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10. THE LAND OF MILT AND HONEY

May 25, 2017 Leave a comment

Chapter 10

The awkward kiss ended abruptly. Both Milton Korn and Honey Freed realized what they were doing, at the same moment.

“Sorry,” said Honey. “I guess the smoke…”

“I know. It’s my fault,” said Milt. “Can we just forget it happened?”

“We can be more careful in the future,” said Honey.

“Of course,” said Milt. “Let’s take a break to clear our lungs, and our heads.”

“Good idea,” said Honey. She rose to go to the kitchen. “I’ll make fresh coffee, okay?”

“Perfect,” said Milt. “I’m gonna get some air on the terrace, okay?”

“I’ll bring the coffee out,” she said. Honey had solid ideas about her dream farm, because she’d been thinking about it, analysing it, and planning it for years. Milt, on the other hand, had run into the plan abruptly, and needed to catch up.

Milton Korn sat at the small table on Honey Freed’s terrace and gazed blindly at the array of buildings across the city. His mind was not there. His mind was sorting through the characteristics of his life, and how dramatically they had changed. He wondered why he had been so firmly redirected by his happenstance meeting with Honey Freed.

His mind did not dwell on the farm. Rather, he reviewed his brief acquaintanceship with Honey. Such unlikely commitments were not typical of Milt’s behaviour. Milt took his time with things, as he took his time with his paintings. The thought flashed in his mind for a millisecond that she might pose for him. He noticed her walk as she brought a tray with coffee and bagels. She swayed gracefully on long legs that brought her to the table, and Milt imagined that she’d be quite beautiful when nude.

Honey worried that the unexpected kiss might have changed the characteristics of the  partnership. They had never discussed the stimulation that might come from sharing close quarters in a remote location. They each thought about sex. Milt felt it would intrude into his life too much. Honey thought sex with Milt might be nice. Might be.

The Easier Life of Good Looking People

May 19, 2017 Leave a comment

If you’ve been looking at the coverage of the presidential madness in the USA, you might have noticed that almost all the reporters are good looking. I noticed that all the men wear dark suits and white shirts with tasteful ties. The women, on the other hand, wear simple, tasteful, form-fitting dresses in warm, basic colours. The forms of the women to which the dresses cling are slender and shapely.

It’s doubtful that there were no plain women applying for jobs of that kind. Obviously, the employers chose applicants with equal qualifications and better physical appearance. Are they really wrong? It’s a visual medium, so the picture should be as attractive and inviting as possible.

When we watch small, local television stations, we often see attractive, young people working their way up toward network jobs. Sometimes, there is an older person that  did not make the grade, or preferred the easier life in the smaller market. Perhaps people that are less good looking make careers in radio or journalism. Perhaps they had made it into a major market when young, and then cut back when older and not as good looking.

Jacketman

I admit that I was a good looking person when I was young, and I know how comparatively  easy was my life. I remember when times of dances, parties, and proms came along, several friends would be concerned about getting dates. Most of the boys liked to go ‘steady’ with one girl. It saved them from the trauma associated with social interaction in the teen community.

When I made calls in large offices, the receptionists always seemed happy to see me. They enjoyed telling me about the current situation in the office. That meant I could go into my meeting, knowing who was having a good day, who had a fight with a staff member, who liked donuts and who liked croissants. It all helps to put clients in the right mood for your pitch of whatever you’re pitching.

Women regularly use their physical attractiveness to get things. The butcher offers a better cut for the regular price. The grocer puts an extra pomegranate into the basket. The boss lets her have a long weekend. Maybe someday, she’d marry the boss.

Maybe the good looking young man in the parking lot will enjoy a relationship with a lady who is a lawyer, or a judge, or a doctor. In any case, if you are good looking, there are still some problems, but life is easier.

09. THE LAND OF MILT AND HONEY

May 17, 2017 Leave a comment

Chapter 9

Milton Korn listened while he ate the meal that Mitch, the albino friend/butler prepared and served. It was a good meal of roast beef, roasted potatoes, and bean sprouts. Across the table, Honey Freed talked slowly, with enthusiasm, about her plans and possibilities for the farm property.

While she spoke, Milt half-listened while he watched her face. It was a beautiful face, oval, tanned, and framed by a tumble of blond hair, streaked with darker shades. Her eyes were a deep, dark blue under neatly arched brows. While she spoke, excited by the visions in her head, her face was fully animated. Milt thought she behaved as if she didn’t know she was gorgeous. Of course she had to know, because people, mostly men, had been telling her she was beautiful since she was a little girl.

Watching the woman’s expressive face, Milt decided that she might be the most interesting woman he’d ever met. They knew nothing much about each other, and he knew that was a setup for problems. He decided it was time to talk about something other than the property and its potential.

“I’m 28 years old,” said Milt. It startled Honey, who was pouring out her heartfelt ideas for the farm, including animals.

“Wha… oh, uh?” said Honey.

“I think we have to know each other, before we go into details of the partnership,” said Milt.

“Oh. Well, what do you want to know?” said Honey.

Milton Korn began to tell his own story. His wealthy family in the legal, medical marijuana industry. His uphill battle to just be an artist, win or lose. Finally, his talent and concepts developed to the point where he can earn a very good living by doing the one thing he really wants to do – paint pictures.

Honey Freed unfolded her own story. Her grandfather developed a magical medical treatment that made him tremendously wealthy. He had only meant to do good for society, and surprised himself by succeeding in the rather high goal he’d set for himself. There was no reason for Honey to seek a career, but she did so because she wanted to be a producer/director. She began by studying broadcasting at Seneca, then acquired a job as a weather girl at a local station. She knew it was her looks that got her the job, and she used her brain and energy to rise to the position of producer/director. Her next goal, after acquiring the farm, was to put together a feature film deal, from script to Hollywood premier.

While they talked, they moved to the living room. They sat together, jotting notes about details agreed upon, and sharing a plump joint. The discussion began to get a bit silly as the drug took its effect. They giggled together about things that were not funny, while they passed the joint back and forth between them.

“I will have a couple of horses,” said Honey, “and some goats, some Scottish Highland Longhorn cattle, many dogs…”

“Hang on,” said Milt, drowsily. “I tol’ you I don’ want to aminals… animals.” He laughed.

Honey turned to face Milton. She put her hand on his thigh, and slid it up until it touched his scrotum in his jeans crotch. She leaned in and kissed him with a wide open mouth. Milton’s inhibitions had also been removed by the smoke. He cupped her breast and responded to the kiss. Honey felt the stiffness in his pants, and moved her hand over it.

Encourage writers: if you like it, please “like” it.

08. THE LAND OF MILT AND HONEY

May 15, 2017 Leave a comment

Chapter 8

Honey sat on the sofa, close to Milt. On the corner of the glass coffee table, she set a crystal ashtray with two cigarette sized, flawlessly rolled joints. A gold Dunhill lighter lay in the ashtray. She opened the file folder on the table and pushed it over so it could be seen by both of them.

“Do you expect to fill the country place with such extravagance?” said Milt.

“You mean the big joints?” said Honey. “I like them like that. Why not in the country?”

“I mean the gold, and crystal and the joints too, I guess,” said Milt.

“No. I’m leaving all that stuff here. I’ll keep this condo, for when we have to be in the city to take care of business,” said Honey.

“Very nice. Very generous. Very expensive,” said Milt. “I guess that’s why you can’t buy the farm by yourself. I’m a necessary evil, then.”

Honey took one of the joints and put it between her lips. She wore no lipstick, and her natural colouring was beautiful. The lips are soft, pastel pink, and pout slightly in her face of smooth alabaster. She lit the joint, inhaled and handed it to Milt. She exhaled into the air, and the pale blue cloud of fragrance slowly dissipated.

“I admit that I originally did not like the idea of a partner, and had expected to lose my chance at that place,” she said. “I also admit that I was very attracted by your art. Then we met, and then we talked, and now… I might not want the farm without you.”

“I certainly would not want it without you,” said Milt. “I wouldn’t even know about it.”

They bent to the chore of reviewing the paperwork that Honey had accumulated. They reviewed the numbers, the costs, the mortgage, utilities and equipment. The details, agreement by agreement, moved along just fine, until they came to Honey’s intent to have some livestock. Not a lot of animals, just enough to raise and enjoy.

“Let’s have the smoke, and dinner, then discuss it,” said Honey. She rang for Mitch.

04. THE LAND OF MILT AND HONEY

April 28, 2017 Leave a comment

Chapter Four

Goldstein’s was a very popular delicatessen. He arrived a few minutes late and found himself in a line of a dozen people, waiting for tables. A few women were seated in the few chairs available. The rest of the people were either conversing, or were impatiently rocking from foot to foot, looking anxiously for a table that might be vacated. A waiter in a green apron reached through the crowd and asked Milton Korn to follow him.

Others in the waiting area looked at Milton suspiciously, some angrily. In a back corner of the restaurant, the waiter waved Milton toward a table where Honey Freed was sitting. The waiter left them with a pitcher of water, glasses, and menus before he departed.

“I was afraid you might not come,” Honey said. She slid out of the booth to greet Milton with a furtive, cheek-to-cheek semi-kiss. They sat down, facing each other across the table.

“Sorry,” Milton said. “I was waiting in line.”

“I thought you might, so I send Walter to fetch you in.” Walter the waiter approached the table with a carafe of coffee and two mugs. “I thought you’d like to start with coffee. I hope you do,” said Honey.

“Yes, coffee is fine. Thank you, Walter,” Milton said.

“You thank the waiter?” Honey said.

“He brought coffee. He brought me in to your table. I appreciate it,” said Milton.

“So, my interesting artist, where do you get the visions, the subjects that you paint so beautifully,” Honey said.

“Every person is programmed by the flow of their life,” said Milton. “I lived in a town as a privileged person. I didn’t like it. I want to be ‘regular’, and let my work be known ahead of me. My work is important, at least to me, and outside of my work, I am unimportant.”

“Do you live the life you desire?” said Honey.

“Does anyone?” said Milton. “If I had my choice, I’d live in a comfortable farmhouse in the middle of 100 acres. Green fencing around the perimeter, with a solid gate, locked against visitors. I’d have a remote camera and gate opener.

“Are you antisocial?” said Honey.

“People always disappoint me,” said Milton.

“Why are you here, then,” she said.

“I was restless at home. You’re good to look at, and you like my paintings,” Milton said.

“Is that all it takes?” said Honey.

“That’s all it takes to get me to share a table,” he said. “I hope you don’t disappoint me.”

“I grew up on a farm,” she said. “I’ve found a place I’d like to buy, but I just can’t manage the mortgage without a bigger down payment.”

“Where is it,” said Milton.

“It’s about an hour out of town, on a small, dirt, farm road near Vantage Bay,” Honey said. “Do you want to see it?”

“What? Now?” Milton said.

“Why not?” said Honey. “Do you have something that you have to do this afternoon?”

“Okay, let’s go,” said Milton. Honey led him to her car, an Alpha Romeo Spyder.

03. THE LAND OF MILT AND HONEY

April 24, 2017 Leave a comment

Chapter Three

Milton Korn wandered down to the gallery the day after his show was launched with a traditional vernissage. It wasn’t the gallery he wanted to visit, it was Honey Freed. He saw her a half a block past the gallery. She was producing a commercial for a shampoo product, and they were taping the final scene. A woman with gorgeous hair blowing in the wind was to stride happily past a hair salon. The wind was produced by a six-foot tall fan.

Milton stood quietly at the side and watched the busy crew. They pushed the camera around, they hoisted lights and deflectors, and they pulled a large number of heavy cables back and forth. In the midst of the controlled chaos, Honey Freed stood tall and looked beautiful and exciting. She was tall and slender, in tight blue jeans and a white shirt tucked in at her tiny waist.

There were some uniformed police around the location, to control traffic and people. One of them went over to Milton and asked what was his business there. Milton just wanted to watch the crew work, without getting in the way. That’s why he stayed back there. The cop told Milton to move on, which pissed Milton off. He told the cop he was a friend of Honey Freed, the boss of this crew. The cop said he’d ask her.

Milton watched the cop thread his way between boxes and light stands, over cables and sand bags, up to Honey’s side. He spoke to Honey and pointed at Milton. Honey shaded her eyes from the midday sun. When she saw it was Milton, she broke into a broad smile and waved him to come close. He picked his way through the same obstacle course as the cop, who scowled at Milton as he passed, on his way out.

“I’m so glad you’ve come,” she said, and put her hand on Milton’s shoulder. He felt the heat. It’s strange, he thought, that a casual connection can generate such physical responses. He believed it was olfactory at work. An unscented fragrance, if that’s possible, that arouses otherwise dormant feelings in two people. Not any two people, but two people whose fragrances attract each other.

Of course, Honey’s physical beauty was certainly magnetic. She was accustomed to men approaching her, dating her, and sometimes proposing to her. Honey was not a lonely woman, but she was not living the life she hoped to live. When Milton felt the warmth of her touch, Honey also felt the heat.

Honey also felt something unique when she studied Milton’s artworks. She sometimes collected art, and was knowledgeable on the subject. She apologized to Milton that she had to work for the next couple of hours, to capture the final shot they needed.

“Can we meet for breakfast one day?” Honey said.

“Tomorrow?” said Milton. “I have nothing scheduled.”

“Tomorrow morning, 8:00am, at Goldstein’s on Walsh Avenue,” she said, decisively.

“See you there,” Milton said, and went home.

(To Be Continued)

The Woman With Her Kite

April 24, 2017 Leave a comment

Sunday morning dawned sunny and warm. I went out to the porch with my coffee and sat to look at the old park across the road. Huge, ancient maple trees dotted the broad, grassy clearing in the centre. Further along, there were the high fences of the tennis courts, and a children’s play area.

I finished my coffee and took the empty mug into the small kitchen. When I went back to my chair on the porch, a woman had appeared in the park. She had a large kite, and she was trying to get it up into the morning breeze. She was too far away for me to see just what she looked like, but I could see that she was very tall and slim. She moved like she was an athlete or a dancer. I went down to the street and across to the park

I sat in the sun on a bench that faced the clear area where the woman was working with her big, red kite. She was getting frustrated. Frankly, so was I, watching her try repeatedly to get the kite to fly. It just flopped along on the grass, while the woman ran across the clearing in vain. I stood up and took a step toward the kite.

“Perhaps I can help,” I said.

“I don’t want no help,” she said, in what was almost a snarl. I stepped back and sat down again. I’m an average sized man, about five-foot-eight, and the woman was considerably taller than I am. I didn’t want to antagonize her. She looked tough and sounded tougher. I watched for a while longer as she helplessly laboured with her kite. After another half hour, she was clearly dejected as she walked over and sat on the other end of the bench.

“Would you like a cold drink, or coffee or something,” I said. She was sweating and breathing heavily. She looked at me with hard eyes. I could see, now that she was close, that she was perhaps in her thirties, and had suffered some hard times. Her face was attractive, although somewhat lined and stern.

“Coffee would be great,” she said, perking up a bit. He voice was softer, but still tough.

“I live just over there,” I said. “Bring your kite. You can sit and relax on the porch while I start up a fresh pot of coffee.” I strode briskly away to my place without looking back. Once on my porch, I glanced back to see that she had rolled up her kite string and was following me, with her large, red kite carried like a warrior’s shield in front of her. I decided to think of her as a warrior

I was setting up the coffee maker when I heard her behind me. She stood in the kitchen doorway and leaned on the door frame.

“Why did you offer to help me?” she said.

“Because you were trying so hard, and failing,” I said. “You were trying to do alone what is really a two person job.”

“Nobody has ever offered to help me before,” she said.

“What, to fly a kite?” I said. “How do you take your coffee?”

“Black,” she said. She went back to the porch. I followed soon after, with two mugs of black coffee. We sat together in silence for a while, until she turned to me.

“May I stay with you tonight?” she said. I didn’t expect that, and I was wary of the situation. The woman was a stranger; she was bigger than me, and in much better physical condition.

“Why?” I said.

“You might not believe this,” she said, “but your offer of help was something I’ve almost never heard before.”

“That’s difficult to believe,” I said.

“I’m not often around people like you,” she said. She looked into my eyes. “I want to see what it’s like to be held, gently.”

“You’re bigger than I am,” I said. “Do you think I can give you what you seek?”

She stayed the night. I taught her gentleness, with caresses and kisses in special places. I made us Eggs Benedict in the morning. We kissed goodbye, although I was uncomfortable that a woman had to bend down to kiss me. She left, and I’ve never seen her again. I don’t know her name, and she doesn’t know my name. However, the big, red kite is still here. Perhaps she’ll return for it someday.