she stepped away from the table.
“I’m going to pay for my half of the dinner and them I’m going home. You’d better come and get your clothes – unless you choose to stay. But say goodbye to her. I’ll leave you with that decision. You can eat my meal while you think. I know how much food waste upsets you. Goodnight, Franco.”
He wanted nothing more than to leave, but she knew him too well. Swallowing down his steak, and then her mushrooms – and he disliked mushroom – he silently raged, thinking about both Gianna and Violet. And the baby on the way. It was a mess.
Once he’d finished he paid for his meal and walked out into a sticky evening. Strolling down Lygon street, he stopped for ice cream.
Vanilla.
