Jacob and Edom Arrive“Almost there. Watch out for the light.” Gripping one end of the mattress, Jacob backed into the living room. “We can just leave it here. I’ll move it into the bedroom later.”
Edom, holding the other end, followed Jacob into the room. Rings of red hair fell over his eyes. Auburn drops cascaded down his back — a lion’s mane. A diabolic goatee framed his mouth, menaced his gentle features, his innocent green eyes.
Jacob and Edom flung the mattress to the floor and collapsed on top of it.
“That’s everything. Where’s my beer?”
"Give me a minute. I gotta catch my breath.” Jacob’s greedy mouth gulped the stale air. His straight chestnut locks dripped salted tears, tangy drops that stung the corners of his muddied eyes. Propped on his elbows, he scanned the box-cluttered living room.
“Man, I’m beat and I’ve still gotta unpack all this shit.” Jacob struggled to his feet, leg-wearied, light-headed. “If you’re hungry, I can order us a pizza. There’s a cool place down the street.” He stumbled into the kitchen.
“Maybe later, I just wanna rest for a few minutes. Why don’t you put on some tunes? Something mellow. Maybe some Sinatra.”
Returning, Jacob handed Edom a beer. Hugging a bottle of gin to his chest, he sat on an overturned crate. He uncapped the glass-encased spirits and took a swig of the captive soul. A grimace softened to a grin. “Can’t play any tunes until I hook up the stereo. If you’re desperate, I can sing to you. I know all the words to ‘New York, New York.’”
Edom closed his eyes. He pulled his hair back from his face. “No, thanks. I’ll never be that desperate. Did you find a gig yet?”
“Yeah, at a bar a few blocks from here. ‘The Green Boar.’ Catchy, huh? It should be perfect. I work nights, four days a week. Eclectic clientèle. I should be able to get lots of material.” Jacob took another shot of gin, wiping his mouth on his sleeve.
“What do you mean by 'material'?”
“Material for my stories. I’m gonna milk the customers for ideas. I told you before, I’m gonna be a writer. I’m gonna be famous, Ed, so you better be nice to me. Maybe, if you’re lucky, I’ll let you be in my entourage.”
2 comments:
"I told you before, I’m gonna be a writer. I’m gonna be famous, Ed, so you better be nice to me. Maybe, if you’re lucky, I’ll let you be in my entourage.”
At some point, every writer at least THINKS this... although we'd never admit it.
Hi Ruthie,
I think in many ways the character was meant to be someone who'd do things I never would. Giving voice to my darker side :).
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