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Curtains

  He told her after they married, no matter what happened, even if they were starving, he would never get a job. ‘Don’t worry Sweetie, I’ll take care of everything,’ she said. Who knows why she wasn’t shocked. She found ways to hustle and he kept busy with the capturing of butterflies and pined for offspring. The husband pinned his colorful captures behind vitrines and whinnied about wanting ch
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SHE IS CAITLYN

  In NYC I go to a restaurant called Seven at eight. When I arrive the duplicitous tycoon admits he’s invited others, a movie producer and someone who will ‘pop in’ by the name of Nicky Haslam. Everyone in England knows of Nicky Haslam, and since I was raised in the UK I know of him, except we’ve never met and I presumed he’d be tricky. Wrong again, he’s fabulous! ‘Caitlyn,’ the producer pointed with his c
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Orange

Amongst many feats the Yellow Mockingbird can somersault as well as sing in a discordant way. He is the clown of birds. He is the largest of the warblers and easily mistaken for something else until you listen to him or watch him show off his tricks. When I was in Panama going to the beach required traipsing a sandy path and cutting through someone’s property which included bulls and cows who were a little disc
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Sunday Story ~ Fate Dictates

  Something needed finishing. A loophole needed closing. It was eons in the making already. Long overdue. Sure there’s a master plan, a matrix with all the details sorted tidily, but just as surely there are variables, there are rips in the fabric, tears made from tears. Human suffering paid forward forcing undue pressure on the now. So it bursts, it busts, combusts. Act of God? Even for unbelievers? The conveyo
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Lucky Lucy

I gave him my address which was #7 Gay Street and despite no one believing this street exists it is not an invention, it connects West 4th Street with Christopher Street in a portion of Manhattan that is off the grid in so many directions. He could’ve waited for me to trot downstairs but instead for some reason he asked to be buzzed in and he huffed up the three flights of this old narrow townhouse and he knock
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A Good Guy

Yes, he saw her when he entered the bar but at thirty-nine he was stealth. He was with his crew. Mates from childhood. All American as they say. He wanted her, instantly. She was there for business and sat alone on a bench near the window, listening to the band and considering if she even liked their music. For one thing the front man had a creepy vibe. To her sensibilities the music was undanceable but it had someth
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King Rat

Another man dies, out of turn. How many times did he invite me to join him at the bar so he could tell me stories. And I always said I would and of course I never went. There was a pathos to him, like an immutable sadness, and it was too febrile for me. I justified this because I was sure I could guess the stories. I knew they would involve a lot of drinking and illegal mayhem mixed in with fairytale moments of sight
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Upstairs Downstairs

1984 and I was residing in London and reading obsessively in my spare time while working as a researcher. Workday mornings I took the train to Oxford where I had full access to Blenheim Palace, from the employees to Capability Brown’s gardens and the palace attics filled with trunks of documents and news clippings. I read Winston Churchill’s letters. The evening train ride to London I’d compile my notes.   At the end
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Wasted Youth

‘Because you’re older than me you think I know nothing?’ ‘Probably.’ ‘You ever see a movie called To Kill A Mockingbird?’ ‘It was a book. Did you know that?’ ‘No. I saw the movie. Cary Grant right?’ ‘Sure.’
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