Thanks, man. I usually don’t write stories like this, but the idea just punched me in the face, so I went with it.
Short Story / The Strange Bedfellows of Mr. Rich Maude
She turned to look back over her shoulder, and the world stopped. A slight breeze skipped amongst her black locks, flaring them behind her just enough to grab hold of the golden fingers of the afternoon sunlight and reflect them back brilliantly. The deep crimson of Chanel No. 5 shone from her lips as they quivered hesitantly for a moment before climbing up her face in the initial intimations of a smile. Surrounding her was an aura of white magnificence, owing its genesis to the light reflected from the windows behind her.
In that moment, Rich Maude understood the universe. He was at one with it, contemplating its complexities and reveling in the answer to the biggest question of all. For that small spec of time, Knowledge and Wisdom became the strange bedfellows of Mr. Rich Maude.
And then reality had its revenge, striking him, quite literally, with a Cabbie in a hurry. When he rejoined the world, machines of all sizes surrounded him, beeping and humming and hissing. The room was almost pitch-black, lit only with a strange blue and red phosphorescent glow. Silhouetted within that otherworldly shine, the shapes and shadows of the room’s furnishings were unspeakable.
Rich was quite terrified at first, sure that this was the last undiscovered corner of hell. He thrashed against his bonds in wild horror, turning about in desperate defiance until he slammed his head on the rails of his hospital bed. The shock freed his shackled coherency, and with it, memory. He could breathe again when recollection began to bring all the mental pictures into focus, chiefly the last thing he saw before the metal grin of the taxi. It had been a windy day, not cold but not hot, and the sun was beaming back and forth between the mountains of windows that must have been a pain to clean. And Her.
On the third day of his stay, the doctors decided that he was well enough to go home. The announcement came as such a surprise that when they came back with his discharge papers, he was taken aback, left assuring these specialists that there was something still wrong on the inside. They offered to run a few more tests, but agreed that his internal organs had sustained no real damage. He would still be sore for a few days, of course, but they gave him a prescription of painkillers and scheduled a follow up appointment. If only they knew! They were as blind as everyone else! The wound she had given him would never close; it would fester and eventually be the end of him. Where were the painkillers for that? For the next three days, he swore that the winds of despair sung only for him.
Then, on the eve of that third day, life returned to Mr. Rich Maude. He spied his dark-eyed vixen brushing through the melee of 9–5’s, stealing all the color from the drab combatants surrounding her, and this time Rich vowed to be ready. He planted himself in the middle of the sidewalk, despite protests from the flood of traffic rushing by him, and waited for her to pass. There would be no Cabbies to stop him this time. He would see this whole thing through. Events had been set in motion that were written in a far higher book than a Taxi driver’s log. She strolled toward him with a sure, confident stride. . .
. . . And breezed right by with the same brisk swagger. She passed without even a glance, and for a moment, Rich was terrified that she had forgotten him. But then she turned, exactly the same way she had before, and his heart began to beat from his stomach. A thousand clever quips burned to life and fluttered around in his brain. He was on fire with passion; he had to say something. . . perfect.
When he finally met her eyes again, the heavens opened up, the stars aligned, and the Fates drew taught their strings. He could sense the neurons in his brain sizzling, anxious to loose one of those perfect phrases that would straight away win this magnificent wonder. The words were there, near his lips, inches from instant gratification.
“Hi,” he spoke when she was near, and was instantly mortified. It was all wrong! Hi? What in the name of all things holy was that? “Hi” was not even a small part of that witty phrase that had been speeding its way through his bloodstream! He had to throw up!
“Hi, yourself,” she answered amiably. “I saw you get hit by that car. Are you okay?”
At first, Rich was incapable of speech. This was a sacred moment. The beauty of her voice gave him physical pain, and it was all he could do to keep standing.
“Yeah, I’m fine. It only stung a little.”
He wasn’t really trying to be funny, focusing as he was on keeping his voice steady, but she laughed all the same. He felt his knees tremble, and suddenly he couldn’t breathe.
“Well, I mean, are you sure?” she asked, and the concern on her face touched him. “Did you break anything?”
“I think the cab’s front end might need a little buffing,” he quipped, and laughed along with her.
“Well, sorry I didn’t, you know, help you more. The ambulance driver said that you’d be fine.”
Rich tried to smile casually. “Well that was awful generous of him. Thanks anyway. Not too many people would’ve even stopped.”
“Yeah, well, all in day’s work.”
“Well, that’s a coincidence. I was just thinking about hiring a bodyguard.”
“Ooh, sorry. Cabs are my one weakness.”
“Yeah, I guess they can be pretty dangerous, huh? You never know when you’ll be on Taxicab Confessions, or that Cash Cab. That guy’s pretty nuts.”
He was growing desperate. He had to keep the conversation alive, but nothing came to him. The silence was growing awkward, and she was quickly losing interest. He had to think of something, and fast!
“Well, I guess I’d better go,” she said after the complete breakdown of the uncomfortable little tête-à-tête.
Rich watched himself as he agreed voicelessly and shook her hand in farewell. What was he doing? He screamed violently at himself to do something, but his body could only watch her go. This simply wouldn’t do! His brain demanded that he act, and immediately. The most he could manage was a jumble of noise, but it was enough to pretend to have called out to her. When she turned back around, he rejoiced inwardly and walked over to her.
“I was wondering if you were free for dinner tonight.” There, it was out. Not the most graceful inquisition, perhaps, but it gave him angles to play on that he’d initially overlooked.
“Dinner? But, Sir, I don’t. . . uh, I don’t even know your name.”
“I’m Rich,” he said, and when she smiled, he hid his wince with a smile of his own. “My name, that is. My name is Rich. Rich Maude.”
She looked him over for a moment. “Really, Mister, I’m not so sure . . .”
“Please, it’s the least I can do. You’re my hero, after all. Come on, at least let me buy you dinner.”
Still, she hesitated. “Look, I’m really sorry, but I don’t even know you. I feel bad, but–”
“That’s just your conscience telling you that you should come out with me,” Rich joked, amazed that he’d thought of the line. “I’ll even let you pick out the place.”
She straightened up and fixed him with a smiling gaze. “You will, will you? How very generous of you.” She cocked her head in contemplation, and he fixed her with his blue eyes in what he thought was his most alluring gaze. It made her laugh.
“Aw, what the hell. There’s always been something about the name Rich that I couldn’t resist,” she voiced playfully. “I’m Regan. Regan Skye. Pick me up at eight.”
“Great, but, uh, where do you live?”
“That’d help, huh?” She scrawled on a little piece of paper Rich held out for her. “It’s 117 New Madison Avenue. The phone number’s on there. And Rich? Watch out for those cabs, huh?”
Rich watched her walk away a moment, stunned. He couldn’t believe what had just happened. It was all he could do to keep from dancing in the middle of the sidewalk. Had that really just happened? He looked down at the little yellow piece of paper and wondered if this was what archaeologists felt like when they discovered some new hidden tomb in Egypt. If so, Rich wanted to be an archaeologist.
After a brief conversation with his closest friend, he had to tell someone about this woman, after all, Rich began the pre-date rituals. He called Regan, found out which restaurant she wanted to go to, idled about for an hour or so, and then began readying himself, most of the time spent in front a long, rectangular mirror. Rich looked at himself at least a thousand times; the boy was bad. Brown hair, iced at the tips with blond highlights and styled in the dry look, combed just enough to show concern for appearance, but messy enough to keep from looking like he’d spent thirty minutes in front of a mirror fixing it. His shirt was a Van Huesen, a glistening cobalt blue, the sleeve buttons undone and the shirt untucked, to show that he could be rebellious if the night called for it. His slacks were heavily starched, black Dockers, the rigid creases falling atop a pair of well-shined Bostonians. He donned a thin, black sport-coat, unbuttoned, of course, and sprayed on a few well placed mists of Aqua Di Gio cologne. His clean-shaven face split into a broad grin as he studied himself. The boy was bad.
Johnny Reno’s was a little Italian restaurant around the corner from Regan’s apartment. As soon as she had told Rich over the phone that she wanted to go there, he’d immediately gone to the internet and began studying all of the language he could learn before getting ready for the date. He hadn’t gotten particularly far in his studies, but he was able to memorize and recite a very breathy “Prego” to her thanks for holding open the door as she walked in. She looked back at him and smiled.
“Mr. Maude, you wouldn’t happened to have studied Italian this afternoon because of me, now would you?”
“Not at all,” he smiled back. “I summer in Venice from time to time.”
“Do you?” she asked, in mock surprise.
“I do. I steer a gondola.”
“Well, you’ll have to teach me more. I swear the waiters are always talking about me whenever I come in here, and I want to know what they’re saying.”
Rich promised that he would.
Fortunately, the waiter realized what Rich was trying to do when he ordered in a very broken Italian. The waiter indulged him to his full ability, speaking very slow and plainly, laughing and jesting to pretend he and Rich were conversing, though, in truth, Rich wasn’t really saying anything. Regan watched with a smile, clearly impressed.
“Maybe one day you can take me for a ride in your gondola,” she said at one point, and the tip Rich left the waiter was outrageously good.
The two walked hand-in-hand back to Regan’s apartment, and after an awkward moment on the steps, she leaned down and kissed Rich deeply. It was the most glorious goodnight kiss he’d ever known. When she broke away, he watched in helpless thrall as she stuck the key in the lock and turned it slowly. Just before she pushed the door open, Regan looked back and smiled deviously. “You want to come in. For a coffee, or something?”
For a full moment, Rich actually thought about saying no. He had some naïve notion that once stepping inside the apartment’s threshold, he would ruin forever the angelic vision he had of her. But, when she left the door open and went up, he felt compelled to follow. He couldn’t let her go upstairs without locking the door behind her, after all.
Neither one of them bothered with the pretense of coffee. They continued the kiss from downstairs as soon as Rich shut the door, and in no time at all, they were at each other’s clothes. They both fumbled through the darkness, driven by their lust. Not sure exactly what type of woman Regan was, he tried to be gentle, at first. He eased a clumsy hand up her shirt and cupped her breasts, trying to be as passionate and romantic as he could be, but when she drew him closer roughly and bit at his neck playfully, he immediately discarded the take it slow notion. He bunched the bottom of her shirt in his hands and tugged it over her head, throwing it aside like a useless wrapper and pulling her back against him. She responded with a moan, spurring him on as he buried his face in her neck, alternating between kissing and nipping at her neck and chest.
They eventually made it to her bedroom, after a long layover on the floor. He had never slept with a woman quite like Regan. She was relentless, and not shy about exploring. When Rich rolled over after having climaxed for the third time, he was breathless and exhausted.
“It’s a fucking shame you don’t smoke, Rich, because that was fantastic,” Regan muttered, staring up at the ceiling. Rich managed a breathless assent.
She rolled over and lay on his chest, rubbing his stomach. “You don’t need an ice pack, do you?”
Rich laughed and stroked her hair.
In the morning, he woke before her, and turning over to see her sleeping, couldn’t help but dote for a moment. She was the picture of beauty as she lay there, the morning light casting a glow to her skin that was intensified by his memory of her as she had been last night, in the dark. Never before had he encountered such perfection, and he found that he couldn’t keep the tears from springing to his eyes. He would do anything for this sylph of New Madison Avenue.
Firstly, he elected to make her breakfast in bed. Smiling as he walked into the kitchen, Rich opened the fridge. The only thing resembling breakfast was a carton of soymilk and some bran cereal. Not exactly breakfast in bed material, but he figured it was the thought that counted. Besides, it showed that she cared about her health. Rich admired that. He’d always meant to join a gym. Grabbing a bowl, he poured in the bran flakes and soymilk and went back into the room. Her knocking the cereal from his hand and rolling over was not the response he’d been envisioning.
As the day wore on, Rich noticed a very strange phenomenon begin to spring to life. That secret electricity that had made everything so vibrant the night before seemed to grow dimmer and dimmer the more time he spent with her. It wasn’t something openly obvious, but he could feel it all the same. He tried, at first, explaining it away, but it soon became evident that there was no denying it. For example:
“I can’t eat ice cream,” she objected to his offer after a particularly romantic walk through the park that afternoon. He glanced over at her in confusion.
“What? Everybody likes ice cream.”
“Not everyone likes ice cream. Anyways, it doesn’t matter. I can’t eat it, even if I wanted to.”
Rich tsked and sighed as he shook his head. “Listen, Regan, you’re perfect the way you are. I don’t know why you’re on a diet, but I’m sure you can splurge this once, can’t you?” He almost smiled at how touching he knew his speech must have been, and he had to admit that the delivery was top notch.
Instead of weeping with thanks, though, or confessing her undying love, Regan glared over at him, annoyed. “I’m not on a diet, dip shit, I’m Lactose Intolerant. Dairy products mess with my stomach.”
“Oh,” Rich intoned dumbly and watched as the glitter of her aura darkened a little.
This was by no means the only occasion, either. That evening, as General Tso lost all his loyal chicken to the six o’clock evening ritual, Rich turned to Regan and took her hand. Relying on the spontaneity of the situation, he kissed her and gazed deep into her eyes.
“What would you do if I asked you to marry me,” he quizzed, doing everything he could to keep the desperation out of his voice without sacrificing the passion.
“I would laugh in your face and kick you out,” she answered and proved at least the first half true. The music of her snicker hit a flat note that made Rich physically ill.
It was a terrible battle to keep the smile on his face. “I guess I’ll have to sell the tickets to Vegas, huh?”
They both had a hearty laugh at that one. Rich went immediately to the bathroom and turned on the bath fan while he gave General Tso back some of his chicken.
The event that put out the lights completely, though, happened that very night, as he lay awake in bed. There, staring at the ceiling, he heard it. It was such a terribly inhuman thing, that snore. It was the sound of vermin dying noisily in the corner. Had she always snored? Admittedly, he’d only spent one night with her, but wouldn’t he have noticed it then? It wasn’t just a soft, nasal snore, either, but a full-blown pig snort, a regular Three Stooges act. He looked over at her, and couldn’t help but frown. How could he have missed this? How could she have been such a different person from one day to the next? Rich Maude rolled over and fell asleep a very dejected man.
. . . It was still night. He was lying next to Regan, listening again to her snores. They were louder, though, much closer to snarls than anything else; they’d become all he could hear. He could even taste them, waves of acidic bile combining with their rotten scent to make his stomach clench. Every sense was clouded with those terrible exhalations. Something just wasn’t right, and he knew it. This. . . this– thing–couldn’t be the Regan that he knew. Some dark parasite had taken over her body for its terrible purpose.
In that instant, he abhorred her. What had this snoring devil done with the woman he’d seen in the street, the woman that he’d been hit by a car just to catch a glimpse of? She had been perfect on that day, under the golden sun, when she had been the smiling favorite of some love goddess. He had braved the very scythe of Death to come back to her. But Fate had somehow tricked him. Where he had heard music in her presence once, now all he heard was her awful, phlegmy snore. This woman wasn’t his secret nymph that’d smiled her hidden smile, saved for just that one true moment. She was an imposter!
As the realization hit, he knew what he had to do. There was only one way to save his love from the cruel claws of Fate. He could see her, chained away in the dark somewhere, calling to him. She needed him to free her from this terrible farce. He was her only hope. Keeping his movements as careful and precise as he could, Rich reached back and drew a pillow from under his head. With measures of forced calm, he hung the pillow above the face of the thing lying next to him for a moment, anxious not to wake it, before ramming home both sides around its head. He screamed out promises to his love that he would save her, reassuring her as the creature beneath his grasp began to struggle against its bonds. Pushing harder on the pillow, he demanded that his true love be freed, that she be returned to him in place of this terrible demon. The awful snarls emanating from beneath the pillow sounded to Rich very much like something escaped from the very pit of hell. . .
Ripping himself from the horror of his nightmare, Rich sat bolt upright in the bed, panting in terror. The dream had seemed too real. He was almost certain that he’d really killed Regan until her awful snore tore through the room. Almost afraid to, Rich slowly turned to look over at Regan. She was lying on her side, her back toward him. In the dark as he was, it wasn’t hard to imagine that on the other side of that mane of black hair was a snarling demon. He saw it plainly, those red eyes, green skin, pug little nose, could see her ugly black lips as they rose in a snarl with every breath, revealing little sharp teeth. It was almost an unconscious act when he reached behind him and grabbed his pillow.
As he eased it from beneath his head, Regan snorted loudly and rolled over onto her opposite side, her face turned directly toward Rich. He gasped silently and held the pillow suspended, his hands beginning to shake as he stared down at her. Could evil truly possess something so perfect? He continued to watch her sleep, imagining that frightened woman in his dream, calling out for him to save her. How easy it could be. What if he really could be the hero and bring Regan back to the woman he had first seen swaggering along a busy street? Surely she could deny him nothing, then. As he gripped the pillow tighter and raised it over her head, Regan’s eyes flashed open, fixed directly on his own, and those dark orbs pierced the very core of his soul.
The vision of saving her scattered and Rich screamed and leapt completely out of bed. He stared at her for a moment, his mouth moving but unable to manage anything more than a few unintelligible squeaks. When she adjusted herself and turned on the bedside lamp, flooding the room with a harsh glow, the fragile control he had over himself was shattered. Like a frightened deer, Rich leapt across the room and grabbed his pants, pulling them on hastily and rushing from the bedroom. She called after him, but he ignored her completely, buckling his belt and running down the remainder of the hallway. His heart was thundering in his chest as he raced out the door and down the steps.
Once out in the cool night air, Rich tried to breathe deeply and calm himself, but he couldn’t shake the image of those terrible eyes. They were seared into his mind’s eye, blinding him like the yellow and purple spots from staring at a light too long. He had to get away from this place. He had to get away from New Madison Avenue, and now!
As he turned to look for a cab, the world stopped. Moonlight shone down coldly on her lithe form, turning her pale skin white in the milky light. A dress of blue sequins caught in a slight breeze, becoming, for a brief instant, a sheer layer of extra skin. Her blond hair hung pinned up smartly, revealing a long, narrow neck and a pair of thin shoulders, both turned slightly toward Rich. As she looked up from her purse, her blue eyes caught Rich’s, and the crystalline beauty of those icy depths brought a shudder to the enthralled Rich. He watched helplessly as she flashed him a broad smile, the red of her lipstick almost glowing in the dark, and her tongue peeked out, hesitating at the corner of her mouth before passing across the entire surface of her supple lips. The diamonds in her earrings sparkled brilliantly.
When she called out to him to ask if he wanted to share a cab, Rich fainted.
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Allex_Spires reviewed Version 1 -
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This 1593 word review has not been unlocked.
OweFiresRight reviewed Version 1 -
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Overall I found this very interesting..letme break down some of the grammer stuff I caught.
tsked?
is that like tisked?
“It was such a terribly inhuman thing, that snore. ” there is a subject verb agreement issue here I believe, maybe use “things “instead of “thing”? maybe throw in a comma in there after things?
another alongg this same line
“Events had been set in motion that were written in a far higher book than a Taxi driver’s log. ”
--motion that was?-—
I really enjoyed the tone here and the emotion , If you work on a f ew things like I suggested and submit it to a mens mag i am sure you will here positive feedback
thanks
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damadelmuerte reviewed Version 1 -
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This was an interesting story. I like your creative use of language like “the deep crimson of Chanel No. 5 shone from her lips” and “while he gave General Tso back his chicken.” It’s brilliant and adds a light and humorous tone to the story, which I thoroughly enjoyed.
The mysterious air of your characters kept me ingruiged with the story and this adds to their characterization. I think you could really go somewhere with this. Great work.
Puttothesword reviewed Version 1 -
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If your goal is to have this published in a magazine I think you are already there. It was an enjoyable and humorous story. It is sad but oh so true in this day in age how people are more in love with the ideas of people than the people themselves. I enjoyed this story even though it is not what I would normally spend my time reading. Your intro however was flawless and got me interested enough to keep reading. Very well done.
socalwriter4321 reviewed Version 1 -
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This will be the third time that I am writing this review as I was timed out after writing the first two and trying to post them for you to read. I will try to be brief this time.
I liked this alot and you do alot with it on many different levels. It is also evident that you have done a significant amount of editing as nothing stands out through both of my reads as being awkward or incorrect. You have put alot of time and effort into this story and it shows. It also shows that you know what you are doing.
The begining is such a dead on simple rendition of those Meg Ryan/Tom Hanks romance type stories that it almost becomes satire. It is as if you are mocking the genre with your dead-on approach of ease and parallel. This must be applauded. Your subtle poke-fun is well recieved.
I really enjoy the last 1/3 of the story and is truly what makes the story for me. When the female character goes from being the ‘need to be bed down goddess’ to the ‘satanic name calling snorer’ is priceless. From the time she calls him dip-shit and he wars with General Tso and the chicken the reader wonders how it will end. When the thoughts of the pillow come to mind you almost hope that it is not going to be it as pillow death would have been a let down and far to cliche. It is great that you go there for the split second though. And then, poof, he is out and in it again.
The revolving door type ending that you constructed is great. We can see his life as a whole series of these events and realizations and we laugh at him and at ourselves for all the times we have been there too. Overall, you help us laugh at ourselves and the success of recent romance films.
Great job!
R.E. Knowlton III
Lunsford reviewed Version 1 -
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I am a little confused here. At first there was a she who looked back over her shoulders, then it went abruptly to a Mr. Rich Maude. Is this ‘meanwhile’?
machines of all sizes beeping pitch-black, blue and red phosphorescent glow. the shapes and shadows of the room’s furnishings were unspeakable. . . . If the narrator hadn’t said later that he was in a hospital, I wouldn’t have known it. It doesn’t sound like the narraror is describing a hospital.
when recollection began to bring all the mental pictures into focus, .... the doctors decided that he was well enough to go home. . . . . Is this something he is remembering, or is he being discharged from the hospital he had just regained consciousness in?
The wound she had given him . . . . She? ... This must be a section from a larger piece. If it isn’t, it’s very confused.
face split into a broad grin . . . . ??? I have never heard that expression before. ‘split’ was the first thing that registered. ... his face split.
I liked the scene at the restaurant where the waiter laughed and went along with him as if he was really speaking the language. That’s good. It’s original and true to life.
Her knocking the cereal from his hand and rolling over was not the response he’d been envisioning. . . . . This is unclear. Did she do it deliberately or was it an accident. If it was the latter, I would suggest you elaborate. Describe how he approached the bed with a proud smile and how beautiful she was and how he was going to wake her with a surprise, but he’s the one who gets the surprise when she rolled over in her sleep and . . .
Okay, he met another woman. I am unclear about why he fainted, but I am assuming he could see it happening all over again.
It was an interesting story and I reflected on it as I read it. My conclusion is:
Most readers lose interest if they have difficulty following the story and this was difficult at first to follow. It gained interest when he met her on the sidewalk and remained interesting until the end. Humor … there were a few cleaver remarks, but nothing really funny that I could see. Yes, I know the part about her snoring and how he reacted was suppose to be funny and some might consider it so, but I just thought it was interesting. I am not saying the story wasn’t good because it was very good. Maybe I just don’t have a sense of humor. But I know what I like and I liked it. Good job.
MoJoRisin reviewed Version 1 -
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Good imagery in the opening paragraphs. I can easily picture the scene up until the point he meets the taxi.
A bit nitpicky, but “Then, on the eve of that third day” could be assumed to mean the night of the second day, like Christmas eve. You may want to change that so the reader isn’t thinking as much about which night it is as they are about the action in the story.
I think you hit your goal of a mildly humorous spin right on the head.
MizzKFizzle reviewed Version 1 -
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Haha omg I’m not done with the story yet, but I had to comment on the “giving Generel Tso some of his chicekn back” line…hilarious. Back to reading!
So this is what happens to the boys when they bolt out of the room…I’ve been there (should I have admitted that?) Anyway VERY entertaining…you held my attention the entire time, and you have quite the way with words. The only problem I had was at the beginning…the transition from being hit by the cab to being in the hospital room was too quick and too implicitly described for me…maybe I’m slow, but I found I had to really slow down and concentrate to understand what had just happened.
But I really enjoy your style of writing, and the idea was funny…just goes to show how fickle those men can be with their illusions of romance :)
pinestategal reviewed Version 1 -
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I really liked this story, and I think that is because it isn’t like “all the rest” I also liked the turns the story kept taking. keep up the good work
indigorax reviewed Version 1 -
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Unusual is definitely it :) What a unique take on love’s lost dream. I have to admit that in the first quarter of the story I was a bit bored and skimmed several paragraphs…and then had to go back and read them properly (at the bit where she was lactose-intolerant lol). The story consistently surprised me: for example, I thought that when he met her the second time, he’d get hit by another cab, or run over by a bicycle; I thought that when he discovered her flaws the story would become quite predictable, but the demon-infestation was a master-stroke. And meeting woman-of-his-dreams number two was a brilliant way of bringing the story full-circle—and involving the red lipstick, the fainting and the cab was a subtle device very well played.
The line where she swears was shocking, not because I’m a prude and don’t like the f-word, but because up until that moment, Regan is Goddess personified (although there are hints from the seduction scene that she’s not perfect). I wonder if Rich’s doubts would have begun at that point?
Also, I didn’t understand the reference to General Tso losing his loyal chicken to the six o’clock evening ritual. Later, I figured it was a takeaway?
There are some grammatical and syntax errors which no doubt will be picked up.
As a side note, Chanel No.5 is a perfume and although Chanel Allure lipstick, for example, has a No.5, most women especially will associate “Chanel No.5” with the perfume.
Overall, I thought this was an interesting, unusual and quirky story, with an ending that made me wonder if, with the blonde, he actually would use the pillow for real.
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