"Margret honey, you know damn well daddy would have a hissy fit if he were to find out what you've been up-to.""Papa is never gonna know unless you tell him. You say one word Leroy, and I swear, I will skin you myself and have your onerous hide tacked on that tree."
After waving a graceful arm over the porch railing towards General Breckenridge, an old historic front yard tree). Margret ripes off her gardening gloves and drops them on the white wicker table-- almost upsetting her Rosenthal porcelain coffee service. She kneels to retrieve a silver spoon that had bounced from the table to the porch's wide plank floor, her face red with pent up anger. When her eyes were level with her twenty-six-year-old younger brothers, who sat leaning forward in an antique rocker, Leroy Hastings smiled with a devilish grin.
"Temper, temper, dear sister, or I'll tell that old sawbones you seem to think so highly of, that you are not following his orders."
"Leroy, papa should have drowned you like a sack of kittens as soon as he found out you were not his son."
Leaning back in the wicker rocker, Leroy Hastings Clark laughed, his smile showing an expensive picket fence of peril whites. His pretty boy fresh from the shower clean looks and that smile usually got him what he wanted. Rocabar Hermes aftershave mingled in unseen ribbons of the cool October breeze, along with the smell of fresh coffee. Leroy closed his eyes to the breath taking eye candy of several blooming Amaryllis, as well as a half-dozen other flowering plants in hanging baskets that lined the estates rap-a-round porch. He had to admit, his sister's passion for flowers ran parallel with his own love of gardening.
"Maybe so dear sister." He said. "But you are the one in hot water, and I know how to save your sorry ass, so you better be nice to me."
"Leroy, I truly despise you!"
"I know you do darln'. Daddy always did like me best."
A look of seriousness fell over his handsome smile, as if it were a veil from an underpaid Arabian Nights exotic dancer. In a voice much older than his years, Leroy Hastings jerked a thumb for his older sister to sit.
"Now you listen to me, we haven't come all this way to loose what we have worked so hard for have we?"
"Work! Why you lazy good for nothing, chippy chasing, whisky drinking, worthless piece of white trash. You never lift a finger around here."
"Spitfire! That's the spirit. Old Hickory would be proud sister honey.
Gently picking up a fancy silver spoon, Leroy taps several times on a pretty rose pattern sugar bowl as if it were the bell to signal the end of round one in a boxing tournament.
1 comment:
Okey dokey! Personaly, I still laugh when I reread what I wrote here. Ya'll folks must not understand good humor when ya read.
It's a good thing I love to write, cuz sure as hell seems like I got no readers now but little'o me, and even if I do, they ain't got the courage to comment as to wheither they like my writing style.
It's ok tho. I didn't come all this way to give up learning how to be a good and popular writer.
I know they're only words and ideas that paint pictures, but sometimes they are the only things I have to soothe my lonely heart.
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