Opposites Attract - PG-13
Posted: Sat May 16, 2009 2:50 pm
This was written, but never posted, for the relocation challenge. It’s a stand alone piece but could also be read as the introduction to a series of events preceding my story 'The Portrait'.
No infringement intended. Tip of the fedora to Trevor Munson and whoever else claims ownership of the Moonlight characters. A huge thank you given to Nutmegger911 for throwing stones at my errors.
Time frame:
Unspecified months after the marriage of Coraline Duval to Mick St. John and prior to the introduction of Beth into the story-line.
PG-13
Opposites Attract
“Well Coraline, what did you expect?” asked Cynthia, wiggling her toes into Italian
leather pumps. They had tried on every expensive shoe in the Neiman Marcus collection
and were sitting in upholstered chairs amid stacks of opened cardboard boxes.
“He hates it, he just hates it,” she said tossing aside the red alligator sling backs.
“It’s a glass house, it’s your house, and it’s a bourgeoisie pearl and you married a
peasant.”
“Why can’t you give him a chance?” Coraline shakes her head at the shoe clerk and the
strappy sandals he had found and was running towards her. The clerk’s feet were moving
at a rate of speed only a commissioned sale would warrant.
“Why would you expect him to like it or even be happy there? It’s just a building…find
another. It’s not like there aren’t plenty to choose from.” They’ve moved out of shoes
and are drifting though racks of summer dresses.
“But I like it, it’s a great house.” Coraline spins towards her friend holding up a green
silk sheath dress with a beaded neckline.
Cynthia shrugs. “So don’t sell it. Own more than one. Seriously, you married Joe
Average Dandelion and have stuck him in an orchid’s conservatory.”
“No one would call Mick St. John an average dandelion! Just look at him!” Coraline
said. Both ladies are carrying shopping bags and heading towards the front of the store.
The uniformed doorman opens the brass and glass doors as if on command, letting in a
whoosh of heat and stagnant night air.
“Ok then, you married a Ward Cleaver act-alike and now you’re surprised he’s not some sophisticated jet-setting vamp? One infusion of blood and you expect Howard Hughes?
It doesn’t work that way,” Cynthia lit a cigarette and blew the smoke upwards. “Do you
know what Howard is doing these days? According to the gossip columnists,
dating Ava Gardner!” she asked and answered.
“I thought he’d….” The limousine slid from its parking place moving forward to pick up
the ladies. A uniformed chauffeur got out. He opened the car door for the two and took
the bundles and headed towards the rear, loading the new packages next to the Saks bags
in the trunk of the vehicle.
“If you say change I’m hitting you with this shopping bag. Mick St. John isn’t going to
suddenly become a refined man of the world.”
“I’m not getting stuck in some little bungalow in Encino. Are you coming over or am I
dropping you at your hotel?”
“Thanks, it’s been a fun evening but I think I’ll miss the broody male part of your day.”
“Harold, stop at the Harwick.” Coraline directed the car driver. “You going out tonight
or is one of your special friends joining you? And why is it that men think they’re
entitled to freshies and somehow our supplies just get dropped in anonymously?”
“I’m getting into the tiniest of my new La Perla lingerie, finding the best-endowed,
sweetest tasting and staying put. It’s getting hot and I’m not in the mood to battle the
heat.”
“Then my advice is to start with the red one,” Coraline said.
“You did like that one didn’t you? See yourself in it?”
“No, I bought the ivory satin.”
“More Mick’s taste? See? That right there is another problem.”
The car drifted smoothly to the curb, stopped and the driver opened the door to let
Cynthia out. A doorman wearing a tiny red hat picked up the packages from the trunk
and followed her inside the hotel. The limousine turned right, away from the shopping
district and headed toward home. Heat lightning split the night sky into jagged sections
and then disappeared only to reappear in another location. Coraline was scarcely aware
of the trip or the approaching storm. She spent the travel time planning how to approach
Mick.
***
The windows in the glass house looked out over the well manicured lawns and deep into the mountains close by. The grass was mowed by a small army of Japanese gardeners who kept the outside groomed to a spit shine. A large concrete patio surrounded the home adding the charm of airport tarmac.
Coraline sat quietly in the dark of the living room. She sat without fidgeting. She had fed, showered and changed and was wearing a simple tunic and slacks with new shoes. Underneath the veneer of soft sophistication was the ivory La Perla lingerie set. Just in case. There was a lucite box half filled with a carton of cigarettes. When she sat down it was full. She had also worked her way through two tumblers of martinis laced with blood. It was almost dawn before Mick returned.
“Hi,” she said, keeping her tone soft and welcoming.
Mick did not acknowledge her presence. He kept moving past the chrome tables and the expensive drawings and paintings, his footfalls softened by the rugs. The art always slowed him down a bit. He hadn’t realized that his wife was such a collector when he married her. Of course, there were a couple of things he hadn’t fully understood. Mick kept moving. He had his own freezer in a corner of the basement; he was drowsy and he didn’t feel like taking any crap from Coraline.
“Mick.” She lit another cigarette and laid the lighter down on the coffee table.
“I’m tired Coraline, it’s time for bed.” Mick grumbled.
“Mick, we need to move.” Her voice floated after him, calling him back. She still hadn’t budged from the couch. She allowed the pitch and the message to draw him back to her.
“Why, what’s happened?” The soft pad of his leather loafers betrayed his presence before he spoke.
“Nothing, it’s just time for a change.” Shalimar perfume drifted up and curled away from Coraline.
“More games.”
“No, no games. Tomorrow we start looking for a place more suitable for us. Both of us.”
“There is no us. There’s you and there’s me. No us.”
“Mick, I don’t want to fight, just move. You tell me you wanted a normal marriage, a traditional marriage, well this is what married people do.”
“They move?” If he lived to be a hundred, now a distinct possibility, he would never understand this woman.
“They choose a home together and live there.”
“Moving doesn’t make it all better Coraline, this is not a geography issue.” It was an old argument, one that she couldn’t seem to quite grasp. “I need sleep.” He turned and headed for the circular stairs leading to the basement.
***
Tomorrow came and went and so did the next day. By the middle of the week Coraline was still insisting they had to go look at houses.
“The realtor found this. It’s an estate, and vacant.” The tone indicated she was excited.
“It’s still purchased with your money Cora. Why bother?”
“I can’t help that, Mick. Yes, it’s my money but we can’t live just anywhere, we still have to be careful and eventually you’ll have more cash and then we’ll move again. Right now this makes it better.”
“I don’t see how.” Mick said, but he knew this was a battle he wasn’t going to win.
“Please, let’s go look.”
Mick stared at the brochure the realtor had left. A brooding stone mansion with ornate iron gates was on the cover. A winding gravel drive led up to the house ending at the porte-cochere. Pictures of the inside showed the massive staircase and a library with mahogany shelves that surrounded the walls and ran up to the twelve foot high ceilings. Huge hedges and stone walls surrounded the estate. The effect screamed privacy and seclusion. The opposite of the glass house.
He looked at Coraline out of the corner of his eye. He was tempted. This house gave him the skits. Every ounce of vampire self-preservation said hide. Living here made him more nervous than he liked to admit. But he had also learned that his wife seldom did anything without an ulterior motive and the games tired him.
She caught him looking at her and knew…she’d won again.
No infringement intended. Tip of the fedora to Trevor Munson and whoever else claims ownership of the Moonlight characters. A huge thank you given to Nutmegger911 for throwing stones at my errors.
Time frame:
Unspecified months after the marriage of Coraline Duval to Mick St. John and prior to the introduction of Beth into the story-line.
PG-13
Opposites Attract
“Well Coraline, what did you expect?” asked Cynthia, wiggling her toes into Italian
leather pumps. They had tried on every expensive shoe in the Neiman Marcus collection
and were sitting in upholstered chairs amid stacks of opened cardboard boxes.
“He hates it, he just hates it,” she said tossing aside the red alligator sling backs.
“It’s a glass house, it’s your house, and it’s a bourgeoisie pearl and you married a
peasant.”
“Why can’t you give him a chance?” Coraline shakes her head at the shoe clerk and the
strappy sandals he had found and was running towards her. The clerk’s feet were moving
at a rate of speed only a commissioned sale would warrant.
“Why would you expect him to like it or even be happy there? It’s just a building…find
another. It’s not like there aren’t plenty to choose from.” They’ve moved out of shoes
and are drifting though racks of summer dresses.
“But I like it, it’s a great house.” Coraline spins towards her friend holding up a green
silk sheath dress with a beaded neckline.
Cynthia shrugs. “So don’t sell it. Own more than one. Seriously, you married Joe
Average Dandelion and have stuck him in an orchid’s conservatory.”
“No one would call Mick St. John an average dandelion! Just look at him!” Coraline
said. Both ladies are carrying shopping bags and heading towards the front of the store.
The uniformed doorman opens the brass and glass doors as if on command, letting in a
whoosh of heat and stagnant night air.
“Ok then, you married a Ward Cleaver act-alike and now you’re surprised he’s not some sophisticated jet-setting vamp? One infusion of blood and you expect Howard Hughes?
It doesn’t work that way,” Cynthia lit a cigarette and blew the smoke upwards. “Do you
know what Howard is doing these days? According to the gossip columnists,
dating Ava Gardner!” she asked and answered.
“I thought he’d….” The limousine slid from its parking place moving forward to pick up
the ladies. A uniformed chauffeur got out. He opened the car door for the two and took
the bundles and headed towards the rear, loading the new packages next to the Saks bags
in the trunk of the vehicle.
“If you say change I’m hitting you with this shopping bag. Mick St. John isn’t going to
suddenly become a refined man of the world.”
“I’m not getting stuck in some little bungalow in Encino. Are you coming over or am I
dropping you at your hotel?”
“Thanks, it’s been a fun evening but I think I’ll miss the broody male part of your day.”
“Harold, stop at the Harwick.” Coraline directed the car driver. “You going out tonight
or is one of your special friends joining you? And why is it that men think they’re
entitled to freshies and somehow our supplies just get dropped in anonymously?”
“I’m getting into the tiniest of my new La Perla lingerie, finding the best-endowed,
sweetest tasting and staying put. It’s getting hot and I’m not in the mood to battle the
heat.”
“Then my advice is to start with the red one,” Coraline said.
“You did like that one didn’t you? See yourself in it?”
“No, I bought the ivory satin.”
“More Mick’s taste? See? That right there is another problem.”
The car drifted smoothly to the curb, stopped and the driver opened the door to let
Cynthia out. A doorman wearing a tiny red hat picked up the packages from the trunk
and followed her inside the hotel. The limousine turned right, away from the shopping
district and headed toward home. Heat lightning split the night sky into jagged sections
and then disappeared only to reappear in another location. Coraline was scarcely aware
of the trip or the approaching storm. She spent the travel time planning how to approach
Mick.
***
The windows in the glass house looked out over the well manicured lawns and deep into the mountains close by. The grass was mowed by a small army of Japanese gardeners who kept the outside groomed to a spit shine. A large concrete patio surrounded the home adding the charm of airport tarmac.
Coraline sat quietly in the dark of the living room. She sat without fidgeting. She had fed, showered and changed and was wearing a simple tunic and slacks with new shoes. Underneath the veneer of soft sophistication was the ivory La Perla lingerie set. Just in case. There was a lucite box half filled with a carton of cigarettes. When she sat down it was full. She had also worked her way through two tumblers of martinis laced with blood. It was almost dawn before Mick returned.
“Hi,” she said, keeping her tone soft and welcoming.
Mick did not acknowledge her presence. He kept moving past the chrome tables and the expensive drawings and paintings, his footfalls softened by the rugs. The art always slowed him down a bit. He hadn’t realized that his wife was such a collector when he married her. Of course, there were a couple of things he hadn’t fully understood. Mick kept moving. He had his own freezer in a corner of the basement; he was drowsy and he didn’t feel like taking any crap from Coraline.
“Mick.” She lit another cigarette and laid the lighter down on the coffee table.
“I’m tired Coraline, it’s time for bed.” Mick grumbled.
“Mick, we need to move.” Her voice floated after him, calling him back. She still hadn’t budged from the couch. She allowed the pitch and the message to draw him back to her.
“Why, what’s happened?” The soft pad of his leather loafers betrayed his presence before he spoke.
“Nothing, it’s just time for a change.” Shalimar perfume drifted up and curled away from Coraline.
“More games.”
“No, no games. Tomorrow we start looking for a place more suitable for us. Both of us.”
“There is no us. There’s you and there’s me. No us.”
“Mick, I don’t want to fight, just move. You tell me you wanted a normal marriage, a traditional marriage, well this is what married people do.”
“They move?” If he lived to be a hundred, now a distinct possibility, he would never understand this woman.
“They choose a home together and live there.”
“Moving doesn’t make it all better Coraline, this is not a geography issue.” It was an old argument, one that she couldn’t seem to quite grasp. “I need sleep.” He turned and headed for the circular stairs leading to the basement.
***
Tomorrow came and went and so did the next day. By the middle of the week Coraline was still insisting they had to go look at houses.
“The realtor found this. It’s an estate, and vacant.” The tone indicated she was excited.
“It’s still purchased with your money Cora. Why bother?”
“I can’t help that, Mick. Yes, it’s my money but we can’t live just anywhere, we still have to be careful and eventually you’ll have more cash and then we’ll move again. Right now this makes it better.”
“I don’t see how.” Mick said, but he knew this was a battle he wasn’t going to win.
“Please, let’s go look.”
Mick stared at the brochure the realtor had left. A brooding stone mansion with ornate iron gates was on the cover. A winding gravel drive led up to the house ending at the porte-cochere. Pictures of the inside showed the massive staircase and a library with mahogany shelves that surrounded the walls and ran up to the twelve foot high ceilings. Huge hedges and stone walls surrounded the estate. The effect screamed privacy and seclusion. The opposite of the glass house.
He looked at Coraline out of the corner of his eye. He was tempted. This house gave him the skits. Every ounce of vampire self-preservation said hide. Living here made him more nervous than he liked to admit. But he had also learned that his wife seldom did anything without an ulterior motive and the games tired him.
She caught him looking at her and knew…she’d won again.