Elizabeth

[smerdyakov]

I have added the second and third parts of this story below. Let us know what ye think - POST # 7 & 10



She was twenty five years old, long blonde hair kept swept over one shoulder. Her eyes were brown and shone from her face like dark luxuriant diamonds. And they made men weak. It felt like you had fallen deep into some vortex of lust/obsession/confusion, where the world stopped and it was dark and warm and peaceful and you just wanted to stay forever, locked there in those brown eyes. Sometimes she wore eyeliner around the eyes, which made them even prettier.

She turned her head entering the Westbury hotel, deliberately avoiding the knowing stare of the little Asian receptionist who stood behind the desk with his arms folded. She pressed the button for the elevator two or three times, stepping back with a quick, graceful movement of her long legs, heels clacking softly against the marble floor, as an elderly couple stepped out. The man drank her figure in with his eyes, oblivious as to whether his wife or anyone else noticed or not. And he wasn’t the only one in the busy atrium of the hotel who stopped where they going, momentarily frozen by the sight of this fine woman who got into the elevator.

Her client was staying in the same room he always booked on Tuesday afternoons. Liz applied a fresh layer of blood-red lipstick in the mirror before getting off the lift. She zipped the tight leather jacket up a bit, which made her cleavage all the more noticeable, and rang the bell on room forty-seven. The tight-fitting leather jacket was not the right clothing for the hotel she was in, but it certainly didn’t cheapen her appearance. She could have walked into a room in her pajamas, straight out of a long, hot bath and still looked like the most attractive woman you ever laid eyes on.

Liz thought of Mr. Malone as her one of her better customers. He was polite and courteous, and always tipped well on top of what she charged him for the hour. Three hundred euro wasn’t a bad wage for an hour’s work, she figured. And he usually gave her 400. Today, though, he seemed preoccupied. He wasn’t his typical chatty self, and he didn’t even offer her a drink like he usually did. His wispy grey hair looked disheveled and stuck up oddly around his balding head.

"Can we begin?” he asked her in a flat voice, as he drew the curtains closed.

“Sure,” she said, in her soft Californian accent.

She walked up and unloosened his tie, her slim, long figure towering over him in her high heels. He closed his eyes and trembled slightly, exhaling hard…
When they finished she asked should she call over as normal the following week. But he just lay there staring, trance-like, at the ceiling. She went to the bathroom, then came out and got dressed quickly.

“So, next week…same time?” she asked again, getting his attention now.

“Oh, yes. Yes, of course. It’s just with this election coming up this week…my seat and everything….” his voice trailed off into a mutter.

“The polls?” she inquired tentatively.

She didn’t want to pry, because she never spoke about his work with him. Or he didn’t. She didn’t ask, and didn’t really want to know either way. She liked him, but like with all her clients, didn’t show an interest in him. Of course, she knew about the scandals coming out in the media; the brown envelopes; and the tribunal he was embroiled in.

She sat down on the bed and looked over at him.

“I’ve gotta go now,” she said.

He got up and took the money out of his suit pants. She took it from him, noticing a look on his face she wasn’t familiar with. He was frowning, standing naked before her. Liz got up from the bed but Mr. Malone grabbed her by the wrist, hurting her. She tried to shrug him off but his grip was strong.

“Owww…Mr. Malone!?”

“Lizzie….Lizzie, darling, I love you. I’m crazy about you Lizzie. Move in with me…Be with me, Lizzzie! I will take care of you…” he grabbed her other wrist and tried to kiss her. She turned her face away and screamed.

He made her fu<ken skin crawl.

“No! Stop it! Stop it…please!” But he wouldn’t let go. She stood up and kneed him hard in the bollox. Mr. Malone dropped to the floor. She grabbed her bag and ran out the door. She ran down the stairs and out into the busy street, crying, eye-liner dripping down her wet face.

Someone touched her elbow. She turned around. It was the little Asian receptionist.

“Listen, whore, I don’t want to see you in this hotel ever again. Got that!” he squeezed her arm then pushed her. Her heel twisted on the concrete and she tumbled to the ground, grazing her knees badly. People stepped gingerly around her sprawled figure, and then hurried past with disgusted looks on their faces, as if she were some sort of insect.

[Delta40]

You know, I enjoyed the story right up to 'Lizzie....Lizzie' There seems to be a sudden turn of events that are totally unexplicable. The story from there speeds up to an anti-climax as if the N passed the deadline and crammed in a cheap finish. The apparent treatment of Elizabeth by the Asian receptionist just doesn't gel with me either. The last few paragraphs are just not as well spaced as the rest of an otherwise well written story (although the love scene could do with some spice)

[Jack of Hearts]

What does a 'California accent' sound like anyways? Having lived in California his entire life, this reader just doesn't know.

A pretty good read until he gets weird. The problem isn't that he gets weird. The problem, for this reader, was the disproportionate emotional response to an event that is strange and that is abusive... but is mild at best, especially in the world that a call-girl inhabits. Now if she was a new call girl, a greenhorn, this reader might buy it. But presumably a girl that intensely beautiful involved in such intensely dangerous business would have to be intensely ferocious in her posture toward the world.

The ending is onto something interesting. At the begining of the piece we admire her and so do the people in the story. At the end of the piece we either pity or disdain her (or are supposed to). There's a kind of anger in that. The genesis of this story might very well be male frustration. Maybe when you edit you should channel the human element of that.








J

[smerdyakov]

Thanks for the feedback guys.
I don't think such a situation or ending is entirely implausible, but, yes, I can see where you are coming from. I may add some more to this story over the coming days,

Cheers. :)

[Neilson Black]

This is a cute little piece Smerdyakov. Elizabeth is described really well. Your level in the area of description is really high. At points I was starting to fancy Elizabeth. Ended abrubtly and was the let down if you had to niggle something, but the story was a nice little snippet in a single location.

[smerdyakov]

Hi Neilson :). Yeah I agree, I kinda short-changed the reader there at the end. I'm thinking of doing more with this story. Cheers for avin a butchers. All the best mate. :)

[smerdyakov]

Elizabeth Part 2

Elizabeth lifted herself up from the ground. The heel on one of her shoes was broken so she took them off and carried them in her hand, walking down the pavement in her stockinged feet. Her eyes flashed murderously. The long manicured eyebrows knitted into one single eyebrow -- the mad eyebrow her brother use to call it, but she immediately dismissed this unwanted reminisce – she simply wanted to go back and kill that little hotel receptionist. And she knew well what it was about. One night, while waiting at the hotel bar, he engaged in what began, to her mind, as innocent conversation. Only it turned out differently. While dull but bearable, the tone of the conversation progressively lowered and to put a long story short, his hand, ended up on her thigh. Well, like she always said: Invite a man to your table, and he will put his feet on it. Elizabeth, in no uncertain terms rebuked his toad-like advances, and ever since then he looked on her in despise. The man was simply a pig. One of millions. Billions, or however many of them there bloody are in world. She would have the final say in the matter though, nothing was more certain. Lizzie would sort that little turd out. God, she wanted to spit on him. Shoving her in the street like that. She would have called the police but then again the police weren’t really her friends. Liz had friends who could help though.. Damn, she could rely on herself to kick his a$$ black and blue….

Liz felt less agitated once she got home to her apartment. The grazes on her legs weren’t as bad as she first thought; the cuts weren’t as deep. They would heal fast enough. After taking a long shower, she made herself a salami sandwich with lettuce and black ground pepper on good Italian bread. She sat down on her balcony with a chamomile tea, sugar and lemon in it. The day was at its height, in its pomp, and the sun was just about to start setting. She loved watching the Dublin skyline from her loft apartment on the quays. Such a view. On good days she could see right out to Howth Head. And today there wasn’t a cloud in the sky, not even a breeze. Dublin had its charms. And she had grown attached to the place. But Liz determined she would stay til she had the money; she nearly did have enough. Once the ninety thousand was saved, she would leave. And she figured it would only take another two months to have that much. another two months of this. It. But she was nearly there. She'd go over to England, Bath or Oxford maybe. And start the law degree she had originally wanted to do when she finished school back in the States. Because her mother moved around so much, going from one sh!tty relationship to the next, one deadbeat guy to another, it was a miracle she even finished school. She must have been in half a dozen different schools since the age of ten. It wasn’t something she liked to reminisce about. Often, Liz thought about how cool it would be if people could erase their memories, how much easier it would make things. A lot of people were just prisoners to their memories, she figured, chained to the past, unable to move. At least a lot of the people she had met were. She never got the chance back home. But now she had the means to do what she liked. Today she was her own woman.

Her flat-mate, Rob, would be home soon, she thought. She would miss him. He was one of the few men she had met who could hold a real conversation, and didn’t want to just jump in the sack with you. She often wondered though, how he could afford all his nice stuff and the regular little trips he took to far flung places. On his salary anyway. The guy just managed a restaurant; it made her think what else he did. Some gangster owned the restaurant. She met him once. Liz just hoped Rob hadn't got mixed up with him. For his sake. She doubted it though. Definitely not the kind of guy who would forgive. Lost in these little reveries Liz looked out across the skyline, the former smile beginning to wilt on her face, while a lazy hand cradled her cheek. She had to ring the agency and explain what happened with Mr. Malone. They would be sympathetic. She was their best escort, and they knew it. Her mood darkened suddenly and she got up and made the call. The agency apologized over the incident and asked her was she alright. Could she work that night? Yes, of course she could, she told them. Asking could she work straight after asking how she was sort of cancelled out the sincerity. She didn’t expect any. It was strictly business. Just the way she wanted. Second client of the day was further afield. Over in the plush suburbs of Blackrock. Easy, she thought.

Liz decided on the John Lewis Ghost Long Silk Shoulder Maxi Dress, Electric Blue. Knock em dead. It was the one Rob bought her for Christmas. And more importantly, it covered the knees. Although, the scrapes had cleared up pretty well, to her surprise. Went right down to the ankles actually, the dress. It was a proper head turner. She smiled to herself, trying it on in the long mirror of her bedroom. Just then the door-bell rang. When she opened it, two big, broad men stood in her way, covering the whole frame of the doorway with their intimidating bulk. Her heart dropped down into her stomach. Liz recognized one of them. She had seen him having a meal with the owner of the restaurant one night when she was there.

“Can I help you?” she stammered.

[Jack of Hearts]

This reader is on a mobeel devahz, so reading and offering feedback is a particular challenge, but here goes.

The part where Liz is having chamomile tea on her balcony has a sentence that is missing a word. Can't see it at present, but look near the word 'lemon.'

Really quite readable and to be applauded for that. But there's also a rather heavy handed narration at play. This reader feels that, because it's so inherent in the piece, commenting on this narration is kind of off limits. Kind off. You know what we normally say about that- it's a richer, truer experience being shown something and making your own inferences than being told something outright. So the question becomes what is important about knowing that Liz went to ten schools, and how does that manifest itself in a way we can actually see in her character?

It ends on a pretty interesting cliffhanger, suggesting that there's more to come. This reader is still having problems with the suspension of disbelief- he's been privelged to know many troubled (American) women and hardly imagines them unwinding with a cup of tea between their raves and rages. Liz seems too dainty a thing. She isn't nasty enough. She isn't off-putting in the way one would expect and if you're not careful this reader will start thinking he's reading a male fantasy and nothing more.

But for all that this reader is still here. Still reading. Not sure where this is heading but trusting that you can bring this mother home in style, so to speak.







J

[smerdyakov]

Hey Jack. Thanks for reading and offering your thoughts; they are most welcome.
Will fix that sentences you mentioned, ta.
In this part, my aim was to flesh her character out and give the reader some background on her. By putting in the bit about her having been in "half a dozen schools", I wanted to convey how her childhood wasn't stable and consequently wasn't a happy one, her mother being a loose character, etc...therefore perhaps explaining a ways as to why she ends up doing what she is doing.
I will illuminate this a little more later.

Her being a bit of a dainty thing, yes she is a bit. I was tempted to have her break open the JD and Diazepam but I didn't want to portray her as a totally broken character, yes she is slightly battle-scarred but she has poise, and plans! Ok, enough explaining from me :D

[smerdyakov]

Part 3

The taller of the two, the one she seen in the restaurant, put his hand against the door, preventing her from closing it. Both of them bore a sadistic, empty look on their faces. They were the kind of people that once they entered your life, they only brought chaos and violence, like demons, but in the flesh.

“Is he in?”

Liz stood there with her lips parted, looking at the men’s faces, noting their easy lechery. She shook her head.

“I haven’t seen him in a few days,” she said. “Is he is in trouble?”

One of the men smiled.

“Oh, big trouble,” the other one said, raising his eyebrows.

“What do you mean?” she asked. She had a good idea what he meant, but she couldn’t let them see that.

“He’s been thieving from the thieves, so he has. Tell him that if he isn’t in touch by the end of the week we will find him, torture him, and, well…you know the rest,” his face broadened into a grin.

It was as if Liz’s fears had just been answered. She had thought about it a few minutes ago, about something bad occurring; she had portended it. Liz knew that Rob’s father was well off, and she figured if she couldn’t contact Rob himself, she would ring his father and tell him. But Liz also remembered that Rob said he was estranged from his father and hadn’t spoken with him in years. She had to give it a try. These weren’t people to be taken lightly. They were the sort of people who would whistle as they stuck a knife through you, or put a bullet in your head at close range.

“How much does he owe?” she asked nervously.

“Oh, I don’t know…100 grand.” The men made a theatrical movement of their eyes. They looked pleased.

“Jesus,” she muttered. She felt herself grow faint. They would find him. Rob was naïve compared to these people. Liz had come across their kind before. She stared into their eyes. For a brief second she pictured them digging a big hole in the pitch dark, throwing the earth over their shoulders with the shovels, whistling.

“If I see him --” she began.

“ --If you see him…” said the one who had been silent up til now.

They both turned around and walked away. She closed the door and put her forehead against it. One of the men wolf whistled on the way down the stairs, then the other said something and they both laughed; she heard it through the door. Liz stayed like that for a minute or two. It was about as bad as it could be. She figured if Rob took 100 grand, he had left the country, and that he wouldn’t be back. Unless he had gone to Indonesia or China perhaps, they would find him. And if they didn’t find him?
They would also think she knew where he was. Then they would come back. They’d come back to her. Rob had ****ed things up for her now as well. They knew she was an escort. And once they attached themselves…. Why me? she thought. It felt as though a light had been turned out. Liz banged her fist against the door. A solitary tear ran down her face. She could leave, but she didn’t want to be hiding for something she had no part in. Maybe, she could talk to the restaurant owner, the boss. Try to extricate herself from the whole bloody thing.

Liz tried ringing Rob but she only got his voicemail. His father’s number was in the diary on the kitchen table. She picked up the phone. It was getting late as well. There wasn’t much time. She was about to call Rob’s father but her phone started ringing. It was the agency. They explained that the client in Blackrock was quite specific about his call girls. She already knew that he was a middle aged man with a family, and apparently a big TV presenter. Also, she now learned, he had a fetish for school uniforms and that he liked to role play. Liz certainly had her fair share of freaks, and didn’t mind the fetish stuff usually, but this just creeped her out. Turning the job down, however, wasn’t an option, since she already agreed to do it. And, if you did turn down work, the agency just struck you off and that was that. It happened with one or two of the girls.

Liz went into the bathroom, brushed her hair in the mirror over the sink. She tried to calm herself. It was difficult. A big weight felt like it had dropped down on her chest. It was hard to breathe. She turned around and vomited into the toilet-bowl.

[AuntShecky]

Okay I've read all 3 installments.

I think there must be something to collective consciousness when it takes the form of unconnected groups of people having simultaneous
similar thoughts, as if there is a long distance kind of ESP or telepathy. There is a term for this phenom., an example of which involves the NY Times Sunday crossword puzzle: the more people solve the people who have solved the puzzle, the more people are able to solve it. (I'm not talking about the puzzle in the London Times, of which few of us --especially me-- can't make head nor tail, and can't imagine any large group being able to crack it completely. I bring this up because it seems to me that lately the LitNet posters have chosen for the subjects of their poems and stories speculation about the lives of the those practicing the oldest profession.

There have been quite a few poems on the subject lately, and now here's your story.

First the positive "take" on this: It's always refreshing when a writer moves out of his comfort zone and attempts a topic involving considerable risk. That you have decided to write about a Lady of the Evening is courageous, and because it was necessary mentally to switch genders so to speak to imagine the life of a woman shows that you're not afraid to use your imagination.

I also detect that there is or will be an emotional level in this, a payoff, so to speak. BUT--

there are a few things not about the subject matter of the story but the structure that I wonder if you could improve. For instance, all three parts are very heavy on straight narration, "telling" rather than showing. By this I don't necessarily say to add more details (which is what I often tell others who post really spare, bare-bones pieces) but rather than the details you include actually contribute something palpable to the overall theme. In other words, we don't really need to know what kind of sandwich she's going to make (a la self-absorbed Twitter posters) but maybe-- following what is required by her chosen(?) profession-- what she decides to wear may be crucial. Additionally, we are told too much about the roommate; if he is a minor character, we only need a passing reference, if indeed he should be
there to begin with. Likewise (in the first part) why are we need told that the hotel desk clerk was a "little Asian" --twice!

Also, it would be great to vary your sentence structure, instead of long lines of simple declarative sentences. Less "telling" more "showing." Perhaps with dialogue, though I realize that there is dialogue in the first and last parts.

Okay?

[smerdyakov]

:) Thank you for reading, A. I have a bit of a conundrum though: How do "show" interior monologue/rationalisation? This is what makes up most of the story so I didn't have a choice I don't think. I just figured this would work well as I can give back story without trying to force it into the narrative. This is all a learning curve for me btw. As always, I appreciate your feedback. Thanks for reviewing.

[Buh4Bee]

You write from a woman's perspective well.

[smerdyakov]

Thanks B :)

[Hawkman]

Part 1

“like dark luxuriant diamonds.” Not sure about this, shining darkly? Mmmm. I think the metaphor is a bit mixed. “And they made men weak” You don’t need the ‘and’ here.

“It felt like you had fallen deep into some vortex of lust/obsession/confusion,”

This is kind of bad practice in this kind of writing. You could do it if you were writing a paper on eyes, if you get my drift, but it’s lazy in a story. Either make your mind up about how they look or link the elements in to a coherent flow.

“and you just wanted to stay forever, locked there in those brown eyes. Sometimes she wore eyeliner around the eyes, which made them even prettier.” Too many eyes.

“She pressed the button for the elevator two or three times, stepping back with a quick, graceful movement of her long legs, heels clacking softly against the marble floor, as an elderly couple stepped out.” (Don’t need the last comma.)

“She zipped the tight leather jacket up a bit, which made her cleavage all the more noticeable,” over written. “To accentuate her cleavage” is all you need.

“She walked up and unloosened his tie,” unloosened? Is she doing it up or taking it off?

The biggest problem with this piece has already been pointed out by other reviewers. The change-up in the trick’s behaviour and her reaction doesn’t ring true.

PART 2

“The long manicured eyebrows knitted into one single eyebrow -- the mad eyebrow her brother use to call it,” You don’t need the underlined bit.

“and ever since then he looked on her in despise.” You can’t look on someone with despise. You can despise someone or something but, “Ever since then he’d despised her.” would make more sense.

“And she figured it would only take another two months to have that much. another two months of this. It. But she was nearly there.” Watch out for words left hanging by edits.

Para 2 is too long, divide it at “Because her mother….” Watch out for proofing errors where you’ve made corrections: full stops which should be commas and odd words you neglected to remove, like, ‘it.’

Para three the same, divide it at: “Lost in these little reveries” but cut this. Go straight to, Liz looked…

Asking could she work straight after asking how she was sort of cancelled out the sincerity. (punctuation and the underlined word would be better as ‘right’)

Although, the scrapes had cleared up pretty well, to her surprise. (Subordinate clause in wrong place. It should be after, 'although'.)

Liz decided on the John Lewis Ghost Long Silk Shoulder Maxi Dress (er, what?) can we have some commas please – lol) better ye, split it up with exposition.

Went right down to the ankles actually, the dress. Again, ‘the dress’ in wrong place. Bad sentence.

Part 3

“It was as if Liz’s fears had just been answered. She had thought about it a few minutes ago, about something bad occurring; she had portended it.”

Most of this isn’t necessary. Just say , “Her worst fears had been realised.” You don’t need to tell us that she’s just thought it. We just read her thinking it.

“She closed the door and put her forehead against it. One of the men wolf whistled on the way down the stairs, then the other said something and they both laughed; she heard it through the door.”

This is clumsy.

“She closed the door and sagged against it. She heard one of the men wolf-whistle, and the other saying something which made them both laugh, as they made their way down the stairs.” might be a bit better. But you could probably just end the sentence at the semi-colon and discard, “She heard it through the door.”

Jack makes some valid points about why we need to know so much about her childhood. To show this, rather than tell it, would be achieved by flashback, maybe a conversation between mother and daughter which paints the picture. Excessive narration is always problematical when conveying information when a character is alone in a situation. How much do we need, and is it relevant? Before a story is complete it’s difficult for the reader to judge. I’m inclined to think though, that section tow is a bit over written and the paragraphs are quite long.

The story itself seems too be developing quite well, but the relevance of part one is becoming obscured by subsequent events. Unless, of course, there is some correlation between the relationship with the dodgy politician and the crooked, restaurant owning heavy and his minions.

I’ll continue to follow this as it develops.

Live and be well - H

[smerdyakov]

Hawkman, I am grateful for the effort you put into this critique, many thanks.
I agree with you that some areas of the story need to be tweaked, but a lot of what you brought up here are stylistic gripes.

You have given me some things to look at, and also pointed out things I need to fix, like "unloosened his tie" which should be "undid". Also the part, "he looked on her in despise" is wrong. There's one or two other things I should change as well.

In respect of paras two and three in part 2, I used some sentence fragments to give the piece the necessary fluidity, as the narrative here focuses on her thoughts.

Your idea of using flashbacks to give back-story is good.

Thanks again for the helpful feedback.
:)