First Chapter of Contemporary Fiction

Here is the first chapter of a work in progress, a yet un-named novel. The working title for the novel is "Desert Flowers," although it takes place far from a desert setting. The title was taken from a line of poetry composed by the main character who compares herself to a desert flower. I am rethinking that title, since it seems misleading, indicating either a romance or a prairie story, and it is neither. I'd be interested to know if Linda Bradshaw seems like a character worth reading about...

Chapter One

Mystery

Linda Bradshaw stood in front of the microphone and swallowed hard. Initially, there was always a little stage fright but that dissipated. As she sang, she always felt as if she took on a different persona like an actress in a movie, and somehow this helped with the nerves.

First, the Celtic drum started from the drum machine, building in volume. Linda rocked on her feet from heel to toe. Then the synthesizer with a spacey chime setting started in and next the electric violin and driving electric guitars, building layer upon layer of sound.

Linda began to sing, her voice powerful and clear in tone, “You’re everywhere, and you’re nowhere, the invisible guest…” She flung her arms out to the sides, twisting from the waist like a washing machine, resting her voice as the guitars broke in. As she turned from side to side, she was aware of the triangle she formed with the Jones brothers, Mike and Jake, each one swaying both body and guitar. She continued to sing, and with computer accompaniment, her own voice harmonized, singing a descant over the more alto range melody she sang. It was the magic of technology and the result of her cooperation with Mike, using some sound software in an elective class at the high school.

“An unwanted intruder, impossible conundrum, your spirit won’t rest …” The computer played her voice layering over her live one, overlapping as in a round with some special echoey effects. She rested from singing and just the instruments played. The synthesizer switched to a voice setting, sounding like an alien choir from outer space. Linda could envision Kevin Van Dyne behind her, playing as she’d seen him do hundreds of times, his eyes closed, his fingers still finding the right keys.

Linda stretched her arms out to the side. With her eyes, she traced the outline of her right arm to the fingertips just as Nicole Howard lifted her electric violin, its hourglass shape just a framework in a stunning metallic blue. She placed the instrument to her chin and played hauntingly and with building passion and volume. Linda moved in motion to the music, rolling her shoulders and moving her arms in almost swim-like strokes. Her sleeves dangled and swished. They were tight at the elbow and flared in rows of ruffles to the wrist.

She rotated to the right just as Mike, who had set down his guitar, started with the theramin, manipulating radio waves with the motion of his hand. It was the instrument that made the spooky noise in the Beach Boys’ “Good Vibrations.” As she spun completely around, she caught a brief glimpse of the Power Point projections on the wall, Kat Anderson’s contribution, artsy digital photos manipulated in Photoshop. An image of a strange long hallway flickered by, then a flash of an empty room and then Kat herself, standing in a room, partially transparent, a wall painting and a sofa showing behind and through her.

Linda began to sing again, “The air is thick with you, and yet you are not there. A hallucination, a pervading atmosphere…” A crack of thunder sounded from the computer. And then her words and song returned to the beginning, “You’re everywhere, and you’re nowhere, an invisible guest…” She spun as she sang, moving her arms from side to side, strokes in the air that passed her face. “And I do not know if I want you to come or go…” The theramin sounded again its peculiar and wavery tones.

“But this much I do know, you have the un-Midas touch, and in your wake, everything disintegrates to rust….” There was a sound clip of shattered glass and a moment later, all the instruments came to a dissonant finale.

There was quiet and silence for a moment or two followed by applause. “Thank you,” said Linda. “We hope to come back to the Quite a Latte coffee shop in future dates. We’re working on putting a CD together so you can look out for that. Check out our website at www.barbaricyawps.com.”

After another burst of applause, the audience turned their attention to their coffees and each other, and in some cases, their laptops. Linda unplugged her microphone, wrapping the cord around it, and began to help the band tear down the equipment.

When she first went out to mingle, it was Kat she noticed first. She was straddling her chair backwards, her legs sprawling out. She had her head tilted to one side, sending her dark, streaked and color-treated hair flowing over one shoulder. Her left ear was exposed showing off a row of silver loops that trailed from her ear lobe to the crown of her ear. “Great show, Lin. I don’t know how you do it. I can’t carry a tune in a bucket. I try to sing along with the radio, and people tell me I’m just singing the same note over and over again,” she said. Kat’s voice came out in a husky laugh.

Linda was temporarily reminded of her sister. Kat was feminine in her own way but had a bit of the tomboy about her.

“Your photos are great though, Kat. Thank you for that. They’re really great. I bet you could sell them. You should talk to the manager here. I bet he’d let you display some in frames, and you could see if you get any bites.”

Kat swiped her hand through her hair. “Really? I don’t know, but thanks.” Kat sipped a coffee drink through a straw, something topped with whipped cream and syrup. “These things are great. I don’t remember what it is, a caramel mocha latte something-or-other. Whoever invented making a drink from a coffee bean was some kind of genius.” She motioned to a chair across the table. “Sit down.”

Lin sat, and Kat turned herself around on her chair.

“I love your skirt,” Kat said. “Where’d you find that?”

Linda looked down over her lap, a short denim skirt painted all over with colorful concentric circles. Her two stick figure legs in black pin-striped tights poked out from the skirt, and the whole ensemble was topped off with an incongruous pair of tweed knee-high Converse boots. They looked very much like the Converse sneaker that just happened to lace all the way up to the knee. “I made it.”

“Get out! No, you didn’t. The girl who can do everything…”

“Yeah. I took a pair of jeans, my sister’s actually, cut them, and just sewed them into a skirt. Then I painted it.”

“You are so talented. Could you make one for me?”

“If you have a pair of jeans, you can give me, sure. But I wouldn’t do the same design. I never make the same design twice.”

“I have jeans I can give you, and you can surprise me with the design. I trust you. How much would you charge?”

“Twenty?” This wasn’t the first time Linda had come across this situation, but she never knew how much to charge.

“Only twenty? How about forty?”

“If you insist.” Linda smiled briefly. A second of awkward silence followed, and Linda looked at her lap then at the table, studying the intricacies of the infinitely repeating fractal design on the table top.

“You write the songs, don’t you?” Kat asked.

“Yes. Sometimes, Mike helps. He’ll add things and expand on it.”

“But you write the words?”

“Yeah.” Linda’s voice came out in a mere breath. She stared out across the coffee shop at the customers leaving and walking out to their cars parked on the street, at the traffic going by.

“Where do you get your ideas?”

“I’m not sure. They just come to me.”

“I liked the last one.”

“Thanks.” Linda folded her hands below the table, flexing her fingers against one another, making the knuckles turn white.

“I keep thinking about it ever since you put me to work on the photos. ‘You’re everywhere, and you’re nowhere…’ It’s so mysterious and spooky. I keep trying to guess your meaning.” Kat’s hazel eyes seemed to look off into the distance then at the light fixture above them.

Linda swiped her fingers through her bangs, angled bangs that hung over her eyes. Her landlady called it her sheepdog look.

“OMG!” Kat set her plastic cup down hard on the table. Her eyes grew wide for a moment and then softened in a sympathetic look. “You lost someone. Someone died?” Her eyebrows rose quizzically.

A cold sensation crept down the back of Linda’s neck, but she willed her face to remain expressionless. “No.” Kat wasn’t right, but she wasn’t so far off from the truth either. Linda picked up her purse, one made from recycled 45 rpm records. She pulled it onto her lap and began to fish through it. “How much for one of those latte things?”

“I’m sorry, Lin.”

“No need to be sorry. You said it yourself. It’s mysterious. It’s intended to be mysterious.” Items passed absent-mindedly through Linda’s hands: her folder of coupons, her house key, a couple of pens and a notebook. She didn’t have the money for a latte. She had the money technically, but though she craved one, it would be a three or four dollar luxury and a waste she’d regret later. She dropped the purse to the side, her face feeling hot and prickly.

“You want me to treat?” Kat asked. “I’ve got some cash. What do you want?”

Linda shook her head. “Nah, I changed my mind. What are you doing in photography class this week?”

“Old black and white photos that we’re scanning and colorizing in Photoshop. I have this photo of my great grandmother in this 1920’s style bathing suit, the kind with little knickers that go down to the knee. It’s hysterical. I’m going to do something with that.” Kat twirled a hank of hair around her finger. “Are you sure you don’t want a coffee?”

Mike walked over then, and Linda breathed a sigh of relief. “Kevin’s inviting us all to his house,” he said.

Linda picked up her bag and stood to her feet.

“Cool. Let’s go then,” said Kat.

“We just need to pack the gear in the van,” said Mike, gesturing with two thumbs towards the door.

Linda headed towards the stage corner of the coffee house and picked up two mic stands and microphones. Turning her head, she looked over to where she’d been sitting. In spite of his own instructions, Mike stood there talking with Kat where she had just a moment or two earlier. She was just glad to be free of the burden of conversation. She carried her load out to the sidewalk where Kevin’s old van awaited.

Outside in the chill fall night air, Kevin jingled the van keys in his hand, his red-blond hair blowing in the night breeze and streaming past his shoulder. “Well, my parents will be out all night at one of their functions…” He emphasized the last word with sarcasm. “And I’ve got booze. So, pile in and let’s go.”

Kat hugged her denim jacket closer around her. “I’m not in the band, but I’ll be your groupie. Can I come?”

Kevin gestured with his hands wide. “You did all that great photo work, and you operated Power Point. You practically are in the band. Come on.”

“Ooh, coffee and booze all in one night. Can you have coffee with booze?”

“Yes, yes, you can,” said Kevin. “Coffee with Kahlua, coffee with Irish cream, coffee with crème de menthe…”

Linda stood aside as Kat, Mike, Jake, Kevin and Nicole piled into the van. She shivered. She’d forgotten a jacket. She hadn’t exactly forgotten. Her jacket was sitting by her sewing machine at home waiting to be made decent again.

Mike poked his head out at Linda. “Come on, Lin. Get in.”

“I can’t….”

“Yes, you can.”

“No, I can’t. I have to study for my French test…”

“It’s Friday night. Who studies for a French test on Friday night?”

“And I have a paper on King Henry VIII.”

“Aw, come on, Lin. Can’t you do it tomorrow and procrastinate like any normal person?”

“I’m sorry. I’ll come to Kev’s house another time.” Linda stood on the sidewalk, hugging her arms for warmth.

“Well? What are you doing?” Mike asked.

“Going home. I’ll see you Monday, okay?”

“Can’t you at least let us drop you off at the house?”

“It’s okay. I was going to walk. I like walking.”

“You’re being weird, Lin,” said Mike as he unfastened his seat belt and climbed out of the van. Once his feet hit the sidewalk, he turned and poked his head in at Kevin. “I’ll see you a little later, Kev. Let me walk Lin home. All right. See ya.” And with that, he swung the van door closed.

“Why do you have to be weird? You have friends, and you push them away,” Mike told Linda.

“Sorry. It’s nothing personal really.” Lin shrugged her shoulders, but this time she couldn’t stop the shivers that ran down her body.

“You prefer to walk, but you’re freezing to death.” Mike removed his black leather jacket and placed it over her shoulders.

Lin slipped her arms through the sleeves and pulled the coat around her. “Thanks Mike.”

“You’re not supposed to let a girl walk home by herself at this time of night.”

Linda was surprised at his idea of chivalry, but then again, here was a guy who was absorbed with King Arthur and medieval fantasy games. “You don’t have to do that. I can take care of myself. I’m a big girl. I’m not afraid.”

“And there you go again.” Mike swung his arm towards her in gesture.

The overhead light above the Quite a Latte coffee house shone down on Mike’s hair, illuminating his short bleached and two-toned spikes. Linda was tempted to reach up and touch it to see if they felt like porcupine quills. She refrained. “Sorry. You can walk with me.” She turned to the right and started walking along the sidewalk, Mike walking beside her.

“Don’t you have any explanation?”

“Explanation?”

“Aside from your French test?”

“Yeah. I have an explanation. I don’t drink.”
“You don’t drink. Okay, you don’t drink. I can respect that. You wouldn’t have to get totally smashed just to be with us. You could be the designated…. Nah, I guess that wouldn’t work… Look what we’re doing. Then again, you could just carry us home in your arms.”
“That’s just pathetic.” Still, Linda smiled at that, catching the spirit of his joke and the ridiculousness of it all. The idea of walking across town, lugging his heavy limp body across her back was both pathetic and ridiculous.

Exotic and sometimes enticing smells piped out of the row of restaurants they passed: Caribbean jerk, Thai and now Greek. Linda looked through the restaurant window, staring at a group of Grecian urns arranged beneath a tasseled and white lacy curtain.

It was Mike who started to speak again. “Don’t you know alcohol inspired all the great ones? Ernest Hemingway, Tennessee Williams, Dorothy Parker, William Faulkner, Jack Kerouac, Miles Davis, Jon Bonham of Led Zeppelin, Bon Scott of AC/DC… Either that or opium, because then there was Edgar Allan Poe and Lewis Carroll. Okay, either alcohol, opium or LSD, because then there was the Beatles… the Beatles and half the other great bands of the ‘60’s. Okay, the list could go on. It’s part of being an artist.”

“Yeah, but maybe it doesn’t have to be.” Linda kicked a pebble along the path.

“Okay, so you’re a dry artist. As long as your imagination’s not dry.”

Linda looked over at Mike. He wore a black sleeveless shirt that exposed what seemed like a new tattoo, the head of a Labrador retriever. It was still pink around the edges and maybe a little goose bumped like the rest of his arm. “Is that new?” Linda pointed but was afraid to touch it. It looked sore.

“Yeah. Don’t laugh. It’s my dog, King. He died. I loved my dog.”

“I’m not laughing.” Linda had never had a dog, but she liked the idea of having one.

They passed a jazz club on the corner, lounge jazz and sliding saxophone notes pouring out onto the street.

“You know, I was talking to Kat,” Mike said. “She thought you were acting a bit weird too. She likes you, you know, Lin. She’d like to get to know you.”

“I like Kat. I don’t dislike her. We made a business deal. I’m making her a jean skirt.”

You know I’ve never even been to your house, Lin?”

His comment seemed unrelated but was related somehow. “You wouldn’t want to…” The wind blew just then, and a can skittered across the path, making a clatter as it scraped across the pavement. Linda wasn’t sure Mike heard. She wasn’t sure she wanted him to hear. She didn’t repeat it.

They walked on until they reached Dave’s Guitars, and it was only natural that they both stopped to admire. Peeking in the storefront window, she eyed a wide variety of guitars, both electric and acoustic, in a range of shapes and colors. Her eyes were drawn to one decorated with roses and another with a Union Jack. “You don’t need to come with me any further. We’re right at Dumont. If you take North Dumont Ave. a couple of blocks, you’ll come to Kev’s street, and you can still make the party.”

Mike stepped a few paces back and looked up above the storefront, staring at the windows and the fire escape, guessing, Linda thought, that she lived in the apartment above the shop. She was quite willing to let him believe that if that’s what he wished. No guitarist could have a problem with living above a guitar shop. “Oh, here.” She removed his jacket and handed it back to him.

“You’re all right?”

“Yeah.” Linda nodded.

“Lin, you’re a mystery.” And putting the jacket on, he turned to head in the direction she’d pointed out.