by Jack Barnao
Janet came to the door, holding a glass of red wine. By the look in her eye and the degree of decolletage she was sporting I guessed it wasn't her first of the evening. "Welcome back, John. Come in and have a drink." She waved at me but I stood my ground. I hadn't flown four thousand miles to play gooseberry on her reconciliation.
"No, this isn't the time. Tomorrow maybe. I picked you up a souvenir in Italy. I just stopped by to say hi and ask if there were any messages."
"Nobody's been calling," she said.
Her bush ranger had opened a beer and he stuck it into my hand. "Have a beer," he commanded. Like most Australians he was able to split the word up into two-and-a-half syllables.
There was no way to refuse so I sat and watched them nuzzle one another for the few minutes it took to demolish a Molson Golden then said goodnight and wended my way up to bed.
The music lasted well into the night when it gave way to shouts that went on until something clanged. It sounded to me like a skillet hitting a hard head. But that's me for you, an incurable romantic.
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 1986 by Ted Wood
Cover design by Open Road Integrated Media
ISBN 978-1-4976-0755-2
This edition published in 2014 by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.
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