Beth – Chapter One
Beth- Chapter One
Beth opened the door of her apartment. Tilting her head she listened to the sound of Ravel’s Bolero filling the small space. “Shit”, she muttered under her breath. She knew what that meant, and she was NOT in the mood.
Frowning, she wondered how Finlay could have known that she was on her way home. She had not let him know that the meeting had been cancelled. She hung up her coat, took off her shoes and put them in the shoe cupboard, automatically reaching for Finlay’s shoes and jacket on the floor, where he had left them. Untidy bugger.
She stared at the second pair of shoes next to Finlay’s scuffed Converse. Red high heels. Not her red high heels. Where did they come from?
With a mounting sense of dread, she walked through the apartment, the dadadaduuuum of Bolero booming in her ears. The music rose to a crescendo as she opened the door of her bedroom. There on her bed – the bed that she bought from her very first wage packet – the bed that she had shared with Finlay for the past two years – was Finlay. And the red shoes lady. He was shagging another woman. In her bed. To Bolero. Was there another cliché left unturned? Could he be any more bloody predictable?
“What the FUCK are you doing?”, she screamed, even as she realised what a stupid question that was. It was obvious what they were doing – he was thrusting in time to the music, for God’s sake.
Stalking over to the armoire, she plucked his iPhone out of the docking station, cutting Ravel off. In the silence that followed, two shocked faces turned towards her. “Fuck. Fuck. Beth. It’s not what it looks like”, he stammered.
His blonde hair falling down over her forehead, in that preppy way that she always found adorable, Finlay reached for her. Beth snorted, “It bloody well is what it looks like. You’re shagging another woman in my bed”, she looked more closely at the woman. “Do I know you?”.
MsRedHighHeels was recovering her poise remarkable quickly, she must have been in this position before, Beth mused cattily. “We met at the band rehearsal last week. The bass player is my brother.” Beth remembered her now. She had been all over the band, flirting and fluttering her eyelashes. Groupies were a part of being in a band, but Finlay had always said that he wasn’t interested in them. Beth wondered if this one was the first.
“Right, get out. Both of you. Finlay, you can come back tomorrow to pick up your things. I don’t want to see you again”.
Turning on her heel, she stormed out of the bedroom, pausing only to drop Finlay’s beloved iPhone into the glass of beer that was still sitting next to the sofa from last night. He sprang out of bed, vaulted across the sofa to rescue his phone in the most energetic display that she had seen in months. “You BITCH”, he howled. She gazed at him, naked except for a pair of white tennis socks, a dripping iPhone in his hand and smiled, “I’m going to Starbucks for a coffee. I ‘ll be back in 30 minutes. You and your floozy had better be gone by then”.
“Floozy? You didn’t really call her a floozy, did you”, Beth’s best friend struggled with laughter.
“I did. It suited her. Alex, you should have seen the red high heels. Bloody wicked witch of the West. It’s all right, you can laugh.”
“Sorry, I know it’s not funny but the thought of him playing the sophisticated seducer – why on earth was he playing Bolero?”
“It’s the only classical music on his iPhone – I think it was on a compilation of 50 Best TV Sports Moments or something. He liked to play it when we… well, you know”, Beth admitted.
Alex lost it. She laughed until tears ran down her face. After a moment, Beth joined in. It took some time until she was composed enough to say, “I know it’s awful, but he said that it made him feel like James Bond”, which set them off again.
They were a striking pair of women, even without the borderline hysteria. Beth attracted attention wherever she went – it was inevitable when you had flame coloured hair and green eyes. For work she kept her hair tamed in a neat(ish) bun at the nape of her neck. Or at least it was neat when she left the house in the morning. As soon as she left work, she took the pins out of her hair; it was almost a ritual, shaking the day’s work out of her hair as she walked home. Her tall rangy figure striding along the streets of London made heads turn.
Alex liked to joke that she became friends with Beth because they were such opposites. Beth’s wild red curls and Alex’s sleek dark bob. Where Beth was tall and slim, Alex was short and curvy. Voluptuous. “Oh, alright, overweight, dammit”, Alex would complain, “and there is nothing worse than being the fat friend of a gorgeous skinny woman”.
Beth would retort that she would sell her grandmother if she could have Alex’s boobs,, and so they would banter on, each secure in the knowledge that there was no malice behind their comments, but deep and honest affection.
After several minutes of uncontrollable laughter, Beth took a deep breath, trying to stop sniggering. She signalled the waiter to bring another two drinks. Meeting Alex for drinks was a much better idea than sitting in Starbucks crying into a Chai Latte. The first thing she had done on leaving the apartment was to phone Alex, who had told her boss that there was a family emergency and she had to leave early.
The waiter strutted towards them, his bad boy pose studied, his dark eyes smouldering. Placing fresh drinks in front of them, he smiled seductively at the two women. “Can I do anything else for you ladies?” he asked, as he raised an eyebrow.
Beth looked at her friend, biting the inside of her mouth to keep from laughing, “Thank you, we are completely satisfied for now”, she smiled. He retreated, sighing as the sound of sniggers, then giggles, and finally full blown hysterical laughter followed him back to the bar.
Beth sobered suddenly. “I guess this makes the decision easier – I was offered a new job today, but was going to turn it down.”
“What?”, Alex struggled to catch up, “A new job? Why were you going to turn it down?”
“It’s in Geneva. It’s a great opportunity but I stupidly hesitated because I didn’t think that Finlay would go with me. Seems I don’t have to worry about that any more. It will also keep me out of his way. I can’t see him just accepting that it is over”.
Alex nodded, “He’s far too fond of the cushy life to want to give you up. Don’t look at me that way, Beth. You know he’s a lazy bastard; he’s been relying on you for months now, ever since he lost his job”.
“It wasn’t his fault that he was fired. His boss hated him from the first day”.
“Maybe, but he hasn’t gone out of his way to find a new job. You have been supporting him for months, so that he can chase his dream of becoming the next Mick Jagger“
“Only, slightly more attractive than old rubber face Jagger”, Beth laughed. “I know you’re right, but I was hoping that he’d either find a new job or get famous. It has been a strain financially. If I go to Geneva, the company will pay the apartment there, so I could sell the flat here, or rent it out. It will give me a chance to pay off my Visa bill at last, and I could save some money to have a decent down payment when I return. It would be madness not to take the job, and it sounds like a really interesting assignment, but I would miss all my friends”.
“Trust me, if you move to Geneva, you will have no end of visitors. It will be just like living here, but with better weather and sexier men. They speak French there, don’t they? How is your French?”
“Schoolgirlesque. I can ask the way to the Gare and ask for a room for the night, but that is about it. They speak English in the office so that won’t be a problem, and I guess I’ll pick up the lingo as I go along. Do you think I should do it?”
“Yes. Absolutely. And not just because I want a free holiday in Geneva,” Alex slung an arm around Beth’s shoulders. “You are 25 years old, single, intelligent, funny, attractive and a damn good friend. Have fun. Remember our New Year’s Resolution? Live More Bravely.”
Beth nodded. “Live More Bravely. We promised we would do something special this year. This is it”.
8 Comments
Lady Of The Manor
Better. Still it can be extended. I have no idea of your plot or character outline, but, if I may, just steal the first 3 lines;
Shoulder charging her apartment door, Dora finally got it open. Dropping her keys on the nearby table, she caught her breath and listened. Bolero filled the small space. Knowing what this meant, she became all too aware of her movements. Slipping out of her shoes she checked her hair in the antique mirror. She paused, looking at herself; the colour, that she had inherited from her mother, had drained from her face. Bolero. She knew what that meant, and it was the last thing on her mind. She caught her own eye as she turned away and began a mental calculation. How did Finlay know she was on her way home?
MmeLindt
Thanks, that is interesting.
Anonymous
I like the way that the story plunges quickly into the action: I guess that the slower-paced, more descriptive writing that Lady of the Manor mentions has its place further down, once the reader has already been drawn in enough by events to care a little about the people involved in them.
I'd leave fuck out of the opening para. Sweary stuff is most effective when saved for the points of highest drama?
It was a funny and enjoyable scene. I found I couldn't quite go along with the idea of sex-to-Bolero, but perhaps I have had a sheltered life [grin].
Here is something that is either a problem or a potential strength (not sure which):
"Stalking over to the armoire, she plucked his iPhone out of the docking station."
–That read to me like a hilarious euphemism for some sort of bodily tearing apart of their coitus. But the context left it unclear as to whether it was intended as such. How about something like "… she wanted to force them apart with the same ease that she plucked his iPhone out of the docking station."
MmeLindt
Ha. No was not a euphanism. It really was just that she took his iPhone to shut the music off. Will rephrase.
Will take fuck out – tend to swear a lot – if only in my head.
It is interesting getting different opinions. I know I need more detail, but do have quite a direct writing style so find it difficult.
I am ordering a Bolero CD from Amazon for you. Not that I know anything about it, but I read it somewhere…
Anonymous
I don't think you need more detail: you are 'dripfeeding' in the background info about the characters in the course of the action. That seems just right. Extra descriptive stuff only has a place if either (a) you are a poet, and can describe with such precision and beauty that it is worth reading just for itself; or (b) each element in the description is directly contributing to the best possible way of elucidating either the character, or the mood, or the plot.
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