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the masquerade ; "Trash", Ryan cursed under his breath as he slammed his middle finger on the backspace key and erased the paragraph that he had just written. Other signs of his writer's block can be seen on his desk - the half-filled ash tray, the half-empty pack of Marlboro lights, the messy stack of CD's which he tried to draw inspiration from. He tapped his slender fingers on the wooden desk, his brows furrowed, in deep thought of how to coax his muse. Nancy, his editor, wouldn't be happy if one of her magazine's most read columns will be missing in this month's issue. His musings was broken not by the beep of his organizer reminding him of his date that night but by the ringing of the phone. He made no move to answer it, instead letting the answering machine take the call. It was his mother, pleading with him again to come home for dinner if only for this night. It was his aged father's birthday. The message ended. Only the stormy expression in Ryan’s eyes gave a clue to the struggle is going on in his mind. He checked his watch, turned off the laptop and grabbed the jacket slung on the back of a nearby chair. As he reached the door, he scooped the car keys from the corner table and glanced at the blinking red light on the answering machine. Without another thought he pressed the delete button, and walked out the door, leaving the anonymous voice of the mechanical device echoing in the empty flat. Ryan took the elevator to the basement where his black sports car was parked. As the bell sounded and the steel door of the elevator slid open a lady in a red halter dress and high heels greeted his sight. Though the dress and the body beneath it spoke of sensuality, the expression on the woman’s face was hard. Ryan did not need to look at the person to know who it was. Nor did he give an explanation when he brusquely went past her. The woman it seemed did not like being ignored, and grabbed Ryan's arm with enough force to make him turn and face her. "Come back home, Andre." She said to him, her tone making the request seem more like a demand. "So now he sends you, his darling little daughter Nicola to fetch the prodigal son." Ryan mockingly replied. Despite the insult, the woman’s face began to soften, and a hint of humility was evident in her voice when she next spoke. "He is willing to forgive and forget, if only you would make the initiative to speak to him," she said."Willing to forgive and forget," he mimicked her. "That would be like him, wouldn't it, to forget, and yet not accept!" His voice became louder as he spoke and his last words bounced off the walls of the cavernous parking lot. Before the woman could speak again, Ryan shook his head and opened his car door. With a tone of finality he spoke one last word. "No." Then he slammed the door of his car and sped away into the night. Twenty minutes of driving took Ryan to another neighborhood, another apartment complex, and another impeccably dressed woman. "You're late," his date for the night said. "You might say there was a bit of family crisis," Ryan replied as he flashed his most charming smile. He could feel himself slipping into the facade of the sociable bachelor just out on another date with a beautiful woman. "How could I make it up to you?" he asked her, as he forced every ounce of sincerity he possessed to show on his face. "It's alright," the woman replied. "It'll make for a better grand entrance for us." She smiled coyly. "Just don't make it a habit." Without another word, they left. Ryan awoke the next morning to the sound of the intercom. He tried to ignore it the first five minutes, burying his head underneath a pillow. But the incessant buzzing would not stop so he grudgingly pushed himself off the bed and headed for the kitchen, where the video phone was located. He was prepared to unleash his fury on whoever was either brave or stupid enough to drop by for a visit before noon. But after seeing the face of a teen with cherry-red hair on the screen, Ryan’s anger dissipated. His tirade of insults is better bestowed upon people other than his annoying and perpetually peppy younger brother Matthew - or Matty as he still prefers to be called - the only family that he now recognizes. He let his brother in with a push of a button on the intercom. Ryan had only enough time to put on clothes and prepare a fresh pot of coffee when he heard the door slam open as his brother literally bounced into the living room. By way of a morning greeting, the teen had shouted "Andre! We're here!" at the top of his lungs. Before Ryan could think of a retort to chastise the youth for being too loud, he paused and thought of what the teen had said. "What do you mean ‘we’?" He yelled the question just as loud. It was a good thing too, as his brother had switched on the TV to a music channel and turned up the volume."Make yourselves at home," Ryan said sarcastically as he saw his older sister enter the room. He grabbed the remote from his brother and with a flick turned the TV off. The younger man was about to protest but upon tracing his older brother's gaze back to their equally displeased sister he stopped himself. Instead he bowed his head, and in a very childish way said "she made me do it." Ryan would have liked nothing better than to strangle the boy. He settled for angrily clutching the remote in his hand, then turning his back on the two and going back to the kitchen, muttering "idiot" loud enough for everyone to hear. "Stay here," Nicola told Matty. She purposely strode after his other brother for another round of verbal battle. The youngest of the siblings quickly found the living room to be holding nothing of interest (Ryan still had the remote control). For the last twenty minutes all he could hear was Ryan and Nicola’s shouting. Convinced that his older siblings would be preoccupied for at least the next half hour or so, Matty began to wander around the flat, looking in first at Ryan's sparsely decorated work room before heading towards the bedrooms. The door to the farthest room was slightly ajar, and he could smell something sweet lingering in the hallway that led to it, like incense perhaps or maybe scented candles. He sensed that someone else was in that room; though how his chaste thirteen year old mind could have guessed he did not really know. He carefully tip-toed until he reached the door, then just as stealthily peered in. The small opening between the door and its frame only provided him with a minimal view of the room. All he could see was a corner of the king-sized bed and clothes thrown on the polished wood floor, which he thought unusual for his older brother who was an obsessive compulsive neat freak. Feeling a little bolder, the teen gently pushed the door just a few inches wider. The hinges did not creak as they were well oiled and, like everything else in the apartment, brand new. Confident he wouldn’t be seen; Matty crept closer and took another look. He could see more clothes strewn haphazardly on the floor, and something, rather someone, else. What he saw made him smile, his hunch was right - a blond someone was sleeping on the bed. The black silk sheets covered the person almost entirely. And the person and his brother are alike in choosing to sleep on their stomachs. Thus, the teen could not make out any more details that may lead to the person's identity. He was nonetheless delighted at what he found out. His excitement turned to fear when he heard his name being called by a very angry Nicola. The older woman, however, was only summoning him so that they may now take their leave. The eagerness returned to the boy's face and he enthusiastically said goodbye to his older brother before running after Nicola.Alone once more, Ryan took a seat on one of the dining room chairs and rested his head on the cool glass of the table. His untouched coffee had gone cold. He let his muscles relax, the way he was taught to do in those anger-management classes that he took years before. He took several deep breaths before dwelling on the latest of the arguments that he had with his sister. It was fruitless, the same as the countless ones before it. As he moved to get a fresh cup of coffee, he heard music coming from the living room. He feared it was his younger brother; back to terrorize him by just being too happy. The music switched as the contents of his 3-cd changer component was fiddled with. The anonymous individual finally settled on Kylie Minogue's Fever. Ryan took a peek into the living room and found a barely clad blonde, whose hips were keeping time with the music with each seductive sway. He had nearly forgotten about Jean from last night. “Hey”, the blond said smiling softly, “hope you don't mind.” “Not at all,” replied Ryan, his face brightening up for the first time since he woke up. “You're unusually quiet,” Nicola asked her youngest sibling as they drove through the well kept streets leading to affluent and private village where they reside. Instead of answering her, however, the teen asked his own question at his sister. “Isn't this Andre's date for last night's charity thingy?” He pointed to a picture contained in the glossy pages in one of the fashion magazines Nicola keeps in the back seat of her car. Nicola looked at the magazine as she waited for the light to turn green. “Yes, that's her,” she replied. “Why are you suddenly so interested?” Nicola found his younger brother's questions a little unusual as the teen did not make it a habit to intrude into other people's private lives. "Well", the young one began, "she's brunette." Rather than prodding her brother for more information, Nicola kept her lips firmly together as she knew Matty would find it unbearable not to divulge whatever secret he thinks he knows. Her patience paid off for no more than a few moments passed when the young one did speak. "I was just wondering because the girl I saw sleeping in Andre's room this morning had blond hair." Back in Ryan's flat, the blonde had showered and dressed while Ryan made breakfast. They now sat facing each other and enjoying easy conversation as they ate. “Would you be a dear and pass me the Equal, s’il te plait?” Jean said, and smiled sweetly as Ryan handed him the ceramic container. “By the way, who was here this morning?” Jean asked. “No one,” was Ryan’s curt reply. “Strange, I must be hearing voices,” Jean muttered while tucking a stray lock of hair behind one ear. “You might say I had a bit of unwanted family reunion,” Ryan said. “Hmmm, family’s not taking it too well, huh.” It was more of a statement than a question. Ryan just gave a noncommittal shrug as an answer. “Don’t worry, things will get better,” Jean tried to sound reassuring, and reached for Ryan’s hand across the table, giving it a soft squeeze. “My family accepted it, eventually.” Eventually, Ryan thought. “Mon Dieu, look at the time,” Jean cried out, looking at the watch on the kitchen wall. Ryan stood as well, clearing the plates off the table and taking them to the sink. He left his mug on the countertop, however, and refilled it just as the blonde got ready to leave. “Staying in?” It was rhetorical question by Jean directed at Ryan. They both already knew the answer. “Got some stuff I need to finish, I’ll send them to Nan later,” Ryan replied even as he moved towards his office located at the loft. “Suit yourself then. Not everyone can be like you, Monsieur Ryan Andre Schneider: L’ecrivain.” Jean teased. “Au revoir,” Jean said and with a wink went out the door. Ryan let himself indulge in a smile as he thought of Jean’s antics. Taking the paper and coffee with him, he went to his office and put down the things he carried on the desk. He searched through a drawer for his reading glasses and lighter, and then opened his laptop. Before he could even turn it on, he noticed a pink post-it that had been placed right on the center of the screen. The note simply said “Call Me”, followed by seven numbers and the name of the note giver – Jean Paul. The smile that Ryan had been wearing immediately evolved into a hearty laugh. -end- how was that? grins. 1:25 am powered by blogger |
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