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09-17-2012, 07:47 PM #1
- Join Date
- Sep 2012
The sun's glare is intense when the door of the small plane is opened.
Avalucia winces against the potent light and heat of the sky orb. She unfolds a pair of designer sunglasses and props them on the bridge of her small nose before daring to venture forth again.
Once she is ready, the pilot takes her hand and helps her down the metal stairs. She clutches her carry-on bag in the other hand.
As a recent divorcee, this is the last place she thought she would end up, but when her friend suggested that Avalucia take some time away from the city, and offered up her and her husband's penthouse suite for her stay, Avalucia found it hard refuse. - at least politely.
Yet perhaps there is something to it. Even standing on the tarmac, she can feel the tension between her shoulder blades start to ease. Eight months of legal battles had wound her up so tightly, and she didn't even realize it.
But now she was free.
It wasn't the fact that she caught her former husband abusing youths during his government trips to Thailand that made her so angry. It disgusted her, to be sure. But it was the reality that she wasn't getting younger, and she took such great pains to retain her youthful attractiveness in order keep his sexual interest - and that pain was a complete waste.
She would have been happy to enter her middle years with dignity. Maybe her real anger comes from the feeling of stupidity that deep down she always knew he'd wander, and she was just fooling herself – carrying on with some idiot dream that she still was that art college graduate in Mediterranean France.
She once had a promising career as a visual artist, promoting her work in cute seaside galleries of Marseilles when he came in and found her. Discovered her, as he called it.
But now that's gone, carried away on the tide – and with it the previous fifteen years of her life.
Perhaps she is just as selfish as her husband accused her of being in one of his tirades in the final days.
Maybe she really is.
But the settlement she got to keep her quiet about his infidelities with the underaged at least eased some of her shame.
She would have liked nothing more than to embarrass him as he did to her. But petty vengeance would do little to secure her future. Who is going to hire a woman with no formal training beyond a fifteen year-old art school diploma?
She just wants to cry. But people are watching.
The taxi came right out onto the tarmac. The driver is a local man with a strange accent. He asks her where she is headed, trying to be as unobtrusive as possible while examining the cut of her tailored white tailored skirt-suit, particularly the modest display of lace and bosom where the jacket folds over her breasts.
He is young. She guesses early twenties.Despite her self-pity, his attention makes her smile.
“The Old Town Hotel,” she says, her words crisp and proper, squashing down the display that threatens to spill over.
He gives her a nod and smile, and loads her luggage into the back of the taxi.
“How long you staying?” he asks by way of small talk, particularly with the amount of baggage she has..
She looks around, and up at the sky. “I don't know. Maybe a week.”
He laughs as he loads in the fifth suitcase.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
The penthouse is nice, large, with a commanding view of the town below. She watches the local people move about down on the street, carrying on with their daily lives.
“Why did I come here?” she says to herself, feeing lost and alone. She takes another drink from the glass in her hand. The wine has become a more and more constant companion these last months – something, anything, to ease the tension between screaming matches.
Avalucia turns away from the window and the people outside. She flops down on a nearby couch, absently straightening one of her sheer stockings that had started to rebel against its duty of wrapping snugly around her thigh.
On the table beside the couch is a small pamphlet, a visitor's guide. She opens it up. The region boasts the historic Old Town, with cafés, a gallery, theatre and other amenities for the languid interests of the visitors. In addition are a plethora of beaches, and an advertisement for a resort on a small island off the coast – complete with young men and women running around the beach and splashing in the surf.
She smiles wryly, the last thing she wants is to be surrounded by oversexed nubiles in bikinis.
Still, the resort offers a couple of bars and clubs.
Maybe she will catch the small boat over and take a look in the morning.
It will be something to do, at least.
09-26-2012, 04:35 PM #2
- Join Date
- Aug 2012
That was awsome Ava.... MORE MORE MORE!!!