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How To Write Good Fiction
After kissing everyone on both sides of the face in a room done up like a film and forgetting everything I said directly after I said it I show up at your door smelling like smoke and champagne, in a ball gown. It is 2AM or 5AM I'm half drunk, angry for no recognizable reason and breathing heavily with wet lips, and a swash of light over my eyes like Marlene Dietrich. Before my finger touches the doorbell you swing the door open and hand me a wine spritzer. We do not talk. The camera spins, first you then me, the audience becomes nauseous. I might say "yes", the director says "perfect". We go upstairs.
When I leave with one strap falling down my shoulder, forgetting my coat, you stay upstairs smoking. I imagine you staring at the ceiling where I left you on the bed; you're actually showering or eating leftover Chinese food. I breathe out with drama into the intense cold. My mind overkills the word "intense". I take the last drag off my own cigarette and mumble something like "Damn you, Jack" then grind the cigarette into the hard winter ground with one awkward high heel.
I remember my coat, don't bother going back in again and slam the car door hard give it too much screeching gravel churning gas as I exit your driveway in reverse, swearing I'll never return. The audience thinks they know better.
Carol Casa
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