Friday, August 26, 2011

The Writer and the Ghosts - 18

“I suppose we should get back to the party,” Linc suggested. He glanced out the window. “It’s stopped raining and they’re probably wondering where we are by now.”

“Probably should.”

“Yeah.” Linc started towards the door.

“Can I ask something first?”


Tom hesitated, staring down at the floor. “If I…could we go out to dinner sometime maybe?”

Linc shrugged. “As friends?”

With a nod Tom said, “Yeah, as friends.”

“I guess so. Sure.” Linc opened the door, waited for Tom to go into the hall, then closed the door behind them and they headed back to the party.

* * * *

“Well, it’s a start,” Giorgio said as he and Damian reappeared in Linc’s bedroom.

“Agreed. And we’re staying out of it from now on. Whatever happens, happens. It’s up to them.”

“But Damian,” Giorgio whined.

“Don’t ‘But Damian’ me.” He grinned. “You know I’m right, I always am.”

Giorgio rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. Instead he wrapped his arms around his lover and murmured against his lips, “There’s a very comfortable looking bed in here. I doubt Linc’s going to be back for a while. So how about we..?”

“I could be persuaded.”

It didn’t take much persuasion, and Giorgio was correct, they had more than enough time. But then when it came right down to it they always did. They weren’t going anywhere in the foreseeable future.

The End

* * * * * *
Coming next: 'Eye of the Beholder' 

Thursday, August 25, 2011

The Writer and the Ghosts - 17

Giorgio smiled slowly as he got what Tom was implying. “How about one chance in three?”

“Close enough,” Tom replied. “That doesn’t mean I’m available.”

“Well damn,” Giorgio muttered in disgust.

Tom turned to look at Linc who was watching him as if he’d grown a second head. “What?”

“You! You let me rant on about how there’s nothing wrong with being gay, defending myself and…and all…and you are too. That’s just wrong.”

“Yeah it was but I’m still coming to terms with it so I wasn’t about to say anything. I’m sorry, it was wrong of me.”

“So no one knows?”

“My family does, and they’re surprisingly supportive, and my ex girlfriend does.” Tom smiled wryly. “She wasn’t nearly as supportive but she promised not to tell anyone. How many people know you’re gay?”

“My folks, my publisher, I suspect anyone who really reads my books and sees what they have to say beyond the horror part of them. Apparently you didn’t because you thought I was just a straight guy trying to prove something.

“Honest truth, I read them for the story. Yeah like I said earlier you did a good job with the characters but that wasn’t why I picked the books up.”

Giorgio broke in, saying, “All right can you two stop talking great literature so we can get back to the problem at hand.”

“I don’t see any problem,” Linc replied. “He’s gay but he’s not available. Back to square one in your plans to get me to become more sociable.”

“Anyone mind if I whap him?” Giorgio asked, glaring at Linc.

“Hey, why me?” Linc held up his hands defensively.

“Because you need someone to smack some common sense into that hard head of yours.”

“Come on, how much damage can a ghost do?” Tom said, then he jumped and ducked when a book barely missed his head. “You’re a poltergeist too?”

“Do I look like a ten-year-old?” Giorgio growled.

“No, you look like a sexy man who should learn to leave well enough alone,” Damian told him, giving him a hug and a kiss on the temple.

“But, but…”

Damian went for the obvious. “And a very nice butt it is too.”

“You are such an ass.”

Instead of replying Damian kissed Giorgio. Suddenly they were gone.

Tuesday, August 23, 2011

The Writer and the Ghosts - 16

“You’re taking this all rather well,” Linc commented.

Tom shrugged. “I suppose so, strangely enough. I grew up hearing all the stories about this place being haunted. I even snuck in here a time or two trying to see if it really was. Not that it did any good.”

“We’re not exactly ready to welcome people with open arms and feed them tea and crumpets,” Damian said as he materialized, followed moments late by Giorgio.

“So you chase them away.” Tom looked the two ghosts over with obvious interest. “Why?”

“We don’t chase them away, well not intentionally,” Damian replied. “It’s just that Giorgio here is a romantic matchmaker. He wants everyone happily mated. Unfortunately he’s rather crude in his tactics.”

“I am not!” Giorgio grumbled. “I just use what I have at hand to try to throw a couple into each others arms.”

“He scares the hell out of one of them, usually the girl, then hopes she’ll go running to the guy for protection.”

“That works?” Tom asked.

“Well…not really,” Giorgio admitted somewhat sheepishly.

Tom tapped his fingers on his thigh. Then he grinned, looking at Linc and said to the ghosts. “He’s you next victim. Who were you planning on frightening so he could rescue them?”

Giorgio smiled wickedly. “Now that’s an interesting question. Neither of the girls. We were thinking, hoping one of you young men would scare easily.” He grinned and shouted, “Boo” at Tom.

Linc threw back his head, laughing. “That was so lame, Giorgio.”

“Was, wasn’t it,” Giorgio agreed with a laugh.

Damian watched Tom who was suddenly looking at Linc thoughtfully. “You think I’m straight, Linc, but they don’t. Interesting.”

“Oh we think you are,” Damian protested. “After all the odds were fairly astronomical of any of you being gay. Despite what Giorgio said we were more hoping Linc would finally come out of his shell and make some friends. That way perhaps he’d get out of the house and find someone.”

“How large is astronomical; twenty to one, a hundred to one, maybe a thousand to one?”

Saturday, August 20, 2011

The Writer and the Ghosts - 15

Want me to cold-cock him?” Giorgio growled.

“No. I’m about to do it myself.” Linc paced two steps closer to Tom. “First off those sites are unreal because they’re just made to titillate. There’s not an ounce of caring in them. Secondly, just for your information mister whatever your last name is, I’m not straight and I’m not perverted. There’s not a damned thing wrong with being gay. Now, will you get your ass out of here.”

“It’s Rider. And I know.”

“Then why were you putting me down?”

“Because I didn’t know.”

Linc scrubbed a hand through his hair. “That’s a bit of a contradiction, you know and you didn’t know.”

“I know there’s nothing wrong with being gay, and I didn’t know you were. If I had I wouldn’t have said what I did.”

Says the ‘I’m soooo tolerant’ straight guy,” Damian muttered.

“Shut up, both of you, I can’t deal with this and the two of you making comments in the back ground at the same time,” Linc said desperately. “Just…go play somewhere else for a while.”

Tom pushed off the door frame, coming back into the room. “Who are you talking to?” he asked, a puzzled look on his face. “Because this time I know you weren’t talking to yourself. Invisible friends, maybe, but not the big bunny kind I don’t think.”

“Well, no, they’re definitely not bunnies.”

Giorgio snorted. “Not bears either, thank goodness.

He hates hairy men,” Damian told Linc. “I think we’re closer to stallions.”

Naw, tigers, all growls and purrs.

Linc snorted.

“They’re talking to you again aren’t they?” Tom sat down on the edge of the bed. “The ghosts. The ones who’re supposed to haunt this place.”

“Maybe. Or maybe I’m just stark raving mad,” Linc replied tightly.

Tom ignored his tone of voice to ask with interest, “Do they appear or just babble?”

I do not ‘babble’,” Giorgio said petulantly.

“From the amount of time Linc’s spent trying to cover up that he’s answering you I have the feeling you babble a lot,” Tom told him with a laugh before he looked at Linc, shock written on his face.

Linc was just as shocked as he looked back at him. “Wait a minute, you heard him?”

“Yes,” Tom said hesitantly. “Didn’t you?”

“Sure but I thought I was the only one who could.”

Neither one of you is supposed to,” Damian told them. “Something’s more than weird here.

“You mean other than the fact we’re talking to two ghosts?” Tom replied as he focused in on where Damian’s voice had come from. “Any chance I can see you as well as hear you?”

Thursday, August 18, 2011

The Writer and the Ghosts - 14

Linc hurried up the stairs with Tom right behind him. As soon as they got to his room Linc began to dig through his dresser. “I should have some T-shirts that’ll work.” He pulled two out and turned around to find Tom had stripped off his wet shirt. “Whew,” he muttered.

Whew and double whew,” Damian agreed. “Nice pecs.”

Nice everything,” Giorgio agreed. “And in case you’re wondering Linc, it’s not really possible to gag a ghost in ghost form.

“Well damn.”

Tom chuckled as he held out his hand for the shirts. “You all right there?”

“Oh yeah,” Linc whispered. “More than and hell I shouldn’t be…” He bit his lip as he stared at Tom. Damian had been right; Tom had nice pecs, fantastic chest altogether and... He quickly brought his eyes back up to Tom’s face. “You must work out a lot.”

“Not really. I help my dad with his landscaping business in trade for staying at the house. Don’t ever let anyone tell you it’s easy work because it’s not.” Tom looked at the two shirts. “’Dr. Who’ fan I take it.”

“Definitely, and even more so when he came on the show.” Linc pointed to one of the shirts. “He was, umm…a good actor…yeah.”

“And sexy as hell so I think I’ll borrow this one.”

Nonplussed by Tom’s comment Linc quickly turned away to find a dry shirt for himself. He heard a chuckle and immediately thought Giorgio was going to make another one of his comments. “Don’t even…” he growled under his breath.

“What, I can’t say he’s sexy?” Tom asked.

“No, I mean yes, I mean…damn it men aren’t supposed to call other men sexy.”

“Oh? Why not?”

Linc spun around to look at him. “Just…because.”

I bet he’s gay,” Giorgio said gleefully. “Ask him.

“You’re crazy. No way…”

Tom shook his head, starting for the door. “I’m not crazy, but I’m beginning to have serious doubts about you. Thanks for the loan of the shirt. I’ll get it back to you tomorrow.”

“Wait, please, I can explain.”

“Explain what? That you have an invisible friend you talk to? Or maybe there are two of you inside your head, sort of like in that one story of yours.”

Linc looked at him in surprise. “You’ve read them?”

Tom shrugged. “Yeah. They’re good horror stories.”

“Thanks. But, I mean…”

“You didn’t do a half bad job with the main characters either. Most authors don’t really handle the whole gay thing too well. Well most straight male authors I should say.”

Oh boy, we have a problem,” Damian grumbled. “He thinks you’re straight, Linc.”

“I sort of noticed,” Linc replied without thinking.

Tom leaned against the door frame, one eyebrow cocked. “So you decided to see if you could do it better huh?”

“What? Oh, well, yeah I suppose so.”

“What did you do, go online to research the…technical details?” Tom grinned. “Lot’s of hits on gay porn sites?”

You better tell him the truth or he’s going to think you’re one strange puppy, Linc.”

Linc bit down hard on his lip to keep from telling Giorgio out loud to get lost. Regaining his slipping control he said, “Those sites are unreal.”

“What’s the trouble Linc? You got turned on when you watched. I hear that can happen to straight guys sometimes. Afraid it means you some sort of sick perv?” Tom’s look was thunderous. 

Tuesday, August 16, 2011

The Writer and the Ghosts - 13

Linc almost dropped the platter when he entered the kitchen and heard Giorgio say, “He’s cute, and sexy.”

“And straight,” Linc muttered.

Jeanie shot him a puzzled look. “What’s straight?”

“Umm, should I take this straight into the dining room?”

“No. Put the chicken in a pan so I can finish cooking it. Oh, and you too, Tom,” she added when the young man appeared. When he cocked an eyebrow in question she said, “Chicken…pan.”

Linc set the platter down, grabbed a paper towel to dry his glasses so he could see clearly again then dug a pan out of the cupboard and with Tom’s help the chicken was soon in the oven. “Anything else, mom?” he asked.

She shooed him away, telling him to go keep his friends company.

“What friends,” he said softly as he followed Tom out of the kitchen.

Well if you play your cards right…” Giorgio said. “That Tom’s got a nice ass on him.

Giorgio,” Damian said before Linc could, “shut up. Although…” there was a small pause, “it is rather a nice one.

“Both of you, stop,” Linc growled.

Tom turned around to look at him. “Stop what?

“Umm…” Linc tried desperately to think of a reply that made sense. “Just telling the rain to stop. It’s going to be crowded in here.”

“Rain, rain, go away,” Jeff said as he and Allie joined them, his arm around her waist. “Do you have any towels, we’re all soaking wet, especially you two.”

Linc suddenly realized exactly how wet Tom was when he saw his shirt was plastered to his body. He gulped, saying, “I’ll be right back.”

Offer him a dry shirt, you idiot,” Giorgio said.

“I’m not…”

“You’re doing it again.” Linc spun around to find Tom right behind him. “Do you always talk to yourself out loud?”

“No! Well not always. Just when… Umm, would you like a dry shirt? I can bring you one.”

“Sure, if you’ve got something that’ll fit. I’m a bit larger than you. Tell you what I’ll come up with you, that way you don’t have to do by guess and by golly.”


Hot damn,” Giorgio said. Linc could imagine him smirking and sighed.

Want me to gag him?” Damian asked, chuckling. “One nod for yes, two for no.

Linc nodded once, sharply. He heard a muffled sound which he prayed was Giorgio being gagged or better yet dragged away. Presuming that was possible considering they were both incorporeal at the moment.

Sunday, August 14, 2011

The Writer and the Ghosts - 12

“You must be Linc,” the young man said as Linc dropped down next to him. “I’m Tom, that’s Jeff,” he tilted his head towards the blonde on sitting on the other side of him, “and he’s Neal.” Tom pointed to the third young man, a red-head, who was leaning against the tree staring pensively off into space. “He’s sort of shy,” Tom whispered, “but a nice kid when he deigns to talk.”

Neal glanced over, lifted his can of beer in acknowledgement then went back to whatever he was thinking about.

“So,” Tom said, “I hear you’re a writer.”

Linc nodded. “I have two books published, horror stories.” He decided not to mention the main characters were gay. He figured that wasn’t the way to impress them. Not that he cared about doing that but still… Tom at least seemed friendly enough.

“Aren’t you a bit young to have two books out,” Jeff asked, leaning forward to look at Linc.

“I didn’t realize there was an age limit,” Linc shot back, bristling.

“Jeff’s just jealous,” Tom said. “Like the rest of us he’s living with the parental units.”

“Only until the wedding,” Jeff replied. “Then I’m moving into my own place. Well our own place.”

“Allie’s own place if you want to get technical,” Tom said with a grin.

“She’s my sister,” Neal said softly as he shifted so he could join the conversation.

Linc glanced at the two girls he’d seen with the women. “Bet she’s the redhead. When’s the wedding?”

“End of the month,” all three young men replied at once. Tom laughed. “Sorry but that seems to be the question of the hour. Do you have a girlfriend lucking somewhere Linc?’

“Not at the moment, no,” Linc answered truthfully.

“Maybe we should introduce him to Lisa, that’s the girl with Allie,” Jeff said with a smirk.

Tom shook his head. “She’d eat him alive. Besides she seems to have set her cap for Neal, or whatever it is women do.”

Neal shuddered. “If she wasn’t going to be Allie’s bridesmaid I’d tell her to go home. She’s…scary.”

“What are you worried about anyway? You’ve got Susan.”

Neal smiled softly. “Yeah I do and if she didn’t have to work she’d be here…”

A crash of thunder followed by a bolt of lightening cut him off, and then the skies opened up. The women screamed, grabbed bowls and plates of food, and raced for the house. Linc dashed over to help his father put the chicken onto platters while another man speared the steaks off the grill and dumped them into a cooking tray. The rain hitting the fire created billowing smoke which made the job even harder.

“Here, let me,” Tom said from behind Linc, reaching around him to take one overly full platter of almost cooked chicken. He pushed some of it off onto a second platter, yelped and sucked his fingers. “Hot, hot.”

Linc couldn’t help but say, “Well duh,” even as he watched Tom. His finger sucking struck Linc as very erotic. Quickly he turned away, picking up the second platter then heading to the house.

Friday, August 12, 2011

'Hitman's Creed' - a blurb and excerpt.

Coming September 10th from Silver Publishing 

(Please note: Neither the blurb not the excerpt have gone through final edits)


Two men:
Glenn Tanner, a thirty-four year old hitman who wants to disappear and start a new life.
Joey Fairburn, a twenty-one year old Criminal Justice student studying to become a cop.

One problem in common:
Joey's father, an escaped killer, is on his way to the small town where Joey and his mother live, and where Glenn has finally settled down. Only time will tell if Glenn and Joey, so disparate in both age and backgrounds, will be able to find a common bond to unite them in an attempt to stop the killer from murdering Joey's mother, and in the process perhaps find love.


       There comes a point in everyone's life when they wonder if they've made the right choices. Glenn was at that point as he rested his hands on the railing of the catwalk high above the stage. He had everything planned down to the nth degree, as always. The AR-7 rested between his legs, scope attached. He could make his way from where he stood to the exit he needed even in the dark. He knew this because he'd practiced it several times over the last two days. One of the advantages of being on the backstage crew was the freedom of movement it gave him to roam the theater at will.
      While he watched the show in progress, waiting for the moment when it was time to put his plan into action, part of his mind was lamenting the fact that, as always, he would be on a plane heading off to nowhere as soon as he was finished. Such was his life, one anonymous hotel room after another, no place to call home, no one to go home to even if he had one.
      "Maybe it's time to find a new profession," he murmured under his breath.
     The sound of laughter from the audience broke his train of thought, bringing him back to the present. He brushed his hand through his hair, which was at the moment dark, the natural gray streaks at his temples invisible thanks to his expertise at dying it to suit whatever role he was playing while on the job. Then instinctively he ran a finger over his upper lip to smooth his moustache. It was no longer there, gone to make him look younger than his thirty-four plus years. ‘I’m getting too old for the game,’ he thought yet again as he had too often recently.
       He heard the actress speak the lines which told him it was almost time and picked up the rifle. A fast check around him told him what he already knew. He was alone on the catwalk.
     He knelt, resting the rifle against one of the railing bars. A flash of movement caught his attention momentarily; a young actress was pacing nervously in the wings, awaiting her cue to enter. Ignoring her he calmly stared through the scope to sight in on his target. He had no idea why the woman he was looking at needed eliminating, or in this particular place. That was none of his business. It was his job to do it successfully, and in his own self-interests not to be caught afterwards.
       The actress stood facing the actor playing her husband as they spoke their lines, her hands resting on his shoulders, the only two on stage at the moment. Glenn knew he had only a minute before she moved. He focused in on the top of her head and slowly pulled the trigger, once and then again. When the bullets tore through her skull there was a moment of dead silence and then the screams began as she fell to the stage floor.
      Even as people rushed to his victim's side a few of the stagehands paused to look up into the fly space trying to locate him. By then Glenn was disassembling the rifle. He put the parts into the bag at his feet, picked it up, and raced down the dark catwalk. When he reached the end, he paused just long enough to strip off the black jumpsuit he'd been wearing, stuffing it into the bag as well. Now he was in the dark jeans and a navy turtleneck he'd worn when he came to work earlier that evening.
       Slinging the bag over his shoulder, Glenn made his way up the ladder at the end of the catwalk to the grid at the top of the theater's fly space, his crepe-soled shoes making no sounds on the metal rungs. He knew he was virtually invisible from below but was taking no chances, especially when he heard the sound of feet coming up a ladder from the backstage area to the lighting grid. Obviously at least one crew member was willing to take the chance that they could find him before he got away.
       Just ahead of him now, at the top of a final short ladder, was the emergency exit he needed. He’d already disabled the alarm so there would be no worry it would go off and alert anyone as to his exact whereabouts. He pushed the trapdoor open and leapt onto the slanted roof. It was still slick from an earlier rain shower so Glenn was doubly careful as he made his way to the edge and then over it to the fire escape. Before he started down he checked to make certain the alley was vacant of any observers, including transients who might have sought shelter in one of the doorways. With no one in sight he sped down, jumping silently the last few feet to the pavement.
       Then he strolled casually toward the street, stopping long enough to light a cigarette, the brief glow of the lighter reflecting off his deadly serious hazel eyes. When Glenn reached the end of the alley he smiled tightly when he heard the blare of sirens then saw two patrol cars come to a screeching stop in front of the theater. He turned in the opposite direction and was soon just another pedestrian out for a night on the town.

The Writer and the Ghosts - 11

Linc looked in the mirror and wondered who the man was he saw there. “For sure that’s not me,” he murmured softly.

“It’s the new you,” Damian replied from behind him.

“And sexy as hell.” Giorgio grinned. “We done good.”

Linc supposed he was right. The man in the mirror wasn’t bad looking, even with the glasses. Tight jeans encased his legs. A pale green shirt, unbuttoned halfway down at Giorgio’s insistence, seemed to bring out the green in his hazel eyes. He started to run a hand through his hair and Giorgio immediately grabbed his arm.

“It’s perfect the way it is.” Putting his hands on Linc’s shoulders he turned him to face the door. “Now go, have fun, make friends.”

“I don’t want to,” Linc replied petulantly. “I have better things to do, like…write.”

Damian smiled. “Just this once you get to live life, not just write about it. So move it.”

With a sigh Linc walked slowly out of his room.

“Now we babysit to make certain he doesn’t hide behind a pillar or something,” Giorgio said as he began to fade from view. Damian nodded and followed.

At the bottom of the stairs Linc paused to see exactly how bad things were going to be. The living room held a few people his parent’s age who seemed content to just sit and chat with each other. He wondered if he could join them, maybe take the chair in the corner that no one seemed interested in and just sit and listen.

“No,” he heard Giorgio say. “The back yard’s where all the fun is.”

“And you’re going to stick like glue to make certain I go out there,” Linc muttered under his breath.

A laugh sounded as Damian said, “You better believe it. And quit talking to us, people will think you’re talking to yourself and wonder.”

“But…” Linc snapped his mouth closed. Damian was right and he knew it so he tightened his resolve and made his way to the back porch. Then he grinned to himself. ‘They can’t follow me out here. I’m safe.’  Stepping off the porch he stood and surveyed the scene in front of him.

The barbeque grill was surrounded by men, ‘No surprise there,’ he thought. The women seemed to have congregated around the tables set up on one side of the yard. A couple of them were young, around his age. He froze when one of them saw him and began to whisper to her friend, both of them looking his way then. Quickly he hurried to join his father at the grill. “Need any help?”

“Not at the moment. Everything seems to be under control as long as the storm holds off, or moves in another direction.” They both looked up at the gathering clouds on the horizon. Richard patted his son’s shoulder. “Go enjoy yourself.”

Linc was tempted to say, “You mean I can back upstairs,” but knew that was not an option. If one of his parents didn’t come up to drag him back to the party then the ghosts would.

So instead he looked around, wondering where he could safely watch unmolested. He saw three young men sitting under the large oak tree, drinks in hand as they talked to each other, all three of them casually dressed, if a bit ‘preppy’ looking. One of them glanced up, saw him and beckoned for him to join them. Reluctantly he did, stopping on the way to snag a soda from one of the coolers.

Wednesday, August 10, 2011

The Writer and the Ghosts - 10

With the party planning well underway and in his mother’s competent hands Linc got back to what he loved most, writing. The book was going well and he figured barring necessary interruptions he might have it finished and ready to sent to his publisher by the end of the month, which was his deadline.

Then, two days before the party, Damian and Giorgio reappeared. They had been blessedly absent up until now, much to Linc’s relief.

Giorgio immediately, without asking, went to rifle through Linc’s closet. “No, no, absolutely not, oh my god this is dreadful.” He turned to look at Linc. “When was the last time you went clothes shopping? When the dinosaurs ruled?”

“There is nothing wrong with my clothes,” Linc protested. “They’re…comfortable, and that’s what counts.”

“For a recluse holed up in a dark cave, maybe,” Giorgio snorted out. “Okay, we have shopping to do.”

Damian cocked an eyebrow. “Just how are ‘we’ going to go shopping with him.”

Rather than reply directly Giorgio asked Linc, “Do you have a credit card?”

“Of course, who doesn’t?”

“Me for one,” Giorgio grumbled. “I had a one but gee, somehow it seems to have expired. Wonder why.”

“You’re getting old and senile and forgot to re-up it?” Linc asked with a straight face.

“I’ll have you know I’m only twenty-six which is not that much older than you.”

“And into the whole retro thing from the look of your clothes. You’re the one who needs to go shopping, not me.”

“Unfortunately,” Damian put in, “what we died in is what we’re stuck with.”

“Whoa, that sucks. So if I died right now..?”

“You’d spend the afterlife in too-short cut-offs and a…what the hell is that anyway?” Giorgio looked at Linc’s T-shirt.

“It’s the Tardis. Don’t tell me you don’t know what that is.”

“Looks like a phone booth,” Damian commented.

Linc rolled his eyes. “Where have you been? Don’t you watch television? Dr. Who?”

“Who’s on first, What’s on second…” Giorgio said, grinning.

           “I Don’t Know’s on third,” Linc finished with a laugh. “But the wrong ‘Who’.”

Damian shook his head. “We’ve got better things to do than watch the boob-tube as someone called it.”

“Such as harassing poor humans like me,” Linc muttered.

“You bet.” Giorgio grinned. “So get out the card, Linc, you’re going shopping as soon as we tell you what to buy.”

“Just how are you..? Oh.” Linc sighed when Giorgio pointed to the computer. Reluctantly he saved his file, closed it and logged onto the internet. “WalMart?” he asked.

“Not even. There have to be decent men’s shops close enough to drive to.”   

“If there are, Giorgio, I have no idea where.”

Giorgio looked back at the closet for a second and snorted. “I can tell. So do what you have to to find one.”

Fifteen minutes later Linc had a shopping list of sorts. Giorgio, who seemed to be the fashion expert of the pair, had insisted Linc get some tight jeans for starters. He really wanted him to get leather pants but Linc had put his foot down on that.

“Where the hell would I wear them?” he asked.

Giorgio looked at Linc as if he was dense. “To a club, obviously. When you meet the man of your dreams you’re going to want to take him to one.”

Linc just shook his head. “Even if, and it’s not likely, someone interesting comes to the party, he’s for sure not going to want to go out with me. Besides, I don’t dance.”

Giorgio looked at him in shock. “You don’t dance?”

“Not a lick.”

“Where the hell have you been all your life? In a monastery?”

“Nope. In college then in a relationship that turned out sucky and then here.”

“And it all that time you never once went clubbing. Un-fucking-believable.”

“Now, now, Giorgio, not everyone’s into living the way you did,” Damian said, patting his shoulder. “Sex, drugs and rock and roll.”

Giorgio got a dreamy look in his eyes for a moment. “Hendrix, Joplin, ah the good old days.” He shook his head. “But enough of that, back to clothes. I’ll let you pass on the leathers. Now for shirts.”

Monday, August 8, 2011

The Writer and the Ghosts - 9

Jeanie looked up from her book when Linc came into the living room. He gave her a weak smile as he sank down into one of the chairs across from the sofa.

“Okay, what’s wrong?” she asked.

“Nothing, well…no, nothing, I just had an idea but it’s probably a stupid one but still…well…umm…”

“Spit it out,” Richard said from the other end of the sofa.



“Okay I was thinking that we’ve been here for a month now and well, umm…”

Jeanie shot an amused look at her husband. “Well, umm, what, Linc?”

“You need to throw a housewarming party so you can meet the neighbors because it’s nice to know the people in the neighborhood and this weekend would be good because the weather’s nice so it could be out in the back yard and…and that was my idea. Stupid, huh?”

Richard muttered under his breath, “Who are you and what did you do with our son?”

“Richard, behave,” Jeanie responded with a laugh. “I think it’s a great idea. We could have a barbeque. Invite everyone on the block. As far as I’ve seen they’re all our age, more or less, so we wouldn’t have to worry about having children running around.”

Linc deflated when she said that. “All your age?”

“Well there are some ‘boomerang kids’ I think. At least I’ve seen a few young people your age around and about.” She grinned. “We’ll be sure to invite them too.”

“You don’t have to.”

Yes she does.”

Linc tried not to jump when he heard Damian’s voice behind him and almost answered him. Instead he put on his best face and told his mother with a shrug, “I guess it would be nice to meet some people my own age.”

That’s the whole idea,” Giorgio said from beside Linc.

“Will you stop,” Linc growled sotto voce.

Richard looked at Linc in surprise. “Stop what?”

“Sorry,” Linc mumbled, “I was…umm…well…”

Thinking about your story?” Damian suggested; laughter in his voice.

“Yeah that’s it; I was telling myself to stop thinking about my book and concentrate on planning for the party.”

“We’ll do it in the morning,” Jeanie told him. “It’s a bit late to do it tonight.”

“Okay, good.” Linc stood up quickly. “I have to get back to what I was working on before I got the brainstorm.”

“All right, dear, we’ll see you for breakfast then.”

“You bet.” Linc kissed his mother’s cheek and said good-night to both of them before going upstairs.

Jeanie watched him leave and smiled. “I think maybe he’s decided to get back to living again.”

“Looks like,” Richard agreed. “I wonder what brought that about.”

Giorgio looked at Damian and laughed. “Think we should tell them?

Umm, no, not if we don’t want Linc trying to kill us.

Been there, done that, once is more than enough thanks. Now, speaking of bedtime…

Damian grinned and vanished with Giorgio right behind him.

“Now that was weird,” Jeanie said. “I could have sworn I saw something move out of the corner of my eye.”

“You’re just tired.” Richard stood and held out his hand. When Jeanie joined him he put his arm around her waist and winked as he said, “Your bed or mine.”

Jeanie laughed. “Ours?”

“Sounds perfect to me.” He kissed her quickly, then once again with more enthusiasm, before they headed upstairs.