A piece of my novel. Read at the risk of being either disappointed, amused, or confused.
“Molllleee, girl I come to see ya!”
And before anyone could react, there a figure stood in the crooked doorway. A figure stood there, wearing a cowboy had akin in shape to the one that The Man With The Yellow Hat wore in the old Curious George books. The figure wore tight jeans that made Molly turn her head in embarrassment. The figure jingled when it moved . . . spurs attached to the silver-studded imitation leather boots. The belt buckle the size of Mark’s fist gleamed in the store’s light.
Bart jumped down off of a ladder where he had been shelving books and walked on two legs over to the figure in the doorway.
“Clinton Westwood, you haven’t got any business being here. You know that! You’ve already bought half of the store as it is!” The koala’s eyes, already small and beady, became even smaller and scarier when he squinted in such a way. The same way he squinted at me when he met me, Mark noticed.
“Now listen hare, you little fuzzball. Ya varmit. I can come in hare if I want to. I’m buyin’ books.” The exaggerated Southern drawl made Mark’s skin crawl. Molly just stood silently behind the counter, figuring it was at least some kind of protection and barrier between she and Clinton.
“No, you’ve bought enough. You only buy them so you can come and see Molly. She isn’t stupid, man,” the Bart said in a controlled voice.
“Molly, I have a proposition for you. An ideeer! How about—if I fix this place up for you, make it all purty-liiike—you let me take you out to dinner. And then we can go and luuk at the stars in ma pickup truuck. And then we can go back to ma playce and—“
“That’s enough!” Bart screeched. (For, you see, although his voice was as normal as anyone else’s when he spoke normally, it became a dreadful thing to hear when he was upset.) “Out! I want you out!”
“Or what little guy?” Clinton squatted down to the koala’s height. “Are you gonna hart me?” And then he sniggered.
But Mark had seen enough. This man was a joke and annoyance more than anything. And Molly obviously didn’t want him here. She was cowering back there behind the counter!
“Listen here, partner.” Mark cleared his throat. “I think it is time for you to leave. Because, see, I’m here now. See? Me, here. So Molly doesn’t need you. I’ll be the one doing the fixing up around here. Got it?” He tried to imitate a cowboy stare.
It apparently worked. Clinton stood up and turned to the door.
“I’ll leave now. But I’m comin’ back, ya hear? Ya hear, Molly?” he shouted to her direction. “Clinton Westwood always gets what he wants. And baby, I want you!”
And with that, he tipped his ridiculous hat and walked out. They all watched him saunter down the street in his tight jeans, and cringed.
1 Comments:
Oh, the drama! Clinton is a scoundrel. I love the koala bear, and you've done a good job conveying the southern drawl. There are a few points of confusion over who is doing what, but you'll get a chance to polish that later. Good start, I say.
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