Nicholas Frank / Rivard Report
(The following is an excerpt from a novel in progress.)
They dined beside a fireplace without hearing its crackle. The view of stars in the heavens or the towers of downtown went unnoticed. Perhaps there were scallops. Or steak. A red wine from Chile.
The waiter was a man. A woman with striped hair.
Gia wore a purple blouse under which peeked black lace, a tight skirt over sheer hose and strappy heels. Fenix wore a smile. Even when he cried.
In his hotel room, with eyes wide open, they touched lips soft from the spilling of so many secrets. For once, each was not alone.
“It’s been a long time,” he said, holding her hand at his belt buckle. “I don’t want to let you down.”
“Then move your hand.”
They did not make love. They peeled off their skin and climbed one inside the other.
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