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Cynique

The Only One Chapter 18

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The Only One

Chapter 18

Carole Everly was grateful for an opportunity to finally start turning her life around, and riding alongside Philip Atkins as he wheeled his BMW through the traffic on Chicago’s Lake Shore Drive, she felt more relaxed and upbeat than she had in a long time.

“I’m glad you could fit me into your busy schedule,” Philip was saying. “Really flattered that I beat out the book you were planning to spend the evening with.”

“I’m never too busy to meet with an old friend,” Carole replied. “Particularly one who wants to take me out to eat!”

“A dinner invitation always works with women,” Philip chuckled. “Y’all love to be fed.”

“This is true,” she confirmed, “but we hate to be strung along. Are you ever going to reveal why you called me last week???”

“I guess,” Philip said. “I put that on the backburner because of your reaction – or lack of it.”

“Reaction to what???”

“You’ll never guess what it was I wanted to find out.”

“I’m dying to hear!”

“An interesting choice of words, considering my question has to do with the serial killer case. I been stalling because it ain’t none of my business - but, by chance, did you ever have any dealings with this Purvis Skinner?”

“Are you serious??!”

“Yes.”

“Fortunately, no, - because I don’t know whether I would’ve passed up a chance to make 500 extra dollars a week just for – phone sex. Why do you ask??”

“Because a little slip of paper bearing your name and address was found among Purvis Skinner’s effects.”

Carole’s mouth dropped open. “Really???”

“Yep. You may have been in his sites, but guess he figured you wouldn’t be a good candidate since you weren’t seeking a loan , - or were you?”

“No, I wasn’t! Where on earth did he get that information about me?? The picture the newspapers printed of him didn’t look like anybody I’ve ever met.”

“Who knows, but you don’t really have anything to worry about because this SOB is going be shut away for the rest of his life.”

“Well, hopefully he doesn’t convince some gullible woman that she can make some extra money by bringing him a saw on visitor’s day.”

He laughed. “You’re such a delightful person, Carole Everly. How much a week would it take for you to give me - bed sex??”

Carole rolled her eyes. “The light is green,” she said, pointing to the traffic signal.

“Wish I could get the green light from you,” he persisted, observing her out of the corner of his eye. “Whoever it is you’re savin it for, sure must be somethin special.”

“You said there would be no strings attached to this free meal!” she reminded, in a hurry to change the subject.

“There won’t be. But - it sure would be nice if after we enjoy our dinner, we could partake of a final course - enjoy the kind of dessert that satisfies a different appetite. No after taste, - no strings.”

“My, my, such eloquence. I don’t know why you don’t stop being a commitment-phobe and just settle down. Then you’d have more time and energy to spend on your favorite sport.”

He grunted. “Or maybe I should do like my partner Brooks who’s happy as a lark, now that he’s finally found what he needed in life!”

“Which was?”

“ ‘Got him a fine ‘ol cougar who’s so thrilled to have a young stud bone her every night that she gladly puts up with all his quirks.”

Carole sighed. “Some folks finally get lucky in life.”

“ ‘Lucky’ ain’t nothing but a word,” Philip declared, “in fact I’ve got this theory on how to create what we call - good luck.”

“What is it?” she asked, her curiosity immediately piqued. “I’m very interested in meta-physical concepts.”

“I’ll – lay it out for you later,” he smiled, “if you let me give you a - presentation.”

Shifting her position, Carole was surprised at the way her vajayjay responded to the suggestiveness in Philip’s voice. And she had a feeling that her resistance was in big trouble. But, somehow, she wasn’t really bothered. What the hell. Good luck, good fuck – they could be one and the same…

Purvis Skinner lie face down on the cot in his jail cell, his head buried in the crook of his arm in an attempt to blot out the world. Something it would be easier to do if he could forget how those 2 ass-hole cops had roughed him up, taking all the credit for obtaining his confession. Little did they know that he’d spilled everything because he didn’t care if he was found out. He was proud to be guilty. Maybe now he’d get some credit for being a winner. Those who rejected him, had been rejected. They had lost, he had won. And forget about a public defender, forget about a trial. For him, prison would be an escape from the confines of a crappy world! Bring on the plea bargain. Let them sentence him to life. Bars couldn’t restrict him. His mind was too strong. Like now. He had no IPod, but he could hear the throbbing piano of Theolonius Monk pounding in his head. He had no female, but pleasure was just a hand-job away!

Burrowing his head deeper into his elbow, he thought about that lying bitch, Coreen, someone else he’d like to squelch! Telling everybody she had outsmarted him. But he had gotten the best of her, too! Not once, but twice, he had fucked her, and in the cover of darkness she had responded like the horny slut that she was, really gettin off on his big prick! All of which proved that women were demons. Demons he needed to be rid of! Even his mother had been a demon, always comparing him to his depraved uncle - who was also his father, always calling him ugly and crazy and nasty, all the things she herself was, bringing home the bums who never stayed around long after molesting him, and abusing her, - always casting her scorn on their kind-hearted neighbor, a cripple who had introduced Purvis to the music that made love to his ears, and who had always given him credit for having a good mind.

But in his whole clouded existence there had been only one other ray of sunshine. How pleasant she had been over the phone that time, her voice as smooth as honey. How patiently she had listened to his problem and gone out of her way to solve it, treating him like he was more than just an account number. And when he’d asked her name so he could write to her supervisor, how reluctant she had been to accept praise for just doing her job. No, he hadn’t gotten around to sending a letter, but he had snuck up to City Wide Utility and had her pointed out to him, and he liked how strangely appealing she looked; made him want to keep tabs on her as time passed on, occasionally following her home from work, sometimes keeping a vigil outside her apartment building. She was no demon. She was like a goddess to be worshipped from a distance, an angel whose “pathway to heaven” was sacred, not someplace he’d force his dick into…

Then, with the high-pitched scatting of Ella Fitzgerald spinning off the turn table of his demented imagination, Purvis Skinner pictured the face of Carole Everly and as his hand slid down to his groin, he uttered a silent prayer of gratitude…thankful that he no longer had to fight off that awful, ongoing urge to kill her with his love…

…Philip Atkins emitted a long satisfied growl, and rolled over on his back, trying to quell his urge for a cigarette.

“I’d call that a - pretty good stroke of luck,” he chuckled, after a moment, then peered through the dimness at Carole, and discerned the wistful look on her face. “Whatcha thinkin ‘bout, sugar-puddin?”

“Nobody,” she murmured, and closed her eyes.

“I said what,” he teased, reaching for his pack of Newports. “ Not who.”

- to be continued as more questions are cleared up in the final 4 chapters -

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I guess I should preface this by saying I'm new to AALBC--and this story. But I was really struck by the description of Purvis Skinner (great name, BTW). It was powerful and gave me great insight into the character. I also felt like I knew Carole Everly and Philip Atkins. The only thing that distracted me was the series of question marks (???).

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Yes, I am guilty of using multiple questions marks, as well as a lot of dots and dashes and italics. I use them for emphasis and to infuse life into the dialogue by making it more expressive because my aim in serializing this novella is to kind of make it like a verbal movie. It's just a little experiment I'm playing around with for lack of something better to do.

Anyway, thanks for the feedback and welcome to the board. To really get into this urban tale, I would think that you'd have to read more than one chapter of it. But that's a personal choice. I consider myself lucky to get anybody to read it and all those who do so, are doing me a favor. :unsure:

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I've always enjoyed your writing. Speaking of which, where is your poetry??? (Yes, the question is that major!)

Also, what was it that you said in a previous chapter about the manner in which one was doin what was bein done; like a race horse or something like that? Hahaha! I laughed and I laughed. Only Cynique! lol

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