Page 40
Story: Private Deceptions
I looked at Mrs. Childers. I wanted to stay and talk to her. But I put aside that thought and focused on what I was doing. It was better that way.
"Tell me about Lisa Ellison."
Mrs. Childers rolled her eyes and called for the bartender. "Hennessy Martini with a twist."
Without answering my question, she waited for the bartender to return with her drink. I thought about asking my question again, then I decided to rephrase it. "Why don’t you like her, Mrs. Childers?"
"Because she’s a dizzy air head bitch, who thinks she’s the shit, but she’s not. She’s just a stupid air headed bitch, who’s so caught up in her own quasi bourgeois lifestyle, that she don’t know her ass from a hole in the ground. The fake bitch."
"So you don’t like her, huh?"
"No, Nick, I hate the fake ass bitch."
"What does she do for a living?"
"She works for Armstrong Direct."
"What’s that?"
"It’s some bullshit marketing firm. She’s some type of bullshit director."
"Hmm."
"What’s that supposed to mean?"
"It means, hmm."
"You know what I mean, Nick, don’t be funny."
"I mean your brother seems to have a thing for professional women with lofty positions. They even look alike."
"That’s just how Jake is."
I picked up my pictures. "Good night, Mrs. Childers."
"You’re leaving?"
She didn’t want me to go.
Maybe she wanted me?
What’s more likely is that she’s just lonely and wants to talk. "I’m not gonna find your brother sittin’ around here."
"Where are you goin’ now?"
"Goin’ to see Lisa Ellison."
"I have a better idea," Mrs. Childers said and stood up.
I got up, too. "What’s that?"
"Come ride with me."
* * *
Chapter Ten
We rode in silence while Mrs. Childers drove us nowhere fast. She drove out of the city, across the Tappanze Bridge to a small house in Nyack. When we went inside the house, the first thing that hit me was the smell. It didn’t smell bad; it was more like the stale odor of some place that had been closed up for awhile. The living room was well furnished and none of it looked like it had much use. Mrs. Childers turned on some music and went around the house turning on ceiling fans and opening windows.
"Tell me about Lisa Ellison."
Mrs. Childers rolled her eyes and called for the bartender. "Hennessy Martini with a twist."
Without answering my question, she waited for the bartender to return with her drink. I thought about asking my question again, then I decided to rephrase it. "Why don’t you like her, Mrs. Childers?"
"Because she’s a dizzy air head bitch, who thinks she’s the shit, but she’s not. She’s just a stupid air headed bitch, who’s so caught up in her own quasi bourgeois lifestyle, that she don’t know her ass from a hole in the ground. The fake bitch."
"So you don’t like her, huh?"
"No, Nick, I hate the fake ass bitch."
"What does she do for a living?"
"She works for Armstrong Direct."
"What’s that?"
"It’s some bullshit marketing firm. She’s some type of bullshit director."
"Hmm."
"What’s that supposed to mean?"
"It means, hmm."
"You know what I mean, Nick, don’t be funny."
"I mean your brother seems to have a thing for professional women with lofty positions. They even look alike."
"That’s just how Jake is."
I picked up my pictures. "Good night, Mrs. Childers."
"You’re leaving?"
She didn’t want me to go.
Maybe she wanted me?
What’s more likely is that she’s just lonely and wants to talk. "I’m not gonna find your brother sittin’ around here."
"Where are you goin’ now?"
"Goin’ to see Lisa Ellison."
"I have a better idea," Mrs. Childers said and stood up.
I got up, too. "What’s that?"
"Come ride with me."
* * *
Chapter Ten
We rode in silence while Mrs. Childers drove us nowhere fast. She drove out of the city, across the Tappanze Bridge to a small house in Nyack. When we went inside the house, the first thing that hit me was the smell. It didn’t smell bad; it was more like the stale odor of some place that had been closed up for awhile. The living room was well furnished and none of it looked like it had much use. Mrs. Childers turned on some music and went around the house turning on ceiling fans and opening windows.
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