Billy Ray Chitwood's Blog, page 10

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Published on June 21, 2016 10:52

Sound Stage Rebellion

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Sound Stage Rebellion

(Flash Fiction)

Melanie stood before the mirror and smiled. She had a beautiful face, unblemished, her eyes blue in a soft shade. Her blonde hair was meticulously tied with a scarlet ribbon and the silky remainder fell to her mid-back.

Melanie was dressed in cut-off jeans and red halter. Although ten years had passed since she won the Miss Kentucky Beauty Pageant, she looked at age twenty-nine more beautiful than at nineteen.

“You’re on, Melanie, in five minutes.”

“Thanks, Hugo,” she yelled through the dressing room door. “I’m on my way.”

Murray Gushman had his cast gathered around as he described what he wanted in the scene about to be shot.

“Melanie, you’re busy at your flower garden, pulling unwanted weeds. You are softly singing one of your favorite tunes, ‘Keep on Smiling.’ It’s three o’clock in the afternoon and the weather is beautiful.

“Sandra, you come hopping over from your house next door, in a very happy mood. It’s your anniversary, and you’re baking a favorite cake for your husband. You ran out of sugar and need to borrow some from Melanie. You both sit on the grass and chat – you know your lines from the script so don’t do any ad-libbing.

“Wayne, you’re driving slowly past. Your hormones are titillated by the two women on the grass…they’re sitting in a way that gets your heart racing, and you are suddenly aroused. You watch the women as they rise from the grass, go inside Melanie’s house for the sugar. You wait for ten minutes, an inexplicable urgency shutting out all but thoughts of a sexual encounter. You…”

“Come on, Murray, that’s not the way the script reads. You’re changing the story into porno.”

“That’s the way the producers want it, Wayne – and, it’s not porno. Except for a few minor changes in the script from this scene onward, it’s a story about the human condition, about someone afflicted with uncontrollable urges, about the effects and destruction his action have on the people who are involved.”

“Cheeze! Murray, that story has been told so often, it’s becoming ridiculous.”

“Hey, Wayne,” Murray’s voice now louder, “you want this part or not? You’re holding up the production, and, if you’re out, that means another delay to find a fill-in for you. Why are you making life so difficult here? You’ve got a lead part in what I truly believe can be an outstanding film. This is a hellava time for moral rectitude. You’re pissing me off, Wayne! I know you have the resumé, the star status, and all that, but you knew what this sexual exploitation was about. Why the hell did you accept the role? You wanting more money?”

“You’ve changed the script, Murray. This production was supposed to be about ‘then and now’ – the changes in our culture over the past millennium. Do not make me the bad guy here! What amazes me is that you convinced the money people of the change.”

The cast sat stunned by the dialogue of director and leading star, wondering where it all was leading. The film crew shook their head in annoyance and disregard of their time – they were not ‘hourly’ employees.

“I’ve got the backing of the people who matter, Wayne. This conversation is over, but for one last question: are you in or out?”

“You’re a pervert, Murray! I don’t work with perverts.” He left the set, angrily throwing the script at the director.

After moments of silence, Murray spoke. “Okay, that’s that… Let’s get ready to shoot the next scene that does not include the great star, Wayne Hefron. We have damned good understudies with recognizable names who can fill the spot.”

He watched in consternation the walk-off of the crew and the actors on the set. “Where the hell are you going? We’ve got a picture to shoot here!”

Then, Murray Gushman was alone on the big set. He sat in his director’s chair and slammed the script down to the floor. “What now?” he mumbled to himself. He never experienced the silence that pervaded the sound stage.

The telephone jarred him out of his thoughts.

“This is Murray Gushman,” he said into the mouth piece.

“This is Frank Mandolino, Murray. Find another studio. You’re fired!” The phone went dead.

Murray sat for a while, his mind churning with thoughts. What a jerk! Mandolino was the guy who suggested the changes in the script.

Finally, he gathered his personal belongings and left the sound stage. Hell, there were plenty of studios – maybe he would give the quick-buck adult movies a shot.

Right now, he was horny. It was time to pay the ‘girl shop’ a visit.

He dialed a number on his car phone. It only rang once before an answer.

“This is Linda Sue,” the sexy voice purred.

“Linda Sue, this is Murray. I’m on my way to the shop, Is Valerie available? I’ve got a lot to get off my mind.”

“She will be waiting for you, Murray.”

Flash Fiction by Billy Ray Chitwood – 6/14/16

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I write fiction and non-fiction books, thirteen with the fourteenth in the oven, in the genres of Mystery, Suspense, Action, Drama, Romance.

You can preview them all at:

http://www.goo.gl/nWMXm3

http://goodreads.com/author/dashboard/billyraychitwood

Proud member of: #ASMSG – #IAN1 – #AHA

Proud recipient of eleven + blog award nominations

http://www.goo.gl/nWMXm3

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Published on June 14, 2016 07:37

Blogging and Dreaming

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Blogging and Dreaming

It is what it is! A shameful declaration of a book wearing a colorful cover that is going to go on the circuit in the next couple of weeks.

What’s it about? You ask.

It’s a love story carrying the #Romance genre and it has some suspenseful moments and some pretty powerful ‘moving’ moments – that means, those with tender hearts and souls are likely going to be using lots of tissues. An entrepreneur and a lovely ad agency executive fall in love in an unusual way, but there are obstacles – sibling rivalry, gambling, murder, a matriarch’s great secret which causes chaos and mind-jarring impulses, and a long desert odyssey to reclaim a mind and soul.

Now, look, I’m an author among millions, just trying to pen some words on a laptop screen that conveys some notions I believe are important. To praise Phoenix Fire to the reading public as the next New York Times ‘Best Seller’ is not only silly but unrealistic. What I can say with some degree of civility and prudence is, Phoenix Fire is a book with many elements of the human condition and a darn good love story. It was a joy to write, and it’s my guess the book will be a joy to read.

Now, I’m admitting here that I’m a writer and not a market expert in this business – other than lots of Twitter, Facebook, Goodreads, Google Plus, Stumble Upon, and Blog plugs. Think about it, a person sitting in a recliner all day writing, does not get enough exercise, and can procrastinate with he best…likely doesn’t get enough sympathy, as well. After all, the world is full of writers wanting fame and success. But I have to tell you, old’Yogi Bear’ would say, if he could, and, would, Phoenix Fire is bigger than the average bear!

Okay, I’m just one of those millions of writers, but Phoenix Fire is a winner and deserves a very large readership. So, maybe you can be looking for it to emerge in the next couple of weeks, get yourself a copy and help me spread the word, flood Amazon and Goodreads with reviews, maybe re-blog this post or do the things I don’t know how to do to launch and promote a book… The pay is not so good but there is a heart with a whole lot of gratitude. ♥

Now that I’ve written this blog plea, do I post it? If I do post it, I’m letting the world know a side of me that brings me to tears.

Well, my wife has the cardboard message ready. I go now to find the best stoplight corner in town. Some days are not too bad, but, even with the beard disguise, it really is embarrassing.

Billy Ray Chitwood – June 7, 2016

I write books of mystery, suspense, action, drama, romance, and you can preview all of them at:

Other Links:

http://goodreads.com/author/dashboard/billyraychitwood

Proud member of: #ASMSG – #IAN1 – #AHA

Proud recipient of eleven + blog award nominations

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Published on June 06, 2016 08:57

Road Rage

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Road Rage

I’m on my way to an appointment, driving the speed limit. I pull into the left-turn lane at the traffic light, stop, and wait for the light to give me the green arrow to turn.

Two young men, kids, really, pull up behind me and notice me looking in my rearview mirror – habitual for me. The kids start with the wild antics, making faces, raising fists, having fun at my elderly expense.

Now, I begin to see red (not the light, my anger!) and I give them the finger, throw the gear shift in park, and begin to open the door to invite them to try me out. The traffic light gives the green arrow, and I jump back in the car and make my turn, moving at a deliberate slow pace, now having a little fun of my own.

Looking in the rearview mirror, I see the kids now have a more solemn, worried look, thinking maybe they’ve started something they might not be able to finish.

Slowly, I go a little further, roll down my driver’s side window and motion for them to follow me to the gravel shoulder of the road. I pull to the side of the road they pass me and move on a bit faster.

I pull back on the roadway and build my speed until I’m tail-gating. I can see the driver’s face through his rearview mirror, and he seems now very troubled.

Another green traffic light is just ahead and the driver quickly turns right.

I turn right as well.

They Speed up.

I speed up.

Now the young guys seem genuinely concerned. They must figure I’m going to follow them to their ending destination, so they’re turning every few blocks.

After a few turns my anger is assuaged, so I end my pursuit that was never going to end in any kind of confrontation. I was able to produce the effect that my anger prompted.

Now, to analyze my behavior.

Juvenile! Dumb! Silly!

What the incident did show me is the inanity of road rage incidents. I allowed my quick-rising anger to dictate my actions which might have ended very badly. My anger can be understood (or, not!) in the comparative analysis of old versus young – ergo, I once was the age of those two boys in the front car and never did I disrespect the elders among me.

For a few moments I was nineteen or twenty in my brain, feeling awkwardness with my age, seeing the young men treating me as a mere taunting object without courtesy and/or respect. Me, I was acting out in response a dumb routine from my youth.

I’m just glad the anger wore off quickly enough to avoid any serious repercussions. This incident could very well have ended badly. The two younger men maybe had other motives, other plans for me.

(Has this kind of incident happened to you?)

Blog post by Billy Ray Chitwood – May 31, 2016

I write books of mystery, suspense, romance, memoir, et al. If you would like to preview the thirteen books I’ve written, you can find them on my website:

goo.gl/nWMXm3

The Cardinal

The Cardinal

Taking a break from writing I stare at the beautiful fake cardinal in front of me. It sits on a big tome in a niche above the TV entertainment center. It is one of my frequent diversionary tactics to avoid putting my mind to work for writing.

Unlike the image above, the cardinal is actually staring at me as well, and it’s getting just a bit weird because I see the lovely guy fluttering, jerking his head around and about, shaking his feathers. He then cocks his head, stares again at me, and suddenly flies over to the arm of my chair.

Now, look, think what you might – ‘the guy in the chair is daffy, losing his freaking mind’. That’s okay. That kind of thinking is perfectly legitimate.

However, if you think a stuffed cardinal flying from his niche to the arm of my chair is daffy, get ready for some real craziness.

He starts squeaking to me, and I feel a bit like Mark Twain because I’m understanding his squeaking. Yeah, he’s talking to me…like in, ‘You talking to me’?

He’s asking/squeaking me questions, like, ‘Hey, I got nothing to do all day but watch you type away on that black gadget you got there – laptop, you call it. Occasionally, I see your wife bringing you snacks. It’s okay she doesn’t bring me anything because you – somebody! – made it impossible for me to eat. So, I’m curious. Before I got ‘stuffed’, I flew around a lot, visited many places, and settled here because I like your grounds and your cute but silly chatter to me and my feathered friends. What I’m curious about is, something strange is happening, and I’m not just talking about climate change here – which is likely ‘bunk’. I’m talking about the craziness of your world. Why all the hatred and inane behavior? I mean, it’s filling the air my still-flying friends have to breathe.”

“Is it okay if I just stroke your feathers? You are so beautiful. I’ll be gentle.”

“You’re avoiding my question, but go ahead if it will make you open up to me.”

So, I stroked the little guy’s feathers. “Look,” I say, “there’s nowhere in our history when we’ve been sane. We’ve fought our dumb wars, made our stupid mistakes, and Science/Technology has not come up with a pill or implant or whatever to make up for all of our differences – the language barriers, different intelligent levels, the so-called inequalities between the rich and the poor. We’ve gotten so global. We’re dealing with centuries-old hatreds. We’re coming to a point of no return. Something has to give.”

The little red guy cocks his head, and I almost think he’s squinting. “Hey, man, you’re ruffling my red feathers! Are you talking about Armageddon and the Apocalypse?”

“Well, it just seems to me, unless we can find a way to unite the world for freedom and peace, what can there be but utter destruction and our final days?”

My little Cardinal buddy was shaking, so I stroked softly his feathers again with my forefinger, and said: “Look, my fine red-feathered friend, there is always hope and we don’t give up so easily here in America. It’s one thing for me react, talk about the hatred, the radical Islamic terrorists that do their evil deeds, about the greed for power that drives most of our wanton transgressions, but I still carry faith and hope that the world can get it right.”

“So,” my Cardinal buddy stopped shaking and said, “I’m staying here with you, right? You’re not going to leave me here during these times of trouble to stare at empty space?”

“No, of course not. And, if and when I leave, there will be specific information and instructions left about you with someone as lovable as I. After all, they will need to be prepared for your rather peculiar aptitude.”

“That’s good to know… I’m going back to my perch now – getting a little sleepy. See you when I wake up. And, please, I say this with all the affection in the world for you: finish that darn book and knock off some of those loud expletives. You scare me when you go ‘flying off’ like that.

Flash Fiction by Billy Ray Chitwood – 5/25/16

I write books of mystery, suspense, romance, memoir, et al. If you would like to preview the thirteen books I’ve written, you can find them on my website:

goo.gl/nWMXm3

Other Links: http://www.about.me/brchitwood

http://goodreads.com/author/dashboard/billyraychitwood

Proud member of: #ASMSG – #IAN1 – #AHA

Proud recipient of eleven + blog award nominations.

http://www.about.me/brchitwood

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Published on May 23, 2016 13:20

Where Did All The Flowers Go?

Where Did All The Flowers Go?

Where did all the flowers go, Daddy?

They’re looking for sunlight, sweetheart.

Where did the sunlight go, Mommy?

It’s looking for a reason to shine, Darling.

Why does the sun need a reason to shine?

Because people have forgotten how to love.

Why have people forgotten how to love?

Because their lives are not their own.

Why are their lives not their own?

Because the Power Elite map their living.

Who are the Power Elite, Daddy?

Those who have chased the sun away.

Did they chase the flowers away, too?

They brought poison to the air we breathe.

Does the poison not harm us, Daddy?

Yes, we are slowly dying, sweetheart.

What will happen to our world?

In time, it will all start over again.

Again, Daddy? Has it happened before?

Yes, it has happened before, Sweetheart.

How does the world start over?

When the poison leaves the air, new people will come.

Why?

The new Civilization will have its chance to get it right.

How will they get it right?

They might not get it right, sweetheart.

Then, what happens?

What is happening now will happen again.

Is that the way of life?

Unless a new Civilization can get it right.

You mean, Love without poison in the air?

Yes.

Flash Fiction – An attempt at Allegory: by Billy Ray Chitwood

I write books of mystery, suspense, romance, memoir, et al. If you would like to preview the thirteen books I’ve written, you can find them on my website:

goo.gl/nWMXm3

Sunday With The Grandparents

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Sundays with The Grandparents

It’s been so long ago, but I remember the wonderful weekends at my grandparents – kerosene lamps, outhouses, and all… those inconveniences of the times that were taken for granted and did not spoil the most special feeling of family and love.

Many of my uncles and aunts were there with their families, and the setting was perfect – even with the L&N Railroad tracks within fifty yards of the old gray railroad section house. My cherubic Grandpa was an L&N Section Foreman and the finest dispenser of love and wisdom that I’ve ever known.

In the afternoon, some of us boys played catch and some played horseshoes. The girls were either helping, or, getting in the way of the women cooking up that good old southern food. I remember hearing the giggles and playful sounds coming from inside the house.

It seemed the weather was always sunny in Madisonville, Tennessee during those family weekends, but, surely, there would be no rain in my memory banks. The side lawns were freshly mown and that familiar delicious smell filled the air. Hedgerows separated the L&N tracks from the house, only minimally muting the sound of passing trains and their lonesome whistles. Lovely beds of flowers of all colors dotted the landscape.

In his coveralls (can’t remember ever seeing him in clothes other than his coveralls), my beautiful ‘Santa Claus’ built grandfather brought the old ice cream maker, the rock salt, and ice to the side yard nearest the kitchen, ready for cranking that handle round and round. We little guys would do the initial cranking while the cream in the cylindrical metal container was not ready to thicken. When more rock salt and ice were added, that old crank got harder and harder to turn. So, the little guys would reach a point where they could not budge the crank. Then, the big guys would take over.

There were watermelons and some would turn out to be a whitish-green inside – that is, uneatable – but we would all laugh about it.

Grandma and her inside crew, including my Mom and her sisters, were the real heroines of the day. There was so much good tasting food, most of us swore off eating for a week.

The really big thing, though! Well, actually, there were two really big things!

There was something almost sacred about those weekends. Happiness and Love were there in abundance and they showed on all the faces. Oh, there was always some mention of family and world’s problems, but most of all, it was a reaffirmation of family closeness.

The other big thing was Grandma’s prayers. Now, you have not heard anyone pray like my sweet Grandma prayed. She gathered us all in the big living room, and we knelt on the floor while she cried, laughed, screamed her long, long prayer of thankfulness, of hope, of peace and the great glory of Jesus and our ultimate eternal homes.

They were weekends I find easy to remember and, while we go through our orbits and wars and our political uncertainties, I can find in those childhood memories some semblance of unity and love…

We just need to find a way to dispense that unity and love throughout a troubled world.

I’m thinking we need more of my Grandmas and Grandpas.

Billy Ray Chitwood – May 11, 2016

I write books of mystery, suspense, romance, memoir, et al. If you would like to preview the thirteen books I’ve written, you can find them on my website:

goo.gl/nWMXm3

Beauty – Eye – Beholder

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‘Beauty – Eye – Beholder’

Looks like a big field of chocolate ice cream!

That’s what I’m thinking as I look at this art shot just southwest of Yuma, Arizona. That hits me each time I pass this large stretch of land where the dune buggies and other odd sorts of motorized contraptions buzz across the expanse, motoring fast and furious as they go up the wind-shaped dunes. On the level areas, these Evel Knievel daredevils zip by so fast it scares you just watching.

For the rapt me, this sparkling sand speaks of the Bedouins in Arabia, Negev, and the Sinai, the camels, and the ‘Arabian Nights’. Bedu is Arabic for ‘inhabitant of the desert’, and my mind tries to absorb the lives of these desert Nomads, the desolate days and nights – a culture and way of life for a people who do not know of the great cities in the West, the elegant dress of the high-minded aristocrats…nor do they care to know.

Of course, there are but a few short mind-steps to that troubled area of the world where anger and hate have accumulated over millennia. These robed wanderers of the desert must love as well as hate, must find frequent pleasures in festive times and in their rituals.

Then, the mind can quickly jump to barbaric acts by those extreme Islamic monsters who find it easy to cut off heads and burn the Christians and infidels with expeditious ease.

It appears I’m lingering in this short blog on the ugliness that is all around us. From the political correctness of our words to the critical mass of terrorism and hatred in the world, it sometimes seems we are on the edge of cataclysm, an apocalyptic event to destroy us… or, to right our course.

‘Beauty is in the eye of the beholder’, and some beholders might not find the desert in Yuma as beautiful as I, or this seascape in Mexico…

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Or, this lovely valley art…

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Yet, with all the beauty around us, we have leaders who seem not to notice and want to take us in directions where our freedom and liberties are usurped, to their ideology of conquer and control.

When our leaders talk about ‘Global Unity’, there is no doubt the phrase has a noble ring. With language barriers and historic ledgers that can never be reconciled, it seems to me an impossible dream. Yet, Science and Technology can create magic in their laboratories, devices that can aid us in communicating with people from all parts of the world, perhaps, breaking down walls of time-worn fears.

However, there is beauty all around us, and, for me, beauty is love and love is beauty.

Billy Ray Chitwood – May 4, 2016

I write books, some inspired by true events in the genres of mystery, suspense, romance, and memoir…hope you can take a look at my website: http://www.goo.gl/nWMXm3

OTHER LINKS:

http://twitter.com/brchitwood

http://amazon.com/author/billyraychitwood

http://facebook.com/billyray.chitwood

http://facebook.com/billyrayscorner

http://linkedin.com

http://googleplus.com/billyraychitwood

Proud member of #ASMSG – #IAN – #AHA

Proud recipient of eleven + blog award nominations

http://goodreads.com/author/dashboard/billyraychitwood

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Published on May 03, 2016 10:47

I’m Alone

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I’m Alone

With only my memories –

I sit alone on the hill and watch the sunset…

Faces float by in surreal silence

And,

In words only I can hear,

each tells a story of

My life, unadorned with gratuitous

Words of praise and solicitude…

With each face,

With each story,

I know where I have failed and

Corrupted my own existence.

Where ‘could have been’ echoes

Through the lonely caverns

Of my soul.

I sit alone as the Sun hastens

The night and the demons

Of regret and remorse.

A Life so frivolously wasted

On Wanderlust and Longing.

So it must be that a life be lived

In such disarray no matter

The Cause…

For it is fodder for the

Fools to come.

Billy Ray Chitwood – April 29, 2016

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My books tell the longer story – they can be found at http://www.goo.gl/nWMXm3

And these links:

http://www.about.me/brchitwood

http://amazon.com/author/billyraychitwood

http://twitter.com/brchitwood

Proud member of: #ASMSG – #IAN – #AHA

Proud recipient of eleven Blog Award nominations.

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Published on April 29, 2016 07:58

Austin After Hours

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Austin After Hours

Guess I’ll never learn! I’m Shawn Finney, and this episode has all the makings of a super ‘Dream Evening’.

I’m a sucker for a sad song and dance, and this little lady knows exactly what she is doing, her body virtually melting into mine with serious and obvious endorsements – should you get my meaning. Perhaps I should put it this way: I was a bit embarrassed when the dance ended, and we returned to our seats.

I’m in Austin, Texas, one of my favorite cities in the whole world, calling on some Tech accounts. It’s close to 10:00 PM and I’m bone-tired, thinking maybe I’ll go to my spacious room, order a cheeseburger, fries, chocolate milk shake, get fat and watch a movie.

Thing is, I overthink the whole thing. Yeah, true, I want that cheeseburger, fries, and chocolate milk shake, but I’m just passing a busy lounge in the hotel, hearing the laughter, music, mixed with some soft feminine voices, and my old devalued brain thinks I’m likely missing something by going to bed so early.

Well, I no sooner get seated on a posh bar stool when this raven-haired beauty gets shoved into me by this big ole boy in a cowboy hat who is clumsily on his way to the Men’s Room – not drunk, just clumsy and full of apologies to me and the gorgeous lady.

When the cowboy passes, the lady and I make some eye contact and it’s my belief something warm and friendly is palpable between us. She is just getting back from the Ladies Room, heading for a corner booth where two other women sit with amused grins.

I end up in that corner booth with those three women, and as the fickle finger of fate would have it, they all worked at one of my Tech accounts. Raven hair’s name is Barbara, and the other two Joyce and Nancy. So, we have lots to talk about, except, truth be known, I’m thinking of how to cut this long-haired raven lovely out of the pack.

Into my second drink, the small combo start playing some late night soft song, and I notice Barbara glancing at the dance floor. I’m thinking that’s a signal for me to ask her to dance… I do and she accepts the invitation.

Now, the room has low lights, for which I’m thankful, and I can tell the world that if excitement in dancing is measured by groin grinding, racing heart-beat, muttered monosyllabic inanities, then I am one excited Tech Salesman about to blow body fuses.

Barbara’s two lady friends pause on their way out of the lounge. “You two have fun. We’re going to our rooms.” They smile and leave.

Now, I’m thinking… If the ladies work for the Tech Company here in Austin, why are they staying in the hotel? So, I ask Barbara.

“There’s a Tech Convention in town and the company wants some of us staying at the hotel to manage the hospitality suite for the VIPs.”

“My company didn’t make me aware of any convention and no one mentioned it today during my rounds.”

“Well,” Barbara concludes, “it’s off the radar. ‘Hush-Hush’ kind of stuff. Even I don’t know what transpires at the convention meetings, but I do know it’s a really big thing.”

Back at the corner booth, with another drink and the crowd thinning out, Barbara and I make it official that we are indeed connecting – body and hand touching, dreamy eyes, asking personal questions of each other.

No, neither of us is married. No, neither of us is going steady. Yes, there are relationships that lasted for a while.

“You’re too lovely, Barbara, not to be encumbered. Recent break-up?” I ask.

“Yes,” she answers, pauses for a moment, “Do you mind if I become rather blunt, Shawn?”

That question rings my bell. It’s loaded with expectations of the good kind and the bad kind. I figure it can’t hurt to be optimistic. “No, Barbara, I don’t mind – become rather blunt!”

I hope for the best!

“Well, I have a room here at the hotel, and you have a room here as well. Would you like to continue our ‘getting to know each other’ in your room or mine?”

After flip-flops of victorious surprise, I squeeze her hand and say, “Let’s use mine. It’s spacious and has a great view.” We both laugh, likely on the same wave length, ‘yeah, really’? Space and views are going to be up close and personal.

While Barbara wanders out of the lounge, I pay the fairly large tab – which will find its way on my next company expense account – and go in pursuit of Barbara.

Craziness!

I expect Barbara will be just outside the door of the lounge, but not so. I look around the large lobby and no Barbara. Maybe she needs the Ladies Room, so I go and stand a few yards away.

Finally, I open the Ladies Room door a crack and yell her name – several times.

No Barbara!

What the hell is going on? She has taken no money from me. She seems genuinely interested in me. What game is she playing? Is there something sinister at play? Nah, no way! Not in this classy place!

I wait and I wait.

Finally, peeved and let down, I go to my room on the 18th floor, fish in my pocket for a room entry card and cannot find it. I go back down to a virtually empty lobby, no sign of Barbara, get a new entry card and return to my room.

The door opens easily and I enter the semi-dark room. The city lights pour through the windows and provide clear outlines of the furniture and the mini-bar. I consider for a moment another drink…to placate my self-pity and mild depression. No, I will do no movie skit here! I’ll just put my disappointment to bed.

For a moment I plop on the large sofa and contemplate the evening. What a bummer! I mean, so beautiful all the way to the end, then a bummer!

I sigh deeply, lazily shed my clothes and leave all items in a heap on the sofa.

I enter the spacious bedroom and flip the light switch.

My eyes are ready to pop out of my head!

A purring voice says, “I thought you’d never get here!”

There on the bed, covers pulled down, her lovely long raven hair spilled across a king-sized pillow, her blue-green eyes soft and pleading fake forgiveness, her forefinger at the corner of her lush red lips, and her voluptuous body in a tantalizing position, was the missing Barbara.

I stand and look with wide eyes and a silly smile on my face. A certain part of me is swelling with joy and pride.

I look idiotic as I do a swan dive onto the king-sized bed.

And, oh, yes, there was indeed a most delightful ending…

Flash Fiction by Billy Ray Chitwood – April 25, 2016

(I write blogs, fiction, non-fiction, memoirs – mystery, suspense, thrillers, romance… Take a peek at my thirteen books at http://www.goo.gl/nWMXm3

LINKS:

http://goodreads.com/author/dashboard/billyraychitwood