This is my blog. I delete comments that are rude or crude.
I should shout out the blogger still known as Bone for supplying the words, but the “still known as…” part nullifies any need to. He’s neither rude nor crude but The False Messiah–such a better name. this is fiction. Usually I do it fast and end after 25 minutes, but I’m in a very pensive mood.
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New York, July 1985
Normally Briana would be in Amagansett, that very hot July week, but she had come back to the city to go to Philadelphia to see Live Aid. Her husband, Drew, had been given back stage passes. She was no longer in the lust or newly wed stage, and thrilled to be with an entertainment attorney.
Sometimes, she wondered how she had gone from second tier rock stars to him. She had thought that it was a step toward stability. But now Briana thought of the wild nights coke fueled days with more than healthy nostalgia.
All her friends were joining “A” groups. People seemed to be begging to be called “alcoholics” or some sort of drug addict. They would recite the warning signs and cheerfully ask if they had them. When they were answered affirmatively, they seemed very happy.
The new sobriety seemed to match the deaths that were beginning to occur. Briana’s best friend, Allen, probably wasn’t going to make it until fall.
Briana was very glad to be married, and not have to worry about any risks from sleeping with a man. Nobody knew anything about the incubation period, but it didn’t seem to hit most straight men and women. Neither she nor Drew had ever been the needle in the arm type drug user. Prior sex history? Too late to worry about that now.
She might be happy to be married but she should have stayed in the Hamptons. She couldn’t stand the thought of going to Live Aid, and only occasionally smiling, and exchanging meaningless greetings with one musician. They lived together for three years, but they never talked about marriage.
She was turning 30 when she met Drew and he seemed so darn stable. Her best friend Dinah had been married to a rock star since she was 21 but her husband was Oxford educated. Wyatt was much richer. Drew was rich enough. She co-wrote a series of teen books with Dinah. Financial security wasn’t the kind of stability she was looking for.
Drew felt like family not a playmate she went down on. He was a very good husband. Then why did she feel as if somebody had put a noose around her neck?
She went to the blonde wood secretary to write a note to Wyatt offering to meet him somewhere when she tripped over the heel of a sandal she had carelessly slipped off.
Brianna believed in signs, and this seemed like a big one.
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The whole thing about President Ford healing the nation bothers me. He did tell NY to drop dead–not literally–a headline writer wrote that, but….so that begs the question, why did New Yorkers feel estranged from the rest of the country? Just as we’re beginning to feel like part of America I have to read and hear everywhere about how Ford healed the nation when he purposely left out New York. The 70′s were horrible here, though I loved them, as were much of the 80′s. New Yorkers have an I will do it myself mentality for good reason. Republican presidents tend to dislike us. It’s great to honor the dead, but don’t make them into something they’re not
Scary words, great post.
The Alphabet disorder thing was interesting as well.
Great post. I tend to write posts the same way–one shot, straight through with no revisions–except mine take upwards of an hour.
I write very long posts… and titles, I guess. LOL
This will be continued, right?
You’re very good at these. I can’t say that enough. Great ending.
Oh, and thanks for the almost mention
Three-word Wednesday on an actual Wednesday? What’s this world coming to?
Great work with three tricky words, Pia.
NY’ers area always seen as too liberal for the Republicans. I don’t remember that about Ford (but I don’t really remember anything about him) but if he dissed NY, I am not interested in him!
I think it’s very important to honor the dead by speaking honestly about exactly what kind of person they were while alive. It doesn’t do anyone no good by making them out to be saints when they were just as human as the rest of us, darling.
I love how this flowed. I don’t know if I want to see it continued or just revel in the beauty of the short vignette. Either way, nicely done.
Those were tricky words. My first thought was something sexual with the secretary.
O:-)
As I was reading this post… the wee one in my belly was kicking the crap out of me! Yeap, kicks are getting stronger!
The disorder thing is a little mind boggling…
To be continued???
I think I have ABCD. Always Believed in Christmas Disorder.
Wonderful post as usual. I couldn’t click in to the alphabet disorders.
Nice story–I’m often too “flippant” in my 3 word stories.
I’m glad Ford is buried. As I wrote, I liked him, but here in Western Michigan, I was beginning to OD on the coverage! I had friends asking me if I wanted to go with them yesterday morning, at 4 AM, to view his casket. I didn’t.
I like your fiction Pia, keep it up!
In death most people are revered in spite of the lives they led… seems to be the dealing-with-death way of the world I am afraid!
You wanted words? You got ‘em!