3WW corridor, linger, subtle

The best and only true Boho family recounts their adventures coming home to San Francisco. MizB is, well some day I’m going to publish one of our rants about the state of the world in general. We rant perfectly together and not even about blogging
The sidebar posts can always be found in the category “250 word rant.”
My BIO posts seem to have disappeared. I’m hoping that it’s a snafu, as when I click “contact BIO” i get the same message. I don’t have copies or screen shots–one hard drive ago. They were an important part of my blogging experience and I’m proud of those posts. They took a long time to research and write. This isn’t one of my better weeks. That was my hopeful side.
I am in a foul mood. I need sunshine and warm weather in August. There is a new fiction post beneath this. It’s long so I didn’t put it in 3WW. It’s good.



Esme stood in the corridor. She didn’t know what to say. The world belongs to the young and the beautiful and she had a longer than average run. Logically she knew that. Logically she knew that she wasn’t ugly, wasn’t somebody that people would turn away from in the street. Logically she knew that people liked and respected her.

Life isn’t logical. Esme knew that also. She couldn’t look in the mirror anymore. She didn’t want to be photographed. When had she gone from ingenue to serious young middle age heroine to character actress? She didn’t want to have character. She didn’t want to be a character. She wanted to be the person she had been for so long.

What was that advice people were always giving her when she was young? Don’t linger too long. Get out when you still have your dignity. Esme had usually ignored advice, and won anyway. Usually, just not when it really mattered. Then she listened and lost

She could tell from the subtle way that people were turning away from her she wasn’t truly welcome anymore. Of course people wanted her to be around. Her name guaranteed press coverage. But they didn’t want her to actually stay or be a part of the party.

The party was in a huge room off the corridor. She stood to a side watching people walk into the room. They were laughing. Forcing themselves to pretend to have a good time whether or not they really were. The host was important. Nobody had ever really liked him. His tongue was too biting. That in itself forced people to bend to his will

Esme never could stand him. Then why had she married him three long decades ago? She had been young and in love with somebody unsuitable. The era of the studio telling you who to marry was over but suitability still played a role. The marriage hadn’t lasted long. Jeremiah had come to terms with his sexuality. Esme had always been good at getting men to admit that they were Gay. It wasn’t a trait she was particularly fond of.

He had found true love with a younger version of himself. Esme flitted from man to man. The one she had always wanted was now happily married. So he was a grip, not a star. Should she have cared?

She was in love once more. After five marriages she wasn’t about to get involved with anybody even if he was suitable. Even if nobody cared had he not beenif he wasn’t suitable? a proper mate? David was everything she had wanted for too long. Funny. Bright. Just a few years younger. Handsome. A columnist who made her think. For the first time she didn’t dare dream. She missed the girl who dreamed so much.

She had to quit feeling sorry for herself. She had to create a new life. One that involved a nunnery. She had to get out of here. Too late. Jeremiah came to the corridor. She braced herself for some cutting remark, but he only said:
Why do you linger so long, Esme? Will you please come to the party.

Jeremiah took her by the shoulder. Why was the room suddenly dark? She had watched people walk in. She looked at Jeremiah in bewilderment as the lights went on and hundreds of people, most everybody she knew screamed: Surprise. Happy Birthday.

All she could think as she saw David on the side smiling at her that this was the only subtle gesture Jeremiah had ever made.